A Flair for Beignets (The Sadie Kramer Flair Mysteries Book 3)

by Deborah Garner

  “Over money, perhaps…,” Sadie mused.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Clotile said. “Most disputes seem to boil down to disagreements over money, one way or another, especially in business.”

  Sadie nodded. “I suppose so.” More than one such crisis amidst clients of her late husband’s real estate business crossed her mind.

  A light cough interrupted Sadie’s thoughts and drew her attention to Mimi Arnaud’s table. The woman had finished off the first tart and pushed the plate to the side. A newspaper was open, spread across the table. She took a sip of water and then picked up a pencil, touched the tip to the newsprint, and began to write.

  “Daily crossword puzzle,” Clotile said. “She always does it. I don’t have the patience for it, myself. There are always a few words I can’t figure out, which just frustrates me.”

  Sadie nodded, never having been fond of crossword puzzles herself.

  Clotile and Sadie returned to discussing the possible causes of the Arnaud-LeBlanc rivalry. Sadie offered suggestions of conflicts that had a way of destroying business partnerships. Clotile ventured opinions on each potential scenario.

  Again, Mimi coughed. This time she stood up and headed over to a side table where water was available for all customers. She refilled her glass, took a sip, and carried it back to her table, pausing at one point to rest her hand on the back of a chair, as if to catch her balance.

  “My,” Clotile said. “I wonder if Mimi has taken to drinking in the morning. She seems a bit unsteady on her feet.”

  “I noticed that too,” Sadie said. “But then my balance isn’t what it used to be in my younger days.”

  “Good point,” Clotile said. “Neither is mine. That makes me wonder about all those hills in San Francisco. Aren’t those difficult to walk up and down, at least compared to years ago?”

  “A little,” Sadie admitted. “I’m enjoying the flat walking areas here in New Orleans.”

  The discussion continued as Clotile and Sadie bantered comparisons of their respective cities back and forth—hills versus flatland, sourdough bread versus beignets, and the Golden Gate Bridge versus long, flat stretches of roadway over water.

  “Oh, and the crab cocktails along Fisherman’s Wharf…” Sadie paused, noticing Mimi waving one arm above her head, motioning toward the front counter. Lisette responded by holding her index finger up in the air, a signal to wait while she finished giving change to a well-dressed gentleman in line. When the man headed for the front door, Lisette hurried over to Mimi’s table.

  “What do you think is the matter?” Sadie asked, worried for the older woman.

  “I don’t know,” Clotile said, equally concerned.

  Sadie could see Mimi attempting to explain something while grasping the edge of the table with two hands. Lisette leaned forward, as if not able to understand what the woman was saying. Abruptly Mimi’s eyes widened, as if hit by a sudden realization. She opened her mouth to explain but instead fell forward, planting her forehead firmly in the half-eaten tart, a splatter of raspberries and whipped cream alongside her immobile head. A collective gasp circled the room. Several people jumped up but didn’t move, each at a loss as to how to help. One customer pounded lightly on Mimi’s back and then attempted several ill-trained Heimlich maneuvers, which simply pulled Mimi’s face up out of, and back into, the pastry repeatedly.

  “I’m a doctor,” the gentleman at the door said, turning back and rushing to Mimi’s table. He lifted the woman from the chair, laid her in the aisle, and pressed his fingers to her neck, trying to find a pulse. Finally he looked up at a panic-stricken Lisette and shook his head. “I’m sorry. She’s gone.”

  Around the room, customers sat back, stunned, and exchanged looks with each other. Clotile and Sadie bore the same shocked expression on their faces as the others.

  Shifting in her chair, Sadie picked up her tote bag and clutched it in her lap, as if to protect Coco from the traumatic event. She pushed her half-empty café mocha toward the center of the table and turned to Clotile.

  “I think I’ll skip those tarts to go after all.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sadie paced back and forth in her hotel room as Coco looked on. The Yorkie’s head swiveled, watching Sadie’s movements sympathetically, in spite of not knowing what had provoked them.

  “I don’t understand it, Coco,” Sadie said. “The woman was fine when she walked in and dead within the hour.” She paused, as if waiting for Coco to respond, and then resumed pacing. “Oh, and to think I almost ordered one of those tarts to go!” She shuddered. “Then again,” she continued, “maybe the poor woman’s demise had nothing to do with the tart itself. Maybe she simply choked.”

  Clotile and Sadie had lingered at the patisserie until the EMTs and police arrived, mostly to attempt to console Lisette, who was hysterical. The bakery owner sat huddled at the table with Clotile and Sadie as an officer asked her questions and jotted down notes. Lisette answered as best she could. No, she hadn’t sensed anything wrong with Mimi when she first arrived. No, there was no one new working in the kitchen. Yes, other customers had ordered the same tarts that morning and had not suffered any ill effects. No, only a few people had keys to the bakery, and she trusted every single one completely.

  After the police had finished questioning everyone present, and the coroner had taken Mimi’s body away, Lisette broke down, her hysterics turning to sobs. “How could this happen?” she cried. “She seemed fine when she arrived.”

  “What did she say when she waved you over?” Clotile asked.

  “She said something was wrong, that she felt dizzy and hot,” Lisette said. “But her speech was slurred. It was hard to understand her.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Clotile said, attempting to console her.

  “Oh my!” Lisette cried, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. “I didn’t even think of that. Maybe that’s what the police will think. After all, I’m the one who served her the food. Oh my!” she repeated. “Maybe that’s what everyone will think: my customers, my friends!”

  “Try not to jump to conclusions,” Sadie said. “This has been enough of a shock as it is.”

  “Yes,” Clotile added, patting her friend’s arm to reassure her. “You know there will be a full investigation. They’ll get to the bottom of this, and you’ll be cleared.”

  “And meanwhile?” Lisette’s sobbing ebbed, and her voice softened. “I can’t open the bakery. The detective said they’d need to go through the whole kitchen, every ingredient, every utensil. And will my customers even come back when I reopen?”

  Sadie had to agree it was a good question. This was certainly not a situation where the saying “there’s no such thing as bad publicity” applied. A customer had dropped dead—literally—in the middle of a raspberry-almond tart. It hardly constituted positive advertising for the patisserie.

  Now, while pacing the floor of her hotel suite, Sadie tried to piece together what little information she knew.

  “Who would have wanted to harm Mimi Arnaud, Coco? Clotile seemed to think she was a nice woman, quiet but not disliked. At least she didn’t say so.” Sadie paused, as if expecting an opinion from the petite canine. Coco simply licked one paw and then yawned. “Then again, maybe she had enemies that Clotile didn’t know about.”

  The buzz of an incoming text interrupted Sadie’s thoughts. Knowing it would either be Amber, from her San Francisco boutique, or Clotile, she picked up the phone. It was Clotile.

  Interesting development.

  Sadie responded, curious.

  What happened?

  She watched the little dots on the screen as Clotile typed an answer, feeling the sense of impatience that always accompanied the anticipation of an incoming text.

  I stayed with Lisette to help her close up.

  Sadie nodded at the phone, which she immediately realized was silly, as Clotile could not see her gesture.

  And? How is she?

  Sadie sighed after sendin
g the text. It was a ridiculous question. Clearly, Lisette couldn’t be okay after the events of the morning.

  She’s upset, went home to rest. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you.

  Again, Sadie paused, waiting for more.

  I looked across the street while waiting for Lisette and saw a face peeking out from behind a curtain.

  “Huh,” Sadie said aloud. What point could Clotile be trying to make? There was nothing odd about that. Of course others would notice the activity and look out.

  Seems normal, under the circumstances, Sadie typed.

  Not this, Clotile responded. It was only a face; the rest of the person was hidden behind the curtain. I’m sure it was Bluette. Short gray hair, glasses.

  Normal, Sadie thought to herself. Neighbors would be curious to see an ambulance and police car coming and going on their block. But then again…

  Are you saying what I think you are? That the other bakery owner is involved?

  Clotile replied, Could be. The Arnaud-LeBlanc dispute, you know.

  That fierce of a grudge? Sadie typed.

  Clotile’s answer was short. Yes.

  Sadie set the phone down to think for a minute, a luxury afforded by text that wouldn’t have been otherwise. She opened Coco’s travel palace and gave her a treat, then returned to the phone. Want to come by the hotel later? Wine-and-appetizer hour 5-7.

  Sounds good, Clotile answered. Day plans? She added, I can offer suggestions.

  Sadie smiled. It was a nice offer but not needed. French Market, she typed back.

  Perfect, Clotile replied. Enjoy. See you later.

  ***

  The French Market, a short walk from the hotel, was abuzz with activity when Sadie arrived. She’d read about the famed marketplace before but wasn’t prepared for the delightfully unique atmosphere. Vendors and goods stretched for blocks, tables brimming with everything from handmade voodoo dolls to alligator heads. Tall racks displayed masks so varied that Sadie had the odd impression that each held a personality within. Shelves and counters offered spicy varieties of hot sauces and herbal mixtures. The unusual variety of offerings had Sadie immediately weighing carry-on luggage options for her trip home. Surely a fanciful mask with ribbon streamers would look good on the wall in her San Francisco penthouse.

  Not all the tables and booths were filled with oddities. A farmer’s market section offered fresh fruits and vegetables, artisan bread, homemade jellies, and pralines. Local artists displayed pottery, paintings, and jewelry. The wide variety of merchandise, mixed with excited crowds of people and festive music, filled Sadie with energy.

  “Coco, what do you think about one of these?” Sadie directed her question toward her tote bag as she fingered one of many colorful feather boas hanging from a grid. “Hot pink or blue? Or maybe orange?” Coco’s head popped up above the rim of the tote. She sniffed the row of fluffy objects and then batted one with a paw. “All right,” Sadie said. “Blue it is then.” She fished a wallet out of the bag and paid the vendor. Placing the boa around her neck, she flipped one end over her shoulder and flounced her way onward.

  The crowd seemed to multiply right in front of her by the minute. Tourists rummaged through stacks of T-shirts with bold lettering spelling out Throw Me the Beads, NOLA, or Laissez les Bons Temps Rouler. Well, I certainly agree with that philosophy, Sadie thought to herself, knowing the well-known English equivalent “Let the Good Times Roll.” Nothing could better describe her outlook on life: live large, life is short, enjoy with gusto.

  Moving on, Sadie stopped next to a crowded food counter, baffled by a sign. “Gator on a stick?” she read aloud to no one in particular. She wasn’t sure whether to be intrigued or terrified.

  “Yes, ma’am,” a twenty-something young man commented from the nearest counter seat. He wore a black-and-gold New Orleans Saints T-shirt with the phrase Who dat? in bold lettering. “You should try it. It’s delicious. Can’t beat fresh farmed gator.” He waved a kebob-style stick in the air and took a bite of its skewered goods. “Want a taste?” He extended the stick toward Sadie and then pulled it back when she politely shook her head. Coco’s head popped up from inside Sadie’s bag but not quickly enough to sneak a bite. With a dramatic sigh, the Yorkie dropped back inside the tote.

  “Maybe another time,” Sadie said, fluffing her boa nonchalantly. “But thank you anyway,” she added. She moved along the counter, intending to leave, but paused upon overhearing a remark that caught her attention.

  “Did you read that article about the poor woman at a local bakery?” A woman serving food directed the question to a customer who was reading a newspaper at the counter. Sadie rummaged through her bag, a stalling tactic that resulted in an annoyed yip. At times Coco simply didn’t want to be disturbed.

  “I did,” the customer said. “Things like that happen in cities like this.”

  Sadie glanced up and immediately dropped her gaze back toward her tote as the man looked her way. But the sneak peek was long enough to take stock of his appearance: middle-aged, casually dressed, hair overstyled, a bit out of place among the crowd. It struck her that both his speech and mannerisms seemed insensitive, considering the subject matter.

  “What do you make of that, Coco?” Sadie said after she walked away. She received only silence in return, a sign she interpreted to be Coco’s annoyance at being shuffled around in the tote bag, mixed with the failed attempt to sneak a bite of alligator.

  A temptation to keep an eye on the man tugged at Sadie, but she thought better of it. She didn’t really have any reason to, other than her own curiosity, and there were still plenty of vendor tables to explore. Maybe he was just the type not prone to showing reactions in public, or he simply didn’t have a response at all.

  “Look at this wonderful hand-painted pottery, Coco,” Sadie said as they stopped by a booth with a variety of dishes. “We may need a set of mugs to take home with us.” Coco, still annoyed, didn’t respond.

  An hour and several shopping splurges later, Sadie headed back to the hotel and spread her purchases out on the bedspread.

  “Maybe I’ll wear this to the wine-and-appetizer hour,” she said, holding up a loose, Bohemian-style blouse in bright yellow and a set of hand-painted bangle bracelets.

  She changed into the blouse and slid the bangles on one wrist, shaking her arm just to hear the sound they made.

  Picking up a decorative mask with sequins around the edges, she admired the ribbons trailing below. “And this will look fabulous in the living room… or maybe the hallway.”

  Several bottles of hot sauce with exotic labels and varying degrees of heat completed the collection of purchases. Whether she’d be brave enough to try them all remained to be seen. But they’d look impressive on a kitchen shelf.

  Coco had not been overlooked during the shopping spree either. Sadie had carefully chosen an infant T-shirt just the right size for the petite Yorkie. She set Coco on the bed and pulled the bright pink garment over the Yorkie’s furry head and inserted each front leg in one armhole. With the front of the shirt on Coco’s back, the catchy wording couldn’t be missed.

  “All right, my little Voodoo Princess,” Sadie said. “Now that you’re decked out too, we’re ready for the hotel lobby. Let’s go meet up with Clotile.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The hotel lounge off the main lobby boasted an elegant spread of wine, crackers, and cheeses, as well as assorted appetizers and dips. A handful of guests gathered in conversation near the food while a few solo visitors sipped wine and browsed magazines independently.

  Sadie poured herself a glass of pinot grigio, dipped a water cracker into a hot crawfish dip, and looked around. Seeing no sign of Clotile, she layered an ample selection of appetizers on a small plate, then took a seat on a chair near a front window. Within seconds, her foot began tapping to the light jazz music the hotel had floating through the room. Coco apparently enjoyed the musical selection, too, as Sadie felt rhythmic movement within her tote bag.


  Sitting alone in a gathering always provided an opportunity to take in the surrounding environment, and Sadie wasn’t about to let this chance go to waste. Just the events since her arrival were enough to make her curious, aside from the usual intrigue of people-watching. From her vantage point, nothing seemed noticeably different from any other hotel’s wine-and-appetizer hour. Perhaps a murder a few blocks away wasn’t enough to throw off the daily norm? Somehow, in spite of the calm appearance of the room, Sadie found that difficult to believe. She was well aware that appearances could be deceiving.

  “There you are!”

  Clotile’s voice reached Sadie’s ears just as she was biting into a spread of pimento cheese on crispy flatbread. Unable to answer with her mouth full, she waved Clotile over to the chair beside her, patting the seat. Clotile set a clutch purse and sweater down on the chair, fetched a plate of culinary goodies from the serving table, and returned to take a seat next to Sadie.

  “Anything new?” Sadie asked.

  Clotile shook her head while popping a stuffed mushroom into her mouth. “Nothing,” she said after swallowing. “Lisette is home resting. The bakery is sealed off. Everything else seems like any other day.” She eyed the selections on her plate, picked up a shrimp, and then paused. “Except…”

  “Except what?” Sadie asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Look at the hotel’s front counter,” Clotile said, nodding in that direction.

  Sadie followed Clotile’s head nod and took in the scene at the check-in desk. A few guests waiting for room keys, a housekeeper added water to a flower display, but nothing seemed out of place.

  “What?” Sadie said. “Looks like everyday business to me.”

  “Yes,” Clotile agreed, “other than Horace.”

  “Horace?”

  “Horace LeBlanc,” Clotile explained in a hushed voice.

  Sadie recognized the last name immediately. “As in the Arnaud-LeBlanc rift?”