“Listen to Tammy. She knows what she’s talking about. Her ex-husband was into illegal activities, too.”
I rubbed my neck, wishing Dixie had kept her mouth shut as both Margarita and Marilyn stared me down. “I’d rather not talk about it.” I sighed, wishing I didn’t have to relive the moment when I almost lost—
“Her husband owed a local thug back home,” Dixie informed them.
“Oh, my,” Margarita said. “How awful. What happened?”
Of course she had to know the details. It had taken me three years to forget. “The thug, Bruce, showed up one day and demanded the money. I tried to tell him that we didn’t have any money, but he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.” I swiped at my nose as it began to drip. “He held me for a few days. He told my husband that if he didn’t cough up the cash, he’d kill me.”
Margarita bit her hand. “Oh, my. How did you get out of that one?”
I swallowed hard. “I took matters into my own hands. I had to wait it out until he fell asleep ... let me just say that when he woke up, it hadn’t gone in his favor.”
“She shot him with her bow; the arrow pinned him to the chair. By the time the cops came, he was pretty weak and he went along quietly.”
“I only shot him through the shoulder,” I explained. “I wasn’t trying to kill him. I just wanted to leave, for good. And that’s just what I did. I left my husband and moved back home. I’ve been without a man ever since.”
“I’m so surprised you didn’t get the upper hand sooner, Tammy.” Dixie said.
“I would have if he hadn’t had a Sig revolver trained on me the whole time.” I shuddered internally at the memory, but then shook it off. I had to, because it was the only time in my entire life that I wasn’t able to handle a situation. I have been known to drop a man who decided to touch me in a bar. I hated to be touched, not unless I knew the person, and even then, it depended on my mood.
Margarita smiled just then. “I’m so sorry I pressed you about your past. Next time, just kick me in the shin.”
I had to laugh at that. “My mama would take a switch to me if I ever tried such a thing. Plus, back home I was taught better than that. We always respect our elders.”
Marilyn led us to the door, her hand trembling as she opened it. “Thanks for stopping by, but I think I can handle whatever comes my way. I’ll hide the money like you said, but I think it’s best if I keep the location to myself. I’ll call you if anyone shows up looking for it.”
“You might be better served not to answer the door,” I recommended.
With that, she shut the door and, with a clang, we heard her lock the deadbolt. We made our way back to the SUV and Margarita threw me the keys.
Once we were settled inside the vehicle, I said, “So, what do you think about Marilyn? Do you think she’s telling us the truth about being held as a virtual prisoner in her own home with limited money?”
“If she says that, why shouldn’t we believe her?” Margarita asked.
“Does that line up to what you’ve known about her?”
“I’m not sure. We’re not that close, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”
“Did you see her around town or at Curls and Cuts?”
“I’d never go to Curls and Cuts myself. That owner, Patsy McNally, stole my husband.”
“Stole? I thought you meant your husband had an affair with her.”
“That, too. When I tossed his sorry behind out, he left me high and dry and moved in with her.”
“How dry?”
“He stole all of our savings and I had to refinance Hidden Pass to pay him off in the divorce. It’s been hard these past five years and I’m about to lose the restaurant if I can’t draw in enough business during the winter festival.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know.” Her face dropped. “I don’t need to burden you with my troubles, girls.”
“Stop worrying so much, would you? Dixie and I will help you out. We’ll whip up some real Cajun cooking and you’ll be plenty busy.”
Tear glistened in Margarita’s eyes. “Oh, thank you both so much.”
Chapter Four
I drove back to the restaurant just as it started to snow hard.
“Slow down,” Margarita shouted. “Pump the brakes, dear. Don’t slam on them,” she added as the SUV fishtailed.
I gripped the steering wheel hard. It was bad enough driving in this blasted snowfall without the constant backseat driving from Margarita. Oh, I know she means well, but seriously? “I’ll have you know that back home I’ve plowed through Louisiana mud deeper than this snow.”
“Snow is nothing like mud, dear, and didn’t you already land yourself in a ditch on the way into town?”
I sighed heavily. “Yes, but I was caught by surprise, is all. I’m getting the hang of it.”
“Oh, I could tell. You just ran through a stop sign.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror and sure enough, I had.
Dixie leaned forward. “Tammy, you really should pay more attention to what Ma says. Oops, I mean Margarita.”
Margarita’s brow shot up. “Not a problem for now, but tomorrow this town will be packed.”
“How long has this festival been going on?” Dixie asked.
“Nearly thirty years. It’s one of the longest running festivals in Michigan.”
Once I was in town, I noticed blocks of ice were lined all along the main drag, and down the side streets there were wooden frames made of plywood. A backhoe was filling them with snow. “Why aren’t they doing the ice carvings yet?”
“They’ll start first thing in the morning. That way, it’s fair. Nobody is allowed to start ice carvings until tomorrow. It’s in the rule book.”
“And the Tournament of Trouble doesn’t start until the end of the week?”
“Nope. So you girls should have plenty of time to make your chili for the cook-off tomorrow and start creating your Cajun menu for the restaurant. I think it might be just what this town needs, a little Louisiana cooking for a change.”
“We’ll need to go grocery shopping for sure.”
Margarita gave me the directions to the local market, Ray’s, near the end of town. We passed stands that were in the process of being constructed with awnings. The largest of them was in the center of town.
“I need time to practice before the competition.”
“Not a problem. We probably should start investigating tomorrow. Or I mean, you girls need to.”
“What? You’re not going with us?”
“I’ll have you know that I have a restaurant to run. You girls can start cooking tonight and instruct my cooks how to prepare your Cajun dishes. Of course, you’ll have to enter the chili cook-off. You’ll have to do that before the parade. When you win, it will be the perfect advertisement for the restaurant.”
“You sound so positive that we can win. I’m just not so sure that folks will care for our version of chili. It will have plenty of oomph.”
“Be more positive, girl. With a nickname like Louisiana Sassy, I’m sure you can accomplish just about anything.”
I nodded to be nice. I sure hoped I wouldn’t let the old girl down. It’s not every day I’ve had someone believe in me that much, especially someone I had just met. Lord knows my mamma wasn’t like that. She tried to the best of her abilities to turn me into a real lady. It wasn’t my fault that I preferred to run amuck in the bayou, or that hunting and fishing was more fun to me. Now, I can be as ladylike as the next girl when I want to, but those times are few and far between ... unless I’m going out, that is. I must admit that I clean up good. Dixie and I needed to sneak in a little fun time; that is, if Margarita’s schedule for us allowed for it.
I don’t know exactly why I was going along with whatever Margarita said. I think it might have had something to do with the ‘respect your elders’ thing. It sure was exciting to be knee deep in an investigation into a murder, too. I still was blown away w
hen we found all that cash at the Percy place. I just hoped that Marilyn hid it real well, and that nobody showed up looking for it. It could indeed be the reason that Clayton was murdered.
I pulled into the parking lot of the grocery/meat market. When we walked toward the door, I took a big whiff and the smell of smoked meat wafted into my nostrils. We might get lucky and find the right ingredients after all.
Margarita waded through the snow, which was getting mighty deep, and grabbed the last grocery cart.
“Hey,” a woman yelled. “That cart’s mine.”
I stared at a short, senior-aged woman with gray hair that looked almost blue; thus the term ‘blue hair,’ no doubt.
“Sorry, we got here first,” I said with a smile.
“You talk funny. Where are you from?”
“Louisiana.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, we do things differently here in Michigan. I was going for the cart way before you walked toward the door. I just don’t move all that fast on account of my bad knee,” she said, as she limped forward.
I glanced from Margarita to the mystery woman. “I’m sorry, but I never saw you until we had already grabbed the last cart.” Just then a shopper came out, trailing her way into the parking lot, having quite a time moving it in the snow. I almost wanted to give her the cart, until Margarita bellowed, “There’s nothing wrong with her knee. She just uses that excuse when it’s convenient.”
That sounded so harsh to me, but then both women glared at each other. Obviously, there was more going on than getting the last cart. I stomped through the snow after the woman who was still trying to maneuver her cart near her car. I helped her and she turned, thanking me as two small children hopped playfully in the snow.
“Thanks,” she said. I smiled and returned the cart to the store, where Dixie was consoling a red-faced Margarita.
“What on earth did you do that for?”
“On account of I was taught to help out folks.”
“What’s your beef with her?” Dixie asked with a cock of her head.
“That’s Mary Clink. We used to be good friends until I divorced Winston. When you split up with your husband, people start taking sides, and she took Winston’s. She’s also good friends with Patsy McNalley, the woman who stole my husband.” Her lips curled down into a frown. “If I hadn’t known better, I’d say that Mary was kinda sweet on Winston herself.”
“How long ago did you get a divorce?”
“Five years ago.”
“Too much drama for folks your age,” I said.
She cocked a brow. “Oh, and what do you know about women my age?”
“I don’t even know how old you are.”
“And I’m not telling you either, young lady. Just because folks get old doesn’t mean they don’t live full lives, you know.”
“I know that. I—”
Dixie clapped me on the back. “Give up, Tammy. This is one argument you won’t win.”
Margarita took ahold of the cart and pushed it into the store with a screech of wheels so loud that everyone in the cashier area stared over at us. “Good going, dear,” Margarita said. “You let that old cranky lady grab the good cart.”
I doubt Mary was the only cranky old lady in town, but I nodded, since Margarita was obviously not ready to let this one rest. We headed down the bread aisle, and it was nearly empty. “Wow, this place looks more picked over than a liquor store on New Year’s Eve.”
“I know. I sure hope you girls can find what you need, but I don’t think Ray’s carries Cajun spices.”
“Not to worry. We can make our own. All you have to do is add the right spices together,” I said with confidence.
We loaded the cart full of the ingredients we needed for the dishes I had decided to cook, including my special chili recipe. I even managed to find a bottle of Louisiana hot sauce. “I can’t believe they carry this here.”
A stock boy must have overheard us because he smiled and said, “That’s the owner’s favorite. He brings back a case every time he goes back home to visit.”
“You mean he’s from Louisiana originally?”
“My family is,” a voice boomed from the end of the aisle.
I sized up the rotund man with the wind-blown red cheeks, his brown hair combed over. “Where abouts?”
“New Orleans. Our family name is Dubois. That’s Harry Dubois.”
“That’s quite a common name back home. I’m Tammy Rodrigue and this is Dixie Perriloux.”
“Rodrigue? Why does that name seem familiar?”
I tried not to react. Surly he couldn’t know who my mother’s side of the family was, or the legendary name that went along with it. Lord knew my family had tried to bury the secret for over a hundred years now. “I can’t help you out with that one,” I said. Changing the subject, I continued, “I don’t suppose you have any Zatarain’s spices?”
“I’m sure you can make your own. I can’t get it up here, but I always make sure to keep the hot sauce in stock.” He coughed, and then added, “I have some Andouille sausage. I make it myself.”
My cheeks hurt at the smile that nearly split my face. “That would be great. Any fresh shrimp?”
“Not fresh, exactly, but we do have some at the meat counter. It’s not like I can catch any out in Lake Summers.”
“Lake Summers?” I just couldn’t imagine a lake in frozen Michigan called Lake Summers.
“It’s the lake nearby where many of our winter festivals are held. We have ice fishing competitions, motorcycle races—”
“How on the earth do you have motorcycle races on the ice?” I interjected.
“With studded tires. We also have frozen turkey bowling. The kids really like that one, and of course the polar bear dipping is the main event.”
Margarita nodded. “These girls are here for the archery competition.”
“Really? Which one of you is Louisiana Sassy?”
I waved a hand in the air. “Guilty as charged.”
“Great. It’s about time Daniel Adams had some real competition. Now I know why your name sounds so familiar. Aren’t you related to—”
“I’d love to chat more, but we really need to get everything for our Cajun menu at the Hidden Pass restaurant.”
“We’re hoping to get a good turn-out,” Margarita added.
He licked his bottom lip enthusiastically. “That sounds great. I’d be happy to make you up some fliers to hand out to my customers.”
Margarita’s face lit up. “That would be kind of you.”
He led us to the meat case, where we selected chicken, shrimp, and ground round and waited for Harry to personally deliver the Andouille sausage to our cart.
“I’ll be sure to stop by and try out your fare,” he said. “The only time I get authentic Cajun cooking is when I go back home.”
“You don’t consider Michigan to be your home?”
“Yes, but there’s nothing like being in New Orleans. When I’m ready to retire I plan to move back, but my wife doesn’t want to budge. She’s a Michigan native and all her family lives in town.”
“Hey, do you happen to know Marilyn Percy?”
“She’s as much a mystery in town as her husband’s legendary wandering ways. I swear it will be the death of him one day.”
I kept a straight face. “Let’s hope not.”
Dixie tousled her blonde hair as she added, “Does Marilyn come into town much?”
“Nope. That husband of hers keeps a tight rein on her. I don’t think they have much money to speak of, from what I hear. My wife says that Marilyn barely has enough money to get her hair done.”
“Oh, so your wife knows her?”
“No. They just go to the same place to get their hair done.”
“Let me guess ... Curls and Cuts?”
“Yes. What’s the sudden interest in Marilyn?”
“She’s my cousin and I’m just a little worried about her,” Margarita said. “Poor dear is always alone out at her p
lace.” With that, I whirled the cart away, gathering the rest of our groceries.
“So, word hasn’t made the gossip rounds just yet,” Margarita whispered.
“I’m sure they’re not ready to release Clayton’s name yet.”
“Good luck keeping that quiet in this town. I wonder who found the body?”
“What body?” Mary Clink asked, as she stood nearby. Her blue eyes shifted side to side, the lines on her face creasing as she frowned.
The last thing I needed to do was start the gossip rolling, but I felt I should come clean with part of the story, leaving out the identity of who was murdered, and that the widow had found a sack full of cash in her closet. “I’m not sure. I just heard they found a body,” I said. “The police discovered it when we came into town.”
Mary fanned herself. “Oh, my! That’s just awful. I wonder if it was anyone from town? I sure hope it’s not anyone I know.”
Before I had a chance to regret what I’d said, we had a circle of curious townsfolk looking on, waiting for more details that I just couldn’t share.
“What bad timing,” a man nearby said.
“I hope it doesn’t ruin the winter festival,” another said.
“There, there,” Margarita said. “There’s no sense in making a big deal out of this.”
Mary’s eyes crossed for a moment. “You should be more worried than most of us, seeing as how your restaurant is about to go under as it is.”
Margarita’s hand went to her hips. “Who on earth gave you that idea? Patsy McNalley?”
“Well, yes, but it also doesn’t take a genius to know that Hidden Pass has fewer customers since Hank’s Hotspot opened up.”
“Hank’s Hotspot?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s a restaurant down the street from me. They cater to the local hunters in town and serve wild game,” Margarita explained.
“They also have a full menu and the food is excellent, not like that slop you serve,’ Mary said with a bob of her head.
Margarita’s faced reddened. “Go to Hades, Mary. If you need to know, I’m serving authentic—”
“New menu items, she means,” I interjected. “I guess you’ll have to stop by and find out tomorrow.”
1 Target of Death Page 4
