Antwon looked up sharply. “We don’t even know how Dontae was killed. Even if he was poisoned, there’s nothing to say it happened here or even that it was done on purpose.”
Looking thoughtful, Gabriel ate a slice of bacon and followed it with a sausage link. “Good point. Does anyone know where he went for dinner?”
“He ate where he always ate,” Lula Belle said. “Right here.”
That surprised me. “I didn’t know Hyacinth and Primrose offered dinner service.”
“It’s for the long-term residents only,” Antwon said. “They get breakfast and dinner included in their monthly rent.”
“So you all had dinner together?” Gabriel asked.
Grey nodded. “Just like every night. We told the police that, too. At least, I did. And the rest of us are fine, so don’t go getting any big ideas.”
Lula Belle sniffed loudly. “Why did Monroe disappear? That’s what I want to know. Sure looks suspicious.”
Grey let out an angry snort and pulled a small packet of jam from a wire basket on the table. “Why does that sonofabitch do anything? I guess we know now that all his talk was just that.”
Gabriel anticipated Grey’s next request and passed him the silver butter dish without being asked. “What talk is that?”
Grey shrugged and helped himself to a thick pat of butter. “Some ridiculous story about wanting to make up for the past. Dontae said there was more to the story. I guess he was right.”
Antwon shook his head gently. “We don’t know that Monroe did anything.” Grey sputtered a protest, but Antwon held up both hands to stop him. “I know, I know, it looks bad. But until we know exactly what happened, I think we should be careful about throwing accusations around.”
Grey pointed the butter knife at Antwon and snarled, “You climb down off that high horse you’re on, boy. You don’t know Monroe like the rest of us do and I’m not going to pussyfoot around like the rest of you and pretend like he’s an old friend.”
Tamarra jumped in to defend her husband. “But Pastor Rod says—”
Grey snorted. “Pastor Rod. Really. Go back and talk to him again—and this time tell him you want the truth, not that watered-down version he’s been telling himself since he found God.”
Tamarra looked wounded. “That’s not fair. Just because Pastor Rod has managed to forgive . . .”
“Forgive what?” I asked, but they ignored me.
Lula Belle made a rude noise and cut the younger woman off. “That’s enough! Grey, you need to quit running your big mouth. And Rod’s not perfect, young lady,” she said to Tamarra. “He’s got a past like anybody else. You and Antwon would both do well to remember that.”
Antwon stiffened. He looked angry, but his voice remained calm. “He’s never tried to deny that. But he left his past behind. That’s the difference.”
Grey put his knife to work again. “Watch yourself young man. Don’t disrespect your elders.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Antwon assured him. “I’m just saying that I don’t think the pastor would lie.”
I thought Lula Belle was going to say something more, but just then the door to the kitchen swung open and Hyacinth backed into the room carrying a fresh pot of coffee. As if someone had flipped a switch, everybody in the room fell silent, just as they had last night when the police came.
Hyacinth paused and ran a look over everyone at the table. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Grey muttered, suddenly fascinated by the jam.
Antwon sawed at a piece of sausage. “Just making small talk, ma’am. How are you this morning?”
Gabriel and I exchanged a glance. Clearly, the others were intimidated by Hyacinth. But was it because she could kick them out of their rooms if they crossed her, or because they suspected her? Could she have poisoned Dontae? Maybe I’d been wrong to tell Sullivan I didn’t think she was guilty. She did have unfettered access to the food supply, after all.
Grey stuffed the last bit of sausage into his mouth and pushed away from the table. “You ready to head back to your room, Lula Belle? I’ll walk with you.”
She stood and slipped two muffins into the pocket of her sweater, then pulled her walker around in front of her. “I think that’s a good idea. I don’t have much of an appetite anyway.”
Under Hyacinth’s watchful eye even Antwon abandoned his breakfast. Tamarra picked up her cup and followed her husband out the door.
I could only watch helplessly as all four of them left the room. No matter how much I wanted to chase after them and demand answers, I’d have a better chance of finding out what was happening at the Love Nest if I could talk to each of them alone.
But that wasn’t going to be easy. I had a feeling that Hyacinth would be watching her little world like a hawk from now on.
Seventeen
Gabriel and I finished breakfast in relative silence. We had plenty to talk about, but I had the uneasy feeling that someone was hovering nearby, waiting to hear what we’d say. Whether it was true or just my imagination, I wasn’t about to discuss the case where we could be overheard, and I had too much on my mind to play phony honeymoon. That left work and the weather, both of which we touched on briefly as we ate.
I’d have given anything for a chance to take a good look at the garden, the garage, or Monroe’s room, but yellow crime scene tape barred access to everyone but authorized personnel. Even with Sullivan’s blessing on our stay here, we couldn’t be considered “authorized” by any stretch of the imagination.
It wasn’t that I thought I might find evidence the police had missed, but I was curious about what they’d found and where they’d found it. Sullivan might have asked us to keep an ear to the ground and tell him what we learned, but I could hardly expect him to reciprocate by sharing what the police knew. Which seemed a little shortsighted, really. How was I supposed to determine if something I heard or saw was important?
Gabriel and I drove away from the inn around ten. He had switched shifts for the weekend with one of the Dizzy Duke’s part-time bartenders, so he was working the Saturday day shift from noon until four. That would give me the same amount of time at Zydeco before I joined him at the Duke so we could talk with Old Dog Leg together. I was all for speaking to him before either of us went to work, but Gabriel had pointed out that Dog Leg was basically nocturnal—he stayed up until the wee hours jamming with the band, then typically slept in until the afternoon. It would be kinder to let him sleep now and talk to him when he showed up at the Duke that evening.
Gabriel let me out in front of Zydeco, and I stood there for a minute, shifting from pretend-bride mode to baker-boss lady. Four hours should give me plenty of time to smooth Ox’s and Edie’s ruffled feathers, whatever that was about, and it might even leave me time to get Ox together with Miss Frankie so he could pitch his ideas. It sounded good in theory, but in reality I knew it meant that I had three difficult conversations lined up in a row, and I wasn’t looking forward to any of them.
“Rita?”
At the sound of my name, I turned to find Dwight Sonntag loping along the sidewalk toward me. Dwight is another old friend from pastry school and one of the most gifted cake artists I know, but anyone meeting him for the first time might wonder about his professionalism. He’s tall and thin and . . . well . . . scraggly. Some might even say he’s hygiene challenged, but that would be patently untrue. He’s very clean. He just doesn’t look like he is.
That morning he wore a wrinkled white T-shirt and a pair of jeans so faded they’d long ago stopped looking like denim. Dark stubble left to fend for itself curled randomly across his cheeks and chin, and a pair of flip-flops so old the soles had all but disappeared slapped the pavement as he walked. He held a white bag in one hand, and in the other carried a ginormous paper cup that probably held a gallon of whatever he’d ordered to go with his lunch.
That day’s forecast called for a high temperature in the low seventies, which should have been almost pleasant, but
New Orleans’s fierce sun and heavy humidity made it feel more like the high eighties. Perspiration trickled down my back, and the fabric under my arms had grown damp by the time Dwight reached me.
He slurped noisily and gave me a chin-jerk greeting. “What are you doing here? I thought you were taking some time off.”
“I was,” I said. “But I have a few hours on my hands, so I decided to stop by.”
“Yeah?” He squinted into the sunlight and ran a glance over me. His eyebrows beetled together, forming an unattractive unibrow. “Any special reason, or just because you miss us so much?”
I laughed and started walking toward Zydeco’s broad front stairs. “That depends,” I told him. “Which one are you more likely to believe?”
Dwight slurped again and matched my stride, but he was still watching me from the corner of his eye. “Somebody told you, didn’t they?”
“Told me what?”
“About Ox and Edie. Who was it? Estelle?”
His guess wasn’t all that impressive. Neither Ox nor Edie would have called me, and Isabeau would have protected Ox. Sparkle’s not the type to squeal, and Abe, our baker, only works during the wee hours when nobody else is around. He usually leaves about the time the rest of the crew shows up, which left Estelle as the most likely candidate.
I grinned and said, “Maybe,” as we reached the foot of the stairs. I stopped there, partly because I wasn’t ready to go inside yet, and partly because it was about twenty degrees cooler in the shade. “What happened, anyway? I’d like your take on it before I go in there.”
Dwight glanced up at the front door and shook his head slowly. “I wish I knew. One minute they were going over the details for one of next week’s orders, and the next Edie was shouting at Ox like a crazy woman. Before I could figure out what was happening, she walked out.”
His story matched Estelle’s, but it didn’t help me. “You have no idea what set her off?”
The unibrow returned. “Not really, although she did call Ox an insensitive ass. Several times.”
I laughed. At least that sounded like Edie. “Okay,” I said. “Well, she’s right. He can be insensitive at times. But it’s not as if that’s a big surprise. And it’s never bothered her like that before.”
Dwight shrugged. “Maybe not, but it sure bothered her yesterday.”
“Yeah, so I gathered. What did Ox say?”
“What could he say? She freaked out on him and left. He was pissed, but it’s not as if he could fire her or anything.”
Thank the Lord for small favors. Ox might be insensitive, but Edie could also be a pain in the neck. Yet I needed his talent, and her organizational skills had saved my butt more than once in the past few months. “She’s inside now, though, right?”
“She was when I left for lunch.” He climbed a couple of steps, then stopped and looked back at me. “Sorry I’m not more help.”
I waved away his apology and started up the steps behind him. “Don’t worry about it. If she’s at work and everything’s back to normal, I don’t want to stir the pot.”
“Oh, she’s here,” Dwight said with a cryptic grin, “but I never said that things were back to normal.” And with that, he bolted up the stairs.
“Dwight! Wait! What did you mean by that?” I raced after him, but he made it inside before I could catch up. By the time I burst through the door into Zydeco’s foyer, I was gasping for air and sweating like a long-distance runner. I really needed to visit the gym. Later. When I had some free time.
Edie was sitting at her desk, her usually sleek hair pulled back in an untidy ponytail, her round face drawn and pale. But there was nothing diminished about her attitude. She rolled a glance filled with disapproval over me. “What are you doing here, Rita?”
“It’s good to see you, too.” I bent at the waist and grabbed my knees, trying to breathe normally. “Where did Dwight go?”
Edie jerked her head toward the employee break room. “He went that way. Want me to call him?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, that’s okay. I’ll catch him later.” I crossed the foyer, with its high white walls and framed pictures of some of Zydeco’s most exquisite cakes, and sat across from Edie, hoping I looked casual. “So what’s going on this morning? Are you feeling okay?”
Her gaze shot to mine. “I’m fine. Why would you ask that?”
I crossed my legs and reached for a stack of mail tagged for my office. “You look a little pale,” I said, tactfully leaving her hair out of the discussion. “Rough night?”
She seemed to relax a little. She even let out a thin laugh. “You could say that.”
“If you’re not feeling well—” I began.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, cutting me off. “If there was something wrong, I’d tell you, okay?”
O-kay then. I hesitated over what to say next. I didn’t want to poke an angry bear, but the fact that Edie was so clearly on edge meant I couldn’t just pretend that nothing had happened. “Why don’t you tell me what happened with you and Ox yesterday?”
What little remained of her smile disappeared in a flash. “Who told you about that? Did Ox call you?”
“It wasn’t Ox,” I assured her. “So tell me, why did you walk out?”
Scowling, Edie swept a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “I can’t believe someone called you. You’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“Yeah. Well. It’s not really a vacation. And that’s not the point. What got you so angry with Ox?”
Edie chewed her lower lip for a moment and then sighed heavily. “It wasn’t a big deal, okay? I was exhausted and worried about the money thing we talked about the other day, and I just blew up. Ox and I have talked it over. We’re cool with each other. Let’s just drop it.” She turned toward her computer as if that put an end to the discussion.
And maybe it did. I just wasn’t sure. I freely admit that personnel issues are not my forte. I’m much better at the stuff that doesn’t require me to deal with hurt feelings and other emotions. So while I didn’t want to overlook something important, neither did I want to turn a minor skirmish into something major.
As I debated my next move, Miss Frankie’s ring tone began to play on my cell phone, and I jumped at the excuse to end my conversation with Edie. I worked up an expression that I hoped would pass for regret and held up the phone. “Sorry. I have to take this.”
“Fine,” Edie said without looking up. “Not a problem.”
Sure, I was disappointed in myself for not getting to the bottom of the trouble between Ox and Edie, but not so disappointed that I’d prolong the uncomfortable. I trotted into my office, carrying the stack of mail with me.
“Well, sugar?” my mother-in-law said when I answered. “I haven’t heard from you, and I’ve been wondering how your weekend is going.”
I hadn’t been planning to check in with her. Apparently, she’d thought that I would. I tossed the mail into my in-basket and sank into the chair that Philippe and I had shared when we worked together. I didn’t want to tell Miss Frankie about Dontae’s murder, but if she hadn’t heard about it on the news already, she would soon enough. Either way, there’d be hell to pay if I lied to her now.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” I quipped.
A heartbeat of silence passed before she said, “I guess you’d better give me both.”
Which made me suspect that she hadn’t seen the news yet. I opted for the good news first and told her about spotting the scar on Monroe’s shoulder.
“So he is Old Dog Leg’s brother,” she said when I wound down.
“Yeah. He is.”
“Well, imagine that.” I heard the click of her heels and the scrape of a chair on the floor, and I pictured her sitting at her kitchen table to digest the news. “How did Dog Leg react when you told him?”
“We haven’t told him yet,” I said. “We’re planning to fill him in this evening.”
“You and Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
“But, sugar, why wait? You found out what he wanted to know, didn’t you? Why keep the good news from him?”
“Well, there’s been a complication. The bed-and-breakfast caters to honeymoon couples, but there are also a group of senior citizens living there on a long-term basis. One of them was killed last night.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, but I heard her getting up from the chair and walking across the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened and closed, and I heard the clink of ice followed by the splash of liquid into a glass. “Killed? How?”
I told her about Dontae’s apparent poisoning and Monroe’s disappearance. “We haven’t told Old Dog Leg yet because we don’t know where Monroe is, and right now I think he’s the primary suspect.”
“Good Lord!” she breathed. “I knew you were making a mistake to get involved in this mess. Didn’t I say it would be a mistake?”
She had, but not for those reasons. “Nobody could have foreseen the murder,” I pointed out. “But I know that’s not why you called.” I assumed she was calling about the meeting with Ox, but she surprised me.
“No, it’s not. After you left the other night, I realized there was something I forgot to talk with you about,” she said. “I know this is late notice, but Bernice has decided to have a barbecue for a few close friends and family on Monday. You can make it, can’t you, sugar? I told Bernice you’d bring a cake.”
I scrambled to follow the unexpected turn she’d taken. Miss Frankie has a habit of volunteering me for things without asking, but with so much going on I barely even noticed that she was doing it again. “Monday? Is it a special occasion?”
Miss Frankie ticked her tongue. “Is that a serious question? Have you forgotten the holiday?”
I pawed through the piles of paper on my desk, searching for my calendar. “Holiday?”
“Memorial Day! Sugar, are you even listening to me?”
“Of course I’m listening.” It was partially true, anyway. “Memorial Day. Picnic at Bernice’s. I’m not sure of my schedule, but I’ll be there if I can.”
Arsenic and Old Cake Page 13
