Rebel Without a Cake (3 page)

Bernice's words landed with a dull thud in the silence. Miss Frankie shot me a “do not encourage her” look, but I couldn't stop myself.

“So you're saying you saw . . . a ghost?” I asked.

“It certainly seemed like it,” Bernice said with a soul-deep sigh. “We always thought an alligator got him. They found his boat a few days after he disappeared along with signs that there'd been a large gator in the area. His gun was on the bank of the swamp so everyone reckoned that he got out of the boat to catch a gator on dry land. That's extremely risky. Gators are much faster than humans on land. Anyway, that's what the police said, and we didn't have any reason not to believe them.”

I stole a quick peek at the clock and decided I could afford to stick around a few minutes longer. I might miss most of Dwight's party, but I was fascinated by Bernice's story. “But no one ever found his body?”

Bernice shook her head. “We never found any other sign of him, but that wasn't surprising. Considering where he was when he went missing, nobody really expected to find his . . . remains.”

“Then he's still alive,” Miss Frankie said in a tone that brooked no argument. “It's the only possible explanation for what you saw tonight.”

Bernice flashed a glance at the door and argued anyway. “I guess there's a chance you're right, but it seems unlikely. He loved his life. He adored Aunt Margaret and his kids. There's no way he would have just walked away from them without a word—especially not from Aunt Margaret. The Percifield men are loyal.”

Maybe so, but he wouldn't have been the first person to run out on the family everyone thought he loved. But it seemed kinder not to point that out so I said, “Is there any chance he's been in contact with your aunt in secret? Maybe she knows where he is but she just hasn't told the rest of you,” I suggested.

“I'm sure she hasn't heard from him,” Bernice insisted. “Aunt Margaret would never lie. So you see, it just couldn't have been Uncle Cooch. That's what frightened me so badly.”

Miss Frankie tried to look supportive. “Well, it's a puzzle for sure. Let me get you some coffee and cookies. What about you, Rita? What would you like?”

Offering food in times of crisis is what Miss Frankie does. I'm a bona fide foodie, but I wasn't sure coffee and cookies would work a miracle cure for poor Bernice. “Nothing for me, thanks. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for what you saw tonight, Bernice. If it wasn't your uncle, maybe it was some kid in a
Swamp People
or
Duck Dynasty
costume out for a few laughs. When you saw him in the window, you just thought it was your uncle Cooch.”

Bernice gave me a sad-eyed look, and I could tell she was tired of arguing. “I suppose that was it. But I was so sure . . .” She laughed softly and put both hands on her Bible. “Silly of me, wasn't it?”

“Not at all,” I assured her. “Anybody would have had the same reaction.”

My cell phone rang and I recognized the ring tone as Edie Bryce, the office manager at Zydeco, no doubt calling to find out where I was. I stood and grabbed my purse from the back of the chair. “I'm sorry, ladies, but I can't stay. The others are waiting for me at the Dizzy Duke and I'm already late. I hate to leave the two of you alone, though. Why don't you come with me?”

Miss Frankie cut a glance at me over her shoulder. “Don't be silly. We'll be just fine—won't we, Bernice?”

Bernice nodded. “I feel much better now. Besides, I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“You wouldn't be intruding,” I assured her. “We're just having a drink to celebrate Dwight's birthday. If you come along, Miss Frankie, you can tell the staff about the meeting with Evangeline Delahunt.”

Miss Frankie wore a pleased smiled as she carried the coffeepot to the table. She'd reeled me in once again, but at least she didn't gloat when she bent to kiss my cheek. “You can tell them, sugar. I won't mind at all. I'll stay here with Bernice and make sure all is well. Now go. Don't you worry about us for a minute.”

Even with their assurances, I felt a twinge of guilt about leaving them alone. I told myself that even though Miss Frankie didn't believe Bernice had seen an intruder—or an uncle—she'd still keep the doors locked to be on the safe side. Frankly, now that I knew both of them were packing heat, I probably should be more concerned about that poor kid running around the neighborhood in costume.

I kept an eye out for anyone skulking around as I left the neighborhood, but everything looked peaceful. So I promised myself that I'd check with Miss Frankie on my way home, then pushed the worry to the back of my mind. I wanted to give all my focus to Dwight's party.

Luck was with me. Traffic was light so I made good time. I even found a parking space less than a block from the Dizzy Duke, which was a minor miracle on a Friday night. The neighborhood had donned its Halloween attire—orange lights glowing from darkened storefronts, flyers advertising haunted tours and numerous ghoulish parties scheduled to take place over the next week or so.

I felt a rush of pride when I saw an ornate banner of black and gold advertising the Belle Lune Ball. Anticipation buzzed along my skin, making me feel like a kid on Christmas morning.
This was going to be great
, I thought.
Everyone will be so impressed!

As I hurried inside, I spared a brief wave for Gabriel Broussard behind the bar. He looked great with his thick brown hair, his deep brown bedroom eyes, and his sexy Cajun grin. My heart did a little flippy thing, which was almost enough to make me forget about Dwight's birthday and belly up to the bar instead. I showed a remarkable amount of self-control and kept moving forward. What can I say? I've always been responsible.

The house jazz band was onstage, and I found my staff gathered at our usual table near the bandstand. Everyone seemed in high spirits, and I felt a little giddy when I anticipated their reactions to my news.

Ox, known in other circles as Wyndham Oxford III, is my second-in-command. He's another old friend from pastry school, usually thoughtful and always highly creative. I've often thought that he resembles an African-American Mr. Clean, but tonight, as he sat with one arm slung across his girlfriend Isabeau's shoulders and a toothpick dangling from his mouth, there was a dash of Vin Diesel tossed in as well.

Isabeau Pope is more than just Ox's girlfriend. She's also a talented cake artist. She's about fifteen years younger than Ox, twenty-something to his late thirties, and where he's dark and intense, she's blond and perkier than anyone has a right to be. But they've been together awhile now, and so far their differences don't seem to matter. Even though I would never have thought to pair the two of them, they seem truly happy together and I was glad for them.

Next to Isabeau, Sparkle Starr stared morosely into a glass filled with a strawberry daiquiri. At first glance, that drink seemed like an odd fit for Sparkle, who lives to contradict her name. Her long hair is dyed pitch black, and her lips and nails are painted to match. She rims her eyes with thick black liner and keeps her complexion ghostly pale. When I first came to New Orleans, I'd found Sparkle's goth appearance a bit unsettling, but time has mellowed my reaction so that tonight I barely even noticed the spiked dog collar on her neck or the gossamer black fabric of her bat-wing sleeves.

Next to Sparkle sat Edie Bryce, who is not only Zydeco's office manager but another former classmate from pastry school. Unlike the rest of us, Edie hadn't finished her schooling. She'd dropped out early after learning that her skills in the kitchen left something to be desired. She's midthirties and petite with chin-length dark hair and features that hint at her Chinese-American heritage. She's also eight months pregnant—a real success since her doctor had ruled hers a high-risk pregnancy at around the five-month mark. We'd all been walking on eggshells around her delicate emotions since the spring. Everyone at the bakery was ready for the baby to make its appearance.

Estelle Jergens, Zydeco's oldest employee, sat across from Edie. Sprigs of bright red hair poked out from beneath a kerchief she hadn't removed since leaving work, and her round face was flushed an almost identical shade of red—proof that she'd already had at least one birthday cocktail.

Finally, there was Dwight Sonntag, the birthday boy. He sat next to Estelle, slouched down in his chair in a way that I was sure added more wrinkles to his already rumpled clothing. If you judged his book by its cover, you'd come away thinking Dwight was scruffy, lazy, and dirty—none of which is true. Well, except for the scruffy part. His shaggy brown hair may look as if he'd been running his fingers through it and whiskers may always be sprouting all over his cheeks and chin, but he's one of the hardest workers at Zydeco—and also one of the most talented.

He saw me coming and gave a little chin jerk greeting.

“Sorry I'm late,” I said as I claimed an empty seat next to Dwight. “Miss Frankie asked me to stop by and it took longer than I expected.”

Ox scowled across the table at me. “Trouble?”

“No! In fact, she had some good news for us.”

“For all of us?” Isabeau asked.

“Yeah. A great opportunity for Zydeco. But let's talk about that later.” I placed my drink order, choosing a virgin margarita. Gabriel is a master of the craft and his salt-to-rim ratio is spot-on. The virgin variety isn't my favorite, but I was driving so I settled for the responsible choice.

“You should have brought Miss Frankie with you,” Estelle said as our waitress walked away.

“Actually, I invited her, but she opted to stay home. Her neighbor was having a rough night, and Miss Frankie didn't want to leave her alone.”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Estelle said.

“No, just . . .” I hesitated for a moment, unsure how much I should share about Bernice's imaginary prowler. But nobody at Zydeco really knew Bernice, so I didn't see the harm. “She just thought she saw someone outside her window. Miss Frankie thinks it may have been kids pulling Halloween pranks.”

Sparkle studied my face carefully. “You don't think so, do you?”

I turned the coaster the waitress had placed in front of me around on the table. “I don't know. She said it looked like her uncle, but he's been missing for the past fifteen years or so. Get this—the whole family thinks he was eaten by an alligator.”

“She saw a ghost?” Isabeau asked, her blue eyes wide. “For real?”

“No! Not for real,” I said with a laugh. “For one thing, there's no such thing. If she did see her uncle, it just means he didn't die in the swamp all those years ago.”

Isabeau leaned toward me. “I know a way we could find out.”

Ox barked a harsh laugh. “Oh no. No, no, no. I know what you're thinking and you are
not
going there.”

“Going where?” I thought my question was innocent enough, but Ox seemed annoyed by it.

“Don't ask,” he warned and shook a finger in Isabeau's face. “I mean it, Isabeau. Not another word.”

If he wanted me to drop the subject, he was going about it the wrong way. What can I say? Curiosity has always been a weakness of mine. I would have pursued it, but at that moment the waitress arrived with my drink and Estelle pronounced the birthday party started. I swallowed my curiosity and concentrated on Dwight.

Ox offered a toast and then we brought out the presents: a DVD of some horror show that was his current favorite from Estelle; a pair of black bikini briefs with an orange flame—apparently an inside joke—from Edie; a bottle of expensive Scotch from Ox and Isabeau; and an ornate and extremely heavy German beer stein from Sparkle. I'd thought long and hard about what to get him and finally settled on a hand-knit beanie cap with a bright design for those times when someone forced him to dress up. By coincidence, the hat's colors matched the bikini briefs. Yay.

Once he'd opened all his gifts, Dwight cut his cake: two tiers of milk chocolate cake covered with buttercream. Ox had carved the cake in the shape of a Jack Daniels bottle. Sparkle and Estelle had done a great job with the gum paste label and the added touches of edible paint. Isabeau had experimented until she had a whisper of Jack Daniels flavor in the buttercream. They'd all stayed late to work on the cake, and Dwight was suitably impressed.

After a while the birthday celebration wound down and the band took a break. In the sudden quiet, Ox tapped his fingers on the table to get my attention. “Okay, so what's the big news? What did Miss Frankie want?”

I stood so everyone could hear me, and smiled around the table. “You're not going to believe this, but this afternoon Miss Frankie had lunch with Evangeline Delahunt from the Crescent City Vintage Clothing Society. Ms. Delahunt is coming in tomorrow morning to discuss hiring us for their ball.”