Free A Sheetcake Named Desire by Jacklyn Brady Page B

meeting with Philippe’s attorney.
    Once my initial surprise faded, it occurred to me that seeing the whole crew together might be a good thing. I still thought Ox was Philippe’s most logical successor, and this might give me the chance to convince Miss Frankie of that.
    Ox sat near the front window. A couple of deep bruises had formed on his face, and the cuts were covered with bandages. But in spite of his injuries, he looked strong and healthy. I told myself that was a good thing, but remembering Detective Sullivan’s insinuations about Ox’s possible guilt made me nervous.
    I nodded at Burt as I passed and was treated to one of his flirtatious smiles in return. Isabeau’s pale-blonde ponytail and perfect makeup couldn’t hide the worry in her eyes. A flicker of surprise crossed Abe Cobb’s narrow face when he saw me. He’d gone home before the attacks yesterday, so it had been a while since I’d seen him. He seemed even thinner and more morose looking than ever.
    Dwight sat curled on his tailbone like a sullen teenager. He’d cut the arms off his T-shirt, and his jeans bore traces of grease stains. Definitely not appropriate for the face of Zydeco. Sparkle sat a few feet away, hiding behind a veil of black hair and making sure to avoid the sunlight coming in through the windows. Estelle sat on the floor near Edie’s desk, picking nervously at her frizzy red hair.
    Edie came out from behind her desk to fuss over Miss Frankie and shed a few tears. “I’ll have someone bring out more chairs,” she said when she finally stopped crying. “The meeting will start as soon as everyone’s here.”
    In true southern-gentleman style, Burt shot out of his seat and motioned Miss Frankie toward it. She accepted it with a grateful smile, and I perched on a windowsill near Abe. I silently willed Ox to step up and show Miss Frankie his reliable, trustworthy side, but he didn’t move. Maybe he was embarrassed by the fight. Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe he just needed time.
    Miss Frankie sat with her back ramrod straight, accepting the whispered condolences of Philippe’s employees, but I knew she was wondering if one of them was responsible for yesterday’s attack. Was one of them guilty of sabotaging the bakery? Of murder?
    I ruled out Estelle, Sparkle, and Isabeau immediately. I didn’t think any of them had the physical strength to plunge a knife into Philippe’s chest. Abe, Ox, Dwight, and Burt could have, but Burt had been with me. Which left my three old friends as possible suspects. Did I believe one of them was guilty? No. Not really. But I couldn’t absolutely rule them out, no matter how much I might want to. Dwight was passionate and emotional. Abe reclusive and secretive. And Ox? Fiercely competitive.
    I was still in the middle of sizing up the staff when the front door flew open, and Quinn made a grand entrance in skinny black cigarette pants and a sleeveless cowl-neck tunic made of something so thin and gauzy that it floated around her like a cloud.
    I swallowed a groan of dismay.
    As if on cue, most of the men in the room rose to their feet and hurried toward her. Burt reached her first and coaxed her gently into the room, settling her in Abe’s abandoned chair. Dwight disappeared down the hallway and reappeared a moment later with a cold bottle of water. Abe stopped halfway across the room and hovered uncertainly.
    Only Ox remained seated, his face expressionless. Interesting. Did that mean he disliked Quinn? Disapproved of Philippe’s choice? I added that to the list of things I wanted to find out.
    Isabeau slid forward in her seat and put a reassuring hand on the Drama Queen’s arm. “How are you holding up, Quinn? Are you doing okay?” With their blonde heads bent together, they looked enough alike to be twins, except that Isabeau had the “girl next door” look down pat. Quinn looked more like she belonged in an episode of The Girls Next Door .
    “How could I possibly be okay?” She pouted.