When she put it that way, it didn’t make me feel better. And it definitely confirmed that I was a dummy for sleeping surrounded by garlic. “I guess Chandra’s spiel about that spirit does sound pretty silly.”
“You think?” Her stare was so pointed it could’ve drawn blood. “Now let’s forget about her and focus on Bradley. What are you going to do about the brunch incident?”
“He called last night while I was asleep.” I brushed powdered sugar from my red V-neck sweater and leaned my head against the cabinet. “But I think I’ll wait until he gets back to talk to him about it.”
Veronica looked like she’d seen a vampire. “Please don’t wait, for both our sakes.”
“How do you factor into this?”
“Whenever you let things fester, it doesn’t turn out well for anyone.” Her pitch was low and steady, as though treading through a minefield. “And as your friend, neighbor, and boss, I bear the brunt of it.”
I shoved the other half of the beignet into my mouth. Clearly, I was the one who bore the brunt of it, as this conversation attested.
“Now, I have some business developments to discuss with you.” She reached across the table for her laptop. “Do you want to talk here or in my office?”
The business bombshell shocked me out of my pastry pity party. Private Chicks Inc. wasn’t making either one of us rich—or even comfortable—but I’d been under the impression that our finances had been steadily improving. And with my brother on the way, the last thing I needed was a pay cut. “Can we go to the couches? I want to lie down.”
She gave a sly smile as she walked past me. “Change is good, Franki.”
“Like Anthony-moving-in-with-me good?” I slid from the counter with my bag of a dozen beignets and followed her into the hallway. “Or Bradley-leaving-for-two-weeks good? Because, frankly, I’m not sure how much more good change I can take.”
“I’ve hired a new PI.”
The second she said it, Glenda came to mind—in a Sherlock Holmes hat and stripper shoes. “Before you say anything else, remember that I’m fragile right now.”
Veronica stepped into our waiting room and took a seat on one of the two opposing couches. “It’s not Glenda.”
Overcome, I collapsed onto the opposite couch and tossed my beignet bag onto the coffee table.
“But she was a huge help during Carnie’s investigation.” She opened her laptop. “If we ever take another case involving a strip club or any other area of her expertise, I’ll hire her to consult again.”
I stretched out on my back. Glenda’s only other area of expertise was men, which left the consulting door wide open, especially on spousal infidelity cases. “Let’s get this over with.” I clasped my hands across my belly like a corpse. “Who is this new PI?”
Her lips spread into a satisfied smile. “David Savoie.”
“But he’s in college.” I propped myself on my elbows. “He’s not quitting school, is he?”
Veronica held up a hand to silence me. “He’ll continue to work part-time, like he has as our IT consultant. And since I could’ve hired him full-time, we also have the funds to bring on an occasional consultant, as needed.”
Glenda got into my head again, and this time she was shaking her spyglass-shaped pasties. I promptly shook her out—right onto her partially tweed-covered tush. “But David’s a computer science major. Why would he want to do PI work?”
“His experience at Private Chicks has convinced him that he’d rather use his computer skills to fight crime than sit at a desk programming all day,” she replied, her fingers clicking her computer keys.
I lay down again. The news of positive change was both unfamiliar and unsettling. “Well, I’m happy it’s David. Although I am going to miss having him help me with research.”
“You won’t have to because I’ve already hired his replacement.” Her eyes sparkled. “Standish Standifer.”
Maybe it was the surprise or the repetition of “stand” in that name, but I stood straight up. “You mean, the vassal?”
She did a combination arm-cross and head-tilt. “We’re not going to call him by a fraternity pledge nickname. He’s our employee, and we will show him the respect he deserves.”
“Which is why I’m sticking with ‘the vassal.’”
“I’d stick with the medieval servant too,” Chandra said. “They work so much harder than regular help.”
Veronica started, and I stumbled and fell backwards onto the couch.
Chandra was standing at the reception desk in a shiny silver-skirted suit that looked like something an A-list astronaut might wear in outer space. And I didn’t know what was more disconcerting—her loony lunar look or the fact that the lobby bell hadn’t buzzed when she’d entered.
“Hi, Chandra.” Veronica rose to her feet. “How can we help you?”
She pulled a big silver Chanel bag from her shoulder. “I came to talk to Franki.”
Veronica gave me an I’ll-get-rid-of-her glance. “We’re in the middle of a business meeting. Can this wait?”
She shook her oversized head, but her oversized hair didn’t move. “This is business too. I need to hire her for a case.”
Visions of vampire bats flapped in my head. “You do?”
She nodded—still no movement from her hair. “I wanted to talk to you about this yesterday, but I couldn’t in front of Lou. That’s why I sent him inside the boutique to look at the blood clot spread.”
Veronica’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
“Then that spirit butted in.” Chandra rolled her eyes at the heavens. “Talk about bad timing.”
Relieved the spirit wasn’t the basis for the case, I returned to my reclining position. “Give the guy a break. He’d just had his blood drained.”
Veronica shot me a smirk and returned to her seat. “Why don’t you come tell us about this case, Chandra?”
“Glad to.” She emerged from behind the desk in platform boots that sparkled like stardust and high-stepped as though she were on a spacewalk. She settled in next to Veronica and placed her bag on her lap. “It’s about my Lou’s cooking class.”
I turned toward her. “He’s the family chef?”
Her whole body stiffened, like her hair. “I cook for my husband. But he’s an adventurous eater, and there are some things I won’t allow in my kitchen.”
That was a surprising statement coming from someone who’d been drinking from a blood bag. “Like what? Organ meats?”
“Bugs,” she replied, bug-eyed.
Creepy-crawlies slithered beneath my skin. “What kind of culinary school is this?”
“It’s Bayou Cuisine in the French Quarter,” she replied. “They’re offering a course in waste cooking.”
“Waste cooking?” The creepy-crawlies squirmed into my stomach. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
Veronica clicked her keyboard. “According to this website, it’s a movement aimed at protesting food waste. Followers dumpster dive for ingredients.”
Chandra shivered, and her solar system earrings started to rotate. “Including the bugs.”
“It’s a noble cause, but it sounds unhealthy.” I reached for my beignet bag.
“The meals featured on this site might change your mind.” Veronica scrutinized her screen. “They’re balanced and gourmet quality.”
“Another oxymoron. Garbage can’t be gourmet.” I sat up and placed the cushion behind my back. “So what’s this case about? Solving the mystery of why Lou would take the class?”
Chandra’s lids lowered. She didn’t appreciate potshots at her Lou. “It’s because he’s socially conscious.” She paused. “And thrifty.” Her grip on her bag tightened, and her chin rose. “What I want you to find out is who’s undermining him.”
Veronica looked up from her laptop. “I’m not following you.”
She sighed as though irritated we couldn’t read her mind. “The students put their personal touches on a recipe selected by the head chef, and at th
e end of each class he picks the best one. The student with the most wins gets to be on the school’s Mardi Gras float next year.” Her nostrils flared as her upper lip curled. “But someone is making sure it’s not Lou.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “I mean, maybe he’s not the best cook in the class.”
Her upturned nose turned up. “Lou knows his food. And he says one of his classmates is slipping bad ingredients into his dishes.”
“Are you sure that’s what’s happening?” I pressed. “Because garbage, by definition, is bad.”
Chandra's eyes turned murderous, and it struck me that she was the spitting image of Chucky’s bride.
“My Lou doesn’t lie,” she growled.
“All right, I believe you,” I said—but only because I was afraid she’d pull a blaster pistol or sonic screwdriver from her bag. “But this isn’t the kind of case we usually take.”
“Franki’s right.” Veronica closed her laptop. “We normally investigate more serious crimes.”
“Sabotaging my husband is a serious crime.” Her honeyed voice had turned hard. “Whatever this one’s paying you,” she head-jerked at Veronica, “I’ll double it.”
The irritation on my best friend’s face captured my feelings exactly—dealing with Chandra was no walk on the moon. But it was hard to turn down twice my pay. “Let me think about it.”
“Um, Franki?” Veronica stared at me like I was the space cadet.
“Well I am working for two now,” I justified, referring to Anthony. “But what’s Lou going to think if I show up in his class?”
Chandra’s eyes shined like stars. “I’ll tell him you called and asked about his class because your Bradley is an adventurous eater.”
It was plausible, and under the circumstances I wouldn’t have minded serving Bradley a waste sandwich, to put it politely. “Okay, but I doubt the school would let me enroll since the class has already started.”
“Nonsense. I called them, and they’re still taking students.”
I pictured myself pulling the lid off a pot of turnip greens and tarantulas. “You know what? If this were any other kind of class, I’d be happy to help you. But I can’t do entomology eats.”
“My Lou’s going to be on that float come February.” Her tone was guttural, and her teeth were gritted. “I’ll triple your salary.”
“On the other hand,” I said, sitting forward, “I did grow up in Houston, so I’m fairly comfortable around the cockroach.”
“Perfect.” She pulled a checkbook from her bag. “Because tomorrow’s recipe is Creole Cockroaches.”
Houston, we have a problem.
The lobby bell rang as the door burst open. David blew in with the vassal in tow.
“David!” Veronica admonished.
His long, lanky body skidded to a stop, and the vassal, who was shorter and nearsighted, face-planted into his proton pack backpack.
Veronica shifted to face David. “Now that you’re a PI, you need to enter the office like a professional. We’re with a client.”
At the sight of Chandra’s space suit, his brow rocketed up his forehead. But the vassal, who sported a Stormtrooper shirt and an R2D2 lunch box, smiled as though he’d found a kindred spirit.
“Oh, uh, sorry.” David hung his head and looked at Veronica from beneath his lashes. “We’re freaked out.”
The vassal didn’t look freaked out. He just nodded, and his jaw went slack, but then that was his signature stare.
His open mouth reminded me that it was time for a second beignet. I snatched the bag from Veronica’s hand. “What’s going on?”
“A Tulane alum we know is missing.” David slid his backpack off his shoulder and let it drop with a thud. “It’s all over Facebook. And the news.”
“Was he in your fraternity?” Veronica asked.
The vassal pushed up Coke-bottle glasses. “No, a rival frat.”
I pulled out a pastry. “How do you two know him?”
“He still parties at his frat house, even though he’s, like, forty.” David pushed his brown bangs to the side. “And he pranked our frat before the semester started.”
The boys fell silent.
“Well?” I looked from David to the vassal. “Is one of you going to tell us what this guy did?”
The vassal gripped his backpack straps. “He nailed a gamma and a sigma on either end of our fraternity house sign.”
Something told me the result would be classic. “What’s the name of your frat again?”
David cleared his throat. “Uh, Epsilon Epsilon Kappa.”
Chandra giggled. “From EEK to GEEKS.” She pulled a pen from her purse. “I’ve got to write that down.”
David and the vassal exchanged an embarrassed look.
“Sorry, guys, but your frat left itself wide open for that one.” I bit into the beignet. “Which frat is the missing alum in?”
The vassal’s slack jaw lifted into a smile. “Delta Upsilon Delta.”
Chandra snickered as she wrote in her checkbook. “The DUDs.”
“DUDs is right.” David flipped his bangs. “They’ve had more scandals than any fraternity in the school’s history. And they were just suspended.”
Any frat with a forty-year-old member should’ve been suspended. Not only was it morally unconscionable, it was massively uncool. “What for?”
David shrugged. “No one knows, and the university hasn’t released an official statement.”
“That’s odd.” Veronica tapped a finger on her cheek. “I wonder if this alum’s disappearance is related to whatever the frat was up to.”
“I dunno,” he replied. “He was last seen on a vampire tour.”
Chandra’s charm bracelet jingled, and I jumped.
“If that’s a vampire contacting you,” I said, tossing my beignet on the table, “you tell him you’re in a meeting.”
She bolted up in her boots. “I hate to hire you and run.” She handed a check to Veronica. “But the undead give me the heebie-jeebies.”
This from the psychic who talked to spirits.
We all watched Chandra spacewalk to the door, where she turned and shot me a laser look.
“The cooking class starts at six p.m. on Tuesday.” She pointed a paddle-shaped nail at me. “And remember, you’re there to investigate a crime, so don’t get any big ideas about being in that gumbo pot.”
I blinked. “What gumbo pot?”
“I’m paying triple for this?” she huffed. “It’s the school float. What else?”
Considering the garbage theme, the choice of float was a low blow to my beloved gumbo, not to mention me. “Don’t worry. The only thing I’ve got big ideas about is my fee.”
Her lips puckered, and she left.
I leapt off the couch. “Lock the door, David.”
Veronica stopped him with a stare and then turned to me. “What’s the matter with you? You know we’re open for business.”
“Exactly.” I grabbed my bag and my half-eaten beignet. “We always get the crazy-creepy cases, and my gut’s been telling me one’s on its way ever since I saw that ominous vampiress.”
“Say what?” David said, and the vassal’s slack jaw slackened even more.
Veronica did a head roll and put a hand on her hip. “The second I heard the words ‘vampire tour,’ I knew you’d start. Now I hate to play the boss card, but we all have work to do.”
David and the vassal scurried to their desks.
She picked up her laptop. “I could use your eyes on a workers’ compensation case—if you can reign in your sanguivoriphobia.”
“My what?”
“Fear of blood eaters.” She held up her hands and curled her fingers like Bela Lugosi going in for the bite. “As in vampires.”
“Don’t confuse me with Chandra,” I sassed as Veronica turned and headed up the hallway. “She’s the one with the ridiculous phobias.”
Before following her to her office I looked back over my shoulder, and I clutched my cr
oss necklace the entire way.
Afternoon rain beat a soothing rhythm on the roof of Private Chicks. My eyelids succumbed to the sound, closing and opening like automatic garage doors gone awry, and I dropped my head to my desk. It was amazing how tired twenty hours of sleep and a belly full of beignets made you.
Through the haze of my post-lunch stupor, I heard heavy breathing coming from the doorway. For a second, I thought it was a vampire, but my mind reminded me that was ridiculous. The more likely culprit was the vassal, whose slack-jawed style made him a committed mouth breather.
With my forehead on my forearm, I asked, “What is it, Va—” That didn’t sound right. “I mean, Sta—” That didn’t sound right either. “Just, what is it?”
The breathing stopped.
“Josh Santo is here to see you.”
My head popped up. “Who?”
His gaze darted up the hallway. “A…man?”
The name was unfamiliar, and, judging from the way the vassal had said “man,” I would’ve preferred to keep it that way. “Is Veronica here?”
“Yes.”
This internship was off to a stellar start. “Yes, what?”
He looked to one side. “Ma’am.”
“Thanks for that.” The sarcasm rolled off my tongue as I rolled backwards in my chair. “What I meant was, where is she?”
“With Mr. Santo.” His eyes enlarged behind his lenses. “In the conference room.”
A clap of thunder shook the three-story building, and the news that Veronica was in the conference room shook me. It was a large space across the hall from our third-floor office, and we reserved it for private client meetings—the kind where the crime was either extremely delicate or especially dreadful.
The mouth breathing resumed.
“That’ll be all, Vassal,” I said as I rose to my feet, because that time the nickname seemed appropriate.
He turned and ran, which did nothing for my nerves.
I headed up the hallway as though I were going to my own bloodletting. And as I crossed the lobby, David and the vassal eyeballed me from their desks like I had a date with Darth Vader. To stop their stares, I lanced them with a laser-beam look and exited the main office.
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