“I agree,” Sadie said as if Coco had answered her verbally. “If I’d had other questions, I would have asked him earlier.”
A text from Clotile interrupted Sadie’s thoughts.
The police are taking Julien in for questioning!
“Coco!” Sadie whispered to the Yorkie. “The police are questioning Julien. What do you think about that?” She then sent a text back to Clotile.
Who’s Julien?
Sadie glanced around to make sure Horace LeBlanc hadn’t decided to slink back into the courtyard. She already had a sneaking suspicion that he had something to do with Mimi Arnaud’s murder, though she didn’t have anything more to go on than the creepy feeling she had when he was around.
The pastry chef. Didn’t I tell you this before? Julien Simon is Lisette’s pastry chef.
“Looks like it might be the pastry chef,” Sadie whispered to Coco, who simply yawned.
That’s terrible! Sadie typed in return. Do you think he’s guilty?
Sadie looked around the courtyard, mulling that over while waiting for Clotile’s response. It seemed only normal that the pastry chef would be suspect. But why the delay in questioning him? Hadn’t he been there the day Mimi Arnaud died?
He could be. He had access to the ingredients.
That made sense, of course, Sadie thought. He could have pulled something off without anyone noticing. She sent a text back to Clotile.
He might have slipped poison in that day. Just to Mimi’s tart. When she came in.
Clotile’s response was fast.
But he wasn’t there that day.
Ah, hence the delay in the police questioning him, Sadie thought. If he’d been there at the time, surely the police would have detained him then. After all, they had questioned everyone in the building at the time.
Did they find evidence? Sadie typed.
Don’t know. Lisette just sent me a text. No details.
“Why wouldn’t he have been there that morning?” Sadie asked Coco. She tried to think of the reason for his absence. Maybe he was trying to cover his tracks by being out that day. In that case, he would have had to set someone else up. But how? How could anyone coordinate something like that without actually being there to see it through? An accomplice, perhaps?
Meeting Lisette for dinner. Join us?
Sadie wasn’t about to turn down food, much less a chance to find out more about the pastry chef and his possible involvement.
Sure. When and where?
“We’re going out to dinner,” Sadie informed Coco, who merely scratched her chin.
CCCC 6:30.
Sadie looked at her phone as if tasked with detective work just to get dinner directions. She’d seen a lot of acronyms floating around in the texting universe, but this was a new one.
Oops, sorry. Cyril’s Crazy Cajun Cookery. Close to you.
Sadie had an idea where it was. She’d passed it the first night.
See you there.
CHAPTER TEN
Cyril’s Crazy Cajun Cookery was everything the name implied. It was owned by one Cyril Cragmont, it featured Cajun cooking that smelled divine, and it boasted an atmosphere that was nothing short of insane.
Sadie stepped through the front door of the Bourbon Street eatery into a blast of zydeco music. A male accordion player—Sadie estimated him to be in his fifties—accompanied several other musicians: one on guitar, another on drums, and yet another on… Sadie paused. Was that a washboard? Reminiscent of rhythm and blues, the music had a livelier beat. Sadie felt her tote bag start to bounce against her side, which didn’t surprise her in the least. Coco had a passion for salsa, and this had a similar energy.
In spite of overhead lighting, the restaurant was dimly lit. Neon signs on the wall cast mysterious rainbow beams across the room, bouncing off spritzers and spectacles alike. Just about every shiny object in the crowded space seemed to glow. In a rare moment for Sadie, she suddenly felt conservatively dressed in her bright green tunic and paisley-print slacks. Had she known what to expect, she might have added one of the feather boas from the French Market. Maybe even two.
As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she spotted Clotile waving to her from a table near the band. Lisette sat alongside her, hand tapping on the table’s surface, attention on the musicians. She nudged her way through the crowd and joined the two women.
“My, what a wild scene!” Sadie said, looking around with a pleased expression.
Clotile leaned closer, cupped her hand next to her mouth, and raised her voice. “What did you say?” She moved her hand to her ear, waiting for Sadie to answer.
“Great place!” Sadie shouted. Both Clotile and Lisette nodded in agreement. “Is it always this busy?” Again, both women nodded.
Lisette reached across the table and lifted a menu from a wire rack in the center of the table. She handed it to Sadie and pointed to various areas on the laminated sheet. “I highly recommend the jambalaya,” she shouted. “It’s Cyril’s signature dish. But the oysters are excellent too.” In spite of Lisette’s attempt to offer suggestions, Sadie only caught a few words. With “jambalaya” being one of those, she pointed to the selection and nodded her head in approval.
A young woman in her midtwenties approached just as the band wound a tune down to an enthusiastic round of whoops and cheers. She wore skintight jeans and a clingy T-shirt with glittery letters spelling out Belle of the Boil. A crawfish illustration accompanied the wording. “What can I get you ladies?” the server asked, taking advantage of the break in music.
“Our visiting friend here would like the jambalaya,” Clotile said, indicating Sadie. “I’ll have an order of chargrilled oysters.”
Lisette leaned toward the server and raised her voice as the band started into another tune. “I’ll have a grilled catfish po-boy. Wait, make that fried. Please.”
“Yours is on the house, Ms. Lisette,” the young woman said. “We all feel terrible about what happened at your bakery. Cyril’s going through withdrawal over your pralines.”
“That’s very kind but not necessary,” Lisette insisted. “And you tell Cyril I’ll be glad to whip up a batch of pralines at home for him.”
“I’ll tell him,” the server said. She smiled and moved on to take an order at another table.
Clotile tapped Lisette on the arm to get her attention. The music was in full swing again, the accordion player belting out lyrics about someone stealing his chicken. Sadie could feel her tote bag bouncing along with the music.
“We want some pralines too,” Clotile shouted, pointing to both Sadie and herself. Lisette grinned. Whether she had heard Clotile’s words or not over the noise, she understood the request. It seemed to lift her spirits to hear the demand for her bakery goods.
Several tunes later, the abundant platters of food arrived. Conveniently, the band paused to take a break, which allowed the three women to finally converse with ease.
“Any news from the detectives?” Clotile asked as she popped an oyster in her mouth.
Lisette glanced briefly between Clotile and Sadie. She took a bite of her po-boy before responding, as if weighing what to say before speaking.
“Don’t worry,” Clotile said. “I’ve kept Sadie informed. You know the detectives questioned her too.”
“Yes,” Lisette said once her mouth was clear. “Sadie, I’m sorry you ended up in the middle of all this. You came to New Orleans for a vacation, not to get tangled up in a police investigation.”
Sadie chuckled, thinking of a few past trips gone awry. “Don’t worry. I seem to fall into these kinds of situations unexpectedly.”
“Any update on Julien?” Clotile asked.
Lisette shook her head. “All I know is that they took him in for questioning. But I can’t believe he’d be involved. I’ve known Julien for years. He’s a big part of the reason the bakery has done well. And he loves the place, is very dedicated.”
“Did he have any connection to Mimi Arnaud?” Sadie asked. She bro
ke off a piece of french bread and dropped it into her tote bag. The tote calmed down momentarily, in spite of the lively music.
“No,” Lisette said. “Not that I know of. I don’t know Julien outside of work, but I’m sure he would have mentioned Mimi at some point or at least mentioned the family.”
“He also wasn’t there at the time,” Sadie pointed out. “The detectives questioned all of us, including your staff.”
“Right,” Lisette said. “He’d already left for the morning. So it makes sense they’d question him at another time.”
“Isn’t that unusual?” Sadie asked. “That your pastry chef wouldn’t be there? I mean, you serve pastry.” Her tote bag began to bounce again as the band launched into another lively song.
Lisette shook her head. “No, it’s not unusual at all. Julien starts baking very early in the morning, not long after midnight, in fact. He leaves around the time the café opens. We see each other for a few minutes to exchange any information pertaining to the day—a menu item that will be out of stock, for example, or special orders that are ready to be picked up.”
“You really depend on him,” Clotile said sympathetically. “How will you be able to reopen without him?” She cast an odd glance at Sadie’s tote bag and then turned her attention back to Lisette.
“Why would I need to?” Lisette suddenly turned pale. “He can’t possibly have anything to do with this! I’m sure they’ll question him and let him go. At least I certainly hope so!”
“You say he’s the one who sets up the special orders for pickup?” Sadie asked.
“Yes,” Lisette said. “Customers order ahead of time or send in orders over the internet. Julian makes sure they’re ready and labeled with the correct name of the person who ordered.
“Does that just apply to to-go orders?” Sadie asked.
“Mostly,” Lisette said. “Occasionally a customer who is planning to dine in asks to have something set aside.”
“Like Mimi Arnaud?” Sadie posed the question lightly. A possible chain of events was coming together in her mind, and she wanted to tread carefully.
“Well, yes,” Lisette said. “But we already know who our regular customers will be and what they’ll request. They don’t have to order. We just make sure to set aside what they’ll be asking for.”
“Out of the main offerings in the case then. Set aside,” Sadie said. She took a hearty bite of jambalaya and savored the spicy flavor.
“Yes, exactly,” Lisette said. “It keeps our regulars happy to know they’ll have their favorite item available.”
“You’re going somewhere with this, Sadie, aren’t you?” Clotile asked.
Sadie nodded as she swallowed and set her fork down.
“Mimi Arnaud’s serving of raspberry-almond tart was set aside in advance then, as a special order,” Sadie said. ”It wasn’t pulled from inside the case like the tarts other customers were ordering.”
“Right,” Lisette said.
“That means her name was on that particular tart.”
“Yes,” Lisette said. “That’s how we know it won’t be given away.” She paused. “Are you saying you think Julien is guilty because he’s the one who separates the special orders?”
“Really, Sadie,” Clotile said. “Is that what you’re saying? That Julian had something to do with this?”
Sadie shook her head. “No, if anything, it might clear him. Reasonable doubt, you know.”
Clotile and Lisette exchanged glances, confused. “I guess we don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Clotile said.
“It’s actually very simple,” Sadie said. “Julien prepares the baked goods, looks over the orders, sets aside those that need to be on hold for specific customers, labels them, and then stocks the front shelves for regular customers. Then he leaves, done with his work for the day.”
“Exactly,” Lisette said. “That has always been our practice.”
“And the special orders are kept where? Near the front counter?”
Lisette nodded. “Yes, so they are easy to reach when customers come to pick them up or dine in, whatever the case may be.”
“This is within view of the public, right?” Sadie asked.
“Yes,” Lisette said.
“Oh!” Clotile shouted loud enough that even a band member glanced her way. “I understand what Sadie’s saying, Lisette. Anyone who knew where those orders were set aside could have tampered with the one for Mimi since her name was on it. So there’s reasonable doubt that Julien is to blame. It also explains why no one else became ill.”
“And that I could have taken tarts to go after all,” Sadie mused.
“Better safe than sorry,” Clotile pointed out.
“True,” Sadie agreed. “So there’s just one obvious question now.”
“Which is?” Both Clotile and Lisette spoke at once.
“Who else had access to the special orders that morning after Julien left?”
Both Sadie and Clotile looked to Lisette for an answer.
“Well, anyone on the staff,” Lisette said. “And delivery people.”
“Delivery people? How would they have access? Don’t they have to come by appointment?” Sadie had little knowledge of the inner workings of eating establishments.
Lisette shook her head. “Not usually. Many deliveries are just regular orders. I adjust them by phone at the end of the day if we’ll need different quantities the following day. And it gets busy when we open. It’s not uncommon for the back door to be unlocked so that deliveries can be left inside without interrupting the activity.”
“So anyone could have walked in the back,” Sadie said. “Even someone who wasn’t delivering supplies.”
“I suppose so,” Lisette said. “This is a patisserie, not a bank. We’ve never had to worry about tight security.”
“That makes it hard to know who could have done it,” Clotile said.
“Yes.” Lisette sighed. “It certainly does.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sunshine filtered through the window of Sadie’s hotel room, hinting at a perfect New Orleans morning. Sadie sat up, stretched, and debated plans for the day. Perhaps she’d go back to the French Market and look for a local artist’s painting that would add some vibrant color to her San Francisco penthouse. Or she could head over to Jackson Square or St. Louis Cathedral or any number of other famous NOLA landmarks.
“What do you say, Coco? Should we go exploring today?”
Sadie dressed quickly, took Coco for a quick morning walk, passing through the lobby on her way back. Not yet caffeinated enough to endure small talk, she was relieved to see the front desk clerks busy with guest check-outs. She poured a cup to go and slipped out undisturbed.
Just before reentering her room, she noticed a police car pass slowly through the alley. Determined to stay away from drama for the day, she fought off her usual curiosity and settled into her accommodation’s front parlor, Coco curled up by her feet.
“I suppose they’re just doing a standard patrol of the alley,” Sadie said to Coco. She then took a sip of coffee and set the cup on a side table. “Or… do you think they’re coming to question Horace LeBlanc? It does seem strange that he’s suddenly shown up in town just when Mimi Arnaud dies. Not to mention what an odd man he is. Creepy, I dare say.”
A knock at the door interrupted Sadie’s second sip of coffee.
“It must be someone from housekeeping. So much for our uninterrupted morning, Coco. They should know this room isn’t ready for service this early.” Tsk-tsking the interruption, Sadie opened the door, surprised to find Detective Broussard outside, accompanied by two other policemen.
“Good morning, Detective…” Sadie tried to remember the detective’s last name from her previous encounter with him at Chez Lisette Patisserie.
“Broussard,” the detective said.
“Yes, Detective Broussard. What can I do for you?”
“We’re here to search your room, Ms. Kramer.” The detective�
�s voice was stern and formal, yet polite.
“Whatever for?” Sadie said, shocked. “And… and,” she stammered, “don’t you need a warrant for that?”
To Sadie’s dismay, Detective Broussard pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and held it up in the air. Stunned, she stepped back from the doorway to let the men enter.
“I absolutely don’t understand,” Sadie said, scooping Coco into her arms protectively. “I’m simply here on vacation. How did I manage to get mixed up in all this?”
“That’s exactly what we’re trying to figure out,” Broussard said.
“I don’t even know any of those people,” Sadie insisted. “I didn’t know a single person in this big not-so-easy city of yours before I arrived.”
Broussard looked at Sadie and frowned. “Being defensive will definitely not help you.”
“I’m not being defensive!” Sadie snipped. Coco stiffened in her arms and craned her tiny neck to stare at the detective as if backing Sadie up. She’d always been a loyal dog.
“Really not helpful,” Broussard said in a similar tone. Under other circumstances, Sadie might have found his mimicked quip amusing. As it stood, she simply felt insulted.
“Broussard,” one of the policemen called out. “Better come check this out.”
“Sit down,” Broussard told Sadie, indicating a chair as he walked over to see what the policeman had found. “And don’t even think about going anywhere.”
“Why would I?” Sadie said, exasperated. “I haven’t done anything!”
Sadie took a seat, as directed, thankful that the Louis XV armchair added a bit of dignity to the humiliating situation.
“Don’t worry, Coco,” she said, patting the Yorkie’s petite head. “They’ll be back any minute to eat crow.” Glancing at Coco, she added, “Don’t get any ideas. It’s just an expression.”
Sadie waited patiently for the detective to return, certain an apology would be forthcoming. Instead, he returned with a stern look on his face, accompanied by the policemen. One held a small paper cup left over from Sadie’s room service order the night before.
A Flair for Beignets (The Sadie Kramer Flair Mysteries Book 3) Page 6