Rebel Without a Cake

by Jacklyn Brady

  Still pondering options for soothing ruffled feathers, I drew up in front of Bernice’s dark house. I turned off the car and sat there for a moment, trying to mentally switch gears. I was annoyed with Miss Frankie for lying to me about the Vintage Clothing Society contract situation, but I was also concerned about Bernice. It wasn’t her fault that Miss Frankie had manipulated me.

  I’d called Miss Frankie on my way from the hospital. She’d assured me that they were both safe and sound. Bernice was still at her house and the two of them were having cocoa and watching TV.

  Maybe I should have been satisfied with that, but Bernice had seemed so certain that she’d seen a man outside her window. Her fright had been real. If I could find evidence of a prowler, maybe it would help calm her down. At least she’d know that she’d seen a live human being, even if she didn’t know who he was.

  Now that I knew both women were carrying guns, I was a little nervous about skulking around in the dark without letting them know I was there, but I decided to take the chance. If I told them what I was planning, they’d probably decide to join me. I didn’t think that would help. Besides, if there was any evidence there, three people searching together could easily obliterate it.

  Grabbing the flashlight from the glove box, I climbed out into the night. The wind had died down a bit, and the temperature had dropped by several degrees. Cool temperatures and low humidity. It was the best kind of night if you ask me. To me this was T-shirt weather, but here in New Orleans many people bundled up on nights like this to ward off the frigid temperatures. It’s all a matter of perspective, I guess.

  I checked to make sure the coast was clear, then hurried up Bernice’s driveway and lifted the latch on her back gate. Thankfully, I’d been here a few times, so her yard wasn’t completely unfamiliar to me.

  I waited until I was inside the yard with the gate closed before I turned on the flashlight. It gave enough light for me to see my shoes, but not enough to see more than a few inches in front of my face. Maybe this was a bad idea. It would take forever to go over the whole backyard, but I reasoned that if someone had been looking in Bernice’s window, I could confine my search to the area closest to the house.

  Walking slowly and carefully, I made my way around one of Bernice’s many flower gardens. I kept the flashlight trained on the ground and looked for footprints in the soft dirt or any place where the grass might be matted down. Maybe Miss Frankie was right about neighborhood kids out for a good time. Or maybe Bernice’s visitor had a more criminal reason for prowling around her house. Whatever the answer, I was sure it wasn’t the spirit of Bernice’s dearly departed uncle, and I wanted to prove that to her.

  Bernice’s house sits on a slight hill, making it one story in the front and two in the back. I swept the flashlight across the first-story windows and the lower deck. To my relief, I didn’t see any broken glass or other signs of a break-in on the ground floor.

  I played the light over the deck steps to make sure they were clear then started climbing. The planks creaked beneath my feet, and I wondered if the noise was loud enough for someone inside the house to hear. Probably not, I decided, especially if Bernice had the TV or radio on.

  From somewhere nearby a dog barked, startling me, and I almost lost my grip on the flashlight. I didn’t want the neighbors to see me snooping around and call the authorities (or come after me with guns) so I turned off the flashlight and relied on the moon to guide my steps.

  Without the light, I felt unprotected and vulnerable. A branch scratched against the side of the house, and a chill raced up my spine. I was being fanciful. There’s no such thing as ghosts. But for a moment, I understood why Bernice had been so frightened earlier.

  As I reached the upper deck, a cloud drifted across the moon and I lost my bearings in the darkness. My foot hit something solid and I lost my balance. I windmilled my arms, trying to stay on my feet, but I landed with a whomp, half of me on the top step, the other half sprawled on the deck. The flashlight flew out of my hand, hit the deck, and rolled.

  I wasn’t seriously hurt, but I was majorly annoyed. I didn’t want to leave the flashlight behind. I’d need it once I got back on the ground. After falling, I was leery of going back down the stairs in the dark, and walking around on the deck was sure to be risky. Bernice was an avid gardener. Every time I’d been here, I’d seen gardening tools, plastic flats emptied of their flowers, and other gardening implements spread out over her deck, never in the same place twice. I didn’t want to trip over something while I looked for the flashlight.

  I had no idea which direction the flashlight had gone, so I slowly crawled around and felt my way. I picked up a splinter in my palm, swore under my breath, and changed direction. My fingers brushed up against something solid . . . and hairy.

  My heart leaped into my throat and I jerked my hand away, barely holding back a scream. I scooted back a few inches and squinted into the shadows, wishing Bernice had left on a light so I could see what was on the deck with me.

  I heard claws on the wood flooring and prayed that I wasn’t alone in the dark with a possum. Those things scare me to death with their pointy noises and sharp teeth. The critter bumped my arm with its head and a tentative purr wiped away my nerves.

  Laughing softly, I scratched the cat’s head. It leapt onto the window ledge, its silhouette looming in the moonlight, then rejoined me on the deck, nudging my hand for more attention. I was so happy it wasn’t a possum—or a ghost—I gave in to the petting. I wondered if I’d found Bernice’s intruder. It wasn’t a huge cat, but if you combined the element of surprise with the distortion of wind and shadow, the cat might have looked like a guy with a beard. “Well, friend,” I said as I rubbed its fur, “who are you? Did you frighten the lady who lives here earlier? That wasn’t polite, you know.”

  The cat didn’t seem to care. It nudged up against me for a few more minutes before deciding it had had enough. With a twitch of its tail, it jumped onto the deck rail and strolled away. I laughed again and resumed the search for my flashlight. It was so late now, I decided to tell Bernice about the cat tomorrow. But I knew she’d be relieved at the very simple and logical explanation, and so would Miss Frankie.

  * * *

  A few minutes before eight on Saturday morning, I pulled into the parking lot at Zydeco. It had taken me another fifteen minutes the night before to find my flashlight, but I’d finally made it home and crawled into bed around one. I could have slept all day, but Evangeline Delahunt was giving up part of her weekend to meet with me. That’s what had finally convinced me to get out of bed.

  I didn’t know what I’d find when I walked through the door this morning, but I hoped that everyone had thought about their behavior and had come to some grown-up conclusions. I hoped that Ox would keep his opinions to himself while Evangeline was in the building, and that Edie had seen the error of her ways. And I prayed that everyone else was in a forgiving mood. And for world peace and the end of human trafficking. I thought I might as well go for broke while I was asking for the impossible.

  Zydeco is housed in a renovated antebellum house on the edge of the Garden District. It was built before the Civil War, but the only historical pictures I knew of were taken around the turn of the last century. At some point, someone had removed part of the extensive gardens to make an employee parking lot and build a loading dock onto the back of the house, but otherwise, it looks much like it did back when.

  The day had dawned cool and sunny, and I’d have loved to do something fun outside in the glorious weather, but I needed to do what I could to prepare before my meeting with Evangeline Delahunt. Normally I’d have used the time to sketch out a few ideas for the cake, but this was an unusual situation. Edie hadn’t set the appointment, so I didn’t have the benefit of the extensive notes that usually accompanied my first meeting with a new client. I had no idea what kind of cake Mrs. Delahunt would want, what kind of menu she had in mi
nd, how many people she needed to serve, or her personal likes and dislikes.

  The lack of information made me a bit edgy. I don’t like walking into a meeting at a disadvantage. On my way to work I’d decided the best use of my limited time would be to read up on the Crescent City Vintage Clothing Society. At least I’d know something about it and its history when Mrs. Delahunt arrived.

  Trying not to anticipate the worst from my staff, I climbed the loading dock steps and let myself into the design room. Even on my worst days, this area can cheer me up. With its high ceiling and huge windows overlooking the remaining gardens, it’s cheerful and sunny. Philippe had painted each of the walls in a different color using hues of gold, fuchsia, teal, and lime. That had been one of my ideas, by the way. What can I say? The use of bright, sunny colors is part of my Mexican heritage, and the color and creative chaos in this space fed my soul.

  At least it usually did.

  Today, the tension in the design room was so thick you’d have needed a butcher knife to cut it. I took one look at everyone’s sullen faces and decided to talk to Edie first. If I could sort things out with her, maybe I could make headway with the rest of my very pissed-off staff.

  I waved to Sparkle and Estelle, who were huddled together in Sparkle’s corner—the one that never catches the sunlight—whispering about something. I hoped they were discussing work, but they both looked so guilty I suspected they were complaining about Edie and our ill-fated run to the hospital.

  Dwight was pulling his beard guard over his whiskers and hair to protect his work from fallout, and Ox sat alone at his workstation sketching something. That was unusual, since Ox and Isabeau usually arrived together and spent a few minutes running over the daily calendar while they had their first cups of coffee.

  “Where’s Isabeau?” I asked him. “Is she sick today?”

  He shook his head without looking up. “She’ll be in later. Said she had something to take care of.” He flicked a glance at me, but didn’t actually make eye contact. “That a problem?”

  Well . . . kind of. If she’d had an appointment, she should have run it past me first, but after last night I wasn’t going to say so. Sometimes you have to pick your battles. “It’s fine with me as long as the work gets done. What’s on the schedule for today?”

  He shrugged and pushed the calendar across the table. “See for yourself. What time is your meeting?”

  “Evangeline is supposed to be here at ten,” I said. If we were talking about any other client, I would have asked him for ideas and invited him to sit in on the consult, but he’d made it clear how he felt about the job last night, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his negative attitude or go down that road again. “I expect it should take an hour or so. After that, I’ll work on the pumpkin cauldron for the Howard family reunion cake.”

  The Howards had commissioned a Halloween-themed cake for their annual get-together at the end of the month. We’d designed a three-tier tilted cake painted with spooky trees and a full moon, rimmed by a chocolate path that climbed up the tiers to the top of the cake. The path would be edged by fallen leaves, tiny pumpkins, and wooden signs made from fondant and gum paste. Each sign would bear the name of a family member from the oldest living generation. We planned to top the cake with a large jack-o’-lantern, its “lid” shifted to let a witch’s brew of chocolate spill out to create the path. I was in charge of making all the fondant items. I’d already assembled two dozen tiny pumpkins and boxes full of colorful autumn leaves, so the large jack-o’-lantern was the only thing left on my list.

  Ox nodded and reached for an eraser. “Sounds great.”

  Judging from the tone of his voice, that was a big, fat lie. It looked like bringing Ox around would require both finesse and persistence. I moved on and let myself into the front of the house, where Edie reigns over the reception area from behind a massive U-shaped desk.

  It’s a large room dominated by Edie’s desk and an ornate staircase made of rich, dark wood. A couple of inviting seating areas take up space in front of the large front windows, and framed poster-sized photographs of extreme and elegant cakes adorn the crisp white walls.

  Edie glanced up when I came through the door, but looked away quickly. “Morning.”

  I hoped that was contrition on her face, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I helped myself to a handful of M&M’s—her snack of choice since she got pregnant—from a bowl on her desk. “Have you been back in the design room this morning?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. Why do you ask?”

  “Because everybody back there is on edge. Would you like to guess why?”

  Edie’s glance landed on mine. “I suppose you’re going to say it’s my fault.”

  “Are you seriously going to suggest it’s not?”

  Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed and she turned her chair so that she was facing me head-on. “You ought to be thanking me. If I hadn’t done what I did, you and Ox would have completely ruined the night for Dwight.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re blaming me?”

  “Not just you. Ox, too. Really, Rita, you should have heard the two of you. Half the people at the Duke were laughing. The other half were whispering. We’ve all worked too hard to build up Zydeco’s reputation to ruin it in a barroom brawl.”

  I felt about two inches tall. “Okay. Maybe you have a point. Kind of. But that doesn’t let you off the hook for your part in last night’s disaster. We were all scared to death and we drove like maniacs to get you to the hospital, only to find out it was all a joke?”

  “Not a joke.” Edie flicked a lock of hair from her cheek. “I was going to have a trial run anyway. Last night just seemed like the right time to do it.”

  Unbelievable. “It was a very bad idea,” I said. “You upset people who care about you, and I need you to apologize to them.”

  “Apologize for what?”

  “For upsetting everybody. For lying to us. For making us think you were about to have the baby. Pick one.”

  Edie laughed, but she wasn’t amused. “And what about you and Ox?”

  I’d apologize when Ox did, but getting him to apologize wouldn’t be easy. I’d deal with that later, though. First, I had to get him to look at me. “How about you just take care of your part? We have too much work to have bad feelings cutting into productivity.”

  Edie rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I have anything to apologize for. Like I said, you should be thanking me.”

  Edie’s always been one of the most hardheaded people I know. Pregnancy hasn’t softened her any. “I appreciate you stepping in before our argument got out of hand,” I said. It wasn’t entirely true, but I wanted to show that I could be flexible. “But don’t you think faking labor was overkill?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “In a way,” I admitted grudgingly. “But it just created a whole new set of problems.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.” She looked away and I could tell it wasn’t going to be easy to convince her. I could stay and argue (which would clearly be a waste of time), or I could give up for the time being and use the next hour or so to mentally prepare for my meeting.

  The choice was obvious.

  But that didn’t stop me from trying to get the last word. I stood and gathered my things. “Just don’t do it again.”

  Six

  My conversation with Edie left me feeling edgy and dissatisfied, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I grabbed a cup of coffee and holed up in my office—an elegant room with a bay of five floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over a broad street lined with graceful old trees. A couple of built-in shelves hold a combination of Philippe’s extensive cookbook library and mine. I’d also inherited Philippe’s beautiful cherry wood desk, as well as the office chair he and I used to good-naturedly bicker over when we were together.

&n
bsp; I settled down, opened my browser, and Googled the Crescent City Vintage Clothing Society. Naturally I was curious to know why Philippe had refused to work with Evangeline Delahunt, but not so curious I’d let myself ask Ox for details. But since the cake and menu were for the society, not for Evangeline personally, I decided to focus on finding what I could about the society itself.

  Within minutes I’d learned that “vintage” refers to clothing made between twenty and one hundred years ago. Anything older is antique. The society had been founded twenty years earlier, and Evangeline Delahunt was a founding member. She’d initially served as the society’s president, a run of successive terms that had lasted five years. Afterward, she’d stepped into her current role as events coordinator, with her specialty being the Belle Lune Ball, held every year at the historic Monte Cristo Hotel.

  I’d filled two pages with notes by the time Edie buzzed to let me know my appointment had arrived. I closed my computer, stashed my notes on one side of my desk, and took a couple of deep breaths before stepping out to meet my new client.

  Evangeline Delahunt was an impressive woman. Tall, thin, and stylish. I guessed her to be about the same age as Miss Frankie. Her silver hair was cut short and she wore a tailored suit that seemed to float around her body as she walked. One look at her reminded me that I had not grown up in her world and would probably never fit into it.

  I offered her a hand to shake, which she took after looking it over for a moment. Once she had her hand back, she ran her eyes slowly over every inch of me, starting at my head, going down to my flat and well-worn sandals, and then back up again. Her lip curved slightly as if she saw something distasteful.

  Somehow, I resisted the urge to smooth my hair and tug at the neckline of my shirt as I led her into my office. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Delahunt. Please, have a seat. I’m excited to hear your thoughts on the cake and menu you want us to put together for the ball.”