The rain had cleared and it was a crisp winter day in New Orleans. Cayenne had to weave her way through the streets through an impromptu parade by the local Krewe of Elvis Marching Club. White jump-suited men and women in capes and pompadors were posted on every street corner. Cay felt she was stuck in a bad movie, like "Groundhog Day" at Graceland. She finally got to the dingy storefront she was looking for and found a parking spot for her Honda right across the street. She lingered in front of Pon Pon's wondering what her next step should be.
Cayenne knew she should have come clean to Rufus the other night. She should have let him know about Mary Dan, the bead, and the possible connection to Shawn Traceaux's death. But something held her back. Maybe it was her curiosity. Maybe it was the prospect of earning an easy $10,000. Maybe she was just bored and wasn't willing to let this case end up in the corrupt evidence room of the New Orleans police department.
So she found herself in front of Pon Pon's. This rundown storefront club was the hottest zydeco club in New Orleans. It was owned by the legendary Evangeline Pon Pon and it's rundown, shuttered appearance did not betray the fact that Pon Pon's was the place where all the big acts started. Marcy had told her that she read in Lagniappe, the Friday arts section of the Times-Picayune, that the master of all rubboard players was appearing at Pon Pon's for a couple weekends. If anyone could tell her about rubboards, it was Zydee Bob Beaux.
She saw her chance when the Miller delivery man made his afternoon delivery. A tall man in a blue striped shirt with Miller Lite stitched over one pocket and JOEL stitched over the other. The beer guy propped open the side door and Cay waited as he piled up a hand truck with beer. She slipped in the door behind the rolling mountain of Miller Lite and slipped down the dingy back hall, past the kitchen and toward the bar.
Cayenne knew that Zydee Bob Beaux regularly played with Bang and the Quest Playboys. Zy, as he was known by all, was the most sought after rubboard player in the Delta. He owned a collection of rubboards from the time it first was introduced to the Louisiana world.
Marcy had told her that the club was always hopping and the music was great. The way that Marcy talked about Zy made Cay think that Marcy had intimate knowledge of Mr. Beaux. When pressed, she just said primly, "He gave me a rubboard lesson one night at the club."
Cayenne figured that a rubboard must be like a bullet - each leaves its own imprint. Maybe by learning more, she could find out who killed Shawn Traceaux. Maybe she could find the bead.
As Cayenne peeked around the corner, she could see that the place was not empty. Bang and the Quest Playboys were grooving on the stage. Bang, the accordion player, had his eyes closed, his earring flashing in the stage light while he held onto the steady rhythm of chords. An attractive long haired bass player kept a steady line and flashed a bright white smile at Bang. "Oh, yah," she'd yell occasionally. Zy was working hard. He had a long rubboard slung over his shoulders and two scrapers in each hand, clacking and clicking, rubbing and grooving. In the back, a bespectacled Midwestern looking drummer rolled out a steady beat with an occasional stick to the high hat.
"Oh yah, " Cay mumbled, mimicking the bass player, feeling herself sway to the rhythm and resisting an urge to snap her fingers.
"Well, well, well! Look what slipped in with the Miller man." a gruff voice growled behind her. She felt someone grab her arm and turn her around. "You want to dance?"
Cayenne looked up into the eyes of a huge man with a long black ponytail, a big handle bar mustache, and arms as big as Louisiana hams. He was wearing a Dixie Beer baseball cap and was dressed in jeans and New Orleans Saints tee shirt. He looked like he worked out far beyond the recommended daily amount. He squeezed her arm until it hurt. Marcy had warned him about Beaux, Zy's brother. He was the bouncer of the club. Rumors were he liked to wear ladies slips at parties, but he looked tough enough to Cayenne no matter what his private pleasures were.
"We are closed, little lady, so what you are doing is called trespassing." He started dragging her out of the place. To Cay's luck, he went toward the front door, dragging her across the dance floor. Zy looked down from the stage and motioned the band to stop. The last bass note echoed in the hall.
Cayenne became very aware of the smell of beer, stale smoke, old hot sauce, and the stares of the band as Beaux continued to drag her toward the door.
"What you got there, Beaux?" Zy peered through the club's gloom. "Hey, chere, Welcome to Pon Pon's." He waved his scrapers in a gallant gesture. "I see you've met my brother Beaux Beaux. My name is Zydee Beaux" He smiled a bright white smile. "I don't believe you've met the rest of the band."
"This is Bang, the grooving master of the pipes, guaranteed to make you dance. Janice, our bass player and Cajun nightingale whose voice makes you want to move back to the bayou."
He swept his scrapers toward the back of the stage, like an emcee of a travelling medicine show. "And our drummer extraordinaire, Suds. Well, Suds is from Wisconsin but we don't hold that against him."
Each band member nodded in turn as if used to having practice interrupted by an intruder.
"But we have yet to meet you." He nodded and smiled that smile again. Cayenne felt weak in her knees. If she was going to die today, her last sight and sound would be a slow Southern drawl spoken from a fine looking man indeed.
"Del Roi. Cayenne McKenzie Del Roi. Of Del Roi Investigators." Even in the dark gloom of the club, Cayenne saw a quick look pass from Beaux to Zy. The zydeco master stayed cool, fixing his hypnotic smile on Cay.
"My, the beauty of private investigators is sadly underrepresented. Please, can I get you a beverage?" He motioned to the bar. "And then we can see how we can help you?"
He turned toward the band. "That's enough, y'all. I'll see y'all tonight for the 10 p.m. show. Suds, lay off the beer and don't be late."
Zy jumped off the stage and walked behind the bar. The rest of the band put their instruments away, mumbled good-byes and engaging in chit chat as they walked out the front door. Zy tapped a couple of beers, taking his time until the bar was empty and the front door closed again. Beaux stuck close, seating at the bar, just two stools down from Cayenne.
"Now, Ms. Del Roi," he said, still smiling, placing a hefty glass of beer in front of her. "What can we do for you?"
"I need to know about rubboards." Cayenne smiled back and took a long sip of cold beer. "Especially the dangerous ones."
Zy also took a long sip of beer, then shook his head and smiled again.
"Dangerous? How can a frottoir be dangerous, except for exciting the passion of the dance?" He moved in close and leaned on the bar, well into her space. "Do you like to dance, Ms. Del Roi?"
"A fret..twah?" she stumbled over the French word. She could feel her heart beat faster. She also felt Beaux move a barstool closer.
"The Cajun word for rubboard." Zy traced a Z on her hand with a finger dewy with the moisture from his cold glass of beer. Cay tried to stay focused.
"Mr. Beaux, let's speculate here." She leaned backwards a bit until she could focus better and catch her breath. "Do you think a man could be killed by a ... fret-twah?"
"Perhaps… if you hit him hard enough…" he moved in close again, closing the space between them.
"What if…" and she stayed right where she was. "you slit his throat?"
She caught a quick movement out of the corner of her eye.
"That's it. You're outta here. You can't come in here and accuse us of killing anybody." A big voice boomed behind her and she felt the familiar paw on her elbow yanking her out of the delicious range of the zydeco man. Cay was yanked off her barstool and found herself halfway across the floor before she heard Zy's voice.
"Beaux, Beaux. Please. Be a bit kinder to our guest. She's not accusing anyone of killing anyone. She just was…" Zy had reach Cay and Beaux on the dance floor. "… speculating."
"Ms. Del Roi, " Zy replaced Beaux's hand with his own. "Please excuse my brother. He takes his job very seriously. How can I make it up to you?"
"Perhaps by answering a question." Cayenne felt her door of opportunity was closing. She had to ask her question. Obviously the killer couldn't walk around with a full size rubboard. That would draw too much attention to himself. It had to be smaller. Something that could be hidden.
"Mr. Beaux, obviously your rubboard is large and hard to travel with. Do they ever make them in a smaller size? You know, Something that would fit in a coat or a backpack. A travel size? About 12 to 18 inches or so? About the size of a knife?"
Cayenne's detective sense knew she hit on something because Zy's charm quickly turned to a sharp retort.
"There are some. Novelty ones. There one that looks and act like a tie, with thimbles to play it. Stupid novelty gifts, mostly. Mostly for the benefit of Yankees. Not much of a sound."
"I've heard that you have the biggest collection of rubboards in the United States. Surely you must have a .. a rubboard tie in your collection." Cay was the one to move closer this time. "Perhaps a novelty gift that an admiring Yankee gave you?"
"Now darling, isn't that odd you ask me. I've had a recent break in and several of my most prized were stolen," Zy bowed slightly. "And unfortunately, the zydeco tie was stolen too, being the easiest to hide, as you just observantly pointed out."
Zy stood up. "And now, chere, I must ask you to leave. The club opens in an hour."
The next look between the brothers was unmistakable. Cayenne did not want to be manhandled again. She heard the beer salesman close the refrigerator storage in the back and she took her cue. She quickly said, "Well, then that's that. Thank you, gentlemen, for your hospitality and the beer. I'll show myself out. I see that the Miller man is leaving and he's my ride. Oh, Joel, wait up." She darted toward the back door feeling darts of poison coming from the eyes of Beaux Beaux.
Her intention was to find the back door and get out of there as soon as possible, linking her arm with the beer guy's if she had to. But she saw a half opened door down the hallway and heard a throaty, deep woman's voice. She darted a look behind her and saw that Zy and Beaux weren't following her. She slipped down the hall and listened to the voice on the other side of the door.
"…but now that we have it, we still need him to find out how to make it work. It's not going to do us any good just …" the voice stopped in midsentence.
The squeak of the floor beneath Cayenne's feet was loud. Cayenne thought fast and knocked on the door before Beaux heard it too.
"Excuse me?" she pushed the door open and poked in her head. "Ms. Pon Pon?"
"I'll call you back," the owner of the voice spit into the phone. Cayenne saw her quickly hang up the phone while at the same time shove something into a large bag sitting on her desk.
"Ms. Pon Pon, I'm Cayenne McKenzie Del Roi. Do you have a moment for me?"
She looked at the bag perched next to Evangeline's hand. It was filled with bright yellow and green coins. Evangeline quickly stood, placing her body between Cayenne and the bag. Cayenne saw she stood over six feet tall, thanks to a pair of spiky heels. She was close to sixty, but her Creole dark skin, her red tinted hair, and her slender frame rendered her incredibly striking. This was the legendary Evangeline Pon Pon the owner of Pon Pon's and the maker of a dozen famous blues and zydeco acts.
"Del Roi?" Evangeline asked, her eyes frozen on Cayenne.
There were dozens of bags strewn over the office, spilling metallic green and gold coins, and a rack hung with beads posed in the corner. A pink cardboard bakery cake in the corner with "Phillipe's" handwritten in black magic marker shared the desk with the bag of coins that now held the mystery object hidden by Evangeline.
"Del Roi Investigations. Do you have time for a few questions?" Cayenne stumbled. She didn't really know what to say but she knew that something was going on in this club. She wished her dad was still alive.
"It's a busy time for us, Ms. Del Roi. We are getting ready for the Krewe du Vin parade in a few weeks and our Krewe of Zydeco coins just came in. I'm afraid I don't have time to talk." Still, Evangeline stared at her as if she had seen a ghost.
At that moment, the floor shook behind her and Cayenne knew that the big bruiser guy had found her again.
"Sorry, Evie. We thought she left with the beer guy," Beaux mumbled gruffly.
He grabbed Cayenne and pushed her down the hallway. He gave her a good shove out the door and she fell into the bright sunlight of the alley. She bumped up hard against the alley dumpster and winced as pain shot up her arm through her funny bone. She heard the alley door shut and lock behind her, closing on the loud, raised voice of Evangeline.
Cayenne brushed herself off and return to her car, but she had barely got there before she heard the door open again. Beaux and Evangeline left by the side door and piled into the white van parked in the alley. Cay saw the upset look on Evangeline's face as Beaux speeded by.
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Later that evening, Cayenne used her nightly run with through the streets of her neighborhood to ponder her strange afternoon visit. Cayenne was sure that something about Pon Pon's was connected with Shawn Traceaux's death. But all she had was a snippet of a phone conversation, a missing novelty rubboard, a handsome man, and his bruiser brother. But no bead.
She ended her run by heading to a little café at the end of Bougainvillea Street. Kristina and Stan Guillaumes ran a shop called the Stew du Roux which featured the best jambalaya in town. The closer she got, the more her thoughts turned to a hot plate of spice and away from murder, money and music. She reached the front of the café and was about to open up the door when she was yanked back by Roux on his leash.
"Oh come on…" she said, tempted to drag him in. But she conceded that her dog was smart enough to read and was spooked out by the café's name. She tied him up and went inside.
Kristina had seen her at the door and had already shouted back to Stan in the back room to spoon up a big bowl of jambalaya.
"Stan's sausage jambalaya is to die for today. I'm not letting you eat anything else."
Stan, a red bearded burly man in a dingy white apron, brought out a bowl of jambalaya with a big slice of cornbread on the side. He set the food on the counter and wiped his hands on his cotton apron before gently chucking Cay under the chin. "Chere, how is the gumshoe and adulterer business?"
"Curiouser and curiouser," Cay responded, easing up on a stool and rubbing her bruised elbow from her shove from Beaux Beaux.
She looked around the café and for the first time noticed it was decorated with lots of Mardi Gras paraphenelia. Beads were draped all over the place and dozens of posters from past parades filled the wall. One corner held a small tier of shelves filled with coins, Beanie Babies, cups, and even a coconut. Cay couldn't believe she hadn't noticed before how much Carnival rick-rack filled the café.
"Kristina, what do you know about antique Mardi Gras beads?"
"Oh, I like the newer flashier ones myself," Kristina replied. Her always busy hands stopped wiping down the counter and went on her hips while she pondered. "You know, if you really want to know about the old ones, you got to go to Teutite's. That's a lace shop down in the Quarter that has the best collection of beads and buttons in town. If anyone would know, it would be Jacques who owns the place. You should check it out."
"That I will," Cayenne said thickly, her words muffled by rice and sausage. She put another big spoonful in her mouth as she heard Roux whining from just outside the door.
CHAPTER FOUR: Linens and Lace at Jacques Teutite's
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