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

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Coco,” Sadie warned. “I’m not waiting in a line like that for anyone, not even you.” Coco pawed the ground, whether at frustration over Sadie’s comment or simply to bat her own shadow, a habit on occasion.

  Two police officers emerged from Bluette’s Beignets, to-go bag in hand. They crossed the street, nodded politely to Sadie, and ducked inside Lisette’s place. One stepped back out almost immediately.

  “Can I help you with something? I’m Detective Broussard. I’m in charge of the investigation here. I couldn’t help but notice you were standing nearby.” The officer paused and glanced across the street. “I’m afraid you’ll need to go over there if you’re looking for baked goods. This one is closed today, due to an incident yesterday.”

  “I know,” Sadie said, nodding. “I was here when it happened.”

  The detective paused, taking in Sadie, the rhinestone leash, and the sniffing dog on the end of the sparkling rope. “You were here?”

  Sadie nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Not that I would have chosen to be. It was fairly dramatic and certainly unsettling.”

  “I can imagine,” Detective Broussard said. “Why don’t you come inside? Maybe you could shed some light on the events?”

  Sadie looked down at Coco, who was still eyeing Bluette’s Beignets with longing, nose sniffing. “Well, I…,” Sadie began.

  “Don’t worry,” the detective said, “you can bring it in.”

  “Her,” Sadie said with a touch of indignation. Not that the detective had any way to tell from a distance, but Coco still deserved the proper designation.

  “You can bring her in,” Detective Broussard said, correcting his statement. “The health codes won’t matter today, as there’s nothing in there that anyone will be able to sell, plus the place will be wiped clean after we finish inspecting everything.”

  “Yes,” Sadie said. “I imagine that’s the only way it would be able to reopen.”

  “Exactly,” the detective said. He opened the front door and held up a yellow tape that blocked the entrance. Sadie approached and entered the building, a reluctant Coco behind her, head swiveling and nose still sniffing in the opposite direction.

  Once inside, Sadie looked around the interior. Lisette’s bakery held none of the charm it had the previous morning. With the lights off and the tables empty, it felt not only deserted but ominous. How much of this atmosphere was the dim lighting or the knowledge of what had happened the day before, Sadie wasn’t sure. But something felt off about the place.

  “Why the police tape across the door?” Sadie asked suddenly. “Isn’t that only used for a crime scene? Have you determined this was a crime?” The thought had occurred to her, especially with the odd happenings at the hotel, but nothing official or even speculative had been in the paper that morning.

  The detective cleared his throat and coughed, as if the question took him by surprise and he needed to gather his thoughts before answering. Sadie suddenly had a flash of déjà vu and hoped the cough wasn’t about to lead to a repeat performance of the morning before.

  “We don’t know that it is a crime scene,” Detective Broussard said. “But we also don’t know that it isn’t. We’re trying to rule out possibilities.”

  “Because of the Arnaud-LeBlanc feud?” Sadie asked, letting her curiosity get the better of the wiser decision to stay uninvolved.

  Detective Broussard blinked. “Are you from around here?” he asked, eyeing Sadie’s appearance dubiously. Clearly, her orange blouse with vertical seashell designs along the button-down front didn’t shout New Orleans local.

  “No,” Sadie said. “I’m visiting from San Francisco.”

  “Ah.” The detective nodded his head as if that explained something. “A Californian.” And there it was, the insinuation she often encountered when traveling. We’re not a different species, you know, Sadie said to herself. Then, as a matter of pride, she raised one eyebrow and repeated the statement aloud.

  “Of course not,” Detective Broussard said, his tone more of courtesy than agreement.

  “Well, now that we cleared that up,” Sadie said, “tell me what you’d like to know.” She took a seat at the nearest table, looped Coco’s leash around the chair leg, and folded her hands on the table, prepared for what now was beginning to feel like an interrogation. The feeling was mildly discomforting.

  “Where were you in relation to Ms. Arnaud’s table?”

  Sadie nodded toward the table she and Clotile had occupied. “We were at that table over there, near the wall.”

  “We?” the detective repeated.

  “Yes, I met a friend of Lisette’s on the flight here, Clotile. She told me about the bakery and invited me to meet her for breakfast. I’m glad she did too. The croissants are delicious. I was going to take home a raspberry-almond tart, but… well, I thought better of it after what happened.”

  “I see. So you don’t know Lisette personally.”

  “No. I met her, but it was far too busy to socialize.”

  The detective glanced out the front window. “As busy as the place across the street?”

  Sadie shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that. It was busy inside, but there wasn’t a line of customers waiting to get in.

  “What about across the street? Did you see a line there?”

  Sadie thought back. She hadn’t noticed a line at either bakery, at least not that she could remember. She hadn’t really paid attention to Bluette’s Beignets. “No.”

  “So there’s more business there this morning than yesterday,” the detective said.

  “Well, yes,” Sadie said. “But that’s to be expected with this bakery closed. I’m sure there are customers in line there who came here, only to find it closed.” She paused. “Wait, that’s exactly what you’re getting at, isn’t it? You do think this was a crime.”

  “I’m not saying that,” the detective said. “I’m merely asking what you observed.”

  Sadie nodded, understanding all too well in spite of the spoken words. “It’s possible to say things without saying them, you know.”

  “Hey, Broussard!” The male voice shouting from the back of the bakery startled Sadie, who had forgotten by now that two detectives had entered the building, not one. “Better get back here. We have a problem—a very small problem.”

  “Well, if it’s a ‘very small problem,’ it can wait.” Detective Broussard turned back to Sadie, ready to ask more questions.

  “I don’t suggest that,” the other detective called out.

  Detective Broussard sighed visibly and stuffed his notebook back in his pocket. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Sadie. He walked to the back and disappeared for a moment but then called back to Sadie. “Ma’am, I think you’d better come back here.”

  “Well,” Sadie said. “What do you know, Coco? We have an excuse to look around, with the detective’s blessing. I’ll be right back.” She lowered her hand to pat Coco on the head, fumbling around in an attempt to find the furry canine. Suddenly overcome with a sinking sensation, she looked down, only to find no sign of the dog or rhinestone leash. This can’t be good, she muttered to herself.

  “Now,” Broussard called.

  “On my way,” Sadie answered, keeping her voice light in spite of the dreaded scene she anticipated. She rushed to the back, stepped behind the counter and into the kitchen, where she found Coco sitting in the middle of a large center island, covered with flour. Rhinestones on the leash sparkled faintly underneath a matching layer of white. Seeing Sadie, Coco stood up and shook her body, sending a mist of white powder in all directions, and then trotted to the edge of the counter. With a happy leap, she landed in Sadie’s arms.

  “Coco!” Sadie reprimanded the Yorkie, though fought back a smile at the same time. Coco looked up at her with an expression of innocence that melted Sadie’s heart in spite of the awkward situation. “What have you done?”

  “I can tell you what it’s done,” the second detective said, g
laring at Sadie. “Contaminated evidence, that’s what.”

  “She,” Sadie corrected. “She contaminated evidence.” She paused. “Wait, you’re saying this is evidence?”

  “We’re not saying…” Broussard shot a look at his partner.

  “I know, I know,” Sadie said. “You’re not saying anything. But you’re thinking…” She froze suddenly, looking down at Coco with a panicked expression. “Oh dear!” Turning, she raced out of the kitchen and straight to the front door.

  “We still need…,” Detective Broussard called after her.

  “I don’t care what you need,” Sadie shouted in return. “I need a veterinarian. And I need one right now!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The veterinarian, a soft-spoken man by the name of Dr. Perault, placed Coco on the examination table and gently pressed the Yorkie’s abdomen and then the hindquarters and then each leg. He looked in each petite eye, in both pointed ears, and inside the dog’s tiny mouth. Standing back, he brushed his hands together, sending puffs of white powder into the air. “She’s fine,” he said, looking at Sadie curiously.

  “Are you sure?” Sadie said. Her worried expression echoed her fears. Perault’s Peterinary Clinic had been the closest animal hospital she could find. There hadn’t been time to check recommendations or reviews.

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “There’s nothing wrong with your dog, at least nothing that a good bath wouldn’t take care of.”

  “I see,” Sadie said, relieved to hear Coco was all right yet somewhat insulted at the reference to a bath. After all, Coco was likely the most spoiled canine in all of San Francisco. She had an expensive, highly recommended groomer, a mani-pedi professional for her paws, and her own personal masseuse. Still, Sadie had to admit Coco’s appearance on this particular day was not up to par.

  “Why don’t you tell me again what happened,” Dr. Perault said.

  Sadie inhaled and exhaled. She’d been in such a panic to have Coco seen by the vet that she hadn’t explained the traumatic event itself. “She fell into a barrel of flour, apparently.”

  “I see. Well, that does explain her appearance.” The vet brushed his hands against his white coat, causing another flutter of powder to drift outward. “But it doesn’t explain why you were so panic-stricken. My receptionist said you almost jumped over the desk.” He lowered his eyes briefly and then had the good manners to look back up immediately. Sadie was certain the image of her plump body plummeting over the front counter was nothing short of horrifying.

  “This happened at Chez Lisette Patisserie,” Sadie said, certain this would explain everything. “In the kitchen, today,” she added when she didn’t get a response. “You know there was a death there yesterday, right?” She tapped one foot, impatient. Didn’t veterinarians read newspapers?

  “Yes, I heard about that on the news,” Dr. Perault said. He glanced at his watch and then looked back up. “But I don’t see the connection with your dog’s condition—or lack thereof, I should say.”

  “The connection is the flour,” Sadie said. “It’s the same flour that might have been used to make the raspberry-almond tart.”

  Dr. Perault tilted his head and gave Sadie an odd look. She couldn’t determine if he was beginning to understand or if he simply thought she was crazy. Perhaps it was some of each.

  “The raspberry-almond tart?”

  “The one that Mimi Arnaud’s head fell into when she died,” Sadie blurted out. “I watched it happen myself. I was at the bakery. She was acting out of sorts, and then her head simply slammed into the tart—the tart made with the flour you now see on my dog. Or so I assume since that’s what’s in the kitchen. The detectives are still investigating the crime scene.”

  “The crime scene?”

  Now Sadie knew she had his attention but not in the way she wanted. It wasn’t officially a crime scene, so there was no excuse for her calling it that. On the other hand, the detectives hadn’t specifically said it wasn’t. Still, she should have known better than to phrase it that way.

  “I thought the woman died a natural death. It didn’t say anything different in the newspaper,” Dr. Perault said.

  Aha, Sadie thought. They do read newspapers! “Well, they don’t know, I guess. That’s why the detectives are there this morning, investigating. And we were there helping.”

  “I can see that now,” Dr. Perault said, looking at the flour-covered Yorkie. “I really don’t think you have anything to be concerned about. This is simply a case of a dog getting into mischief. There’s no health problem here that I can see. Does she do this type of thing often?”

  “Constantly,” Sadie admitted.

  The doctor smiled. “Then my diagnosis is that you have a terrier.”

  A knock on the exam room door preceded an interruption by the front desk receptionist. “Dr. Perrault, Mrs. Martin is here with Rufus again. He swallowed a pair of argyle socks.”

  “Again?”

  “Apparently. How long should I tell her the wait will be?” The receptionist gave Sadie an apologetic look.

  “Just put them in Exam Room 2, and I’ll be right there.” The vet turned back to Sadie as the door closed. “I truly believe your dog is fine. But I will touch base with the detectives to make sure there’s nothing to be concerned about. Meanwhile, I prescribe a bath for Coco here and perhaps a glass of wine for you, to help you relax.”

  Sadie sighed. The idea of a glass of wine did sound appealing, and she couldn’t argue about Coco needing a bath.

  * * *

  “But you must have a pet-grooming salon somewhere around here.”

  Sadie leaned against the hotel’s front desk, a dusty Coco dangling between her chest and one arm. She’d considered putting the Yorkie back in the tote bag after returning to the hotel but figured she’d then have to find a way to do laundry too. It would be enough just trying to get the dog cleaned up.

  The clerk at the front desk, a college-aged girl she hadn’t seen working there before, pulled a map from below the counter and pointed to an area a good two miles away. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kramer, but this is the closest one I know of. I’ll be happy to give them a call for you, to see if they have an opening.”

  Sadie debated this but hesitated at the distance. “I don’t have a car…”

  Predictably, the clerk offered to call a taxi.

  “That’s all right,” Sadie said. “Thank you for offering. I’ll just take the map with me if you don’t mind. Maybe I’ll give them a call in a bit.” She lifted the map with her free hand, thanked the girl again for offering help, and walked away, leaving the young clerk wiping flour off the front counter.

  Back in the hotel room, Sadie set Coco down on the tiled bathroom floor and contemplated the predicament. In spite of all the flour Coco had shed during the day, she still had a solid coat of it in her fur. Sadie looked in the mirror, noting that she had much the same look.

  “I guess we’re in this together now. I must look as dusty as you do.” Sadie eyed Coco, who simply licked her paw and then sputtered in disgust.

  “Tastes as bad as it looks, huh?” Sadie said. “Maybe you’ll think twice before you go gallivanting around a kitchen full of baking ingredients.”

  Sadie turned to the mirror, a closer look confirming her suspicions. Her face was veiled in a thin coat of powder, similar to what her mother used to blot on with a gigantic—at least it seemed gigantic to her as a child—pink puff. Her arms matched her face, and her blouse’s seashell design trim looked as if it had spent the day on a sandy beach.

  There was only one easy solution to the combination of problems that Sadie could think of. She looked at the claw-foot tub with a fleur-de-lis-patterned shower curtain hanging around it and then looked back at Coco. The Yorkie returned her look with suspicion. Taking a deep breath, Sadie reached behind the shower curtain and turned the water on.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sunny and welcoming, the courtyard outside the hotel room seemed the most inviting place to d
ry off after a mother-doggie water escapade. The warmth of the afternoon rays would serve to dry both hair and fur. A hairdryer was provided in the room, along with the many other amenities the hotel offered to each guest. But the lure of the sunny courtyard appealed to Sadie, so she donned a colorful muumuu and settled in on a bench next to a flowing fountain. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “Lovely, that sound of babbling water, don’t you think?”

  Sadie’s eyes popped open. She hadn’t heard anyone approach, and the sight of Horace LeBlanc replaced her momentary relaxation with a nervous shiver. Was he already in the courtyard and she just hadn’t seen him? Or had he seen her enter the courtyard and chosen to follow? And if so, why?

  “Yes,” Sadie said as she pulled Coco a little closer, protectively. “I find it relaxing.” Usually, she added to herself.

  “I wondered if you might have any other questions. It seemed you did when you asked about the coffee this morning.” The man took a seat next to Sadie, who tried to stifle an urge to shudder.

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like to ask at the moment,” Sadie said. Except maybe what you were doing in the alley last night…

  “I see,” Horace said, standing up as abruptly as he’d taken a seat. He smoothed his suit jacket with his hands, glanced around, and then turned to face Sadie. “Well, that’s fine then. Just feel free to ask at the front desk if there’s anything you need. We do like our guest experience to be perfect.”

  Sadie nodded. “Thank you, I will.” She mustered a smile that she hoped looked sincere and then watched him walk away.

  “That’s very odd,” Sadie said, directing her comment to Coco. “In fact, it’s not very odd, it’s extremely odd.”

  Coco tilted her head sideways and stared at Sadie, and then responded by licking one paw.