by Peggy Webb
Martin gives a brief welcome speech and promises the best is yet to come. I know he’s talking about Rocky who, according to the program, will be introduced after dessert is served. But I’m not thinking of speeches: I’m thinking about those mouth-watering scents coming from the direction of the wait staff lined in the doorway with silver trays.
The first course is onion soup topped with melted cheese and croutons. In short order it’s followed by a chicken risotto with a side of assorted greens and a colorful mix of vegetables.
The risotto won’t hold a candle to Lovie’s, but at this point I polish off everything on my plate and cast wistful glances across the table to Cassandra’s half-eaten meal. Beside me, Mama is eating with relish, and thank goodness she hasn’t said one word about our time at Rocky’s dig where she and Fayrene went full-out native.
A tall, handsome man of about fifty appears briefly in the doorway and Lovie leans in to whisper, “Austin Meadows.”
I recognize him as the chef who was favored to be crowned Soufflé King five years ago when Lovie and I came to New Orleans for a charity soufflé cook-off. My cousin took the crown, and of course, they had to change the name to Soufflé Queen. Austin has had an active dislike of her ever since. But I don’t believe he made substandard risotto just to spite Lovie.
The dessert course is served and, what do you know? It’s a simple cheese cake without embellishments.
Lovie rolls her eyes and mouths, no imagination.
“I agree,” Cassandra says, and then giggles when we’re startled. This is the first thing she’s said to us all evening. “I read lips,” she says. “My brother lost his hearing in an industrial accident.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her, and I mean that sincerely. Still, I still can’t get past the fact that she’s trying to steal the husband of a woman with constant sinking spells. I make a mental note to never have sinking spells.
Martin Sanders stands up and taps the side of his glass. He’s sweating profusely and is unsteady on his feet. I wonder how many glasses of champagne he’s had.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my distinct pleasure to bring you a man who needs no introduction, a world-renowned archeologist who has brought us the headdress and neckpiece of the Goddess of the Jade Green Skirts, the….”
Martin clutches his throat and falls face first into his cheese cake.
Cassandra screams, Rocky bolts from his seat to do CPR, Mama and Fayrene hop up to do no telling what, and Grace says, “He looks like death warmed over.”
I couldn’t agree more. But I most certainly don’t intend to tell Jack that I’m once more up to my neck in trouble.
Chapter 5
Elvis’ Opinion on Natural Causes, Canine Detective Work and Butter
After Martin Sanders was carted off in an ambulance last night and the gala turned into something resembling the melee at the sinking of the Titanic, I’m glad to see my human mom sitting in the courtyard enjoying her breakfast in the sunshine.
Lovie’s here, too, which is an unexpected development. After we got back to the hotel, she went off with Rocky, clutching her beaded bag containing Love Potion Rocket Blast Off. When she came creeping back into our room around midnight, my human mom said, “How did it go?”
Lovie just pulled the covers over her head and didn’t move ‘til this morning. While she was in the shower I did some clever detective work and discovered the vial of love potion in her beaded bag was still at the level she’d left it after dousing her cleavage before the event at the museum. I guess she was scared of attracting more dogs.
Well, bless’a my soul, now Lovie’s reaching for her second croissant, and she’s getting happier with every pat of butter. Callie’s smiling, too, as she drinks her orange juice. This is what I like to see—my human family without a care in the world.
“Yahoo!” It’s Fayrene sweeping into the courtyard wearing a neon green getup you can see all the way across the river. She’s followed by Ruby Nell looking like old Hollywood in a moon-glow yellow caftan with a big sun hat and sunglasses with rhinestones. “We’ve got news that’s going to make you historical.”
“That’s not the way to tell it, Fayrene. You’re liable to make my daughter have a miscarriage.”
There are six other people on the patio, including an overly made-up matron who is holding the teacup Chihuahua on a black leather leash. He’s hardly big enough to be called a dog, let alone to think he could discover amour last night with cousin Lovie. The humans all swivel toward the commotion, but I’m happy to report that today the silly dog is only interested in the dish of Kibbles ‘n Bits beside his table.
“Holy cow, Mama.” Callie sets down her juice glass with a bang. “Sit down before you panic everybody here.”
Ruby Nell plops into a chair and reaches for Callie’s hand, while Fayrene reaches for a croissant. “Now, I don’t want you to get upset. This does not concern you, Cal.”
“Even though you were sitting right at the table where he died,” Fayrene adds. She’s talking about a mouthful of bread, but nobody has any trouble understanding her, including the six other hotel guests who are all ears.
“That’s one way to soft peddle the news,” Lovie says, deadpan.
“Martin Sanders was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital,” Ruby Nell says. “The doctors say he died from natural causes. Heart attack.”
“But that’s not what the Delaney sisters think.” Fayrene is fairly bouncing in her chair. One more bounce and she’s going to pop a seam on those pants. Or maybe just one more pat of butter will do the trick. “They said his Antarctica was fine, unlike his reptile dysfunction, and he didn’t give up the goat all by himself.”
“We were all sitting there with him when he keeled over.” Lovie pushes back her plate and takes a sip of coffee. “If somebody killed him, it had to be with poison.”
“That’s exactly what Pearl and Grace said.” Ruby Nell leans in close to whisper, “And we intend to find out who did it.”
“Good grief, Mama. Nobody has even called it foul play except Grace and Pearl. If Martin was murdered, the police will handle it. Let’s just enjoy Rocky’s exhibit and then head back home in one piece. Promise me you’ll stay out of this.”
“I promise.” Ruby Nell’s got her fingers crossed behind her back. She’s going to be neck deep in murder, and I don’t use the word lightly.
I picked up the scent of trouble last night at the gala. Usually I can pinpoint the culprit, but the scent was everywhere. I couldn’t narrow it down to one person. It was coming from the guests, the large wait staff, the equally large catering group and that mass of people waiting behind the scenes to clean up after the party.
But I can tell you one sure thing. My canine detective instincts are on full alert, and I’m planning to crack this case wide open. Starting with the Grand Opening for the Treasures of Tulum.
Chapter 6
Priceless Artifacts and Blowup Dolls
The grand opening for Rocky’s exhibit is at ten a.m. in the Beaufort Center. A yellow ribbon stretches across the entrance to the rooms that house the Treasures of Tulum, and Rocky is standing behind it with the Mayor of New Orleans and the Vice President of the Beaufort Center’s Board of Directors. It’s a solemn occasion, and I try not to think about Martin Sanders lying in the morgue.
But I’ve been involved in too many cases not to wonder why he was hale and hearty one minute and face down in his cheesecake the next. What if his wife got sick and tired of playing second fiddle to Cassandra Olsen and hired somebody on the catering staff to slip something lethal into his food? Or what if he’d made promises to Cassandra that he didn’t keep, and she was fed up with waiting? What if she decided that if she couldn’t have him, nobody could?
Still, I certainly don’t want Mama running all over New Orleans getting up to her feather boa in trouble. For Pete’s sake, voodoo is serious stuff down here. Off on the rocky cliffs in the ruins of Tulum, she and Fayrene never stirred up more than a few
tempers with their native chants. But down here she could end up at the bottom of the Mississippi River wearing concrete shoes. Or worse.
I cover my womb with both hands as if I’m warding off voodoo spirits while the board’s vice president drones on and on about the exhibit.
Mama leans close and says in a loud whisper, “Why doesn’t he just shut up and cut the ribbon? I want to see the exhibit.”
A ripple of laughter flows through the audience and the red-faced VP finally cuts the ribbon. We hang back to wait for Rocky while the crowd flows into the hall. In his hat and boots he looks like a very large, very fit Indiana Jones.
“Congratulations, Rocky,” I say. “This exhibit is going to solidify your reputation as the most famous archeologist in the world.”
“I don’t know so much about that.” He drapes his arms around Lovie and me. “The artifacts look great on display. I can’t wait for you to see them.”
“I want to see the headdress first.” Mama and Fayrene fall into step beside me.
“Especially since I have so much in common with the Goddess of the Jade Green Skirts,” Fayrene adds. She won’t wear anything except green because it’s the color of money.
Suddenly a scream shreds every nerve I have. We stop dead in our tracks.
“It’s gone,” a woman yells.
Mama clutches my arm. “Hang onto your purse, Cal. There’s a snatcher in the crowd.”
“Missing,” a man yells. “The headdress is missing!”
Rocky breaks into a run and so does Lovie. I’m not about to jeopardize Jackie Nell by risking somebody knocking me flat in the stampede. But I can tell Mama and Fayrene are chomping at the bit to get right into the middle of the action.
“Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I have Elvis.”
Mama and Fayrene streak off, and soon afterward Fayrene’s bellow tears at my nerves. “The jade necklace is gone, too!”
Suddenly the exhibit hall is filled with a cacophony of voices.
“Somebody call the cops!”
“Shut down the hall. Shut it down!”
“Is there a doctor in the house? Somebody’s fainted.”
Surely not Mama. She’s not the fainting type. Neither are Fayrene and Lovie. I try to tune out the excited voices that drift my way. I’m just trying to keep calm and carry on, like the Queen of England.
By evening the theft from the Treasures of Tulum will be all over the news. It’s probably all over social media right now. I lean against the wall and call to tell Uncle Charlie before he hears it from a third party. He’s the self-appointed guardian of the Valentine family, and I don’t want him needlessly worrying about us.
“Uncle Charlie?” Shoot, I can’t keep the quiver out of my voice.
“What’s wrong, dear heart? Is everybody all right down there?”
“We are. But we’ll be staying down here a while longer to lend moral support to Rocky.” I give him the lowdown on the theft and the death that just might not be from natural causes.
“New Orleans has some great detectives and should wrap this up in a day or two. Enjoy the sights while you’re there and keep Ruby Nell out of trouble.”
I promise to try. And then after mulling over what I can say to Jack that won’t send him flying into New Orleans in full Black Panther mode (his code name), I send a text.
I won’t be home tomorrow. Some of Rocky’s artifacts were stolen, and he needs Lovie down here while the police catch the thief. As an afterthought I add, I look forward to listening to some great jazz at Preservation Hall.
Satisfied, I lean back to watch the chaos at the other end of the hall. Suddenly Elvis tugs at the leash and pulls toward the right. I glance over to see a very large cordoned off area that holds an ornate mummy case covered with hieroglyphs.
“No, Elvis. Let’s just find a place to sit down and be quiet until everything calms down.” He pulls even harder and the leash snaps right out of my hand. “Elvis, no!”
A gray haired man turns to me and says, “Lady, you’re in the wrong exhibit. The Elvis Presley collection is in Tupelo and Memphis.”
I don’t even bother to tell him I’m talking to my dog. Thankfully, he’s swept off in a crowd of policemen streaming into the exhibit hall.
Suddenly I see Lovie churning down the hall toward me. She arrives red-faced and out of breath.
“You’ve got to work out more, Lovie.”
“And you’ve got to quit scaring the devil out of me. What are you doing yelling at Elvis?””
“He’s got his hackles up for some reason.” He’s sniffing around the mummy case and thank goodness, no guards are nearby to see that he’s crossed beyond the ropes. All activity is centered at the other end of the hall where jade artifacts are missing. “Elvis, come here. Come.”
“Did you bring any PupPeroni?”
“I forgot.”
Lovie says a word, then squats down at the rope and starts cajoling. “Elvis, come on and I’ll get you a doughnut at the Café Du Monde.”
“It’s called a beignet, and I don’t think he knows the Café Du Monde from a hole in the ground.”
“You’d be surprised what he knows, Cal.” Our attention is diverted by a clawing sound, Elvis scratching on the sarcophagus. Lovie says a word I don’t want Jackie Nell to know and then she leaps over the rope.
She lands in a heap just as the door of the mummy case swings open. Out pops a blowup doll wearing a red wig, a low-cut blouse that shows everything she’s got and a short skirt that barely covers Christmas. Furthermore, she’s wearing a dead match to Lovie’s signature boots. Even worse, she lands right on top of my cousin. I can barely tell the two of them apart.
Lovie says a string of words that would wake the dead. Everybody, that is, except the mummy, who has vanished from its own coffin.
“Holy cow, Lovie. This just got personal.”
“You’re telling me.” She bats aside the blowup doll, stuffs it back into the sarcophagus and slams the lid shut.
“Why’d you do that?”
She climbs back over the rope, leading Elvis, who is now docile as a miniature poodle in the Westminster Dog Show. “There’s no point in anybody besides the police knowing that whoever took the artifacts is trying to get back at me through Rocky.”
“Or maybe they’re trying to get back at him through you.”
“They’ll get him over my dead body!” Lovie grabs my arm and drags me in the direction of the bathroom. Elvis and I can barely keep up.
“What’s the hurry?”
“We’ve got to have a conference before the police question us.”
The ladies’ room near this exhibit hall is a posh powder room complete with loveseats upholstered in pink velvet. They would look right at home at Hair.Net. I pride myself that my beauty shop in small-town Mooreville looks as if it belongs in a big, romantic Deep South city like New Orleans.
I’m grateful to sink onto the cushions and turn my mind to theft. Lovie checks the toilets to see that we’re alone then locks the door and sits opposite me.
“If the thief has a beef against me, I can name two people right off the bat.”
“Austin Meadows,” I say. “The chef who wanted to be Soufflé King. He had motive and opportunity.”
“Exactly. His staff had to spend all evening loading and unloading trucks backed up to the museum. The same with the clean-up crew, Martha’s Minions.”
“What’s her beef?”
“I had a drink with Martha Bullard’s fiancé during the soufflé debacle.”
“You never mentioned it.” We tell each other everything. Well, almost. Since I’ve been married there are some things Lovie will never know.
“That’s because it was nothing. He didn’t even get close to my National Treasure, and besides that, I had no idea he was engaged to Martha. She wasn’t even wearing a ring.”
“Then why would she have it in for you?”
“He ble
w the whole story up and bragged to her about it. And she carries grudges. She’s even been through anger management for punching out her clients over fingerprints on the bathroom mirrors and lime in the toilet bowl.”
“Holy cow!”
“I don’t want to tangle with Martha. We’ll leave her to the police. But if Austin stole Rocky’s artifacts, I can get a confession out of him.”
“How?”
“You’ll see.”
I hate to admit it, but I’m looking forward to an adventure with Lovie. Since I’ve been pregnant, Jack has guarded me as if I’m Fort Knox. I’m beginning to feel smothered. Worse, I feel dull and unexciting.
“I’m game…as long as the plan does not jeopardize my baby.”
“Good. We’ll do it tonight.” Lovie leans over to pat my baby bump. “Don’t worry, little baby. Your godmother will never do a thing to put you in harm’s way.”
This is one of the things I love most about my cousin. She may act tough, but she’s a big pushover with a marshmallow heart.
“Pinkie promise?” I lock my little finger with Lovie’s.
“You got it. “ She springs up, but I sort of wallow. These loveseats are antique, very low to the ground, and not made for elephant-sized pregnant women to spring. Lovie reaches down to give me a tug. “Let’s talk to the police so we can get out of here.”
Thanks to Rocky’s influence and my advanced pregnancy, the entire Valentine family and friends are quickly interrogated and dismissed. Rocky stays behind to take a complete inventory of his collection and see if anything else is missing.
Lovie declares she’s starving, and to tell the truth, I am, too. It’s way past my usual lunch time.
We head to a restaurant Grace and Pearl Delaney recommend for the shrimp Po Boys then afterward to the French Market on the riverside to shop. It’s big enough to keep Mama busy and out of trouble the rest of the afternoon.
The first shop I spot is the one that Jack and I discovered on one of our trips to New Orleans.
“Let go in here.” We all duck inside. Mama and Fayrene head to the baubles while I grab a shopping bag and start loading it with the kind of pralines Jack adores.
