NEW ORLEANS NIGHTMARE
Alison Golden
Honey Broussard
Contents
FREE PREQUELS
PRAISE FOR THE ROXY REINHARDT MYSTERIES
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
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NEW ORLEANS NIGHTMARE
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PRAISE FOR THE ROXY REINHARDT MYSTERIES
“This is now one of my favorite series!”
“I read your book until the wee hours last night.... couldn't put it down!!”
“All the food made me very hungry and really wanting to visit New Orleans!”
“Absolutely loved it!!!”
“You've done a great job. Truly. This one shines.”
“I just want you to know how much I like Roxy. She makes me smile.”
“Loved the book, looking forward to the next installment. I think you've got a winner!”
“I like Roxy and her new friends and look forward to more books including them.”
“What a great book!”
“Loved it!”
“Excellent characterization.”
“I need to tell you that you have a winner here.”
“I’m enjoying this new series immensely. Congratulations on the start of another great series.”
“Loved your new series!”
“The story was fantastic!”
“Storyline and character development is easy flowing, interesting, and really holds the reader’s interest. Overall a great new series to look forward to!”
“Loved the book, looking forward to the next installment. I think you've got a winner!”
CHAPTER ONE
“OOOOH, I’M SO excited!” Roxy Reinhardt said, dancing around the kitchen, while pots and pans of all sizes bubbled on the stovetop. Gumbos, stews, and jambalayas filled the room with rich, spicy steam as she boogied in the space between the range and the countertops.
“Me too!” Nat said, clapping her hands together.
Roxy was the manager and part-owner of the Funky Cat Inn, having been recently installed as such by the previous owner, Evangeline, and local investor, laundryman, handyman, and something of a handsome dark horse, Sam. Nat was Roxy’s “Girl Friday.” She was also a former English nanny who had overstayed her visa.
Today they were preparing a Grand Welcome Meal.
“Who are these people again?” Evangeline asked Roxy, for the third time. “I don’t understand all these new-fangled Instabook things, cher.”
Evangeline was retired and living her own life now, but she still came over to help them with the food. She was an absolute master at Creole and Cajun cooking and baking, and Roxy and Nat had submitted themselves to an extended tutelage.
“They’re called influencers,” Roxy explained. “That means that they have a lot of followers on Instagram.”
“Huh?” Evangeline said.
Nat rolled her eyes and gave Roxy a wink as she looked back from a pot of gumbo she was stirring. “Instagram is a platform where you have your own page, and you put pictures on it. If people like what they see, they follow you to watch what you’re going to put up next. We have a page for the Funky Cat. Sage runs it.”
“So why are these…” Evangeline frowned. “Why are these influgrammers coming here?”
“It’s influencers, Evangeline,” Nat said.
Roxy laughed. “Influgrammers sounds pretty good, though! You might have just coined a new word there, Evangeline. Anyway, the influencers are coming here to stay as part of a promotion. We pay them to showcase their visit. All the pictures and videos they shoot while they are here get put on their Instagram feed, and their followers will see them. Since they have hundreds of thousands of followers, it’s great publicity. This is huge for us.”
Roxy had arrived in New Orleans during Mardi Gras season. Now though, spring had brightened into summer and the vivid colors and excitement of Mardi Gras were over. The city had lazily tilted into June, but with the imminent arrival of the influencers, the atmosphere at the Funky Cat was ramping up to a level never experienced in the building’s entire 102-year existence.
Evangeline sighed, shaking her head with bemusement. “Back in my day, people simply bought an ad in a magazine or two.”
Well into her eighties, Evangeline bustled around the kitchen with pots and spices, her floral wraparound dresses swishing beneath her aprons as she did so. She was a flurry of bustle and action. She could still manage six pans on the flame at one time, and ordered Roxy and Nat about the place as if she still owned the kitchen, which, when she was in it, she did.
Nat picked up a large sack of crawfish and carried it into the back room to begin purging them. “Times have changed, Evangeline, and we’ve gotta keep up if we want the Funky Cat to be a success.”
“It only has six rooms!” Evangeline cried, rearranging bags of spices on the counter. “How much of a success can it be?”
Roxy felt awkward. She didn’t want to talk about how much more upscale the boutique hotel was now or how expensive the rooms had become since Evangeline’s time as owner; it would be rude and embarrassing.
“Well, the room rates are just a touch higher now, so we need a new, more affluent demographic, that’s all. Now, shouldn’t we get started on the jalapeño cornbreads? Where have those ramekins gotten to?”
They were really going to town on the welcome meal for the influencers. It was to be a five-course affair.
“Do you think they’ll be able to eat all this lot?” Nat wondered out loud as she wandered back into the kitchen a few minutes later. She was carrying a pot of newly purged crawfish with a grin on her face. “For course one, we’ve got a chicken gumbo with Cajun spices.” She ladled up a spoonful and let it slowly pour back into the pan. “Followed by miniature crawfish and cheese pies, followed by Shrimp Creole. That’s shrimp cooked in tomatoes, peppers and hot sauce, with white rice, Roxy,” she said gravely.
Nat helped Roxy with anything that was needed at the boutique hotel, from cooking to serving guests, from checking them in to cleaning their rooms. And h
er talents extended even further. Nat possessed a voice that was so smooth and creamy that Roxy had hired her on the spot to sing for guests and locals. She was a Funky Cat treasure.
Now, Nat’s black nail polish gleamed in the lights of the kitchen. Her excitement about the upcoming meal really was something. Getting the cynical, skeptical Nat to be joyous and upbeat about anything was a true feat. But then, what was coming was a bold, new experiment for the small hotel.
“Yum, and I’m preparing dessert—warm bread pudding with caramel and whiskey sauce,” Roxy said.
“Don’t forget the cheese course!” Evangeline cried out from where she was stirring a huge pot of broth.
“I’m not sure they will be able to eat it all, but I do know that thousands and thousands will be watching via their Instagram accounts, and we have to give a great impression, not only of the Funky Cat, but of New Orleans in general,” Roxy finished.
The city was the first place Roxy had ever felt truly at home. It was hard to explain, but New Orleans had gotten into her bones somehow. There was a heat about “N’awlins” as the locals called it, perhaps from the spices, perhaps from the carnivals and the magic and the spiritualism that lurked about the place, perhaps from the music that floated from basements and businesses at any time of the day or night. Whatever it was, the essence of it had found its way into Roxy’s very soul, lodged itself there, and wasn’t about to leave any time soon.
As she chopped onions and garlic for the Shrimp Creole, Roxy sighed happily to herself. Things were finally falling into place in her life, and she felt cozy and warm and safe. Just then, they heard the sound of the front door knocker being rapped. Hard.
Roxy frowned, her knife paused over an onion. She was expecting Sam, but he’d have simply walked in without knocking. Roxy wiped her hands down her apron and hurried out of the kitchen, through the dining room and into the hallway. The influencers weren’t due for a good three hours. She hoped this wasn’t one of them arriving early. She wanted to be dressed in her best and have the food ready before they got even so much as a glimpse of the Funky Cat or its proprietor. A little flustered, she pulled open the door. Her heart sank.
A very tall, slim, black woman with huge sunglasses and long, black hair that cascaded in waves down her back stood on the doorstep. She wore chunky high heels on her feet, skinny jeans, and a leather jacket with a fur collar that looked very expensive indeed. Behind her, six Louis Vuitton suitcases and two holdalls were piled up in the courtyard. Without so much as a greeting, the woman walked assuredly past Roxy and into the Funky Cat lobby.
“Oh, hello,” Roxy said, stepping back to give the woman room to pass. Who was she? The woman had walked in like she owned the place, a demeanor that Roxy suspected was her visitor’s default setting. Then she remembered who the woman was!
“Good afternoon,” the visitor said, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. “I am Ada Okafor.” The woman eyed Roxy. “But I expect you knew that. I’m early, I know. I’m always early. The early bird catches the worm. Snooze, you lose.” She flicked her wrist and poked one forefinger into the air.
Roxy recovered quickly. “Great to meet you. I’m Roxy Reinhardt, part-owner and manager of this hotel.” Roxy stuck out her hand, but Ada didn’t seem to notice so Roxy gestured down at her apron, embarrassed. “Yes, um, I’m afraid we aren’t quite, um, ready for the grand entrance we wanted to give you.” What was happening to her? All Roxy’s confidence and excitement had evaporated at the sight of this officious, elegant woman.
“It’s fine,” Ada said, though her mouth twitched. She didn’t look impressed. “I will go to my room and do some editing on the mag while you,” she looked Roxy up and down, “pull yourself together.” Ada Okafor ran a travel magazine for rich Nigerians who wanted to jet-set around the world like she did. She had a huge international following on Instagram in the luxury travel market.
Ada looked around. “But who will carry my bags?”
CHAPTER TWO
THREE MONTHS EARLIER, the Funky Cat Inn been a guesthouse known as Evangeline’s. It was a large, grand house built in the French architecture style so common in New Orleans. But when Roxy arrived, the building had long since begun to crumble and fall into disrepair. It was covered in cobwebs. The balcony on the third floor was so rickety that no one dared step out on it. The once-vibrant pink façade had peeled and faded in patches until it was blush in one corner and almost white in another. Bookings were down, and one guest turned out to be a murderer. But then Evangeline retired, Sam infused an injection of cash, and Roxy had taken over. Now the place was transformed.
Roxy’s do-over had started with the exterior. No one was going to be staying with her if the place looked like a flamingo on its last leg. She had gotten busy with a stepladder and used up can after can of bright pink paint until the first floor dazzled. She stopped there because she wasn’t a fan of heights, and instead hired a professional who brought his ladder and took over. Now the outside of the building had been restored to its former brilliance. It stood out like a beacon among the black, white, yellow, and red buildings around it.
Roxy had watched the painter from the cobbled, narrow street below, biting her lip. Hiring someone seemed an extravagance. To save money, she had done most of the work around the hotel herself with the help of Nat and Sam, but she knew she must recognize her limits. It would hardly help to save money on a painter if she fell off a ladder and broke her leg. But still, her poverty-stricken background and her thrifty ways made spending money on the renovations hard for her.
Sam had been a huge help. As well as being both an excellent handyman and the owner of a nearby laundry, he was also an awesome sax player, a car enthusiast, and apparently an all-round decent guy. Sam’s most important role at present, however, was that he was the main investor in the hotel, both buying the building from Evangeline and paying for its renovations. He had given Roxy a budget, and she had made sure to keep well within it.
The form of his relationship with Roxy had a sort of unresolved quality around it, though. Roxy knew she had a crush on him, one that she was trying to quell. She suspected he was attracted to her too. Over the weeks and months of renovating the building together, they’d built a friendly, but platonic working relationship, their mutual attraction only slightly impinging upon it now and again. Neither had made a move on the other, either because they were too scared or too busy. Roxy wasn’t too sure which it might be, and now she felt it best to keep things as they were. It didn’t do to mix business with pleasure in her book. She didn’t want to destroy a good thing. And now, as part-owner and manager of the Funky Cat, she most definitely had a good thing.
Where Sam got his money from was a second unresolved question that had caused Roxy some sleepless nights. The laundry business was doing great, sure, but the cash needed to buy the hotel? That was more than a laundry business owner could be expected to shell out. And he owned a Rolls Royce!
“Where does he get his money from?” Roxy had asked Nat one day.
Nat had shrugged. “He doesn’t say. We don’t ask.”
It was all a bit of a mystery.
Roxy’s life gave her no time to ponder the question, however. After the Funky Cat exterior was made over, she turned her attention to organizing the area out front in the courtyard. The hotel faced onto Elijah’s Bakery. Elijah was a great friend and a wonderful baker. Daily he provided the Funky Cat with fresh bread, delicious pastries, and, of course, beignets. Elijah also played the piano and rounded out the jazz trio that performed at the Funky Cat alongside Nat and Sam.
Elijah was a snappy dresser. When he wasn’t working, he was kitted out in bright shirts and gleaming, patent leather crocodile shoes. He loved a stripe pattern or an African print. But when it came to his business, his personal style didn’t translate. While Elijah might have been a master baker, he was not a master decorator. The façade of his building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1980s. It was entirely black and white an
d gray. Roxy, with some effort, had persuaded him to paint it, and he’d chosen a pale pink and mint-green color scheme. Now the two businesses that sat opposite each other were also a match for one another. The buildings were even color-coordinated.
“I can’t believe I didn’t do this years ago!” Elijah said to Roxy when they stood back and surveyed his storefront. A huge grin spread across his face, and he gave Roxy a high five. He bought new cast iron tables and chairs for the outside, and Sam had given him a special deal on linen tablecloths and napkins to finish off the bright, clean look. Now the bakery was doing better than ever with clientele drawn to it by its elegant, comfortable surroundings and the smell of fresh coffee and beignets that emanated from it.
Roxy and Elijah had become firm friends as they strived to build successful businesses while staying true to their values. They both believed in offering a great product at a great price with friendly service, hard work, and decency being their driving forces. They could often be found outside Elijah’s bakery nursing coffees, their heads together as they discussed the finer points of running a business.
Finally, there was just one thing left to do to the outside of the Funky Cat: they needed to add the finishing touches to the courtyard. First, Sam came along with a pressure washer and took out years of encrusted grime from between the cobbles. Roxy had decided to incorporate as many plants as possible into the design of the new courtyard, and her friend Sage was the right person to help her.
New Orleans Nightmare Page 1