Case of the Ragin' Cajun

by Jeffrey Poole

  “Zack? I’m here. Sorry about the cloak and dagger routine.”

  “Richard. What’s going on? You of all people should know I’m not a fan of people breathing down my neck. Well, you can add to that list I’m not a fan of being bribed.”

  “Bribed? You haven’t heard what we’re willing to offer.”

  “Sure I have. Bella mentioned a stipend.”

  “A million dollars, Zack. We’re willing to give you an advance of a cool million if you’ll let this person document your involvement with this case.”

  “A million dollar advance on what?” I wanted to know. “I haven’t even decided what my next title is going to be, let alone when I’m going to publish it.”

  “Ah, we’re hoping it’d be based on your adventures there,” Richard finally admitted.

  “You want me to write a book about this particular case?”

  “That’s our hope, yes.”

  “No.”

  “We’re talking a million dollars, Zack.”

  “No.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “I write fiction, Richard. This would land squarely in non-fiction, and that’s not something I do.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, Zack.”

  “I’m aware, but not for this. The answer is no.”

  “But, what if you were to …”

  “Richard!” I interrupted, raising my voice to get his attention. Jillian looked over at me and raised her eyebrows, her way of asking if everything was all right. Nodding, I gave her a reassuring smile. “I hate to be the downer here, but this is something that’s not going to happen. You need to let it go, pal.”

  Upon hearing those three specific words, I heard both Jillian and Tori giggle. Grinning, I looked at my friend, but he wouldn’t make eye contact. His gaze had dropped to the ground.

  “Well, I’m terribly sorry to hear that. I was hoping you’d be open to the idea of something new and exciting.”

  I was fine with ending the phone call as it was, but as soon as my representative came back with that particular phrase, I realized I couldn’t let it end that way.

  “You do realize my contract with MCU is open-ended, right? You people do know that I can up and leave and take my entire catalog with me at a moment’s notice? I make certain that particular language is in each and every contract I sign with you people.”

  “Now, now, Zack, there’s no need to get defensive. I was just saying …”

  “Nuh-uh. You were insinuating that you were disappointed in my decision, and that it could have ramifications in the long run. Well, you’re right. There will be ramifications if this particular subject is brought up again. Don’t go there, Richard. I like you guys. I like what MCU has done for me. But, there are quite a few publishers out there. Perhaps I should call one of them?”

  There was silence on the phone.

  “Richard? Still with me?”

  “I’m here, Zachary. You’re right. There’s no need to take any drastic action, on either of our parts. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

  Smiling, I nodded. “Consider it forgotten. Listen, I have to tell you that I’m feeling a little anxious about going back to that expo tomorrow. Could we possibly move it to somewhere else?”

  “They’ve already canceled the remaining two days,” Richard informed me.

  “Makes sense. Um, are you guys going to be doing anything else?”

  “If we did, would you be interested?” Richard hopefully asked.

  “Possibly. Let me know when you know, all right?”

  “It’s a deal. Thanks, Zack.”

  “What did they want?” Jillian asked.

  “To send along some person to record everything we do while I’m on this case. Then, they wanted me to turn it into a book. Long story short, they’ve chalked it up to a bad idea.”

  I felt twin tugs on the leashes. At the same time, a faint melody could be heard. The first thing I thought of was the ragtime bands I used to hear at Disneyland. Glancing up, we saw that we were approaching some type of jazz pub. The doors were open, the music was enticing, and if we didn’t have the dogs with us, I’m sure we would have ended up going inside.

  Sherlock and Watson pulled us up to the threshold of the pub. Looking through the doors, I could see a small stage in the back left corner, a nearby baby grand piano, and a collection of small tables scattered here and there. Like most bars, the pub had an impressive collection of alcohol in a wide variety of bottle shapes and sizes.

  Just inside the front door, I could see a menu stand. Behind it was a wall of Mardi Gras masks and beads. Turning, I started to walk away when I felt Sherlock snort with frustration and dig in his heels.

  “What is it, boy? There’s nothing in there for us. Let’s keep going, okay?” Both dogs lowered themselves to the ground and stayed there. I handed my phone to Tori. “You’re closest. Would you snap a few pictures? That might get these two moving again.”

  That did the trick. Back on the move again, we approached another bar, on the opposite side of the street. Figuring we were going to be pulled across, I looked for the nearest crosswalk, only to be surprised into silence as both dogs strolled by the establishment without so much as giving it a second glance. Wondering what could possibly be going through their little corgi brains, I glanced at the pub as we walked by. This one was newer, cleaner, and had more people entering and exiting, yet their Royal Canineships elected to ignore it.

  Dogs.

  Several hours later, the four of us were companionably walking along Bourbon Street in silence, presumably each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said, as I turned to Vance, “what did you find out about that doll? Remember what Brittany said? She wanted to know where the pins were stuck. Did anyone know?”

  Vance nodded. “As a matter of fact, yeah. Clearly the techs here know what to pay attention to. I certainly didn’t notice.” My friend pulled out his notebook. Seriously, did he have that thing permanently attached to his hip? Then again, I had my small notebook with me at all times, so I probably ought to let that one go. “Let’s see. There were two sticking in the chest, one in left side, and one up near his left shoulder.”

  “The guy who died,” I slowly began. “They said he died because something pierced his heart. Could, um, that be the reason why?”

  “Don’t go off the deep end,” Vance cautioned. “It’s just a fluke.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Tori countered. “Tell him the rest of it. Tell him what you found out about the chest wound.”

  “What about the chest wound?” I urged. “What is she talking about?”

  Vance sighed, and then shot a dark look at his wife. “Now, don’t go reading too much into this, but the chest wound on our victim? It wasn’t one, but two puncture wounds.”

  “Just like the doll,” I breathed in amazement.

  Vance groaned. “See? That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d think the doll was responsible for the guy’s death.”

  “We are in New Orleans,” I reminded my friend. “Voodoo is practiced here. Couldn’t there be some truth to what that doll is telling us?”

  “It’s just a doll, pal,” Vance told me. “That’s all.”

  “Did the dead guy have wounds on his side and shoulder?” Jillian asked.

  I snapped my fingers. “Oooh, good question, dear. Well, did he?”

  Vance’s smug smirk was back. “As a matter of fact, no, he did not.”

  I let out a dejected sigh. “Oh.”

  “You sound disappointed,” Vance observed.

  “No, not really. Still, the doll has two pins to the chest and our victim has two puncture marks on his chest? That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “What do we know about the deceased?” Tori asked. “Did he have any enemies?”

  Vance pulled out his cell and began swiping a finger along the screen. “The NOPD sent the file to me. I think I remember seeing something on th
e dead guy. Okay, here it is. Frank Keppler, 38, single, and lived in Metairie, wherever that is. I’m assuming it’s nearby?”

  I nodded. “It’s still considered part of the New Orleans metropolitan area. The area wasn’t too nice the last time I was here, and I can only assume it hasn’t gotten any better.”

  “What wasn’t nice about it?” Jillian wanted to know.

  “Crime rates. It’s not a safe place to live.”

  We approached the intersection of Bourbon and St. Peter. I was getting ready to suggest we turn left, but … you guessed it. The dogs perked up and tugged on their leashes. Again.

  “Hold up, guys. The dogs are on to something. Looks like they want to check out that gift shop over there.”

  “Tricou Gifts?” Jillian asked, as we stopped under the white sign with the blue writing.

  I shrugged. “There’s gotta be something here that’s got their attention.”

  Behind me, I could hear Tori and Vance having a hushed conversation.

  “I absolutely love the architecture here,” Tori was saying. “It certainly looks like those are apartments on the upper floors.”

  “They probably are,” Vance mused. “They must have a fantastic view of Mardi Gras each year.”

  “We should all come for Mardi Gras one of these years,” Jillian decided, overhearing Vance’s remark.

  “You do know what happens during those parties, don’t you?” I warily asked. I pointed inside the gift shop we were standing in front of. “See all the beads in there? Do you know what people typically do with them?”

  Jillian swatted my arm. “Of course I know what they’re for. I’ve been to a Mardi Gras once. Michael and I rented a room a little west of here six or seven years ago.”

  Michael was Jillian’s late husband. The poor fellow died from cancer a few years before I lost my wife to a car wreck.

  “How do you know what they’re for?” Jillian countered.

  Helplessly, I looked at Vance, who held up his hands in mock defeat. “Don’t look at me, pal. You’re the one who kicked open that door.”

  “I, uh, have read about it?”

  Jillian smiled and shook her head. “Sure you have. Anyway, I think we’d all have fun here. So, have you figured out what Sherlock and Watson are looking at?”

  I looked down at the dogs. Both corgis were gazing up at a display rack that the owner of the store must have placed outside. I could see baseball caps, postcards, tee shirts, some frilly thing I couldn’t identify, and a slew of other things. Seriously, I’m surprised the display didn’t buckle under the weight.

  “See anything?” Jillian asked.

  “You tell me. Look at all that stuff. How am I supposed to figure out what they’re looking at? Hold them up and see what they react to?”

  “Just take a few pictures and be done with it,” Vance said. “You know you’re going to do it anyway. We can all try to figure out what they’re up to at a later time.”

  “Someone needs their dinner,” Tori decided. She patted the side of Vance’s face. “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ll get you something to eat.”

  “Can you not say that like I’m a five-year-old?” Vance complained.

  “Then don’t sound like one,” Tori returned. She looked at the two of us and grinned. “Fifteen years of marriage. I know when my hubby is getting a case of the hungry-grumblies.”

  Vance snorted with exasperation, looked at his wife, and then shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

  I hurriedly snapped a few pictures of the display rack in front of Tricou Gifts and just like that, the dogs were off.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever understand them,” I grumbled, as we fell into step behind Vance and Tori.

  “They have to be some of the smartest dogs I have ever encountered,” Jillian admitted. “I do wonder if there will ever be a day that we can all figure out how to solve a case before they do.”

  I looked back at the colorful display of trinkets and merchandise. “Probably not.”

  We turned left at St. Peter Street and were on the eastern side of the street, heading south. Almost immediately, I spotted an establishment I really didn’t feel like visiting. I could only hope the dogs felt the same way.

  “Look, there’s another one,” Jillian said. “This one is Reverend Zombie’s House of Voodoo. What do you think? Want to go inside?”

  I looked through the open door and saw bones, books, skulls, necklaces, plates, charms, and hats. I also saw the vast majority of the wall was crammed with ceremonial masks, with just about every emotion depicted in various styles. There was a display case, just inside the door, which looked like it contained bright, colorful decks of cards. The more I thought about it, the more I decided they were probably Tarot cards.

  Tori reached for a pamphlet hanging on a rack just outside the door.

  “It says if you ever wanted to learn how to conduct your own voodoo ceremony, this place needs to be on your list of things to see. Any takers?”

  I looked down at the dogs. Sherlock had approached the door, lowered his head to sniff the ground, and sneezed. The little corgi swiped at his nose with his stumpy leg a few times before turning around to look at me.

  “Awwwoooowoooowoooo.”

  “Those low howls are absolutely adorable,” Jillian said, as she smiled at Sherlock. “What are you trying to tell us, pretty boy?”

  “Probably that he doesn’t want to go in there,” I guessed. “Look, he’s not pulling at his leash. Neither of them are. Watson? What do you think? Do you want to go inside?”

  Both corgis sat, as if they were mesmerized at the wide variety of merchandise visible through the open doorway. Sherlock turned to look at me and howled again.

  “Awwwwooooooo.”

  My eyes widened and I had to stifle a laugh. “Sherlock, that has got to be the shortest howl I have ever heard. You’re clearly trying to tell me something. Wish I knew what, pal. All right. I’ll start taking pics. Look, I got the door, the racks, and the stuff we can see inside. Will that appease your Royal Highness?”

  The answer to that was clearly in the affirmative, since both dogs walked off, as if the voodoo shop was now no longer worthy of their attention.

  We finally found a place to stop and rest about a block later. Jillian located a coffee shop, which happened to serve fresh sandwiches as well. And, on top of that, they had a nice shaded patio where we could sit with the dogs. The waiter oooh’ed and aaah’ed over the corgis and brought them a bowl of water.

  “Don’t you feel just a little bit guilty?” Jillian asked, as soon as our order arrived.

  “About what?” I asked, as I took a bite of my sandwich.

  “Look at us. We’re all eating healthy. That is, all but you.”

  I looked down at my order. One Monte Cristo sandwich, deep-fried and dusted with powdered sugar. On my plate were three small dishes of various preserves, in which I was supposed to dip my bites of sandwich. What can I say? I love this thing whenever I’m at the Blue Bayou in Disneyland. From what I can see, this sandwich looks just as good, if not better, and cost a fraction of the price.

  “Don’t be jealous. If you want a bite, then all you have to do is ask. I’d be more than happy to share with you.”

  Jillian stared at me and then dropped her gaze to my sandwich. After a few moments, a sheepish smile appeared on her face and she speared a piece of sandwich with her fork. I pointed at the tiny bowl of strawberry jam.

  “Dunk a corner in that and then tell me you haven’t died and gone to heaven.”

  My fiancée did as instructed. A huge smile spread across her face.

  “Very well. Objection withdrawn. That is, without a doubt, the best Monte Cristo sandwich outside of Anaheim.”

  I clinked my glass of soda with hers. “That’s my girl.”

  “What time is it?” Tori asked.

  Jillian checked her watch. “Twenty minutes past five.”

  “It sure is getting busy out there,” Tori continued. “Mak
es my feet ache just thinking about all those people walking by.”

  The amount of foot traffic on Bourbon Street was approaching what I called DLI, which stood for Disneyland Levels of Insanity. If I didn’t know any better, then I’d say people were starting to line up for some type of Mardi Gras festivities. However, Mardi Gras had already happened several months ago.

  “Is anyone in a rush?” Vance asked. “I don’t know about you three, but I’m thinking this is a pretty sweet spot to sit back and just people-watch.”

  “No arguments here,” I said, as I hooked a nearby empty chair with my foot and slid it over so that I could put my feet up.

  Tori set her glass of iced tea on the table and cleared her throat. “Jillian? Have you and Zack thought about getting married at Lentari Cellars? It’s big enough for everyone, isn’t it?”

  “We’ve considered it,” Jillian admitted. “However, I’m with Zachary. I wouldn’t want that many people at one of our houses. With weddings comes craziness, and if something happens, I’d just as soon it happens someplace else.”

  “Well, I think anyone in Pomme Valley would be more than willing to accommodate the two of you,” Tori said, drawing a nod from Vance. “Business, home, or whatever, I think all you need to do is ask. Your wedding is going to be the talk of Pomme Valley for years to come.”

  Jillian blushed. “Tori, please. It’s just going to be a regular wedding.”

  “Tell them about the guest list,” I chuckled.

  “What about it?” Tori wanted to know.

  “Welllllll,” Jillian began, “there might be a few names on the list.”

  “Which, of course, means the entire town,” I teased, as I lifted Jillian’s hand to give it a quick kiss.

  “Silly man, it does not.”

  For the record, the word large wouldn’t have come close to touching the tip of the iceberg our wedding was going to be. However, that’s a story that hasn’t quite happened yet.

  Suddenly, the hand I had just been kissing dug into my own. Jillian gasped with alarm and sat up straight as a board in her chair.

  “What is it?” I asked, growing alarmed.

  Right on cue, both dogs started letting off warning woofs. Jillian pointed across the street.

  “I saw him! I just saw the mystery man from the security footage!”