“She must have come back at some point. I’m one hundred percent certain I saw her out there.”
“Okay... so now you’ve given me even more to think about. I’ll mull it over tonight and come up with a game plan to start trying to figure all this out in the morning. I definitely need to talk to a few folks tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Vera gets up from the table. “Um...” She wavers for a moment.
“What?”
Vera’s quiet, like she’s not certain she wants to share whatever is going through her mind. “I’m not sure. It had been a long day. I was tired and had had a few glasses of champagne. I think maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I think... I mean . . . I know I saw Twyla, but maybe I saw someone else, too.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if it was a who... may have been more of a what. He... or it was in the woods behind the pool, almost like...” She stops talking, cautious about saying anything further.
“Vera, I can’t be helpful without all the information. What did you see?”
She sighs. “It was sort of like a... like a Sasquatch.”
“Bigfoot?” flies from Wavonne’s mouth.
“I know... it sounds crazy, and I only got a quick glimpse of it, or him, before he disappeared behind a tree, but he was super tall... like almost seven feet... and had long, shaggy hair and a beard.”
“Sista girl is seein’ Jason Momoa in the woods,” Wavonne says to me under her breath.
“Why didn’t you call Security?”
“Because I was exhausted, a little tipsy, and had just been eliminated from a competition that would have given me the opportunity of a lifetime. I figured I was just seeing things. And I don’t think there was any Security other than Mitchell at the front desk.”
“Honestly, I have no idea what to do with that.”
“Well,” Wavonne says. “Maybe we can try to find out if Sherry, at some point, double crossed Chewbacca—maybe he came down from the Death Star and did her in.”
“Cool it, Wavonne,” I say, and turn to Vera. “Forgive the question, but I have to ask, and I promise I will not judge you based on your answer. But prior to seeing this... this creature, you hadn’t, by chance, indulged in any recreational drugs beyond the champagne you had in the lounge with us? Pot or something?”
“No. I’ll be the first to admit that it sounds nuts. That’s why I was hesitant to mention it at all.” She looks down at the ground and back up at me. “There’s one more thing.”
“I gotta hear this. Did you see the Loch Ness monster in the river, too?” Wavonne asks. “You know I’m just teasin’ ya, girl,” she adds, and puts an arm around Vera’s shoulders when it becomes clear how unsettled she is by whatever it is she thinks she saw. “What? What’s the one more thing?”
“The creature... I think he was wearing . . . I know this sounds bonkers... but I think he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.”
“Maybe Bigfoot missed his flight to Honolulu,” Wavonne says. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself,” she adds. “Seriously, maybe you were just tired or had a little too much bubbly. One time, after a few too many peach bellinis, I thought I saw Idris Elba at the Olive Garden in Waldorf. Turns out he was just one of the guys who dunks the precooked noodles into the boiling water before they sauce them. I went home with him anyway. He said he’d fake a British accent and let me call him Idris, so I figured what the—”
“Wavonne, Vera is not interested in hearing about your Olive Garden hookups.” I turn to Vera. “But maybe Wavonne is right. Maybe it was just a combination of being fatigued and a little tipsy.” I get up from the table, too. “I’ve got a few things to take care of, but I’ll give everything you’ve told me some thought and check back in with you tomorrow. Honestly, Vera, if you didn’t kill Sherry, and I don’t believe that you did, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“Thank you,” she says, and turns to leave. “I hope you’re right.”
RECIPE FROM HALIA’S KITCHEN
Celia’s S’mores Cake
Cake Ingredients
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1½ teaspoons baking soda
1¾ cups sugar
¾ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
½ cup whole milk
½ cup sour cream
1 stick of salted butter (½ cup)
3 eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup strong hot coffee
1 cup mini marshmallows
• Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
• Generously grease and lightly flour two 9-inch round cake pans.
• Sift flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and cocoa into bowl. Mix on low speed until combined.
• In another bowl, combine milk, sour cream, butter, eggs, and vanilla. With the mixer on low speed, slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet until well combined.
• With mixer still on low speed, add coffee, and mix until well combined.
• Pour batter into the prepared pans and bake for 25 to 35 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean.
• Cool in the pans for 20 to 30 minutes, until cakes are still slightly warm.
• This is where things get tricky :-). Using a knife, cut slits into the cake. Insert marshmallows, one by one, using a toothpick and the knife, throughout the cakes.
• Turn cakes onto racks to cool completely.
• Be sure to keep the side with the slits on the bottom and spread icing over the opposite side.
Milk Chocolate Frosting Ingredients
1½ cups softened salted butter
1 cup cocoa
5 cups powdered sugar
⅓ cup whipping cream (then 1 tablespoon at a time until desired consistency is achieved)
½ teaspoon vanilla
1 6.8 ounce melted Hershey’s Milk Chocolate bar
(Recommend melting in the microwave on the defrost setting)
1 cup crumbled graham crackers
• Cream butter in a mixing bowl with an electric mixer on medium speed until soft and fluffy.
• Gradually beat in cocoa and powdered sugar.
• Beat in whipping cream, vanilla extract, and melted Hershey’s bar.
• Frost cake and top with crumbled graham crackers.
Chapter 24
“So, what are you gonna do about ‘coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs’?” Wavonne asks.
“Who?” I ask. We’ve just gotten home from the restaurant. Wavonne is sprawled on the living room sofa, and I’m in a chair researching a few things on my phone.
“Vera.”
“I don’t know. I’m poking around on the Internet now.”
Wavonne sits up. “Find anything?”
“Not really. I’ve been running a couple checks on Twyla. I figured I’d look into her first—”
“Because you don’t like her?”
“I like her just fine, Wavonne,” I say. “It’s just odd that she came back to the hotel. She could have a good explanation and, unlike Trey and the Mellingers, I can’t think of any reason she’d want Sherry dead. But still... why was she outside by the pool so late? After we wrapped the taping, she said she had to go back to her restaurant and would meet us in the morning to film Vera’s send-off.”
“What are you looking at now?”
“Dauphine has a Facebook page. I’m just scrolling through it. So far all I see are photos of dated decor and bland food. Although her brunch beignets do look pretty good. At least she...” I go silent as something catches my eye.
“What?” Wavonne asks, watching me raise the phone closer to my eyes.
“Look.” I hand the phone to Wavonne.
“That’s Sherry.”
“Sure is.” I take the phone back and look at the photo in question again. “It was posted two years ago.” In the photo, Sherry’s wearing a short apron with a few pens clipped t
o one pocket and a leather-bound check presenter in the other. “Clearly, she was once a server at Dauphine.”
“They didn’t act like they knew each other at the museum or the inn.”
“Yeah... more weirdness.” I continue to scroll through the page to see if I can find any other photos of Sherry.
“You know,” Wavonne says, “my friend Nicki works at Dauphine. She’s been waiting tables there on weekends for years. She might have a little four-one-one.”
“Can you call her tomorrow?”
“I can call her now.”
“It’s almost midnight, Wavonne.”
Wavonne grabs her phone from the coffee table. “You can call Nicki at midnight—she’s in the restaurant biz like us. Call her at nine a.m. though, and she’ll jump down your throat. As far as she’s concerned, nine a.m. is middle of the night.” Wavonne taps her phone screen a few times and puts it on speaker.
“You still have my black sweater, Wavonne... and you owe me forty-two dollars for when your credit card was declined at Cloak and Dagger,” Nicki says instead of hello.
“Hey, girl,” Wavonne says, doing what she always does when people say things she doesn’t want to hear—ignoring them. “How you doin’?”
“I’m okay. Watching Hulu and painting my nails. I just sent James a booty text, but I haven’t heard back yet. If he doesn’t come over, I’ll probably put some conditioner on my hair and try that clay mask I bought at Ulta the other day. I was thinking...”
Wavonne presses the mute button while Nicki keeps rambling. “Girlfriend is nice and all but, damn, she talks way too much.”
Wavonne often complains about people who talk too much—mostly because, if someone else is talking too much, she can’t talk too much.
“I’ll let her blather for a few minutes.” Wavonne lays the phone on the table and gets up from the sofa. “I’m gonna grab a Dr. Pepper from the kitchen. I doubt she’ll pause, but if she does, just say ‘uh-huh.’ Once she wears herself out, we’ll ask her about Sherry.” Wavonne unmutes the phone and walks away.
While she’s in the kitchen, I get an earful about what was on sale at Ulta last night, how the burger Nicki got from McDonald’s had pickles on it when she asked for no pickles, how she might order something from DoorDash because she didn’t like the hamburger with the pickles, and how she’ll have to go if James texts her back as she hasn’t shaved her legs since Friday.
“But he still hasn’t gotten back to me. He might be asleep. Sometimes he goes to bed early. I could call him and block my number to wake him up, so he sees my text but doesn’t know that it was me who called.... Calling him would seem desperate. I—”
Wavonne comes back into the room and picks up the phone. “Nicki, honey, take a breath. I don’t think James is in the picture tonight,” she says. “Listen, I got a question for you. How long you been workin’ at Dauphine on the weekends?”
“Almost four years. I started after they fired me at Jasper’s. They said I talked too much and—”
“So you must remember a girl named Sherry... Sherry Ashbury?”
“Sherry? That little hustler?”
“Hustler?”
“She left a couple of years ago, when Twyla caught her stealing.”
“Stealing?”
“Yeah . . . she had some sort of scam going with the bartender. I don’t know all the details. I came in one day and both she and the bartender had been fired. Twyla didn’t talk about whatever went down with us low level wait staff, but word is Sherry took her for a nice chunk of change.”
“Interesting,” I say.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Halia. My cousin. She’s here with me.”
“Hi, Halia,” Nicki says to me. “Why are you guys asking about Sherry?”
“She applied for a job at Sweet Tea, and we found out on the sly that she worked at Dauphine... so sort of a reference check,” I lie before Wavonne has a chance to respond. I don’t feel like mentioning the murder and all the questions it will raise. I would think Nicki would have heard about Sherry’s murder by now as it has been all over the news, but maybe she doesn’t stop talking long enough to find out about much of anything.
“I thought she was nice enough before I learned she was robbing Twyla blind. She liked my hair, so I used to give her tips about salons and hair products. Her hair was a different texture than mine though, so—”
Wavonne mutes the phone again. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You know what to do.” She unmutes the phone, and I prepare to pretend I’m listening and offer the occasional “uh-huh” if necessary, which is not hard to do—I’ve been doing the same thing with Wavonne for years.
Chapter 25
“This place looks like somewhere the vampires in True Blood would eat,” Wavonne says as we step into Dauphine. The door closes behind us, and all evidence of daylight disappears.
“Yeah... it’s not exactly bright and cheery, is it?” I respond. “It’s been a hundred years since I worked here. I guess I’d forgotten how dark it is in here. Feels like we’re in a church from the Middle Ages.”
We stand just inside the entrance and take in all that is Dauphine. The only windows are at the front of the building, and Twyla had them covered in stained glass, so the place gets next to no natural light. If I remember correctly, when Twyla designed the decor, she was aiming for a ‘night time al fresco dining’ vibe—she wanted customers to feel like they were on the patio of some New Orleans restaurant after the sun went down. Strings of lights meant to give the impression of twinkling stars in an evening sky and dimly lit metal chandeliers with faux candles provide the only illumination. The gothic furniture with all its contours and ornaments gives the restaurant a sense of heaviness. There are no booths, only tables that surround a lengthy oval-shaped salad bar designed to look like a Mississippi steamboat. It even has a paddle wheel at the far end behind the canisters filled with thousand island and ranch... and blue cheese.
“Ladies,” Twyla says, sashaying toward us. She looks out of place in this dreary restaurant in her tailored yellow pants, floral print shirt, and bright smile. “What a nice surprise.” She looks around her at the small number of diners dotted throughout the place. “We’re a bit slow today with the weather and all.”
It’s not a picture-perfect day—a bit overcast and a little humid, but it’s certainly not the kind of weather that would keep anyone from going out to lunch. I think Twyla’s just embarrassed for me to see how past its heyday Dauphine is, so she’s coming up with a reason... any reason for why the clientele is so sparse.
As we mentioned to Cynthia a few days ago, Dauphine opened to great fanfare and lots of press many years ago and was a hot restaurant on and off for several years. Twenty years ago, its garish interior seemed campy and fun. But now, after decades of wear and tear, the place looks like an eating venue you might find at a low-end amusement park or a dinner theater in the Poconos putting on a second-rate production of Wicked.
“Really. Yes, Sweet Tea was quiet today, too,” I lie. “That’s why Wavonne and I thought we could sneak out for lunch. Seeing you made me realize I haven’t been here in forever, we thought we’d swing by for a little gumbo or jambalaya... and see how you’re doing since... well, you know. It’s so awful what happened to Sherry.”
“Yes, terrible.” Twyla says this with a finiteness that implies that’s all she wishes to say about the matter. She then turns, grabs two menus from the counter behind her, and motions for us to follow her. “Let me find you a table.”
We follow Twyla and take a seat at a table next to a wrought iron column with some fake green ivy looping through its intricate design.
“What can I get you guys to drink?” She runs her eyes from my head to my toes. “A Diet Coke?”
Seriously you’re just going to take a drink order? We’re not going to talk about Sherry’s murder? “Maybe just an unsweetened iced tea for me.” I want a sweet tea, but
I’m afraid she’ll look at my midsection and say something like, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Sweet tea for me, please . . . heavy on the sweet.”
“Sure.”
“This place smells like ‘dirty mop,’” Wavonne says in a hushed tone as Twyla walks away.
“It does sort of have that vague ammonia-mixed-with-mildew smell.” I open my menu. “I don’t think she wants to talk about Sherry. She kind of shut down my attempt to bring her up over by the door.”
“If I killed Sherry, I probably wouldn’t want to talk about it either.”
“Let’s not find her guilty just yet.” I give the menu a look and start running down the list of items. “She has crab soup, spicy pecan-crusted haddock, shrimp and crab étouffée, crawfish and shrimp beignets,” I read aloud to Wavonne. “Well, it all sounds good. I doubt it tastes good, but...” I don’t finish my sentence when I see Twyla approaching with two glasses of tea.
“Here we are.” She sets them down on the table. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu? We have a few lighter items on this side”—she points to the salad section on my menu—“if you’re still hoping to get swimsuit ready before the end of the summer.”
“Halia doesn’t have time to swim,” Wavonne says. “Her restaurant is busy.” As I mentioned earlier, while giving me a hard time is a full-fledged hobby of hers, the moment anyone outside the family chides me, Wavonne’s the first to come to my defense.
“It all looks so good. I remember a lot of these dishes,” I say, truly surprised that Twyla has not made a single update to the menu since I left. “I think I’ll go with the jambalaya.”
The Oysters Rockefeller and the crawfish with red beans and rice, please,” Wavonne says.
“Excellent choices. I’ll put those orders in,” she says, and turns to walk away.
“Twyla,” I call to her back, and she turns around. “Are we really not going to talk about Sherry’s death... her murder?”
Murder with Honey Ham Biscuits Page 14