“Well, look what we have here,” Broussard said, eying Sadie with suspicion.
“Hot chocolate?” Sadie said. “You needed a warrant to find hot chocolate? You could have ordered that from that other bakery, Bluette’s.”
“It’s not hot chocolate,” Broussard said. He opened the lid slowly with plastic-gloved hands. Tilting it forward, he showed the container to Sadie.
“Whipped cream?” Sadie said, confused. “I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” Broussard said, “is the toxicology report that we got back on the tart the victim ate. It tested positive for cyanide.”
“In the tart?” Sadie said, both shocked at the revelation and relieved once again that she didn’t order a tart to go on that fateful morning.
Broussard shook his head. “No, not in the tart itself. That was clear. But the whipped cream was heavily laced with cyanide.”
Sadie’s eyes widened. “Mimi Arnaud was poisoned? How dreadful! But that has nothing to do with me. Look, I’ll show you.” Quickly she set Coco down, jumped out of the chair, and plunged her finger into the whipped cream. She’d almost brought it to her mouth before Broussard grabbed her arm.
“No!” he shouted. He escorted Sadie to the suite’s bathroom, keeping a firm grip on her arm. After scrubbing her finger with soap and water, he peeled off his plastic gloves. Returning to the front room, he asked the other men to bag the whipped cream container and dispose of his plastic gloves safely.
“I think a discussion at the station is in order,” Broussard said.
“You’re not arresting us?” Sadie asked, scooping Coco into her arms.
Both the policemen looked around as if another person were present.
“No, I’m not arresting you,” Broussard said. “And we’re certainly not in the habit of arresting dogs.”
Sadie thought she saw a hint of a smile accompany the latter statement.
“You can ride with the officers here,” Broussard said. “I’ll meet you at the station.”
“Fine,” Sadie said. “Seeing as I’m not under arrest, I’ll voluntarily offer to cooperate.” Just the sound of her words made Sadie feel back in control. She was offering to help now, not merely going along with the detective’s directions.
Sadie gathered up Coco, her tote bag, and her phone and accompanied the men to the police car. As she slid into the vehicle, a buzz from her cell phone indicated an incoming text. Once seated, she pulled out her phone to check it.
Meet at Bluette’s at 9:30?
Sadie sighed. Beignets and café au lait with Clotile certainly sounded better than her current itinerary.
“You officers wouldn’t care to stop at Bluette’s Beignets on the way to the station, would you?” Sadie quipped as she waved her phone in the air. “They probably have donuts.”
“Old joke,” one of the officers said. “Not really funny.”
“Well, I thought it was funny,” she whispered to Coco as she sent a text back to Clotile.
Not this morning. A little indisposed at the moment.
Maybe indisposed was a bit of an understatement, but it avoided the more complicated, complete explanation. She waited for a return text and was relieved to see a simple response.
Okay. Maybe later.
Sadie typed a quick text. Sounds good.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The local police station was a stately building, solid and plain, lacking the enchanting ambiance of the balconies and architecture of the French Quarter. Yet it took only a short drive to get there, and Sadie soon found herself seated at a table in a sparsely furnished room.
“Detective Broussard will be with you in just a bit.” The officer who hadn’t appreciated her donut joke set a mug of coffee in front of Sadie, excused himself, and left the room.
On her own with nothing to do at the moment but wait for the detective, Sadie took Coco out of the tote bag, set the Yorkie on the table, and looked around. Contrary to movie scenes she’s seen, no overhead light hung low over the table, the kind where someone’s half-lit face might ask “Where were you the night of…” Instead, sunshine flowed through side windows, making the room feel more like a conference room in a business office than an interrogation room. It was basic but not unfriendly.
“What do you think, Coco?” Sadie said as she surveyed the area. “Nothing a few plants and framed artwork couldn’t spruce up. Or maybe wallpaper… yes, something whimsical like jail cells with lavish décor and inmates toasting each other with champagne. Something like that. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Getting a yip for a response, Sadie took it as a vote of approval. She slipped her hand into a side pocket and pulled out a small bone-shaped cookie, which Coco gladly accepted. The petite canine was in the process of chomping on the treat when Detective Broussard entered the room. He held a coffee mug in one hand and a pen and paper in the other.
“Do you think... oh, never mind.” The detective took a seat across from Sadie while casting skeptical looks in Coco’s direction.
“So, Detective Broussard,” Sadie said. “Why am I here if I’m not under arrest? And why did you come to search my room anyway? I don’t understand any of this.”
“Which do you want to know first? You’re asking several questions at once.” Broussard said. “Never mind, I’ll just explain straight off. You’re here because we think you can help us.”
“Okay,” Sadie said, unsure if she was going to like where this was going. She’d seen enough television shows where people were forced to wear wires and enter dangerous situations. She had Coco’s safety to think about as well. With that thought, she picked Coco up off the table and held her close.
“And we came to your room because we received an anonymous tip that something you had would implicate you. The reason you’re not under arrest is your reaction to the whipped cream,” Broussard added. “If you’d known it was poisoned, you wouldn’t have tried to eat it.”
“What makes you even think it’s poisoned?” Sadie said. “I just added that whipped cream to the hot chocolate I had late last night, and I’m fine.”
“Did it smell like almonds last night?” Broussard asked.
“No,” Sadie said. “Why would it?”
“If it had been the same whipped cream you had last night, it would have,” Broussard said. “Well, that’s not necessarily true,” he said, qualifying his statement. “Cyanide has a strong almond smell, though not everyone’s sense of smell recognizes it.”
“So maybe I’m in the percentage of people who don’t pick up on the almond smell,” Sadie said. “That doesn’t explain why I had it last night and yet am perfectly fine today. What’s your explanation for that?”
“Easy,” Broussard said. “It’s not the same whipped cream. Someone had to have switched it out since last night.”
“Are you saying someone went into my room?” Sadie leaned forward. “When?”
“Obviously between the time you had your hot chocolate and the time we searched your room this morning. Have you left your room since last night?”
Sadie shook her head. “Only to take Coco for a quick walk this morning.”
“Any chance you left your room unlocked?”
“No,” Sadie said, her voice firm. “I’m very careful about that when I travel.” Sadie reached into a pocket, pulled out her room key, and placed it on the table. “I never leave this anywhere. I always know exactly where it is.”
Coco reached out with one paw and swatted the key, sending it flying across the table and into Broussard’s coffee mug with a sharp clink.
“Have you loaned it to anyone while you’ve been staying here?” The detective eyed Coco as he gently handed the key back to Sadie.
“Absolutely not,” Sadie said.
Broussard tapped his fingers on the table. “I checked the lock and doorframe of your room when I left. It hasn’t been tampered with.”
“Meaning what? That someone else has a key to my room?” Sadie shudder
ed, suddenly glad she always secured the dead bolt and chain locks on hotel doors at night.
“That’s the logical assumption,” Broussard said. “Many people at a hotel have access to a master key—housekeeping, maintenance, the front office…”
“Well!” Sadie huffed. “That’s certainly not very comforting.”
“Not in this case,” Broussard agreed. “But if you had an emergency and they were able to get inside to help you, I imagine it would be.”
Sadie had to admit the detective had a point. “I suppose so. But… do you think we’re safe now?” She glanced at Coco and then back at Broussard. “Should we find another place to stay? I don’t really want to change hotels if I don’t have to.” And I might be able to find something out if I stay, she thought to herself.
“I think you’ll be safe staying. And you may be able to help us,” Broussard said as if echoing her thoughts. “I can put a twenty-four-hour watch on your room.”
“Won’t that make the hotel suspicious?” Sadie asked. “If someone working there is the person who entered my room…” She shuddered again at the thought of someone in her room. In particular, the creepy face of Horace LeBlanc came to mind.
“We can watch without the hotel knowing,” Broussard said as he jotted down notes to himself. “And I don’t think you were the target of the whipped cream we found in your room. We believe it was put there to frame you, just to cast suspicion away from the real killer.”
“Why me?” Sadie asked, not sure if she should feel insulted or honored.
Broussard looked up from the notepad. “Why not you? You were there at the bakery that morning, you’re staying at the hotel that’s linked to the family dispute, you just arrived in town, and you’re planning to leave soon. You’re a perfect target for framing.”
Sadie sighed. Somehow that didn’t make her feel especially secure about traveling in the future, and she did love to travel. Even Coco had her own travel wardrobe.
“Keep your dead bolt and chain locked whenever you’re in your room,” Broussard said, standing up. “We’ll have eyes on your room when you go out, so we’ll know if anyone tries to go in.” He walked to the door, opened it, and called to the two officers, instructing them to take Sadie back to the hotel.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Kramer.” Broussard shook her hand.
“Well, thank you for not arresting me,” Sadie countered. “Coco thanks you too.”
“You’re welcome,” Broussard said, adding after a brief hesitation, “both of you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“That’s just crazy,” Clotile said. She took a sip from a tall, curved glass and looked at Sadie, shaking her head.
“Tell me about it,” Sadie said. “This is not what I had in mind for a vacation.” Sadie tasted her own drink, and her eyes lit up. “This, however, is fabulous. What did you order for us? I may need to have another after this.” She looked around, taking in the happy-hour atmosphere at Cyril’s Crazy Cajun Cookery. Jazz music flowed from overhead speakers, and an enthusiastic crowd surrounded a table of complimentary appetizers.
Clotile held her glass up in the air. “I bet you won’t find these on those boardwalks at Fisherman’s Wharf. We call this a Hurricane.”
Sadie nodded approval. “Sweet and colorful. And I love the fruit and little umbrella on top. I feel like I’m on an exotic island.”
“I’d say you are.” Clotile laughed. “New Orleans isn’t your everyday city. And you’re having a wild week, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t remind me,” Sadie said. “I’d like to forget about everything for an hour or two.”
“Well, a couple of Hurricanes might just do the trick,” Clotile said.
Forgetting about all the drama had been her intention when she had decided to head over to the restaurant to meet up with Clotile. She’d changed into black slacks and a rhinestone-studded fuchsia T-shirt and wrapped a multicolored scarf around her head. Skeleton-head earrings that she’d picked up on a quick excursion to the French Market that afternoon added an edgy touch to the outfit. At least Coco had thought so when she put them on. The Yorkie had backed away from the odd accessories at first but relaxed once Sadie let her bat them back and forth.
“In that case, I’m going to check out the appetizer table.” Sadie stood up and hoisted her tote bag over her shoulder. “Any requests?”
“Popcorn shrimp, if they have it,” Clotile said.
Sadie sauntered over to the crowded food area, certain she was blending in with the other happy-hour aficionados. Surveying the crowd, she wondered if she might even be taken for a local. She definitely fit in better than she had originally in her coastal seashell attire.
Searching the appetizer selections, she piled some chips on a small paper plate. She debated between several dips, finally choosing a hot crawfish concoction. Not seeing any resembling popcorn shrimp, she topped the plate off with some sort of fritters.
Ready to head back to the table, she took a few steps in that direction but suddenly stopped cold. A man stood next to Clotile, bent forward close enough to whisper in Clotile’s ear. With his head lowered, Sadie couldn’t make out his face, but he seemed familiar. At least he seemed familiar with Clotile, especially when he glanced around furtively and then placed a quick kiss on her cheek before patting her on the shoulder and walking away.
Sadie turned back toward the food in order to give herself time to think. Why didn’t the man simply sit down at the table and join them? Had Clotile not invited him to? Perhaps she had, and he had other plans, so he declined. Or maybe it was something more. And was he leaning that close to her ear in order to be heard over the music? Or was it to not be heard by anyone else?
Taking a bite of a fritter, she closed her eyes, savoring the mixed flavors of shrimp, onion, and garlic. She debated the kiss she’d observed. Was it that of a friend? A cousin? A brother? Someone closer? She’d only known Clotile for a few days, not long enough to know much about her personal life. The man could have been anyone, perhaps someone she didn’t even know. But why had he seemed familiar?
Sadie tried to visualize the scene again. What had he been wearing? All she remembered was that it had been nondescript. What was his posture like? That was difficult to tell, seeing as he was bent over. Was he wearing a watch? Yes, something on his wrist had caught the light when he patted Clotile on her shoulder. Maybe…
“Are you all right?”
Sadie jumped at the recognizable voice. She opened her eyes to find Clotile standing in front of her, eyeing her with curiosity and concern.
“Of course I’m all right,” Sadie said, perhaps too quickly. “Why?”
“Because you were standing here with your eyes closed, holding a fritter in front of your mouth, as if giving thanks to the inventor of fried foods, that’s why.” Clotile put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side. Even with her nerves on edge, Sadie fought back a smile. Clotile’s description was undoubtedly accurate. That’s exactly what she must have looked like.
“I was just savoring the flavor of this fritter,” Sadie said hastily. “Delicious! I can’t get over the fantastic use of spices in the food here.”
“Cajun food is known for its flavor,” Clotile said. “And it looks like you’ve got a good selection. I’ll make myself a plate and meet you back at the table. I already ordered us a couple more drinks.”
Sadie hesitated. “I’m not sure I need a second drink after all,” she said. The thought occurred to her that lingering at the restaurant might not be the best decision at this point. On the other hand, she wasn’t about to let the food on her plate go to waste.
“Then just drink half of it,” Clotile said as she picked up a miniature crab cake and set it on her plate.
“Good suggestion,” Sadie said, mostly as an excuse to get out of the conversation and move away. “I’ll meet you back at the table.”
Sadie returned to her seat and set the food down. She broke off part of a chip and d
ropped it into the tote bag and was rewarded with a yip of thanks.
“Great food selection,” Clotile said as she sat back down, her plate loaded.
Now on her third shrimp fritter, Sadie couldn’t disagree. She nodded her head in agreement and waited to speak until she’d swallowed. “Amazing they can put that spread out there for free. They could make do with just the chips and dips.”
“It only seems free, trust me,” Clotile said. “They make plenty on the extra drinks they sell because of the food. Liquor is always where the biggest profit is for restaurants.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before,” Sadie said. “And they do seem to bring in a big crowd.”
“They sure do,” Clotile said. “Great for people-watching.”
Why the small talk? Sadie wondered. To cover up something?
“I can see that,” Sadie said. “It’s quite the meeting place too. I imagine you run into people you know here.”
“Not really,” Clotile said. “People come here in groups, after work. Or they come alone, looking for a singles scene.” She glanced around as if to confirm the presence of single customers there.
“Ah, yes,” Sadie said. “We have plenty of places like that in California. The after-work crowd gathers, looking to forget the stress of the workday before heading home.”
“Exactly.” Clotile took a healthy gulp of her Hurricane.
Seeing an opening, Sadie decided to dig for information. “Speaking of work, I believe I told you I run a fashion boutique in San Francisco.”
Although she’d intended her statement to lead to a discussion of what Clotile did for a living, this reminded her that she ought to check in with Amber, back in the shop. She wasn’t worried, as the reliable assistant would have contacted her if needed. But it was her habit to check in anyway when away on trips.
“Yes,” Clotile said. “You mentioned that on the airplane. That must be fun, working with clothing and accessories. In fact, I bet you could pick some things up at the French Market that you could sell at your own shop.”
A Flair for Beignets (The Sadie Kramer Flair Mysteries Book 3) Page 7
