Ghosts & Gateaux

by Sara Bourgeois

  As soon as I unlocked the door and stepped into the bakery, Gumbo darted inside. He brushed against my legs several times and began to purr happily.

  "What's gotten into you?" I asked.

  "I have news,” he said proudly.

  "Well, spill it then."

  "I was out snooping, and I overheard Trevor at the butcher shop. It's juicy gossip."

  "What were you doing around the butcher shop?" I asked.

  "I just happened to wander by. I was not there looking for bacon if that's what you think," Gumbo said.

  "Sure, whatever you say, buddy. So, what's the gossip that's so juicy?"

  "I heard Trevor telling the butcher that their plan had gone off without a hitch and that Marcel was finally out of their way," Gumbo said.

  "No."

  "Yes."

  "Please tell me you're not just messing with me,” I said. "You better not be joking."

  "I'm not. That's seriously what I heard him say right before the butcher ran me out of the shop with a broom."

  "Maybe that's why I can't figure out who the killer is,” I said.

  "What?" Gumbo asked.

  "Because it could be two killers. That's why the clues don't lead to one person,” I said.

  While I had just sworn off working on the investigation, Gumbo's information renewed my determination to solve the murder. I was diving back in.

  Chapter Twelve

  I thought I'd wanted a Cheer Cake but decided that what I really wanted was something from the butcher shop. I could buy something to make for dinner, I had cake for dinner way too often, and maybe get some information at the same time.

  Instead of going out to explore more, Gumbo had decided to come with me. When he heard I'd be getting something from the butcher shop for dinner, he became quite interested.

  Still, I made him wait out in the car while I went in. The last thing I wanted was us both getting chased out with a broom.

  The bell over the door rang when I walked into the shop. "Hello!" Hank called out.

  His butcher shop had been around for ages, but it was pristine and modern-looking inside. Hank had extensively remodeled the interior when he took over after his father retired. The glass cases gleamed in the overhead light as did the red tile floor. Hank himself was a stout man with muscular arms, thick black hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his prominent, but not too big for his features, nose.

  "Hi, Hank,” I said.

  "Ms. Moonfall, by chance did you come in for something fresh for dinner?" he asked with a smile.

  "I did,” I said. "Though, I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for."

  "Take a look around, and let me know if you have any questions."

  I walked along the case pretending to look while Hank turned around to a work table behind him. He was packaging up meat and not hovering over me while I shopped. I appreciate that, but I wanted to speak with him.

  "Heard any good gossip lately?" I asked as I pretended to look over some steaks.

  "Oh, I hear a lot of things, but they go in one ear and out the other,” he said. "People are always in here talking about something, but I don't pay any attention."

  "Probably talking a lot about the murder," I pushed. "About Marcel Love's murder."

  "You know what would make a great dinner for you, and even for that cat of yours?" he asked, and then he answered before I could say anything. "Crawfish. You need a bag of fresh crawfish. You could make yourself some jambalaya or maybe just steam ‘em and eat ‘em. You got any cayenne pepper at home? Of course you do. This is Louisiana, after all, and you know your way around a kitchen."

  "I was thinking of maybe something more like steak or possibly chicken,” I said. "These marinated chicken breasts look good."

  "Crawfish," Hank said. "I promise I'm not steering you wrong. I'm a professional."

  He hadn't said anything about Marcel's murder. Hank was distracting me with talk of crawfish and cayenne pepper.

  "So, what did you think about Marcel's murder?" I asked more directly.

  "I didn't really think anything of it. I suppose I've heard his name mentioned a few times, but I assure you, I didn't care enough to listen in,” he said curtly but then collected himself and smiled. "So, about these crawfish. Let's get you rung up."

  He wasn't going to talk about Marcel's death, Hank had made that clear, and he was heading to the cash register with a bag of crawfish. It appeared that I was powerless to get him to talk, and I was buying the crawfish.

  "Thank you so much,” I said as I was leaving the shop.

  "Anytime, Fern. Come back in anytime."

  I left the shop with my head down, but when I looked up, I saw Gardenia and Patrick about halfway down the block engaged in what looked like a deep conversation. Their heads were bent toward each other, and they were whispering loudly. But it wasn't quite loud enough for me to hear.

  They didn't notice me, so I took the opportunity to keep walking in their direction. My car was behind me, but there were more shops down the block. It was perfectly reasonable to assume I wasn't done with my shopping yet.

  I put my head down and walked fast, so that it appeared I was on a mission. It made it more likely that I was just in a hurry and not paying attention when I ran right into Patrick. Yes, it was intentional, but he didn't know that.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry,” I said and stooped to help him pick up the bags I'd made him drop. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

  "It's okay," Patrick said. "Are you all right?"

  "I am, thank you,” I said. "Are you two enjoying the weather?"

  "You mean hot as heck and so humid it feels like we're walking around in an armpit?" Gardenia asked with a chuckle.

  "Yes, that weather,” I said.

  "It's lovely,” she said. "Wouldn't feel like home without it."

  "What are you going to do with those crawfish?" Patrick asked.

  I'd almost forgotten that I was walking around with a bag of crawfish in my hand. "Oh, I'm not sure yet. Maybe jambalaya or I could just steam them. I do have some sausage at home."

  "Then jambalaya it is," Gardenia said. "That actually sounds really good. I might stop in at Hank's and get some crawfish and sausage myself."

  "How has business been?" Patrick asked with what appeared to be true concern.

  "Good, actually,” I said. "We still have lots of custom orders coming in. I fact, I have to hire another assistant."

  "That's good to hear,” he replied.

  "How are things with the Medium Association? What's in store for you next?" I asked.

  Patrick glanced over at Gardenia for a split second. "The association is casting off the shackles of the past, and we're moving forward into the future."

  Okay, that was both vague and suspicious at the same time. I didn't know how he'd managed to do that, but Patrick had.

  "Oh, that sounds cool. What are you doing to move toward the future?" I asked. "Are you guys going to be doing more events?"

  Patrick bristled, and I noticed that Gardenia suddenly looked annoyed as well. "That's association business, and you need to stay out of it."

  "You've really got to quit poking your nose where it doesn't belong," Gardenia said.

  Then they both turned and walked away. Just like that, our friendly conversation turned into them snapping at me and storming off. I had no choice but to go home. I was suspicious and annoyed, but I was above chasing them down the sidewalk and begging them to tell me what they meant.

  Everyone seemed to hate Marcel and want him dead. Any of them could have been the murderer, but so far, I'd found no evidence linking them to the deed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That night I lay in bed tossing and turning until dawn. In the morning, I got up and made myself a pot of coffee so strong that it was thick. After pouring the sludge into a cup and adding six spoonfuls of sugar, and just a splash of cream, I wandered over to the refrigerator and put the cream away. As I did, a half-empty pint of blueberries caught my at
tention. I decided to make myself some Peppy Pizzazz Pancakes for breakfast. I needed to get showered and go to work, but without a pick-me-up, I was going to be useless anyway.

  I worked like a zombie mixing the batter and then pouring it into the heated skillet. When they were done, I was actually a little shocked that I hadn't burned every single one. A healthy pour of real maple syrup and a pat of butter completed my breakfast. I ate the pancakes with my third cup of coffee, and as I finished, I started to feel like a real, live human.

  That gave me the energy I needed to shower in under five minutes, throw on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and get out the door on time. Magic was so great sometimes.

  As I drove to work, I made the decision to follow Gumbo's advice. He was in the passenger seat snoozing, I don't know how he always fell asleep so fast, but I didn't bother to tell him he was right. He never let me live that down, so I'd stopped telling him.

  Jenny was on time for work that morning, so as soon as she came in, I asked her about Hank and Marcel. "What do you know about Hank, the butcher's feelings toward Marcel?" I asked as she kneaded dough for Cozy Cinnamon Rolls.

  "Oh, he hated Marcel," Jenny said with a mischievous smile.

  "Why?"

  "When Hank was in high school, Marcel ruined Hank's parents' marriage. He revealed that Hank's father was having an affair in the middle of a restaurant. The rumors spread fast."

  "It's kind of Hank's father's fault for having the affair,” I said.

  "Yeah, but Marcel humiliated Hank and his mother. She was so heartbroken, and it ruined the rest of high school for Hank. I suppose there were better ways for her to find out. It could have been less painful," Jenny said.

  Trevor also hated Marcel, so could they have come together in their mutual hate to commit murder? I couldn't help but think so. If one of them was having second thoughts, the other could have pushed them. Together it made the mental load of killing someone lighter.

  I tried to call Mitch and tell him about my theory, but his phone went to voicemail. I left him a message asking him to call me back when he could.

  No sooner had I hung up the phone and Garnet waltzed into my shop. It wasn't just her either. She'd brought a small crowd of her friends and Byran.

  "And this is the witch who murdered my dear, sweet cousin,” she said breathlessly as she and her coven members walked through the shop toward the front counter.

  "What do you want, Garnet?" I asked.

  She ignored me. "But it just goes to show that you couldn't believe a word that old man said because he couldn't even predict his own death. You would have thought the spirits would have warned him, unless they hated him too."

  "Garnet, this is my place of business. You can't come in here and act this way. I will call the police,” I said and bit my tongue so I didn't say worse. I wanted to say much worse.

  "No need to get upset, Fern,” she said. "I'm here as a paying customer. I'd like to buy one of your Protection Profiteroles, please. I just don't feel safe in this town anymore."

  "Would you like that with chocolate or coffee glaze?" I asked.

  "Hmm." Garnet pretended to be seriously mulling over the choice, but I could see right through her. "I think coffee sounds divine."

  She began lecturing her friends about how dangerous Brookdale had become while I put her profiterole in a small box. I put the box in a bag and handed it across the counter to her.

  "That will be $3.99 unless you'd like a coffee too. Or perhaps another pastry?"

  "No, that's all,” she said and paid me.

  She handed me the money and it was four one-dollar bills, and when I went to get her change from the register, she said, "Keep the change. Oh, and keep this too. You'll need it more than I do."

  Garnet laughed as she shoved the box with the pastry in it back across the counter at me. Her gaggle of sycophants laughed hysterically along with her.

  They all turned like the mean girls in a terrible teen movie, except that we were all in our late twenties and thirties, and flounced out of the bakery. My customers just shook their heads and offered me sympathetic looks. It would have been humiliating except that she was on my turf and made herself look like a petty little witch.

  Garnet did one thing, though... She convinced me that she could be the killer. Why else would she be acting that way? Why try so hard to cast the shadow of doubt on me? I had to figure out what it all meant.

  Was I back to square one again?

  Chapter Fourteen

  "What was that?" Fern asked as soon as Garnet was gone.

  "Thanks for hiding in the back,” I said.

  "Hey, I had your back," Jenny protested. "Just from in the way back."

  I rolled my eyes at her. "I don't know what it was other than Garnet trying really hard to make me look guilty and her look innocent. Who does that?"

  "Guilty people," Jenny said.

  "That's what I thought too."

  I was about to say something else when Deirdre Darlington came into the bakery. She walked up to the counter and offered us a friendly smile.

  "Hello, ladies."

  "Hi, Deirdre,” I said. "How can I help you? Did you come in to order one of the lemon berry lavender cakes?"

  "Actually, I came in because you dropped this out of your pocket at the herb store,” she said and handed me the bracelet from the night we'd broken into Marcel's house. "I didn't see it until you left. I tried to come after you, but you'd already checked out and were gone."

  "Thanks,” I said and took the bracelet. It was obvious that I'd burnt it out. I couldn't feel even a hint of magic left in it anymore. "It's too bad I completely fried it."

  "You know, there are a few ways to get a charmed item to work again after it's been overloaded," Deirdre said. "I could help you with it. I'm good at getting the spirits to help me charm objects."

  "That would be really great,” I said.

  "We could maybe do it this weekend? You could call me and let me know for sure when you're coming over?"

  "Yeah, let's do that,” I said. "Maybe Saturday after I close the shop."

  "Anytime really. As long as I know you're coming, I'll make sure I'm home."

  "Thanks so much. Let me get you a four-pack of Cheer Cupcakes to take with you. On the house,” I said.

  "Oh, wow, thanks!" Deirdre said happily.

  "They aren't berry lemon lavender because I haven't made those to sell yet, but I have several flavors."

  "I'm sure they're delicious. Just give me one of each,” she said.

  "Coming right up."

  After Deirdre left, I got a call on the bakery's phone. It was Judge Darwin Nyx. Not only was he a well-respected judge, but he was one of Brookdale's most prominent citizens. His family was rich beyond measure. He didn't need to have a job, but he loved being a judge because it gave him power over people's fates. I'd hoped that he was calling about a special order, but I wasn't that lucky.

  "Hello, Ms. Moonfall. This is Darwin Nyx. Do you have a moment?"

  "I do, sir. How can I help you?"

  "There was a gentleman, a friend of mine, that interviewed with you for a job yesterday."

  Oh, no.

  "Yes," I responded.

  "He's got excellent credentials and has worked at some of the finest restaurants in the Quarter," Judge Nyx said.

  That was not something I wanted to deal with at the time. My reputation was already on the line because I was a murder suspect, so I didn't want to make Judge Nyx mad. He could have made things very uncomfortable for me in Brookdale. More so than being suspected of murder. The problem was that I didn't want to hire his friend. I wanted to hire Newman.

  "I'll take that under consideration,” I said. "I'm still making my decision."

  "I would urge you to do what's best for our community,” he said. "Good day."

  I had no idea how hiring his friend was what was best for our community or why his friend was interviewing at my little bakery if he'd worked at some of the finest re
staurants in the French Quarter. My bakery was gaining in popularity, but it still seemed like a step down. Not to mention that his friend was a flicker and couldn't put a spell in a cookie to save his life.

  "That was Judge Nyx,” I said to Jenny. "He wants me to hire the older guy from yesterday to work here. He said something about it being what was good for the community. Whatever that means."

  "I think maybe you should do it," Jenny said.

  "He can't put magic in the baked goods. He's of almost no use to me, and he was arrogant,” I said.

  "I just don't want the bakery to go under because you get canceled. I think Judge Nyx could do that."

  I thought about it for a minute. "You know what, I'm not going to be blackmailed. I'll do what's best for my business."

  Jenny just offered me a shrug and went back to work. I was heading out to the front of the shop when Mitch walked in.

  "Hi,” I said trying to sound chipper instead of terrified.

  I hated that the sight of Mitch filled me with dread. I wanted to go back to feeling that little flutter in my stomach when I saw him instead of sinking terror.

  "Hello, Fern. Can I get a large dark roast and my usual donut? Make it two, actually."

  "Hungry today?" I asked as relief washed over me. If he'd come in to order coffee, then maybe things would be all right.

  “I am,” he said, but his voice wasn’t quite as light as I’d hoped for when he came into the bakery. Something was still up. "How are you?" he asked sincerely.

  "I'm doing okay,” I said. "Is something on your mind?"

  "It's getting to the point where I may have to take you down to the station for official questioning."

  I could tell by his demeanor and tone of voice that wasn't something he wanted to do, but I also knew it didn't matter. Mitch had to do his job regardless of how he felt about it.

  "What about the other leads?" I asked.

  "So far, none of them have led me to any concrete evidence that they are guilty. We have nothing more solid than the fact that you were the last person to see him alive," Mitch said. "Finding out people hated him isn't enough. It makes half the town, or more, suspects. It's not enough to go on."