1 Mardi Gras Madness

by Alison Golden

  “I’m Roxy. Have you been here long?”

  “About, um…,” Louise looked up at the cobwebs on the ceiling, “three weeks now.”

  “How do you like it?”

  Louise’s blue eyes twinkled. “Well, it’s not exactly a 5-star experience, and the cemetery at the end of the alleyway is a little off-putting after dark, but once you taste Evangeline’s meals and the pastries from across the way, you’ll never want to leave.”

  Now, that sounded good. Roxy had never been a big cook or baker while her boyfriend, wrapped in cotton wool by his mother as he had been, hadn’t known how to do anything domestic nor had he been inclined to try. He’d have ordered takeout every day, but Roxy was too budget-conscious for that. They had eaten a lot of chicken stir-fry and baked potatoes. Good, wholesome food prepared by someone else sounded heavenly.

  “And it has great bones.”

  Roxy frowned. “What does?”

  “This place…good bones. I’m an interior designer,” Louise explained. “And I’m just desperate to redecorate this place. My mind runs wild with how I could make it truly splendid. It’s got great potential. It’s a shame they want to tear it down.”

  “They do?” Roxy said. She wondered who “they” were.

  “Yes,” Louise said. “Why anyone would want to knock a building of such heritage down is beyond me. I’d tell them to…”

  Nefertiti interrupted her with a very loud, very annoyed meeeooow.

  “Oh!” Louise said. “That cat of yours is getting fed up with hearing us warble on. She wants to get settled in, I think.”

  Roxy was feeling apprehensive. Evangeline’s looked like a dump. People wanted to tear it down, possibly before her month’s stay was done, and who knew what horrors lurked in her room. She was torn between wanting to see more of the guesthouse and running back out the door. Was it going to be a cobweb-infested hovel? Or might it be quite charming in a rustic sort of way?

  “Where is everyone?” Louise said, peering around. “Evangeline and Nat should be somewhere. Each one of them is crazier than the other, you know. And not exactly customer service whizzes either.”

  From the side door, in strode an androgynous young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She was dressed head to toe in black: black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, black work boots. Her dark brown hair was cropped short, and her ears were adorned with multiple piercings. There was a tiny diamond stud in her nose. Her short-sleeved t-shirt revealed one entire arm covered in tattoos. Roxy, her eyes widening just a little, leaned in closer but quickly withdrew. She didn’t want to be caught staring, especially not by this sharp-eyed, intimidating young woman.

  “Well, what were you expecting at these prices?” the tattooed woman said with an English accent that was more Eliza Doolittle than Mary Poppins. “The Ritz?” A smirk pulled at her lips.

  Louise chuckled, completely unembarrassed that her criticism of the guesthouse service had been overheard. “Oh, Nat. Not the Ritz. But maybe just a little common courtesy would be nice. I treat my house guests better, and they’re not even paying.”

  “Of course you do,” Nat said. “You don’t get guests day-in and day-out though, do you?”

  “Neither do you,” Louise shot back, and there was a moment of stunned silence during which Roxy nervously looked back and forth between both women, as she gauged the atmosphere. After a second, Nat burst out laughing, followed by Louise. Roxy joined in although not quite so uproariously. “This is Roxy and her cat, who seems to be getting restless,” Louise said when she’d calmed down.

  Nat nodded at Roxy. “Hi. I’m Nat. You’re here for a month, aren’t you?”

  Roxy swallowed, wondering what she had gotten herself into. “That I am.”

  “Come on then, don’t be shy. I’ll haul your luggage up for you,” Nat said. She grabbed the handle from Roxy and rolled the case to the stairs. “You’ve got the room at the top, the one with the balcony. You can’t actually go out on the balcony, because it’ll fall down if you do, but you can open the top of the doors. Sam, he’s our handyman, sort of chopped them in half or something. Don’t ask me how.”

  Roxy followed behind obediently, while Louise gave her a wide-eyed look and smile of sympathy. As they walked up the stairs, Roxy found there was no need for polite conversation, because Nat just kept talking and talking.

  “Now, we don’t have any AC up here, so you might roast like a chicken.” When she saw Roxy chewing her lip, Nat laughed. “Nah, I’m just joking. Well, you might in July or August, but you’re not with us that long. You just open the windows in the front and the back, and you’ll get a breeze going through. No problem. I’ve stayed up here heaps of times. Breakfast is en famille and starts at 8, dinner is at 6.”

  “Okay,” Roxy said. She followed Nat up the creaking staircase and took the opportunity to check out her tattoos. There were some roses and crosses and skulls, and a mishmash of bare-breasted ladies, unicorns, band names, and what looked like gargoyles or demons. There was a pirate ship in amongst the madness, too.

  Nat caught her looking as they reached the third floor, and flashed her a grin. “I’m working out what to get next. I’m addicted.” Then she opened the white wooden door to Roxy’s room. There was a key in the lock. “Here you are,” she said.

  Roxy stepped into the attic room. Though it smelled a little of old wood, it also smelled of freshly laundered cotton and delicious baked goods from across the narrow cobblestone alley. The half-door window contraptions didn’t look as strange as they sounded and the windows were open wide, the white linen curtains flapping gently in the breeze.

  The bed was large. A soft-looking white duvet lay over it. Across the room, next to an old armoire, there was a vintage dressing table with a white Louis-style stool. A rocking chair stood in the corner. The dark wooden floor was covered with a pale blue tasseled rug, and the whole place looked clean, welcoming, and comfortable.

  Roxy sighed happily. She was pleasantly surprised.

  “See? Not too shabby, huh? Like I said, dinner’s at six, cocktails at five-thirty. See you then,” Nat said. She unceremoniously plonked Roxy’s case on the floor and spun around on her boot heel to leave Roxy alone.

  When Nat had left, Roxy sat down on the bed and looked around. She felt a thrill pulse through her. Nefertiti gave a tiny mewl from her carrier, and Roxy leaned down to let her out, cuddling the fluffy cat to her chest.

  “This isn’t too bad, is it, Nef? There’s adventure ahead, possibilities. Anything could happen.” She buried her nose in Nefertiti’s soft, white fur, feeling the hairs tickle her nose. “And it’s all going to be okay.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  EVANGELINE SURPRISED ROXY in numerous ways, not least by the fact that she appeared to be at least eighty years old. The guesthouse owner was short, stocky, and with a tanned face creased a thousand times with wrinkles. In her ears were big gold hoop earrings and around her waist an apron lay over her blue dress patterned with tiny flowers.

  She passed through the dining room from time to time, giving Roxy and Louise cheerful waves as they waited for their dinner. She had a spring in her step and twinkling green eyes that lit up her face.

  Every time she went through the white swinging door to the kitchen, a huge blast of fabulous-smelling air drifted outward—sausage and peppers and all kinds of savory flavors that Roxy couldn’t quite put her finger on. Plus, something delicious was baking. Roxy sniffed the air and frowned, trying to identify the smell. Oh, it was cornbread!

  “Smell awright, cher?” Evangeline said as she walked by, throwing Roxy a wink.

  “Smells like heaven,” Roxy said cheerfully. She’d had a big tuna sandwich and a packet of chips on the bus on the way down but nothing since, despite the bakery across the road calling her name. Now she was ravenous. “I can’t wait.”

  Evangeline looked her up and down as she pushed the swing door with her behind and grinned. “I think we need to get some good old Creole spice into you, ch
er. Get you smiling and bright and a little round, like Louise here.”

  Louise laughed, pretending to be outraged. “Evangeline!”

  Evangeline laughed. “Many men like a little more meat on the bones, Louise, don’tcha know? If you’ve still got your eye on Sam…”

  “I have not!” Louise protested, this time quite serious.

  Evangeline snickered and disappeared into the kitchen, throwing another wink in Roxy’s direction. She returned with two glasses. The drink inside was thick and creamy and white, with chocolate dust on top. “Your brandy milk punch. Usually for brunch, but since both of y’all missed that…”

  “Thank you,” Roxy said. “It looks scrumptious.”

  “It is,” said Louise leaning in and whispering. “That’s why I’ve been missing brunch. I’ve been putting on weight thanks to all this fabulous Creole cooking. I’m trying to get it off by running in the mornings and not sipping at sugary drinks any time of day, but especially at breakfast. I can’t keep my nose out of the sugar bowl if I start early. I’ll be the size of a house before Evangeline’s through with me if I’m not careful.”

  “Oh, life’s too short to eat dull food, child,” said Evangeline, overhearing as she once more made her way back into the kitchen. They heard her start to berate someone about something or other. Her words were laced with French and made Roxy pause as she sipped on her brandy milk punch, which was indeed scrumptious.

  Roxy turned to Louise, “So how…?”

  She trailed off. It was clear Louise wasn’t listening. She was flicking her hair behind her shoulder, sitting up straight, and pushing her lips into a pout. She was looking over Roxy’s shoulder toward the doorway that led out from the lobby.

  Roxy followed her gaze and despite Louise’s bad manners, immediately appreciated what was causing her to behave in this odd fashion. The guy who had just come through the doorway was gorgeous.

  He was tall for one thing and broad-shouldered for another, the kind of man who looked like he could lift small, slight Roxy with his little finger. The huge saxophone case he carried was dwarfed in his strong arms. He had tousled sandy hair and dark eyes that betrayed a little shyness but which were in direct contradiction to his confident walk.

  “Hi Sam,” Louise said. Her voice got a little high and childlike. Roxy suppressed a cringe.

  Sam looked a little awkward. “Hi, Louise.” He looked at Roxy, then back at Louise, obviously expecting an introduction, but Louise was far too busy batting her eyelashes at him to cotton on.

  “I’m…,” Roxy began, but unexpectedly, her voice caught in her throat. She cleared it and ended up in a coughing fit. She tried to sip a little punch to soothe her throat, but it didn’t help. She grabbed a napkin, and Sam leaned his saxophone case against the wall to give her a firm pat on the back.

  “Sorry,” Roxy said through yet another cough, her voice tight and constricted. “I’m Roxy Reinhardt.” Her eyes were watering, and she laughed at herself through the coughs—what else was there to do?

  Sam opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a booming voice came from the doorway, “And I’m Elijah Walder, if you don’t mind!” An extremely slender man with sparkling eyes stepped in, holding aloft a white paper box like it was a tray. He came over to the table. He was wearing a black bow tie atop a white short-sleeved shirt printed with coffee cups. “Roxy, did I hear?” he said, sticking his free hand out.

  “You did,” Roxy said with a smile, taking his hand and shaking it quickly.

  “Good to have another lovely, bright, and pretty flower around to liven up the place. Besides me, of course,” he said. He strode away toward the kitchen door with his hips swaying from side to side as he did so; the box he held aloft moving in concert with them. “Better get these in to Evangeline,” he said cheerfully, “before I get yelled at.” He turned and cupped his hand to his mouth. “You know what she’s like,” he whispered.

  Elijah was like a whirlwind, passing through the room so quickly no one had a chance to react. Roxy wasn’t sure how she felt about being called a “lovely, bright, and pretty flower,” but he seemed to mean it kindly.

  Sam thrust his hands into his pockets and laughed, watching the skinny man flounce into the kitchen. “Elijah owns the bakery across the street.”

  “He does?” Roxy asked. “It smelled spectacularly good earlier. I’ll be in there every single day, I’ll bet.”

  Sam pulled up a chair from the next table. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

  Louise leaned her elbows on the table and focused on him. From the way she was blinking owlishly in his direction, her mascara-thickened lashes batting furiously, Roxy doubted Louise had noticed Elijah at all. “Sam knows how to do everything,” Louise said, in a husky, low-toned voice.

  “Is that so?” Roxy said.

  “Of course not,” Sam retorted.

  “It is,” said Louise, leaning over and pushing Sam playfully on his bicep with her fingertips.

  Sam blushed. Roxy reckoned it was with embarrassment but suspected that Louise would interpret it as a sign of attraction.

  “He’s got his own very successful laundry business,” Louise continued. “He plays the sax like an absolute god. He fixes just about everything around here. And he manages to maintain an incredible physique.” Her eyelashes flickered. “Did you bring that monster of a car with you today?”

  Sam stared at the floor, then at the ceiling. He laughed. “Yes, yes, I did.”

  Louise turned to Roxy. “He has this incredible deep red car. What is it, Sam?”

  “A Rolls Royce Phantom,” he said. “But it’s just…it’s nothing. It’s the one luxury I allow myself.”

  “It costs more than my house!” Louise said excitedly.

  Sam turned quickly as they heard the front door open and close. A woman came into the room, and he sounded far too relieved when he said, “Sage! So good to see you!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SAGE WAS A tall, willowy African-American woman. She looked to be in her late thirties. Long, mermaid-like hair in a mixture of pastel colors fell in ribbons to her waist. She wore billowing, purple linen robes. Around her neck were draped multiple chains, each one weighed down by a stone that lay on her breastbone. A laptop satchel sat at her right hip, the strap crossing her body. She raised her palms as she laughed good-naturedly at Sam’s words. “It is a pleasure to lay eyes upon you, too, Samuel.” The mellow tone of her voice was like honey and had that lovely New Orleans lilt. “Along with all the souls present here today,” she looked at Louise and Roxy, then around the room, “both seen and unseen.”

  “This is Sage Washington from across the street,” Sam told Roxy. “She keeps the guesthouse website up to date and about a thousand other things.” He flashed his eyes wide, and by the way he did so, Roxy could tell he meant a thousand other unusual things. But there wasn’t a trace of mocking in his look; he treated Sage and all the rest of them with great respect.

  “The website?” Roxy said. Sage seemed such an ethereal soul, Roxy couldn’t imagine her knowing what a computer was, let alone working one.

  “Yes, sugar,” Sage said. “But that’s just my day job. I do tarot readings and all sorts of other spiritual work. I connect with the spirit world daily.”

  “And the not-so-spirit world,” Sam said, and they all laughed.

  “It’s true,” Sage said. “I’d say connecting with the spirit world is my true calling, but I love my computer work, too.”

  Sage beamed a huge smile at Roxy, “So who are you, cher?” she asked her.

  “I’m Roxy. I’m from Ohio. I arrived here today.”

  “Greetings,” Sage said. “You have a beautiful aura.”

  “Oh,” said Roxy, a little taken aback. “Um, thank you.”

  “Evangeline not done yet?” Sage said, reaching into her bag. “I could whip out my laptop and finish the last bit of programming for this client, before…”

  “You won’t be bringing any screens to my table!” Evange
line said, bursting through the kitchen door, carrying a steaming plate in each hand. “The only thing on this table is going to be my jambalaya. I made a special one for you, honey.”

  “I’m a vegetarian,” Sage explained to Roxy.

  Elijah and Nat followed Evangeline out, all carrying plates.

  “Put the tables together, why don’t ya, Sam.” Evangeline said.

  “Sure,” he replied, “but I’ve come for the washing. I heard you had a problem with the machine today.”

  “Yes, yes,” Evangeline said impatiently. “You can pick it up later. Now, sit down and eat.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to buy you a new washing machine? I could donate one of…”

  “Charity,” she hissed at him. “Now be quiet, we have a new guest.”

  “Sorry,” Sam said. He looked a little shamefaced as he realized he’d been indiscreet. “Roxy, you’ll love Evangeline’s feast. Her food is the best.”

  Soon he’d dragged all the lace-covered tables into a neat row. Louise watched his bulging biceps the whole while, but the others arranged the chairs around the table as they anticipated tucking in to their hot plates of food.

  Roxy noticed that Sam studiously avoided sitting next to Louise and ended up between Evangeline and Nat. The younger woman had bustled out of the kitchen and, with a grin, had plonked herself down gracelessly beside Roxy. Roxy couldn’t tell what to make of Nat. There was a definite edge to her, what with the piercings and the tattoos and the big biker boots, but she seemed nice enough. Elijah sat between Louise and Sage on the other side of the table.

  “Now, Roxy,” Evangeline said, “everyone else is used to this already, but let me tell you specially, cher. This is real Creole jambalaya, with salt pork, smoky sausage, shrimp, and a secret spice mix that’s been in my family since before your grandmamma was born. It’s got a little kick to it.” She nodded at the jugs on the table—one of ice water, the other lemonade—and then at the bottles of red wine. “So go ahead and fill your glass with whatever beverage you’d prefer.”