Cake on a Hot Tin Roof

by Jacklyn Brady

  “With? What were they doing?”

  “It wasn’t what they did,” I said with a scowl. “It’s the way they looked when they did it. And why was Big Daddy there with his assistant? I’ll bet there was something going on between those two.”

  Sullivan didn’t respond to that, which made me think I was right. “You know, don’t you, that Big Daddy was treating his wife pretty shabbily last night? You ought to talk to Estelle about what she heard before you leave here.”

  “Estelle just happened to tell you about this?”

  “No”—I gave him a duh! look—“I asked her.” I hesitated over how much to tell him about Judd. Sure, I’d liked him when I met him, but my loyalty belonged to Uncle Nestor. “Also, I met Judd Boudreaux when I went outside. I got the impression that he had a few issues with Big Daddy, and he didn’t seem to like Susannah much. Ox says that Big Daddy and Judd were having a secretive conversation upstairs right before the party ended. And have you talked with Percy Ponter yet? Like I told you that night, he seemed pretty upset with Big Daddy.”

  Sullivan folded his arms and stared me down. “I’ve got it under control. Anything else?”

  “Not yet,” I said, “but I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Rita—”

  I interrupted before he could get started. “If this is the part where you warn me to stay out of the investigation, save it. I won’t get in your way and I won’t interfere, but if I can find someone who can place Uncle Nestor away from the pool at the time of the murder, I’m going to do it.”

  “Why don’t you let me take care of it?”

  I planted my hands on the tabletop and met his gaze. “But will you? Or are you focused on finding witnesses who can place him at the scene of the crime? Because those aren’t the same thing at all.”

  “I’m just tryin’ to get at the truth,” he assured me.

  “Yeah. Well. You keep doing that, and if I find out anything that will help, I’ll let you know.”

  He stood, sighing as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Right. Guess I’ll get on with my interviews if that’s all right with you.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I said, adding a thin smile to show that we were still friends.

  He smoothed the legs of his jeans so that the hems fell over his boots. “Just in case your uncle didn’t mention it, I’ve asked him not to leave town.”

  The smile slipped off my face and landed on the floor somewhere near my heart. “You did what?”

  “Just for a few days. Until we can clear up his involvement in the case.”

  “There is no involvement,” I insisted. Not that my opinion counted for anything.

  “As soon as we can prove that, he’s free to leave.”

  “But—”

  He arched a brow, waiting for me to offer some protest, but words failed me. Uncle Nestor stuck in New Orleans until the police cleared him? He’d go crazy. I’d go crazy.

  “Is there a problem?” Sullivan asked.

  I shook my head quickly. “No. It’ll be fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  My smile had turned brittle, but I flashed it again. “If I said no, would you let him leave town?”

  Sullivan shook his head. “’Fraid not.”

  “Then I’m sure.”

  Sullivan looked at me through eyes narrowed with concern, but he kept his distance. My uncle was on the list of suspects in a homicide case, which I guess made all the friendly sort of stuff that usually fell between us off-limits. He ran those piercing blue eyes over my face and then twitched the corner of his mouth. “Chin up. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”

  And on that cheery note, he left to interview my employees.

  Twenty-two

  Okay, I’ll admit it. I was going crazy wondering why Sullivan had wanted to talk with Sparkle and Dwight. They’d come back to work without a word of explanation to me, and my mind had been working overtime running through the possibilities. Even a return phone call from my cousin Santos didn’t completely distract me.

  Santos didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, but he did reassure me that although Uncle Nestor needed to make some lifestyle changes, he wasn’t in imminent danger of keeling over dead. Maybe if I heard it often enough I’d really start believing it.

  We bantered back and forth for a few minutes, me giving him grief for not letting me know about his dad’s heart attack, him telling me I would have known if I’d stayed in Albuquerque. I was having a great time talking to my oldest cousin until partway through the conversation, when it occurred to me that Santos hadn’t once asked about the murder or the trouble his father was in.

  And that meant that he must not know.

  The possibility that Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda hadn’t confided in Santos made me feel better in a way. I didn’t like the fact that they were keeping secrets, but at least I wasn’t the only person they were keeping in the dark.

  Of course, that put me in an awkward position. I didn’t feel right hiding the truth from Santos, but I wasn’t sure how to break the news to him either. Before I could think through the situation, Edie ran into my office to announce another emergency. One of the temporary workers I’d hired had slipped on the wet floor and it looked like the guy had sprained his ankle. Dwight was taking him to the doctor.

  Promising to call back as soon as the crisis passed, I hung up on Santos and hurried into the design room to assess the damage. Losing two more people left us seriously shorthanded. It also meant that I didn’t get a chance to talk to Sparkle or Dwight about Sullivan’s visit for the rest of the day.

  By the time I dragged myself home, Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda were already asleep. Yes, I checked to make sure.

  They’d left a plate for me in the fridge, but I was more tired than hungry. I fell into an exhausted sleep and didn’t wake up until Aunt Yolanda knocked on my bedroom door the next morning, bringing me breakfast in bed.

  I took that breakfast tray as a positive sign. If Uncle Nestor had been cooking, maybe things were getting back to normal.

  I could have lingered for an hour over the coffee, homemade tortillas, fried potatoes, and scrambled eggs seasoned perfectly with onions and peppers and served with Uncle Nestor’s signature salsa. Instead, I wolfed down the meal while Aunt Yolanda told me that Sullivan had stopped by the night before to ask Uncle Nestor more questions—a piece of news that almost took away my appetite.

  I peppered Aunt Yolanda with questions about Sullivan’s visit, but she couldn’t tell me much. He’d shown up at the door. The two men had spoken privately for about an hour, after which Uncle Nestor had gone to bed without a word.

  Feeling edgy, I hopped in the shower, dressed, and ran out the door thirty minutes later. Usually, Zydeco is closed on Sundays, but not this month. If the murder and subsequent investigation hadn’t been enough to make them regret coming to New Orleans for a visit, I thought, the demands of my schedule certainly would. I needed a day off and a good night’s sleep, not necessarily in that order.

  Just as the sun crested the horizon, I slung my bag over my shoulder and climbed the steps onto Zydeco’s loading dock. It promised to be a beautiful day, and I wanted to be outside enjoying some of the fun.

  While coffee brewed, I ran a quick glance over the schedule for the next few days to see if there were any breaks in the lineup that would let me sneak away for an hour or two. I couldn’t see any, but I was determined to keep my eyes open for one.

  I spent a few minutes prioritizing everything listed on the calendar. A hundred or so King Cakes, a special order for a Valentine’s Day party, a meeting later in the week with the website designers to discuss Zydeco’s presence on the web, and a three-tier white chocolate cake with white chocolate truffles and henna scrollwork topped by a cluster of white sugar daisies scheduled for a delivery today in the French Quarter. It was due a good two hours before the Krewe of Barkus parade, but crowds would be thick and the police would have blocked o
ff traffic long before we needed to get through. I checked to make sure Edie had picked up a pass to get us through the police barricades. She had, of course, so at least we wouldn’t have to carry the cake through the crush of people on foot.

  I could have canceled the meeting about the website, which was far from urgent on my priority list. But it would make Ox happy, and keeping morale high was crucial when we were so busy, so I decided to let it stand.

  I worked on the three-tier cake, henna piping until the muscles in my hand were cramped from squeezing the piping bag. Finally finished, I stepped back to admire my handiwork, flexing my hand a few times to stretch the muscles. Isabeau had almost finished the dozens of sugar daisies on wire stems needed to top the cake. All we had to do was place them and it would be ready to roll.

  I was focused on my work. Really, I was. But I also stayed alert for an opportunity to talk with Dwight or Sparkle about their interviews with Sullivan the day before. What can I say? I’m a caring boss.

  It wasn’t so easy to find a spare moment, though. Luckily, the temp agency had sent a replacement worker to cover for the man we’d lost. But that meant Dwight had to train the guy while staying on top of his own work, which took him out of circulation for most of the morning. Which left Sparkle doing double-duty in the King Cake production line, which also put her off-limits.

  Shortly after the lunch hour passed (completely unnoticed by everyone but a couple of the temps), Ox started fussing about whether to change the schedule for delivery of the henna cake. Dwight had originally been on tap to drive across town. The cake was large and heavy, but not so heavy he’d have needed a second pair of hands.

  I had to agree that pulling him away from his work seemed like a bad idea. He’d established a rapport with the new guy, and if he stepped away now, someone else would have to waste time getting up to speed.

  While Ox and I debated the merits of sending this person or that, Sparkle stepped up to the plate with an offer that stunned us both. “I’ll take it.”

  I turned toward her, mouth hanging open in surprise. Sparkle isn’t much of a team player. She’s a good employee, but like Abe, she’s usually happiest on her own, just doing her own thing in her own little corner. So her offer startled me.

  Ox looked equally stunned. “You’ll—” He got that word out but the rest seemed to get stuck in his throat.

  Sparkle curled her black-painted lips and peeled off the cap she’d been wearing over her raven black hair. Her eyes were heavily lined, and her stubby fingernails gleamed under a coat of glossy black polish. “I said I’ll take it. It’s going to be at least an hour before that last batch of cakes is cooled and ready to glaze.”

  She was right, but Ox and I didn’t jump on the offer right away. I can’t vouch for his thought process, but I ran a glance over her outfit and tried to imagine how the conservative middle-aged couple who were going to renew their vows after Sunday service at the Life Fellowship Community Church would react to her black corset with its bright red satin ties, the black leather shorts that revealed a long expanse of bare thigh, and the five-inch wedge boots with industrial-strength metal buckles from ankle to knee. Pulling the whole thing together was an ankle-length punk goth coat with leather cross-straps that looked as if they belonged in a torture chamber.

  I didn’t want her walking into the renewal ceremony as the sole face of Zydeco, but she so rarely volunteered for anything that I didn’t have the heart to tell her no. So I did the only thing I could.

  “Thanks, Sparkle,” I said. “It’s a heavy cake, so I’ll go with you. Dwight’s a lot stronger than either one of us, but I’m sure the two of us can handle it together.” Which was true, and would also give me a chance to talk with her about Sullivan’s visit the day before. Win-win.

  Ox looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “You want to go on this delivery?”

  “Sure. Why not?” I countered with a friendly smile. I felt a little rush of excitement at the prospect of spending some time in the middle of the celebrations, even if I wouldn’t get to stay for the parade.

  “Right.” Ox still looked skeptical.

  I turned away before he could come up with an argument and caught Sparkle’s eye. “Ready?”

  She shrugged a listless shoulder and held out the keys to me. “Whatever. You want to drive?”

  I shook my head as a show of faith and kept walking. “You drive. I’ll ride along.” It would be easier to focus on the questions I wanted to ask her that way. The two of us maneuvered the heavy cake across the design area and out the loading dock, securing it in the back of the van as if we’d done it a hundred times. While Sparkle started the van and cranked the AC to keep the cake cool, I poked my head back through the bakery door and asked, “Anybody need anything while we’re out?”

  “Food!” Estelle shouted from her corner of the design room. “I’m starving!”

  I sketched a mock salute to show that I’d heard the request and hurried back to the van. I scrambled into my seat and we both buckled up for the ride. Sparkle drove in silence, but I’d expected that. She isn’t much of a chatterbox.

  I gave her a few minutes and then tossed a casual conversation starter into the space between us. “Nice,” I said, nodding toward the bondage-worthy belt on the front of her coat. “Where did you get it?”

  Sparkle slid a glance at me. “Why? You want one?”

  “Maybe.”

  Her eyes smiled, which was more than I’d hoped for. “There’s a store online,” she said after a minute. “I can give you the website later.”

  “Perfect.” I was dying to ask her about Sullivan’s visit, but I didn’t want to push. Sparkle doesn’t trust easily, and if I came across as too eager, I could lose my chance. So I pretended to watch the city go by for a few seconds.

  We paused at a stop sign near a parking lot filled with food stalls and craft vendors where hundreds of happy-looking people milled about. Some were in costume, some in street clothes, but all were laughing, singing, dancing, and clamoring to spend their money on trinkets. I thought about Ox’s suggestion that I take time away to share this with Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda and felt a pang of longing. Uncle Nestor would hate the crowds and the noise, but Aunt Yolanda would revel in the chance to experience something new.

  As I so often did, I fell somewhere in between them. But as I looked at the bright colors and felt the beat of the music work its way into my bloodstream, I realized how much I was missing. I needed to learn how to relax and enjoy more. Otherwise, life was going to pass me by.

  “What?” Sparkle’s droll voice pulled my head around.

  “What, what?”

  “You want something. What is it?”

  I grinned sheepishly. “I’m that obvious?”

  “Duh. Whatever it is, just ask.”

  I turned toward her as far as the seat belt would let me so I could watch her reactions and make sure I wasn’t crossing the line. “I’m just curious about why Detective Sullivan came to see you yesterday.”

  “He wanted to ask me some questions.”

  “I kind of figured that.”

  She took her eyes off the road for a second. “He just wanted to follow up on something I told the other cops I saw.”

  “Oh?” I tried not to look overly interested even though every one of my nerve endings was buzzing with curiosity.

  Sparkle turned her attention back to traffic and we drove in silence for another block or two. “You want to know what it was?”

  Yes! Casual shrug. “If you want to tell me.”

  She processed that for what felt like a very long time. It was all I could do not to unbuckle my seat belt and shake it out of her.

  She turned a couple of corners and took us past a rundown strip mall. “That guy who died. Big Daddy? I saw him arguing with that woman he was with.”

  The buzz turned into a low hum. “Are you talking about his assistant? Violet?”

  Sparkle shrugged. “I guess. Dark hair. Glasses.”

/>   “Sounds like Violet to me. Did you happen to hear what they were arguing about?”

  Sparkle flicked a glance at me as she braked for a red light. Traffic moving the other way crawled through the intersection at a snail’s pace. “I did overhear a few things,” she said. “Do you want to know what they were?”

  “I would love to know.”

  Cars stopped moving entirely as a crowd of revelers on foot stepped off the curb and into the street. Sparkle didn’t even seem to notice the confusion. “It sounded to me like that girl Violet had just figured out that Big Daddy wasn’t going to leave his wife for her after all. She wasn’t happy about it.”

  So I’d been right. They were having an affair. “What did she say?” I held my breath, hoping for something like, I’ll kill you, or Stand still so I can hit you over the head.

  The light turned green, but with the intersection full of cars and people, we weren’t going anywhere. Sparkle put the van in park, prepared to wait. “She said they were through. And she said that she wasn’t going to cover for him anymore.”

  The hum of anticipation turned to a low-pitched drone that seemed to pulsate in my blood. Or maybe that was the music blaring from some nearby loudspeakers. It was hard to tell. “Cover how? For what? Did she say?”

  Sparkle shook her head. “I didn’t hear that, but I got the feeling it had something to do with Musterion.”

  “Why? What gave you that impression?”

  Another shrug as the light turned yellow again. A woman dressed as a gigantic purple-and-blue dragonfly floated past the van, followed by another wearing a flower arrangement on her head and then a hairy man in a mermaid costume. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” Sparkle said with what, for her, passes as a grin.

  I must have looked confused, because she nodded toward a couple of harp-playing angels with gossamer wings and said again, “You haven’t seen anything yet. We’re just getting started.”

  I laughed and tried to take in the sights, sounds, and smells that bombarded me from every angle. “It’s like a gigantic Halloween party, isn’t it?”