Rebel Without a Cake

by Jacklyn Brady

  She crossed the room slowly, giving everything in it the same curled lip inspection she’d given me. Finally, she arranged herself in one chair and put her purse on the other. “I’m here because Frankie insists that you people are capable of making a cake suitable for our event. You’ve heard of the Crescent City Vintage Clothing Society, I assume?”

  I nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “And you’re aware that the Belle Lune Ball is one of the most prestigious society events of the year.”

  “Absolutely. We’re thrilled to get this chance to work with you.”

  She relaxed her lips slightly, but still didn’t smile. “As well you should. If I weren’t desperate, I wouldn’t take a chance on an unknown.”

  My shoulders stiffened, but I did my best to smile. “Zydeco is hardly an unknown.”

  “It is to me.”

  My nerves twitched but I managed to avoid showing my irritation. “Then I plan to make it worth the risk you’re taking. Now, I’d love for you to tell me a bit more about the ball.”

  Evangeline ran a finger along the armrest of the chair, probably checking for dust. “What would you like to know?”

  “The basics, to begin with. How many guests do you expect? What kind of menu do you have in mind? And how many do you need the cake to serve?”

  “I thought you said you were familiar with our event.”

  “Well. Yes. Familiar.” Familiar-ish anyway. I’d read about it online and planned to quiz Miss Frankie about it, but I hadn’t had a lot of notice. What little time I’d been given had slipped through my fingers. “I’ve done my research,” I said easily, “but I’d much rather hear about the society from you. I’d like to view the event through your perspective.”

  Evangeline tilted her head to one side, gave that some thought, and then began talking. “The Vintage Clothing Society’s Belle Lune Ball is always a premiere event here in New Orleans, but this is a particularly important year for us. The society was founded twenty years ago in January, which makes next year a milestone for us.” Everything about Evangeline’s expression said she was taking full credit for the society’s longevity.

  “That’s quite an achievement,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere. “What’s your theme this year?”

  She gave me a duh! look. “It’s our twentieth anniversary. That’s our theme.”

  Well, that was helpful. I tried to remember what the tradition was for twenty years of marriage, but all I knew offhand was that it wasn’t silver or gold. “Are the decorations already planned? Do you have a color scheme?”

  Another annoyed look crossed her face. “We haven’t revealed that yet and we won’t until the night of the ball. That’s a society tradition.”

  I was quickly becoming irritated with her. Did she not know the answers to my questions, or was she trying to be obnoxious? I refused to let her get the best of me. The more she stonewalled, the more determined I was to get this right.

  I pointed out what should have been obvious: “If we’re going to work on this event, my staff and I will need to know. I’ll also need access to the other people working on the event. If I can meet with the person in charge of decorations, I’ll be able to successfully tie in the cake design, the menu, and presentation of the dishes.”

  Evangeline lowered her head slightly in what could have been a nod. “I suppose I can put you in touch with the committee head—after you sign a confidentiality agreement, of course. I’ll need one from anyone who will be working on the event.”

  Wow. Weird. But whatever. “Of course. We’ll be happy to sign.”

  “Do you have a business card? I can have her call you.”

  I’d have preferred to make contact with the committee chair myself. I didn’t know how long it would take Evangeline to pass on my phone number, but I’d take what I could get. I handed her a card and resumed my seat. “Terrific. The sooner the better. Are you thinking about a sculpted cake or something more traditional? We could do round tiers or square. Or if you want something more modern, maybe we could do a sculpted and decorate it to look like a vintage dress.”

  A little crease formed in her forehead. “I won’t be able to say until I see what you have in mind.”

  “Yes. Of course. I’ll run up some sketches and get them to you. Do you have a preference about the flavor or type of icing? We can do a lot with buttercream, but cream cheese is always popular. Or there’s fondant . . .”

  Evangeline didn’t say anything for a moment. She just looked down her nose at me in silence. “So you’re the girl Philippe married, are you?”

  That was so unexpected, the pen slipped from my fingers. “Yes I am.”

  “It’s strange that you’re here now, running his bakery like this, don’t you think? Tell me, why did we never see you around here when he was alive?”

  Her audacity stunned me into silence, but only for a moment. I’d had my reasons and they’d seemed legitimate at the time. But legitimate or not, they were none of her business. I could have said so straight out, but I’d lose the contract for sure if I did, and I still had things to prove.

  “Oh, you know,” I said with a thin laugh. “Life gets in the way. Now, about the cake—”

  “You two met in Chicago. Is that right?”

  “Yes. At pastry school.” I wanted to escape those cold, hard eyes so I grabbed the portfolio from the top of the filing cabinet. “Maybe you would like to look at some of the other cakes we’ve created. We have some extremely talented cake artists on staff. Looking at cakes we’ve made for other clients may give you some ideas.”

  After handing her the folder, I sat behind the desk again. “I’m sure you’ll want the cake to tie into the idea of vintage clothing, so what if we did something like this?” I sketched a rough outline of a couple dancing, both in what I hoped was appropriate vintage clothing, and turned the sketch so she could see it. “It’s off the cuff, of course, but it’s a rough idea.”

  Evangeline glanced quickly down at the sketch and away. “It’s quite rough, isn’t it? It’s also somewhat ordinary.”

  I was tempted to show her a whole bunch of ordinary, but I bit my tongue and swallowed my pride. “Meeting with your decorators will help.” So would a few suggestions. If she was this unforthcoming about what she was looking for, no wonder the other bakery had failed to produce a design she could approve. “If you could help me narrow down what you’re looking for—”

  Just then there was a knock on the door and Edie poked her head inside. “I’m really sorry to disturb you, but you have a phone call, Rita.”

  The interruption surprised me. Edie knew better than to barge in on a client meeting. “Take a message, please. Tell whoever it is that I’m with a client and I’ll call back when I’m finished.”

  “I tried that. It’s Miss Frankie’s neighbor, Bernice. She says it’s an emergency.”

  She had to be joking. I should have called this morning to tell her about the cat. Quickly, I pondered my options. I could stay with Evangeline Delahunt and let her continue taking potshots at my self-esteem, or I could take a moment to reassure Bernice. Maybe the break would also help get Mrs. Delahunt back on track.

  It took me roughly two seconds to make up my mind. “Would you excuse me, Mrs. Delahunt? I’ll only be a minute. You can go through the portfolio to see if there’s anything that sparks an idea for you.”

  Evangeline looked anything but pleased, but I hurried out to Edie’s desk and picked up the call. “Bernice? What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered. “There’s a crazy woman sitting in my living room and she’s got a voodoo whatever with her. You have to get over here right now and get rid of them.”

  Surely I’d heard her wrong. “I’m sorry, who did you say was there?”

  “I just told you. You have to come now. I don’t know what to do with them.”

 
I wasn’t sure why I was responsible for her visitors, but clearly she thought I was, so I tried to get a bit more information. “Are they friends of yours?”

  “Of mine? No! The crazy girl says she’s a friend of yours.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t send them over here? That you’re not responsible for that frightening-looking woman I found on my porch? She was shaking something at me, Rita. I swear they’re bones.”

  Bernice had to be imagining things. “I doubt that,” I said gently. “Where are the women now?”

  “In my living room,” Bernice whispered. “I had to let them in so the neighbors wouldn’t see them.”

  Seriously? “You let complete strangers into your house even though you thought they were carrying bones?”

  “I had to,” she insisted. “They said that they refused to leave until I let the voodoo lady contact Uncle Cooch, and Polly Ebersol was out walking her dog. I didn’t know what else to do. But don’t worry. I’ll be all right until you get here. I have my gun.”

  That did it. “Do not use your gun,” I ordered. “I’m on my way.” And then I bolted for my office to get rid of Evangeline Delahunt.

  Seven

  I finished up with Evangeline Delahunt as quickly as I could. She promised to have the decoration committee chair call me, and I said again that I’d draw up some sketches and make another appointment with her when I had them ready. I just hoped she would call her decorator pronto. We couldn’t afford to lose a single day.

  By daylight Miss Frankie’s neighborhood looked festive and ready for Halloween. Corn husks and jack-o’-lanterns decorated sidewalks and porches. Fall wreaths hung on doors. A couple of neighbors had even created faux graveyards on their lawns.

  Bernice must have been watching for me because she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch before my car stopped moving. The moment I got close enough, she grabbed my arm and tugged me to the far side of the porch. “I told you I didn’t want anybody to know what happened last night,” she scolded in a harsh stage whisper.

  I pulled my arm away gently. “I didn’t say a word,” I assured her. “I have no idea what’s going on, but I’ll find out. Where are they?”

  “In the living room,” Bernice said with a nod toward the door. I hurried inside and she trailed behind me. As we passed the kitchen, I said, “Stay here. I’ll come back when they’re gone.”

  I was a little surprised that she obeyed me without arguing. I could hear soft voices as I walked down the hallway, but that still didn’t prepare me for what I saw when I stepped into the room.

  Isabeau sat on Bernice’s giant leather sofa next to a tall black woman wearing a white turban, tiny oval-shaped sunglasses, and a black sundress sprinkled with yellow flowers. If it hadn’t been for the small bones on a jute string she held in one hand, the woman would have looked perfectly normal.

  Isabeau grinned when she saw me, and I flashed back to the night before at the Dizzy Duke. I hadn’t meant to lie to Bernice a moment ago; I’d honestly forgotten that I’d told the group about Bernice’s visitor. I’d also forgotten Isabeau’s claim that she knew a way to help. Oops.

  My stomach dropped and guilt settled on me like a pile of rocks, along with a sprinkle of outrage. “What in the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.

  Isabeau popped up from the couch and bounced across the room to hug me. “I told you I knew someone who could help. Don’t you remember?”

  “I do now. Who is this?”

  She turned back to her companion with a flourish. “This is Mambo Odessa, Ox’s aunt.”

  You could have knocked me over with a feather. Ox had an aunt who was a voodoo priestess? I offered Mambo Odessa a friendly sort of smile. After all, this wasn’t her fault, and I didn’t want to get on the bad side of someone who walked around town carrying bones.

  “I didn’t realize Ox even had an aunt,” I said, “much less one who dabbles in voodoo.”

  Mambo Odessa’s mouth curved down at the edges. “I do not ‘dabble,’ as you put it,” she said. “And there’s no need to worry. I only use my connection to the spirits for good.”

  Had she read my mind, or had she overheard what Bernice said to me? Either way, I hoped her definition of “good” and mine were the same. I assured her that I believed her and turned back to Isabeau. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning to do?”

  “Because you’re busy. There’s that big new contract and all. And you had the meeting with Evangeline Delahunt this morning. I didn’t want to bother you when I could just do this myself.”

  “But you shouldn’t have done this at all. You scared Bernice half to death, and now she thinks I’ve been blabbing about what happened last night to anyone who would listen.”

  Tears welled in Isabeau’s usually bright blue eyes. “But you did tell me about it, and you didn’t say that it was a secret.”

  “Because it never occurred to me that you’d do something like this.” My conscience gave me a sharp prod, and this time I decided to listen. Isabeau wasn’t to blame. I’m the one who broke my promise to Bernice. This was my fault alone.

  I sighed and rubbed at the knots of tension that were forming in my neck. “You’re right, Isabeau. I’m sorry. I apologize to you, too, Mambo Odessa. It’s my fault you’ve wasted your time this morning.” Keeping my voice down so that Odessa wouldn’t overhear, I asked Isabeau, “Does Ox know you’re here?”

  Isabeau glanced at Odessa and smiled sheepishly. “No way. I didn’t want Ox to find out what we were doing. He doesn’t like this kind of thing. So the two of us met for coffee this morning and rode over here together.”

  Mambo Odessa rose majestically and came to stand by me. “We’ll leave now. But you should be careful, my girl. There’s trouble in your future.”

  News flash: There was trouble in my present. I didn’t want to offend her, especially since I already had trouble with Ox, but I couldn’t pretend to believe in what she did either. “Thanks,” I said, “but I could have told you that.”

  “Your friend here is headed for trouble, too. She got some old things coming back to haunt her.”

  I might have been impressed if Isabeau obviously hadn’t already told Mambo about Bernice’s Uncle Cooch sighting last night. “I’ll make sure to warn her.”

  Mambo Odessa smiled. “You think I’m a fraud, but you’ll find out I’m not. Somebody wants something from that lady and you have to help her. She doesn’t have anybody else.”

  Another good guess, but anybody could have put those pieces together. Bernice thought she saw her dead uncle. When in trouble, she’d called me. A plus B equals C. As for me being all she had, that wasn’t entirely accurate, but I saw no reason to mention Bernice’s nephew Bernie and his family. Bernie was nice enough, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who’d hold up well if confronted by the spirit of Uncle Cooch.

  “Got it,” I said. “I hate to seem rude, but I really have to ask both of you to leave.”

  Mambo Odessa took a step. “Be careful, child. You’re going to uncover some secrets you may not want to know about. You’re going to uncover some things others don’t want you to know about. You watch your back, hear?” And then, pressing a business card into my hand, she smiled softly. “When you need me, call.”

  I mumbled something noncommittal and motioned for Isabeau to join us. “I know you’re trying to help, Isabeau, but I’m really in hot water with Bernice. You guys need to go.”

  She looked disappointed, but she led Mambo Odessa out the front door and I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t know what to make of Mambo Odessa’s parting comments, but I didn’t waste time thinking about them. I had to make sure Bernice was still speaking to me.

  I found her at the kitchen table sipping sweet tea. She seemed all right, but I had a major apology to offer and some groveling to do.


  “I’m so sorry,” I said as I sat down beside her. “I did open my big mouth last night. I just had no idea Isabeau would do something like this.”

  Bernice ran a finger along the side of her glass, leaving a clear streak in the condensation. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”

  “I know. I just—” No excuses, my conscience whispered. It sounded a whole lot like Aunt Yolanda, and I knew it was right. “I screwed up. Big-time. Can you forgive me?”

  Bernice looked at me for a long time. “I suppose there was no real harm done. I just hope Polly Ebersol didn’t see them. She’s as sweet as she can be, but she can’t keep a thing to herself. I know it’s not her fault really. She’s been lonely since her husband died. When she finds someone to talk to, she just can’t stop herself.”

  I bit back a smile. “Well, I’m sure that even if Polly saw them, it will be okay. Everybody knows you don’t believe in voodoo, and if it helps, Mambo Odessa says she only uses her spirit connections for good.”

  Bernice wiped her wet finger on a napkin. “Well, of course she’d say that. It’s what you wanted to hear.”

  “She said a few things I didn’t want to hear,” I said. I hadn’t really believed Mambo Odessa, but the fact that she was Ox’s aunt stirred up some weird kind of protectiveness in me. My own version of the six degrees of separation game, I guess. “Anyway, they’re gone and they won’t be back.”

  “Well, good. Thank you.”

  “How are you feeling?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

  Bernice shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, I’m fine. Or I will be. Having that woman in my house stirred up some old memories—ones I’d rather leave behind.”

  Uh-oh. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No. Not really.” Bernice stared at her glass for a heartbeat or two and then let out a big sigh. “It’s funny how things from your childhood never really leave you, you know?”