Buried in Beignets

by J. R. Ripley

  A bang on the door got my attention. I looked up from the fryer, pushing a stray lock of hair away from my face. I smiled. It looked like we had our first customer.

  Aubrey was at the register unwrapping coins and dropping them in their respective drawer trays. She checked her watch. It was ten to seven. ‘He’s early. What do you want to do? Unlock the door?’

  I rubbed my hands together. Future, here we come. I grinned. ‘Let’s do it!’ No way was I going to make my first customer on my first day of business wait. What if he never came back?

  ‘Doctor Vargas!’ I shouted from behind the fryer station. ‘You made it!’ He wore a sharply creased pair of charcoal slacks and a crisp white shirt. I almost didn’t recognize him without his doctor’s garb.

  He ambled past Aubrey at the door and on up to the counter. Aubrey connected her thumb and forefinger into an A-OK sign and mouthed, He’s hot.

  I tried to ignore her. Besides, as cute as she was, she was no match for this six-foot Latin looker.

  ‘You did invite me.’

  I nodded dumbly and pulled an order of beignets from the fryer.

  ‘Maggie, right?’

  ‘Yes. I’m glad you could make it.’

  ‘Are you kidding? The big grand opening?’ His voice sent shivers up my toes. ‘I wouldn’t miss it. And please, call me Daniel.’

  There’s something about that accent. Hot oil splattered my fingers. ‘Ouch!’ I shook my hand. Note to self: never lose focus when standing over a hot, deep fryer.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I nodded. ‘Occupational hazard.’

  He nodded back and scrutinized me. ‘How have you been feeling? Any dizziness or lightheadedness?’

  ‘Nope. Nothing at all.’ Well, I was getting a little dizzy now but I chalked that up to pheromones. ‘Wait a minute, you didn’t come here just to check up on me, did you?’

  Was he still concerned about my mental state? Had Highsmith been talking to him? If Doctor Vargas was going to do any checking I’d rather it was of the checking me out variety than the ‘Is the woman mentally stable to be walking the streets of Table Rock?’ variety.

  ‘Of course not. It’s the doctor in me,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to turn it off.’

  His big smile weakened my knees. His charm didn’t seem to have an off switch either.

  Aubrey scooted back behind the counter after turning on the rest of the overhead lights and the Open sign. ‘Welcome to Maggie’s Beignet Café. What can I get you this morning?’

  The doctor studied the chalkboard menu while I studied him. Who had sculpted that chiseled chin of his – Michelangelo?

  ‘I’ll take two dozen beignets and the ten-cup coffee box to-go.’

  I ran the roller over a sheet of dough and squared it off. ‘Wow, you must be hungry this morning.’ I groaned inwardly. Had I really just said that?

  Daniel grinned. ‘I’m working the early shift at the hospital this morning and thought I’d surprise the staff.’

  ‘Aw, that’s totally, totally sweet,’ Aubrey said. She rang up Dr Vargas’ tab and handed him back his change. Two more customers had already slid into line behind him. They looked like tourists, with bright shirts and digital cameras in hand. Things were looking up.

  I handed him a bag filled with beignets. He leaned his nose toward the opening and inhaled. ‘These smell amazing.’ He shot a look at me. ‘I’ll bet they taste amazing too.’

  I swallowed my tongue. ‘Thanks,’ I sputtered. Aubrey giggled and I shot daggers at her.

  ‘Well,’ he rubbed at the leather strap of the watch around his wrist, ‘I’d better be off. My shift starts soon. Good luck, ladies.’ He grabbed up his second bag of beignets and took the coffee carton by its handle.

  ‘Here, let me get the door for you.’ I dropped my tongs, wiped my hands on my apron and held the door open.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said again as he brushed closely past me. So close that, despite the scent of sweet fried dough, I caught a faint whiff of an earthy cologne.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘if these pastries taste as good as they smell, you are going to be very successful.’

  ‘Thank you.’ This guy was so sweet. Highsmith could – should – be taking charm lessons from him. Maybe I’d suggest it the next time I saw Table Rock’s lone detective.

  Daniel stepped out to the sidewalk and set his purchases on the seat of a dusty navy blue Grand Cherokee. ‘And I wouldn’t worry at all about what my sister says. Folks around here are open-minded. They’ll give you a chance. Look, you’ve got a line forming already.’

  I turned. Sure enough, there were now four customers standing on queue. My heart jumped. ‘Wow, I’d better get back. Wait.’ I frowned. ‘Your sister?’

  He walked to the other side of his Jeep and climbed in. ‘Yeah, Veronica. She hasn’t stopped talking about your café.’

  My stomach dropped. Vargas, of course. ‘VV? You’re related to VV?’ I could sort of see the resemblance now that he’d said it, especially around the nose and eyes.

  But they were so different! And he had such a lovely romantic accent. VV must have gone to an otolaryngologist to have hers excised.

  His hands gripped the wheel. ‘You know her?’

  ‘We’ve met.’ We’ve met, we’ve clashed, we’ve become mortal enemies … there were so many answers I could have given.

  Daniel must have noticed my expression because he laughed and said, ‘She’s not so bad once you get to know her.’ He turned the ignition and the engine sprang to life.

  Sure, wasn’t that kind of like Californians said about earthquakes? Pity, he was so good looking too. And a doctor! But VV … I shivered. I couldn’t picture the two of us hanging out at the family picnic together. I could picture her hanging me from a makeshift gallows thrown up in the middle of Laredo Street for the murder of Rick Wilbur.

  Heck, she’d probably take my hand and lead me up the rickety pine steps and tell me where to plant my feet for when the trapdoor fell open. VV would probably call dibs on pulling the lever.

  EIGHTEEN

  I lingered at the door a moment longer, enjoying the cool, dry morning air. A customer carrying a small bag of beignets nudged past me.

  ‘Maggie!’ cried Aubrey. ‘We’re out of beignets. I need you!’

  I hurried back inside, feeling terribly guilty. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, putting my head down and setting up a fresh batch of dough.

  ‘No problem.’ Aubrey smiled my way and shoved back a stray lock of hair using the side of her arm. ‘Oh, and this guy’s been waiting to talk to you.’

  I looked up. A tall, slender-waisted man about my age with swept-back wavy brown hair smiled my way. He had a slight gap between his two front teeth. ‘Be with you as soon as I can.’ I grabbed a premade ball of dough, dusting the prep counter with a bit more flour, then began rolling out the dough ball.

  ‘No problem.’ His electric-blue eyes rolled over me then swept to Aubrey. ‘I’ll have an order of beignets and a large coffee.’ He looked comfortable in a relaxed pair of blue jeans and an unadorned white T-shirt that hung below the belt.

  ‘Coming right up.’

  He stood in front of the glass that fronted the fryer and watched me work. It made me a bit self-conscious and nervous, but I was going to have to get used to it. After all, it had been my idea to make the beignets in front of the customers like I’d seen at several places around New Orleans. It makes the whole experience more tactile and interactive, like going to the candy maker and watching them make fudge or pull taffy.

  He carried his order to a free table and I didn’t pay much attention to him until twenty minutes later when there was a lull in the action and I looked up to see him eying me. He grinned. ‘Have some time for me now?’

  I smiled back. ‘I’ll be right with you.’ I washed my hands and toweled them dry, poured myself a cup of coffee, dumped in some extra cream and joined him at his table near the wall. ‘Sorry it took so long.’

  ‘No proble
m.’ He played his now-empty coffee cup in circles on the tabletop. ‘It looks like your new business is off to a good start.’

  I smiled proudly. ‘It looks that way,’ I agreed.

  He dipped a finger into a trail of powdered sugar on his plate and brought it to his lips. ‘Tastes just like the real thing.’

  ‘You’ve been to New Orleans?’

  ‘A couple of times.’ He wiped his finger on his napkin and held out his hand. ‘Brad Smith, by the way.’

  I shook his hand, firm but gentle. Just the way I liked it. ‘Maggie Miller.’ Brad Smith had those classic All American looks that some women find attractive. Not me.

  I find it very attractive. Then again, my dead husband Brian had those classic All American good looks and look where it had gotten me.

  Divorced.

  He leaned toward me. ‘Tell me, Maggie, is it true that you found Rick Wilbur’s body in your storeroom?’

  A shiver ran up my spine and I looked quickly around the café. Half the tables were occupied so I kept my reply low. ‘Yes,’ I admitted, ‘but I’d rather not talk about it.’ I sipped my coffee.

  He nodded and placed his elbows on the table. The man oozed self-confidence. ‘I understand completely, Maggie.’ He laced his fingers together. ‘Still, it’s weird, huh?’

  I watched Brad over the edge of my cup, wondering where he was going with this conversation. ‘I guess. Sure.’ Of course it was weird. It sure as heck wasn’t normal to find a dead guy in a box in your storeroom. Even in Table Rock I was pretty sure this was considered extraordinary.

  He nodded once more. ‘Do you have any idea who would have wanted to see Rick Wilbur dead?’

  I sighed and set down my cup. ‘Not a clue,’ I said. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried to think of who might want him dead – his wife, disgruntled clients, maybe some other family member.’ I shrugged. ‘Anybody who might have something to gain.’

  He pulled a pen from his front pocket and a small spiral-bound notebook that opened at the top. He pushed back its black cover, thumbed to a clean sheet and began writing. ‘Wife, you say?’

  I pulled my eyebrows together. ‘Maybe. I mean, who knows?’ I twisted my neck and looked out at Karma Koffee, also open for business this morning. ‘Personally, I’m hoping it’s the Gregorys.’

  ‘The Gregorys?’

  I nodded toward the street. ‘Rob and Trish. They own Karma Koffee.’ Brad grunted and scribbled some more.

  What was he doing? Making out his grocery list while we talked? I tried to discreetly follow his writing, not easy since it was upside down from where I sat. But then I deciphered some of his pigeon scratching. He’d written my name and the names of several others under a category he’d labelled and underlined as potential suspects.

  My eyes widened. ‘Who are you exactly?’

  ‘Brad Smith.’ He smiled. ‘We met already. Remember?’

  ‘Very funny.’ I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘You know what I mean.’

  He was silent a moment. He closed his notebook and slapped his pen down atop it. ‘OK, you got me. I’m a reporter with the Table Rock Reader.’

  ‘What?’ I huffed. ‘So you came here hoping to spy on me? And what? Maybe get an interview with a murder suspect?’ I was standing now and didn’t care what my customers heard. I didn’t care how nice looking this guy was, he was a jerk. With a capital ERK.

  He waved his hands, motioning me to sit. ‘No, no. It’s not like that at all. The editor sent me to get a story about you. About your grand opening.’ He leaned back and looked at me with a sly expression. ‘It’ll be good for business. What do you say?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Don’t make me go back empty-handed,’ he pleaded, his eyes softening.

  I bit at the inside of my cheek. A free story in the newspaper would be good for business. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘You’ve got five more minutes. Then I’ve got to get back to work.’

  ‘Sure,’ Brad said, quickly regaining his composure. ‘So, you’ve got a brand-new business. Tell me, have you ever been in the beignet, coffee or even restaurant business before?’

  I wagged my head. ‘Nope. I used to be a hair stylist. I decided to try something new.’

  Brad nodded. ‘Hair stylist. Right. Interesting.’

  If it was so interesting, why wasn’t he writing anything down?

  ‘Expensive, though, isn’t it? Starting a new business, I mean.’ He ran strong fingers through the waves of his hair.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ I said. ‘Tell me about it. I’ve got everything I own tied up in this place.’ I thought about all the money I’d borrowed from the bank, and the additional bucks I’d borrowed from my mother, sister and brother-in-law. ‘And more.’

  ‘I expect it will be devastating for you if your café has to shut down.’

  A chill went through me. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there’s the murder, for one thing.’ He toyed with his pen. I was getting the feeling he was toying with me too. ‘The bad check you wrote to Wilbur Realty, for another …’

  ‘How on earth did you hear about that?’ My volume and my blood pressure were rising.

  He grinned triumphantly. ‘I have my sources. Besides, Table Rock is—’

  ‘A small town,’ I finished. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘So it’s true?’

  I leapt from my chair. ‘I think it’s time you left, Mr Smith.’ I pointed to the door.

  ‘But what about our interview? Our story on Maggie’s Beignet Café for our Table Rock Reader readers?’

  ‘Now!’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, still not giving up as he grabbed up his notebook and headed for the exit, ‘are the police operating on the notion that the fact that Wilbur Realty was threatening to shut you down gave you a motive to murder Mr Wilbur? Do you expect charges to be filed anytime soon?’

  I gave him a push out the door. ‘Sorry about that,’ I said to my remaining customers as I figuratively and, I hoped literally, wiped my hands of Brad Smith.

  NINETEEN

  ‘Are you OK, Maggie?’ Aubrey asked as I stepped back behind the counter, my knees shaking.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ The door opened and I jumped, my eyes darting to see who was entering. But it was merely a few strangers, not Brad Smith redux. ‘I only wish I had a subscription to the Table Rock Reader.’

  ‘Why?’ Aubrey asked.

  ‘So I could cancel it,’ I said, slamming my rolling pin down on a ball of unsuspecting and undeserving beignet dough.

  After that, things got busy and steady, never a mob but never a dull moment. All in all, I was quite satisfied. When I checked all the cold hard cash sitting in the register I was more than satisfied.

  I relieved Aubrey around eleven when things quieted down and sent her to the storeroom with a fresh hot plate of beignets and a lemonade. She’d managed to snack on a couple beignets earlier, but this would be her first real serving, her first true opportunity to sit down and savor the moment. I had a suspicion the girl would soon be totally, totally hooked.

  While she was in the back, I whipped up a couple dozen beignets, slid them onto the warmer and turned on the dual overhead heat lamps.

  I was handing a customer her change when Aubrey returned, a dab of powdered sugar on her nose. I tossed her a napkin. ‘You’re supposed to eat them with your mouth, not inhale them through your nose!’ I said with a smile.

  Her finger went to her nose and she blushed. ‘Oops!’ She folded the napkin over her nose and rubbed. ‘Better?’

  I nodded. ‘Do me a favor and hold down the fort for a minute, would you? I’ve got to see a man about a horse.’

  ‘Huh?’

  I grabbed my gown from the mop closet. ‘I’ll be at The Hitching Post.’

  I tossed the garment bag over my shoulder and walked next door to Clive and Johnny’s wedding shop. Johnny was wearing a dark suit and talking to what appeared to be a mother and daughter. They had two gowns spilled out over a blue velvet loveseat and see
med deep in conversation.

  Personally, I thought the bride-to-be should go with the dress on the left. I couldn’t picture her in a mermaid dress. With a figure like hers, bigger at the hips than the shoulders, I was sure she’d look better in the empire silhouette.

  Johnny Wolfe glanced over his shoulder at me as I passed. He didn’t look happy to see me but I shrugged it off. I seemed to be running into a lot of that lately.

  Besides, I wasn’t exactly getting a chill in my toes seeing him again. I just hoped he didn’t bring up my offer to replace those fancy designer jeans of his.

  This was my first time inside the elegant dress shop and I was duly impressed. They had a lovely inventory and my nostrils picked up a subtle hint of sweet gardenias. I remembered when I had gone wedding dress shopping with my mother. It seemed like a lifetime ago – and somebody else’s life …

  Clive sat behind a large, elegant oak desk near the back of the store. He looked much healthier today than he had the last time I’d seen him. He had some color back in his cheeks and that redness around his left eye had disappeared. He was looking quite dapper, too, in his gray suit and red bowtie.

  ‘Hi, Clive.’ The expansive desk sat atop an expensive-looking Persian rug in shades of muted reds and browns, a sharp contrast to the hand-scraped walnut floors. Johnny and Clive must have dropped a pretty penny remodeling this place.

  He looked up from the bridal magazine he’d been thumbing through. ‘Maggie!’ The glow from the brass lamp on the corner of his desk made his red hair glisten.

  ‘It’s good to see you. Welcome back.’ I still needed to ask him what hair care product he was using to achieve that shine. I could Turtle Wax my own locks and they’d still look dull and lusterless.

  He waved to the pair of tall wingback chairs facing his desk. ‘Have a seat.’ He closed his magazine and pushed it to the side. ‘So, what brings you here?’

  ‘I heard the hospital released you,’ I said, settling into the upholstered chair on the left. ‘You look well.’

  He waved a hand. ‘It was nothing really. I do suffer a bit with my blood pressure. And to tell you the truth, I’m embarrassed that I fainted like that.’ He dropped his eyes.