After the cheese course, they had planned for music with Nat singing, Elijah on the piano, and Sam playing sax. Sage had offered to do tarot readings. But Roxy’s energy was waning, as was everyone’s, it seemed, worn out by the drama of earlier. Ada was still in her robe, her dress forgotten as she focused on Sam.
“Let’s do jazz and spirits another night,” Evangeline suggested. “There’s always time for music and magic in New Orleans.”
There was a murmur of agreement and everyone dispersed for the night. After checking that everything was locked up and safe, Roxy went to her room. She changed quickly and snuggled up with Nefertiti. The day had been so overwhelming.
“Oh, Nef-nef,” she said quietly into her kitty’s velvety ears. “Can I really do this properly? I was just beginning to believe that I could. Is everything just going to fall apart like it always does?”
Nefertiti looked up at her and purred. Roxy shook her head sadly. “You’re just a cat. You don’t even care, do you? As long as I feed you and stroke you, that’s all you’re concerned about.” Roxy looked into the cat’s deep blue eyes and at her squashed-up little nose. She felt a wave of shame wash over her. She was being mean to her cat. Roxy hugged Nefertiti to her even closer. “Sorry, Nef. I just don’t know what’s up and what’s down right now.” Roxy sighed and closed her eyes. She soon slipped into a deep sleep and dreamed of dancing wine glasses and disembodied white dresses that swooped around her like ghosts at a disco.
CHAPTER NINE
“GOOD MORNING, NEFFI!” Roxy stretched her arms over her head. She felt a lot better. She had woken early and taken a long, hot shower, scrubbing away the dress drama of the night before. She did not look at Instagram to see how the incident had been portrayed there, preferring to think good thoughts and hope that everything would turn out okay in the end.
Roxy knew that even if dinner had been overshadowed by events, at least breakfast was likely to be sedate and special in real New Orleans style. They’d have beignets, of course, and café au lait and Evangeline had promised calas and couche-couche too. Calas were a type of deep-fried dumpling made from rice, egg, flour, and sugar. They were so tasty that Roxy dared not eat even one. She knew from experience that if she did, she’d scoff the whole plate. Couche-couche was Evangeline’s favorite. It was made of fried cornmeal and eggs, milk, raisins, tons of syrup, often a dash of liquor too. Roxy imagined all the beautifully curated Instagram pics of the influencers’ breakfasts beaming out to their followers across the world. She smiled to herself.
“Oh my gosh! Have you seen Instagram?” Nat cried out as soon as Roxy burst into the kitchen.
“No, why? What’s going on?” Roxy’s heart started to beat fast.
“It’s gone viral!” said Nat.
“What?” Evangeline said from her place in front of the pot. “Them people have a virus? And I breathed the same air last night?” She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips.
“Evangeline, you know what it means, I’ve told you before. Sage told you too. It means something’s spreading fast online, just like a virus.” Nat was abrupt.
Evangeline shook her head. “Whatever you say, cher. It’s all too much for an ol’ chick like me.”
“It wouldn’t be if you just applied yourself,” Nat said with a sigh.
“I don’t want to apply myself, Miss Natalie,” Evangeline said, a little testy now. “I’m fine just as I am, thank you very much.”
Nat rolled her eyes and turned back to Roxy. “Anyway, you know, Dash spilling wine over Ada. I mean, it had to go viral! They’re some of the biggest influencers online, and they’re having a spat! The fans are going crazy about it. Ada’s fans are messaging Michael and Dash, threatening them with legal action and all sorts!”
“Wow,” said Roxy, unsure what to think and a little confused before a feeling of dread spread over her. It was like being draped in a wet coat. Nat, on the other hand, judging by her bright eyes and excited voice, made it sound like a good thing. “I mean, I thought there would be more death threats,” she continued, “but Ada’s crowd are the type that sends the lawyer over to deal with their problems.”
“What are Michael and Dash’s fans saying?” Roxy asked. She was starting to tremble.
Nat was looking at her phone, scrolling through comments. “Some of them are saying that it was an accident while others think it was done on purpose. Even more think it’s hilarious. And in all honesty, I’m inclined to agree!”
Roxy felt the anger of the night before resurfacing. “Are you crazy, Nat? Don’t you realize how serious this all is?”
Nat shrugged, still looking down at her screen. “What is with you? Why do you always take life so seriously? This is great! We’re getting so much publicity! And you know what they say about publicity.”
“I don’t want negative publicity,” Roxy said carefully, keeping her voice even. “I want to earn a professional reputation. And right now, that is not happening.”
“Professional?” Nat said. “You invited Michael and Dash for goodness sake. Didn’t you know things would get wild?”
Roxy had let Sage take care of setting up the influencer campaign and had taken only a cursory look at each profile before agreeing. Now, she berated herself for not paying more attention and thinking through the implications of the campaign more carefully. At the time she’d been swept up in the excitement of the idea.
“I didn’t expect it to be this wild, and even so,” Roxy said, “you need to stay professional and not be disrespectful about the guests behind their backs, or in front of them for that matter. You’ve made an enemy of Ada.”
“Good, because I don’t like her either.” Nat folded her arms, thrust out her chin and tapped her foot in defiance.
“Nat, please! You’re acting like a child. Come on, Evangeline, back me up!”
“Leave me out of it!” said Evangeline. “I don’t work here anymore, and I certainly don’t fix workplace arguments. I’m just a hired cook, that’s all, cher. But aside from that, Nat, you should listen to your boss. You’re bein’ insubordinate, and she’s talkin’ truth.”
Nat shook her head as she scrolled through the influencers’ posts once more and sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Roxy, I’m sorry. I will be extra nice to Ada at breakfast, I promise.”
Roxy’s thoughts wandered for a moment. She found herself thinking again about how ill-qualified she was to run a hotel and on top of that, now she was arguing with her staff. What kind of employer did that make her?
CHAPTER TEN
CATCHING HERSELF, ROXY quickly put all her negative thoughts to one side and decided to focus on what had to be done. It would be no good for her to be angry when the guests came downstairs. She wanted to be sunny and welcoming and represent the warmth and hospitality of New Orleans. Nausea, though, churned in her stomach. The influencer campaign was starting to become something of a disaster.
At that moment, Elijah walked in. He flounced through the swinging kitchen door holding a big white box aloft in one hand as he always did. He was delivering the first batch of pastries of the day. They would be still warm from the oven. “Here we are, my darlings. Beignets for your VIPs. Tell me, have you seen Insta this morning? My, my, those followers are crazy.”
“Argghh, not you too, Elijah! Can’t you see what this could mean for my business? We’re being associated with a major social media event, a negative social media event. That is not the kind of publicity I had in mind when I decided to do this promotion,” Roxy said.
Elijah had the decency to look abashed. “Yes, you’re right,” he said, more gently than she’d ever heard him. “I wouldn’t like it if it were my business caught in the eye of this particular storm. It’ll all blow over though, I’m sure.” Elijah kissed the back of her head as he left to return to his bakery across the alleyway.
Straightening her shoulders but feeling rather abandoned and alone, Roxy took out the beignets in Elijah’s box and silently arranged them in pyramids on serving pl
atters. She took them through to the dining area and placed them on the serving table. In the empty room, Roxy checked that the coffee machine was switched on and ready, and she got out the brandy and milk and some whipping cream so her guests could garnish their coffee in true Creole style. As she looked up, she saw Ada coming down the stairs.
Ada wore a floating sundress the color of the sky and had even painted her nails to match. Roxy brought the plate of beignets over to her. “I’m so sorry about what happened last night,” she said to Ada. “It was very unfortunate. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” said Ada, though she didn’t sound entirely convincing. There was a hard edge to her voice, and she didn’t smile. “Once you get that horrible man out of here, I will be absolutely fine. Don’t worry, I won’t hold you responsible for the incident. He, on the other hand, will be speaking to my lawyers. My father will retain the best legal team that money can buy, I can assure you of that.
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Roxy said as Ada sat at the table and started to scroll through her phone. Inside, Roxy was all abuzz with nervousness. She had hoped a good night’s sleep would encourage Ada to change her mind about making Dash leave. “Would you like some coffee?”
Ada didn’t look up from her phone. “Actually, I’d like some of that punch we had yesterday. Please make me…”
Ada was interrupted by a scream and the sound of a wall being thumped. Steps pounded on the stairs and Michael rushed into the dining area. He was wild-eyed and frantic. He wore only his pajama pants. His hair was standing up on end, and for once, he carried no camera. “Quick, quick! Come quick! Somebody, anybody, quickly!” He gesticulated wildly, his voice rising with increasing frustration—no one was moving fast enough for him.
Roxy jumped away from the table and followed him as he streaked back into the hallway and up the stairs. “What’s going on?” she said, feeling her breath catch in her throat.
“It’s Dash! It’s Dash!” Michael said. “I think…I think…” He led her into a bedroom and pointed at Dash. Michael backed into a corner of the room. He was shaking, clutching his own arms and rubbing them up and down as if it were the middle of winter, not the middle of June. It seemed to Roxy that the temperature in the room had turned icy and time had stopped. Dash was lying on his back in the bed, his skin eerily white against his red hair. “Is he…Is he…Is he…?” Michael couldn’t bring himself to say the word.
Roxy inched forward slowly, her limbs weighed down by dread. She knew the answer to Michael’s question before she even reached out to touch Dash, but she just couldn’t make herself believe it. “No, no, no,” she whispered under her breath. She touched Dash’s arm with a brush of her fingertips. It was cold.
“How…how could this happen?” said Michael, but Roxy couldn’t answer him. Her voice had deserted her. All she could do was stare at Dash. Was she still asleep, and this was some kind of nightmare? Blood rushed through her ears.
Moments later, everyone in the hotel arrived, drawn by the sound of Michael’s cries. Ada shrieked. Lily turned ashen. Sylvia gasped. Nat pressed her palm across her mouth. Even Elijah, alerted by the noise that he could hear across in his bakery, arrived at the entrance to Dash’s room and put his palm to his forehead in horror. Everyone was shocked to the bone.
Only Evangeline had the presence of mind to act. She stood, grimly silent until, with her voice quiet and level, she said, “I think we better call Johnson.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DETECTIVE JOHNSON LOOKED ready to burst with rage. He was an intimidating presence at the best of times, but when he arrived at the Funky Cat just minutes after Evangeline had phoned him, his large body was so taut that it looked as though his muscles might snap at any moment.
They had closed the door to the room where Dash’s body lay. No one could bear to look at him, and they congregated in the upstairs hallway in a silent huddle. Michael had stopped crying and was pacing back and forth, shaking his head. He was almost as white as Dash was. Evangeline and Roxy stood by the window, Roxy staring out of it blankly. Sylvia sat on the stairs with Nat, her arms around Nat’s shoulders, while next to them was Elijah. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. Lily was slightly aloof and leaned against the wall a few feet from the others. Even Ada didn’t have anything to say.
Johnson exploded up the stairs. “Another death? What is this? The Doomsday Hotel?” he raged. “This cannot be real.”
Roxy was too stunned to speak, but Evangeline didn’t have the same reserve. Her brow furrowing, she spat out, “How can you…”
But Johnson was not in the mood to be interrupted. “This is starting to look very suspicious, Ms. Evangeline, Ms. Reinhardt. Very suspicious indeed. This is the second dead body found in or around your hotel in the space of a few months. Is there something going on here that I should know about?”
A small wave of energy rippled through the group of influencers for whom reports of an earlier death was news. No one said anything, but a look here, a shift in posture there, indicated they had heard what Johnson had said and taken note. Roxy couldn't believe the audacity of the man. He was trash-talking her business in front of guests, her guests, the people essential to the business’ success. Even for him, it was a new low.
In the past, in the face of such hostility and humiliation, she would have cowered and willed herself to disappear, but this was the new Roxy. Outraged, she drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t too tall in truth but was the best she could do. “Detective,” she said sternly. “This is Michael, Dashiell Davies’ best friend and business partner. It was Michael who found Dash’s body. What do you have to say about that?”
Michael turned to the detective and stared him down with a look so penetrating it would have pierced right through anyone else. But Johnson was unfazed. “Humph. I’m sorry for your loss, but it's not my job to be your therapist,” he said. “It's my job to investigate, and if there are suspicious circumstances, to find out who did this and bring them to justice.” Michael looked away and closed his eyes. Unperturbed, Johnson continued, “The next step is to secure the crime scene and get forensic evidence. I will be interviewing y’all personally.” He stared at Roxy and squinted. “Especially you. Don't you think it’s a coincidence that all of these deaths started happening when you rocked up in town?”
“That's so unfair!” Nat burst out. Roxy was touched that Nat was sticking up for her. Nat’s expired visa and her questionable immigration status meant that she usually tried to fade into the background whenever the police were around. “Of course this has nothing to do with Roxy!” Nat continued. “Why would it? She's just trying to live her life and run this hotel the best she can.”
“A touching, if irrelevant, story,” Johnson said.
But Nat wasn’t to be dismissed. “This is a very serious situation and very stressful for our business. We would appreciate it if you didn’t go around accusing us at every given opportunity!”
“Look, do you think we can focus on what’s important here? Like the fact that my friend and business partner is lying dead in his bed!” Michael cried. Chastened, Nat looked down at her feet. Not chastened at all, Johnson ignored him.
“So where's the body?” he asked. Roxy pointed to the bedroom door a few feet away. “Okay, everyone,” he continued. “Go downstairs and get ready for questioning. I am going to bring the forensics team in now. None of you must be in this area.” They all waited for what he would say next, and he glared back at them as if they were idiots. “Well, go on then. Get a move on!” Obediently, they all trooped downstairs. All, that is, except Roxy and Ada.
Ada faced Johnson squarely and put her perfectly manicured hand on her hip. “There's no way I am going down there without changing into something more appropriate.” She gestured down at her blue sundress. “This is not a suitable thing to wear after a death.”
Johnson looked at her as though she were a one-eyed, many-limbed alien. “Excuse me?” he said i
n a tone that would shut down anyone else.
“My father has links with the Chief of Police and Prosecutions in Nigeria,” Ada said. “I will not be told what to do by some provincial, small-town detective.”
Roxy felt herself shrink a couple of inches. Johnson’s eyes gleamed nastily.
“Ada,” Roxy said in a half-warning, half-laughing tone. Was an influencer with a fan base of nearly three-quarters of a million about to be thrown in a New Orleans city police cell? An influencer who was only here because Roxy had invited her? She half-expected Johnson to charge Ada with obstructing a police investigation.
“I think you should stop right there, Miss,” Johnson said, side-eyeing Ada and squinting as he assessed the creature before him.
But Ada did not stop. “I think you are a bad boy,” she said, wagging her finger at him, “a very bad boy, throwing your weight around and accusing people. I know your kind. My father was targeted by your types when he became successful in business. His competitors wanted him out, but we Okafors do not bow to such pressure. There is nothing wrong with me going upstairs and changing my clothes. Or do you think that I might grab my Gucci handbag and kill someone on the way down? Or hide evidence in my Louis Vuitton carry-on? Types like you are absolutely ridiculous. Surely, if you let me go upstairs to change, that is not too much to ask? I will be back down within five minutes.”
Johnson raised his chin. Ada’s finger was still extended. They were like two bulls in a standoff. For a moment, there was a tense silence. They glared at each other.
Johnson blinked first. “Do whatever you want,” he growled. “I don’t have time for this.”
Ada’s eyelashes quivered on hearing these words. She turned to float upstairs like a queen ascending a grand staircase, her head held high, dignified and victorious. Roxy's jaw almost dropped to the floor. It seemed the detective had met his match!
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