New Orleans Nightmare

by Alison Golden

  Roxy heard the word “murderer” with a jolt.

  Johnson continued, “The toxicology reports are back. Mr. Davies was incapacitated with a form of poison, then suffocated.” Johnson proceeded to stride around the room, thumbs tucked into his belt loops that sat under his large belly. He looked at each person carefully, and the food they were preparing, before moving on. He reminded Roxy of a Wild West sheriff inspecting his usual suspects.

  It got so quiet in the kitchen as he did this that every single bubble popping at the top of a boil could be heard. Roxy could hear tap-tap-tap as Derek gently banged his model airplane against the chrome counter. Despite the news of the manner of his brother’s death, he seemed unfazed.

  Eventually, Johnson said, “Awright,” but very warily as he watched Roxy out of the corner of his eye as if she were some criminal mastermind and the three influencers and Derek were her henchmen. “Well, I’ll be seeing y’all later.”

  Roxy shook her head as soon as he was out the door.

  “What was that about?” Nat burst out when he’d gone. She shook herself like a dog. “I can’t stand that guy!”

  “Neither can I,” Ada said.

  Their view of Johnson was something both Nat and Ada could agree on. They looked at each other a little more warmly.

  “Let’s try and forget about him,” Roxy said, switching the music back on. The radio station was playing a compilation of popular Nat King Cole tunes. The lively melody of Route 66 rippled from the radio. Evangeline and Sylvia starting singing softly along, shaking their hips as they continued to prepare the food. Soon they were all moving at least one body part in time to the music. Well, not Derek, but even he didn’t leave the room.

  “Sing us something, Nat, cher,” Evangeline.

  “Nah, I have to save my voice for later. Besides I can’t do better than ole Nat, now can I?”

  “You’re singing at the event?” Roxy asked.

  “Yep, with Sam and Elijah. Kathy asked us.”

  “Ah, that’s nice.”

  Roxy would have been perfectly happy to while away the rest of the morning making oyster skewers with Lily, listening to some mellow jazz, and forgetting about everything else. The repetitive rhythm of the cooking was cathartic, and the smells of Creole spices were so soothing. But it wasn’t to be. A short while later, Kathy bustled into the kitchen looking for her. She flashed a huge smile, hooked her arm into Roxy’s, and pulled her out of the kitchen. “Come with me, girl.”

  They walked out of the front door and into the cobbled street.

  “Wow!” Roxy said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ROWS AND ROWS and rows of flags had been hung, strung from one side of the alleyway to the other, in every color Roxy could imagine. When they came out onto the main street, Roxy could see that the flags continued, tied to streetlights and storefronts and electricity poles, anything that was high enough. They continued as far as Roxy could see.

  “Look,” Kathy said, “they run all the way from your door to the party.

  “Kathy!” Roxy said. “Dash would have loved this!”

  Immediately, Kathy’s cheerful smile turned into heartrending sobs. She collapsed onto Roxy. Being that Kathy was the bigger woman and Roxy was tiny, Roxy staggered backward under the heavier woman’s weight. With some effort, she managed to right herself, but Kathy crumpled down onto the sidewalk. She stayed there and curled up in a ball, her head on her knees. She began to cry and cry and cry. She just didn’t stop.

  At first, Roxy patted her on the shoulder, and said, “Kathy, Kathy,” but her voice was drowned out by Kathy’s cries. Eventually, Roxy sat next to her, her arm around her shoulder and her heart hurting as she listened to Kathy’s sobs, unable to do anything or say anything to help.

  They stayed sitting on the curb for what seemed like an age. Vehicles passed by, their drivers and passengers staring at them, and Roxy was so glad not to see Mariah Morales and her ilk prowling around with their cameras, ready to capture the scene and splash it all across the state news. There was no sign of any reporters at all.

  As Roxy continued to comfort Kathy, she spotted the priest who had performed Dash’s memorial service as he came around the corner. He walked toward them.

  “Father John!” Roxy called out.

  Kathy looked up.

  The priest picked up his pace when he recognized them and with gentle hands brought Kathy to her feet. He wiped her tears away with his soft, fat fingers. “May the Lord bring you peace, my child.”

  Kathy blubbed, “I…don’t…think…that’s…possible, Father!”

  “It will be, with time,” he said. “Put your trust in the Lord. Choose to put your trust in the Lord.”

  “Okay,” Kathy said like an obedient little girl. “I can do that…I think. Thank you.”

  “You will be blessed for your faith,” he said. “There, there…”

  Kathy visibly calmed at his words and began to breathe normally.

  Father John turned to Roxy. “I came here to see you.”

  Roxy was a little taken aback. “Yes, Father?”

  “I was wondering if you would speak at the event today. Of course, Kathy is speaking. Derek is not, due to his shy nature. Michael is paying a tribute to Dashiell, their work and fans. We, Kathy and I, that is, talked earlier, and wondered if you would like to say something. As a sort of representative of the city of New Orleans.”

  Roxy bit her lip. “Me? But I’m not even from here.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I can tell that by your accent. But you’re a businesswoman here now, and that means you are part of our community. I have talked to Michael too. He explained that you were a kind person. Perhaps you saw some qualities in Dash that you admired and that you can speak to?”

  “Oh, yes,” Roxy said. “Of course. He was adventurous and wild and brave, for sure. He was very encouraging too, and certainly knew how to have a good time!”

  The priest nodded triumphantly. “That’s that, then. You’ll give a small speech?”

  Roxy’s stomach lurched. Speaking in front of a huge crowd of people wasn’t her idea of fun. They were expecting thousands—not only local residents but many, many fans. Many more than turned out at the funeral. This time Dash’s followers had had plenty of notice, and people were traveling from all over the country. Some were even coming from Europe! Roxy looked at Kathy, hoping that she would say it was inappropriate.

  But she didn’t. She looked tearfully in Roxy’s direction. “Please do,” she said. “It would mean a lot to me.”

  Roxy gulped. “Okay,” she said quietly. Her eyes were wary. The priest looked at her quizzically. She cleared her throat and straightened up. “Sure,” said Roxy, more confidently now. “I’d love to.”

  “Excellent!” Kathy gave a little jump and clapped her hands. “Now, I want to show you the rest of the preparations,” she said. “And to show you where you guys need to bring the food later.”

  The trio started to walk. Kathy went a little way ahead and Roxy strolled alongside Father John.

  “Thank you for helping Kathy and Derek like this, Father. I know you’ve been a huge support to them,” Roxy said.

  “Ah, no worries, young lady. It’s my job. They’ve been dealt a terrible hand,” the priest replied.

  “Do you think Kathy will be alright?”

  “With the love of God and her faith, I believe in time she will be.”

  “And Derek?”

  “That, I don’t know. I don’t know the young man well. I only met him at the funeral service. I don’t think he shares his mother’s faith. You take care of them in your way and I will do so in mine. Together we’ll do the very best for them.”

  “That we will, Father.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “WOW, IT’S NEARLY 10 AM already! We’re starting soon,” Kathy cried as she showed Roxy around the site of the party. “Here’s where you’ll speak.” The stage was flanked with beautiful pillars graced with streamers and cris
scrossed with more flags in bright colors. “Here’s where you’ll serve your food.”

  Roxy saw a few partygoers come down the street and glanced at her watch. “Look! People are trickling in already! I’d better get everyone to load their food into the van and bring it down. Where are all the other caterers, Kathy?”

  Kathy bit her lip and looked down at her phone. “I told everyone to come at 9:30. Hopefully, that won’t be too late!”

  Roxy smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure it will be absolutely fine. Come on, why don’t we go back to the hotel and get ready?”

  Kathy smiled. “Sure! I think we’d better go at a jog, or we’ll be late for our own party!”

  “Okay, let’s hurry!” said Roxy.

  They headed back to the hotel quickly, and Roxy went into her room. Before changing, she grabbed a pen and pad and dashed into the kitchen where only Evangeline remained. Everyone else was upstairs getting changed into their party clothes.

  “Aren’t you getting your glad rags on, Evangeline?” Roxy asked.

  “Oh, no, cher,” the older lady replied. “I’ll be heading home. Can’t be doing with all these street parties anymore. I’ve been jumping up in carnival since I could jump…naw, since before I could jump. Too many parties will take the party spirit right out of you. I can’t get excited anymore. Too old.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” said Roxy. “I’m not one for parties myself. I always thought I wanted to go, but when I’d get there I’d wish I was at home curled up with a good book.” She was jabbering away, rushing through the kitchen drawers like a hurricane.

  “You just take this food and feed it to all those young people, y’hear? What you lookin’ for, cher?” Evangeline asked.

  “I’m looking for some bags.”

  Evangeline walked to her left and pulled open a drawer. She dragged out a small pile of brown paper bags and held them out. The elderly woman looked at Roxy quizzically. “What do you want them for?”

  “I’m just giving everyone a little goodie bag,” Roxy said. “You know, seeing as it’s nearly their time to leave us.”

  “Great idea,” said Evangeline. “What are you putting in ‘em?”

  Roxy paused, her eyes resting on bottles of spices lined up on the window ledge. “Cooking spices!” she said, hurrying over. “I-I-I’m gonna give each one of them a jar of your special Cajun spice blend, so they can make their own New Orleans-style meals when they get home.”

  Evangeline sniffed. “It’s not a matter of having the right spices. N’awlins cooking is much deeper than that. There’s soul involved.”

  “Oh, I know, you’re right,” said Roxy. “But at least they can try. And it’s a nice gesture.”

  Evangeline nodded. “Hmph, awright, but I hope you’re not expecting me to help you bag it all up, cher. I’m still stuffing these tartlets.”

  “Oh, but I need your help. I don’t know the recipe.”

  “I don’t make it up each time I use it, you know.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Nah, I make up a batch every so often.” She pointed to the walk-in pantry in the corner. “Top shelf, back left corner.

  Roxy dashed over to the pantry and seeing a huge Mason jar full of a spice blend on the highest shelf, climbed onto a step stool to retrieve it.

  Evangeline peered over her tartlets as Roxy staggered out of the pantry carrying the glass jar that was nearly as big as she was and just as heavy. “Do you need a hand with that?”

  “No, it’s fine!” said Roxy, breathlessly. “I got this.”

  She strained to place the jar carefully down on the counter and took a breath before saying “Oh! I need containers.”

  “Don’t you worry, cher, I got some lovely glass jars, just the right size. I was savin’ them for my tomato basil jelly, but you can use ‘em and I’ll get some more.” Evangeline pointed to the pantry again. “Box on the floor on the left, just as you go in the door.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Evangeline.”

  Evangeline smiled fondly as she watched Roxy dash back into the pantry and come out again carrying a cardboard box full of unused canning jars. Roxy spooned the spice mix into six jars.

  “I’ve got some labels somewhere here.” Evangeline rooted around in a drawer and brought out some brown tags. “Now, you have lovely handwriting, write Evangeline’s Cajun Spice Mix on ’em and tie them around the rim before you put the lid on.”

  Roxy did as she was told. As she wrote, she asked, “Tell me, what’s in your mix, Evangeline? What makes it so fantastic?”

  “Well, there’s the usual paprika, garlic powder, cayenne pepper, oregano, onion powder, thyme, salt, and pepper.”

  “And?” Roxy pressed. “Isn’t there something special you put in it? Something your grandmomma passed down to you?

  “Ah, they would be my special ingredients.”

  “And what are they?”

  “Well, that would be tellin’, wouldn’t it?”

  Roxy looked at her. “But won’t you ever tell me? What will I do when this batch runs out?” She waved over to the huge Mason jar that she estimated contained enough spices to last at least five years. “I won’t be able to replicate your meals if you don’t tell. Our guests will be disappointed if I don’t use it in the cooking.”

  Evangeline looked at Roxy’s sweet, innocent, slightly bewildered face.

  “Guess you’re right. I did invite you to run this place after all.”

  “So what are they?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  EVANGELINE LEANED OVER to whisper in Roxy’s ear. “Lemongrass and a touch of saffron.”

  Roxy frowned. “But, but...Aren’t they mostly used in Indian and Asian cuisines?”

  Evangeline tapped her nose. “Exactly, cher.”

  Roxy paused, then smiled, nodding. “Okay, okay. Unconventional, I’ll give you that, but okay.”

  After she’d attached the labels, Roxy wrapped ribbon around the necks of the jars, finishing them with a bow. She tightened the lids on the jars and they were ready.

  She counted out the brown bags and labeled them, one each for Lily, Ada, Kathy, Derek, Sylvia, and Michael. Writing Michael’s name made her think of the speech she was due to give but even that couldn’t distract Roxy at that moment. She slipped a jar of spices into each bag and a note she had written into one of them.

  She heard footsteps come down the grand stairway outside. She folded over the tops of the bags, popped them all onto a tray and rushed into the hallway. She stood in front of the door determined that not a single one of her guests would leave before she’d handed them their bags. She’d track Michael down at the event.

  Nat, Kathy, Derek, Ada, Lily, and Sylvia gathered in the hallway. They looked great in their bright colors. Well, in all honesty, Derek didn’t look that great but then he never did. His eyes were dull and sunken, and he looked moody. As ever, he was fidgeting with his model airplane. Roxy felt herself feeling a little sorry for him.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Nat said. She made for the front door.

  Roxy dashed forward and put herself between Nat and the assembled group.

  “Hi, everyone,” she said brightly.

  Nat, who was in black as usual but wore her turquoise sparkly Doc Martens and a matching neckerchief, said, “Is Sam here yet?” She peered out of the door. “He’s going to have to drive all the way inside the alleyway. There’s no way we can lug all the food up to the street.”

  “Nope, he’s not here yet,” said Roxy, still facing the group.

  “I’ll call him,” Nat said, pulling out her phone. Then she nodded at the brown bags. “What are those?”

  “Oh yes,” Roxy said as if she’d forgotten them. The tray they lay on might as well have been burning hot for all she was able to ignore it. She addressed the group. “They’re just a little thank-you from those of us at the Funky Cat. For staying with us. Something to remind you of New Orleans when you get home. Make sure to open them in private, though. I’ve included so
mething pers—Oh!” The front door to the Funky Cat opened suddenly, pitching Roxy forward and sending the brown bags on her tray flying to the floor.

  “I’m so sorry, Roxy!” Sage said as she walked in. “Are you alright?”

  Roxy was fine, but at that moment she wasn’t concerned about herself. Lily had reached down and was picking up the bags. She was handing them out indiscriminately!

  “No, wait…” Roxy looked on in horror. But it was too late.

  “Thank you so much, Roxy,” Sylvia was saying.

  “Yes, thank you, Roxy. You’re too kind,” Kathy said.

  “I think I’d better put this in my room. It’ll get lost at the street party,” Ada added.

  As everyone headed to their respective rooms to deposit their gifts, Roxy was left in the hallway holding one bag—Michael’s. Nat looked at her perplexed. “What was all that about?”

  Roxy shook her head. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

  Nat shrugged. “Oh, come on! Don’t be a spoilsport. We still have to load all the food into Sam’s van, and he’s not even here yet. We’ve got ages.”

  Roxy fixed Nat with a glare. “Nothing is going on, all right?” she said. “Come on, let’s sort out the food.”

  They went into the kitchen and began stacking the dishes on a rolling cart. “By the way,” Nat said, avoiding eye contact with Roxy. “I just want to say that if ever I come across as a bit of a jerk, I’m very sorry. I know I get a bit edgy and a little inappropriate at times, and I also know that’s no excuse. I get anxious, you see. It makes me a bit mad. Sorry, Rox.”

  “It’s alright,” said Roxy, finding a smile from somewhere. “I understand. Just be careful, take deep breaths, that’s what I do. And if you see me blink rapidly five times in a row, you’ll know what it means, okay?”

  “Yes! It can be our secret code!” Nat said with a smile.

  “That’ll do!” Roxy said, laughing. She gave Nat a quick side hug. “You know I love you, Nat.”