A Flair for Beignets (The Sadie Kramer Flair Mysteries Book 3)

by Deborah Garner

  Fortunately, a few tables remained unoccupied. Sadie headed for a two-top in a side area. It was a perfect location for not being disturbed. She sat in one chair, back to the wall, and gave Coco the other—which is to say she set her bag on that chair, claiming both seats. She had no interest in anyone joining her. All she wanted to do was think and observe. Her simple outfit—jeans, a purple shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat she’d picked up at a boutique near Marie Laveau’s—would help her blend in as well. She’d even resisted adding the earrings with glittery clusters of grapes that she usually loved to wear with that particular blouse.

  Business was booming. Bluette—Sadie recognized her immediately from the description Clotile had given here—stood behind the cash register, quietly ringing up sales. In addition, a server moved from table to table, taking and delivering orders in an attempt to keep the line from building up at the counter.

  A pony-tailed girl who barely looked old enough to drive approached Sadie’s table. She wore a name tag that said Marie.

  “Welcome to Bluette’s Beignets. What may I get you?” Marie sported the determined look of someone proud of her first foray into the workforce. She posed a pen against an order pad as if expecting a complicated order. Sadie had no doubt this was the girl’s first job, if not her first day. There was something both sweet and impressive in the way the server took her role so seriously.

  “What do you recommend?” Sadie asked.

  “The beignets are a favorite,” Marie replied. She then leaned forward as if divulging a personal secret. “But I love the apple fritters myself.”

  Sadie contemplated, arriving at the most reasonable answer. “Then I’d better try both! I’ll take one of each. And a small bag to take the two halves I’ll be saving for later.”

  “Café au lait with that? Or something else?”

  “Hot tea,” Sadie said. “With a slice of lemon, if that’s possible.”

  “Of course.” The girl jotted the order down on the notepad. “Coming right up.”

  Sadie sat back and looked around the room, thinking about Gina’s words. The whole fortune-telling scenario seemed more show than anything, but the woman’s comments about illusion had hit home. Sadie already felt she couldn’t trust anyone she’d met on the trip. Wasn’t that a question of illusion? How could one know if people were what they seemed or if they only appeared to be? This was especially true when traveling and meeting strangers, without adequate time for more than a casual acquaintance.

  Normally these types of thoughts wouldn’t bother Sadie. She had a small circle of friends at home and trusted them completely. Amber ran her boutique, Flair, with the same care she would if it were her own shop. Matteo, aside from keeping her chocolate cravings satisfied, was always there for her when she needed someone to talk to. And, of course, there was Coco, loyal, true blue. There was no question of illusion in her circle of friends.

  “Here you go: one beignet, one apple fritter, one pot of tea with lemon, and a bag for whatever you take to go. Enjoy.” The server slid the plates onto the table and moved on.

  One bite of beignet had Sadie practically melting with satisfaction. The powdered sugar was the perfect companion to the delicious fried dough of the donut-type pastry itself. She squeezed the lemon into the tea, took a sip, and followed it by tasting the apple fritter that the young server had recommended. Delicious!

  Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a man coughing at a nearby table. He faced the opposite direction, his back to her. A sudden fear gripped her, wondering if she was about to see a repeat of the scene with Mimi Arnaud. If so, she would swear off bakeries forever. After all, she could always make the sacrifice of living on chocolate alone. Matteo would take care of her.

  Her fear subsided when she realized the customer was not choking but simply coughing to get the attention of a customer who had just entered, another man.

  “What do you think, Coco?” Sadie said as she dropped a crumb of beignet into her tote bag. “Couldn’t he just have called out the man’s name? Or summoned him over by waving his arm? People are so funny sometimes.” Coco yipped, and Sadie dropped another crumb. “I’m surprised the man even heard him over this noisy crowd.”

  Taking another sip of tea, Sadie found herself surprisingly irked by the man’s cough, thinking at first it was just because it seemed an odd way to get someone’s attention. But it didn’t take long for her to realize the real reason the gesture seemed odd: it was the particular cough itself. It was familiar, recognizable. It matched the cough she’d heard in the alley the first night.

  Sadie pulled her hat’s brim lower over her forehead and held the apple fritter in front of her face, as if about to take a bite. She realized she must look like she was holding one of the masks she’d admired at the French Market, though certainly tastier. But it was a means to an end, and it worked. There was no illusion in what she now saw. As she watched the two men meet, she had a clear glimpse of their faces as they shook hands before sitting back down. The man summoned by the cough was Horace LeBlanc. And the cough itself belonged to the man she’d seen with Clotile. In addition, he looked like the man she’d seen at the food counter at the French Market.

  “If only we’d chosen a closer table,” Sadie whispered to Coco. “We could have heard their conversation.” Even as she said this, she realized it wouldn’t have helped. The men had their heads lowered over paperwork. Their voices wouldn’t have been loud enough to hear.

  Sadie watched as the young server approached the table. Horace LeBlanc efficiently shooed the girl away as the other man turned the papers face down discreetly but quickly. After the server moved away, Horace walked to the counter and ordered on his own, bringing two mugs of coffee back to the table.

  “Very secretive, don’t you think, Coco?” Sadie leaned over her tote as if expecting an answer. “And who is this other man anyway?”

  The flurry of bakery activity rose and fell as locals stopped by for their favorites and tourists popped in to try sweet New Orleans delicacies. Tables filled and emptied, yet the two men continued their hushed conversation.

  “There’s nothing to be gained in watching these men from afar,” Sadie said to Coco finally. “It’s obvious they’re up to something, but I can’t hear anything they’re saying, and I can’t see the paperwork.” Oh, how I’d love to see those papers!

  Gathering the tote into her lap, Sadie pulled out a tip for the server and tucked it alongside the pot of tea. She slid the partial portions of the beignet and apple fritter servings—not quite half of each, she admitted to herself—and was beginning to stand, when she saw Clotile walk in the front door.

  Quickly Sadie dropped back into her seat and pulled the brim of her new hat down, relieved that Clotile couldn’t recognize it. Tucking her tote bag under the table, out of sight, she watched Clotile walk directly over to the men and stand with her back to Sadie. This stance was convenient in the sense that Sadie was out of Clotile’s line of sight. But it was inconvenient, as well, since there was no way of knowing Clotile’s disposition. It only took a few seconds, however, to determine the disposition of the men. Both their faces were stern, almost icy. It was as if a mask of socially acceptable disapproval covered up an intense rage that had no place in public display.

  As opposed to when the server had passed by, neither man had bothered to turn the papers face down, even when Clotile tapped her index finger pointedly on them.

  “Clotile already knows whatever they’re involved with, Coco,” Sadie whispered. Which means she’s involved too. I knew it!

  Except that didn’t entirely make sense. Why would all three be upset, in that case? There was only one logical explanation: whatever plan the three of them had started off with had now turned into a plan for two. And Clotile was no longer part of the “in” crowd.

  As if to confirm Sadie’s suspicions, Clotile abruptly turned and walked out, leaving the two men exchanging smug glances in her wake. Soon after, both men left, the paperwork
safely tucked away inside Horace’s jacket. That is, all but one sheet, which floated to the ground as they walked out the door.

  “Well!” Sadie whispered to Coco. “We just can’t have people littering, can we? No, I didn’t think so!” Sadie made a quick departure, pausing just long enough at the doorway to pick the paper up and stash it in her bag.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sadie entered the courtyard of the hotel, holding her tote bag securely against her side as if guarding precious gems. After all, Coco was more valuable than any gemstones could be. But she also suspected the paper she’d picked up had value in itself.

  A middle-aged woman who was busy pruning rosebushes nodded hello. She wore overalls, a white T-shirt, and a denim hat with the embroidered wording, Cajun Clippers. To the side of the slogan, a cartoonish crawfish held a pair of pruning shears.

  “Some surveillance, Coco,” Sadie said after they entered the room and locked the door. “Though I must say, I wouldn’t want to pick a fight with those pruning shears.”

  Coco—not having had more than a few crumbs at Bluette’s Beignets—moved into eager position alongside her china food dish. While Sadie could hardly wait to inspect the paper that Horace had dropped, she understood that Coco’s priorities at the moment differed from hers.

  “Chicken, turkey, or salmon?” Sadie said, holding up cans of the Yorkie’s favorite dinner fare. She watched as Coco surveyed the options, remaining indecisive. “Okay, salmon it is then.” She emptied a can into a china bowl and added a few bites of kibble, just for the crunch of it. “There you go, Coco. That should keep you busy while I do a little reading.”

  Eagerly, Sadie pulled the paper from her bag but was interrupted by an incoming text before she could look at it. Glancing at her phone’s screen, she drew in a quick breath.

  We need to talk!

  Clotile. And the “tone” of the text sounded nothing like that of the Clotile she’d known for the past few days. Obviously, the scene she’d witnessed at Bluette’s had changed Clotile’s attitude in some way. Unsure how to respond, she set the phone aside and looked at the paper.

  “What do you make of this, Coco?” Sadie asked. Not expecting a response, she continued on her own. “It’s some sort of map.”

  Sadie moved to a nightstand, where the light was brighter, and looked at the paper closely. “No, it actually shows a couple of maps. Wait, there’s some fine print here… Oh, fiddlesticks, Coco! Where are my reading glasses?” This brought a return look of surprise from Coco. If a Yorkie could be capable of raising eyebrows, it would describe the look she received.

  Fetching her favorite reading glasses—black-and-white zebra print with rhinestones in the upper outside corners—she sat down on the edge of the bed to further investigate the contents of the paper Horace had unknowingly left behind for her.

  Sadie, you there? I really need to talk to you.

  Sadie sighed. Another text from Clotile. How was Sadie supposed to reply? She’d already determined that she couldn’t trust anyone, perhaps least of all Clotile. The woman had seemed like such a pleasant acquaintance on the plane flight. But it seemed every place she’d led Sadie played some part in a bigger picture.

  Chez Lisette’s Patisserie, for example, where she walked right into a murder scene. And it was at the hotel’s wine-and-appetizer hour that Horace had first appeared and Clotile had pointed him out. Then there was the episode at Cyril’s Crazy Cajun Cookery, with the strange kiss and overly firm pat on the shoulder by the other man, the one now obviously connected with Horace.

  Who is that man anyway? Sadie wondered.

  To top it all off, the interaction she’d observed at Bluette’s Beignets today cinched her suspicions. These people, including Clotile, were involved in something together.

  Another thought suddenly hit her. Would she be in danger if she answered the text from Clotile? Or would she be in more danger if she didn’t?

  Sadie decided to buy herself some time to think.

  Here. BRB.

  That should do it, she thought. She’d acknowledged the text so Clotile wouldn’t think she was ignoring her. Yet “BRB” AKA “be right back” would work as a stalling tactic.

  Going back to the paper, Sadie slipped on her zebra reading glasses and examined the maps. Now that she was able to read the small print, she was disappointed to find it didn’t offer much information. Phrases like “Preliminary sketches,” “first,” “second,” and “draft” did little to enlighten her. The initials “LMNOP” were scribbled at the bottom, but it didn’t sound familiar. In fact, it sounded ridiculous. Was the person who drew the sketches also practicing the alphabet?

  Taking a closer look, Sadie could see there was no address or contact name, though there was a phone number. She contemplated calling but decided against it. She seemed to be in enough trouble as it was. If this was part of something shady, as it certainly appeared to be, she didn’t need these people to have her cell phone number. And calling from the hotel phone was out of the question.

  How Sadie wished Horace LeBlanc had dropped all the papers instead of just one. Then again, he probably would have realized he’d done that, leaving her with nothing. At least she had a tidbit of information.

  Or was it only a tidbit?

  Sadie took a closer look at the sketches. There was something familiar about them, at least about one portion. The shape of a subsection looked familiar, with two small opposing diagonal lines indicating… doors? That would make it a room. And the shape…

  It’s the hotel lobby! This realization puzzled Sadie. If that was the lobby, the rest of that sketch must indicate other rooms. Yes, there were other doors sketched in, yet they didn’t match the hallways the way she remembered them.

  Suddenly Sadie let out a loud laugh. Coco scurried onto the velvet pillow in her travel palace, as if her human had lost her mind.

  “Coco!” Sadie said, still chuckling. “This whole thing is nonsense. They’re simply discussing a remodel of the hotel.”

  Shaking her head, Sadie reached for her phone to text Clotile back, but then she paused. Something still wasn’t right. Clotile had been much too upset to have it simply be over a hotel remodel. And what did she have to do with the hotel anyway?

  As if that weren’t enough to cast doubt on the overlapping situations, Mimi Arnaud was still dead, Sadie had still been set up for the murder with the switch of the whipped cream in her room’s fridge, and Clotile, Horace, and Mystery Man were in the midst of a disagreement that seemed like more than a difference of opinion over remodeling plans.

  No, there were too many overlapping occurrences and too many unanswered questions. And she had a feeling Clotile was her best link to the answers. But how could she approach Clotile safely, not knowing what her particular involvement was?

  A public place, Sadie thought. We can meet in a place that’s at least somewhat safe since we’ll be surrounded by other people. Would Bluette’s be safe enough?

  It was worth a try. And maybe Detective Broussard was fond of the beignets there. Yes, that would be the best bet. She’d invite both Clotile and the detective to breakfast, only Broussard could sit somewhere unobserved.

  Sadie typed in a quick text.

  Exhausted tonight. How about Bluette’s at nine thirty tomorrow morning?

  She waited nervously for the return text, hoping Clotile wouldn’t push for a meeting that evening. Fortunately, she was in luck.

  Fine. Nine thirty at Bluette’s. See you then.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sadie had to admit Detective Broussard looked impressive in shorts, a T-shirt, and running shoes. Under different circumstances, she might have been tempted to flirt with him. She might have even worn something youthful and hip, rather than the semi frumpy attire she’d chosen for the occasion. A shorter skirt and off-the-shoulder blouse maybe. Instead, her orange capris and oversized yellow tunic would have to do. At least she’d remembered to pack her plastic banana earrings and matching watchband for a
ccessories.

  “He must be a morning person, Coco,” she said aloud, earning an odd look from a customer at the table next to hers.

  Odd looks from strangers were something Sadie was used to. She didn’t always think to whisper when speaking to the Yorkie in public. Most people didn’t hold conversations with inanimate objects, in this case, a tote bag, by all appearances. Then again, the recent habit people had of wearing earbud microphones for phone calls did add some normalcy to the habit. At least she had a physical object as the recipient of her comments, rather than appearing to converse with nothing but air.

  The detective had taken a table in the center of Bluette’s Beignets. Facing the door, he could see customers who entered, yet the brim of his baseball cap, combined with the newspaper he held in front of his coffee, helped him blend in with the rest of the crowd.

  Marie, the same young server who’d waited on her the last visit, approached Sadie’s table and offered her coffee. She accepted readily, in spite of having downed two cups in the hotel lobby earlier. Caffeine didn’t affect her nerves as much as it did some people. And she could use all the help she could get to stay on top of the anticipated discussion ahead of her.

  “Would you like anything from our bakery selections to go with that?” Marie asked.

  “Absolutely!” Sadie said. “I read about calas fried rice fritters when I was planning my visit here. I’m not sure what they are exactly, but it sounded like something I should try.”

  Marie smiled. “You’ll love them. They have just a touch of cinnamon and vanilla.”

  “Count me in then. A person can’t go wrong with cinnamon and vanilla,” Sadie said.

  Marie jotted a note on her order pad and walked away.

  Sadie sat back and took a sip of coffee. In spite of nervous anxiety over the expected meeting with Clotile, she wanted to enjoy one of the best aspects of coffee establishments: people-watching. Especially when traveling, a lot could be told through observation. Locals and tourists could usually be distinguished by both dress and mannerisms. And, if she couldn’t figure out anything about a person, she could always make it up.