Teutite's was nestled in the French Quarter between an antique shop and a restaurant called Marie's. It was impeccably kept, with an unusual light green painted storefront and iron wrought posts. Cayenne had been past it several times, but since she wasn't a seamstress, she had never been in it. She knew it by reputation because her friend Marcy was a huge sewer, always putting together costumes for events and Mardi Gras. Marcy would gush about Teutite's as if it was Mecca for the devout seamstress. Cay was the queen of stapling ripped hems and safety pinning fallen buttons, so she usually tuned out when Marcy started raving.
"I'm sure she'll bring Roux down here to pick out his colors for the parade," she thought as she found an illegal parking spot for her Honda in front of a blue mail drop box. She instantly felt guilty for thinking badly of her friend.
She arrived at Teutite's much later than she had planned. Every major street seemed blocked by a parade. Cay had to wait 35 minutes to cross over Tchoupitoulas Street while the Parade of Box Wine and it's assorted krewes sauntered by. There were benefits, however. A few stragglers left the parade order and marched by her car on their way to a bar. Cay managed to score some cheap merlot in her traveling coffee mug after she yelled "Pour me something, mister!" She was feeling a bit tipsy as she opened to door to Teutite's and heard a sweet tinkle of a bell.
She walked into a room stuffed with bolts of lace, racks of feathers and a wall of buttons and beads. It was as if she just walked into the dressing room of a Broadway show. A trim man in a sharply cut black suit and a neat mustache poked his head out from a back room and shouted, "Darling, give me a minute. Look around, please. Feast," he said with a wave of his hand.
Feast, Cayenne repeated to herself, rolling her eyes. She spotted a display of beads in the corner and headed directly to it, ignoring the lace, the satin and the chiffon fabric that seem to reach out and caress her hands as she passed.
The beads carried by Teutite's were draped over the back wall in all sort of manner and included every kinds imaginable. There were hundreds. Teutite's didn't carry the tacky plastic beads found in every tourist shop in the Quarter. Here, Carnival beads were taken seriously. Here were glass Czech beads, Japanese cellophane, Indian glass, intricate dangles and real silver latches. Every color and size of bead were available.
Cay spotted a risqué one here and there, but as she moved closer to take a look, she saw that even those were a piece of art. Sensuous fat Reubenesque women on a chain of big fat yellow, purple and green beads made Cay think that maybe there was more to this Mardi Gras theme than she gave credit. She leaned forward, looked at the $60 gift tag and gasped loudly.
"Oh, chere! If you are looking for those tacky plastic one with crawfish and dice and breasts, I don't carry them."
Mr. Teutite had come out of the backroom and stepped lightly to her side. "Still, everyone loves these little ladies. They just say naughty all over them, don't they?" he said with a knowing grin.
He was a small man, trim and dressed in the best fitting suit that Cay had ever seen on a man. He leaned forward and kissed Cay on the cheek, while taking her hand into his perfectly manicured one.
"I'm Jacques. Tell me, darling, are you planning your Mardi Gras outfit?"
He reached up and gently freed one of the more subdued strand of beads from a hook on the wall. They were a light lavender with a cream highlight and sparkled under the lights of the shop.
"Now, these are a beauty. Genuine glass from the 1940s. Had to find ten replacement beads but most are originals. They would be divine with that red hair of yours." He draped the cool beads against her neck. "You must at least try them on."
He didn't wait for consent before slipping them around her neck, constantly speaking as he worked. "In the old Mardi Gras Days, they used to throw real glass beads, and it was a lucky parade-goer that caught a pair before they fell to the ground. A lot of beads are left from those days, but it is rare to find a full set of originals."
He pushed her toward the wall mirror. "Fabulous!" he said, clapping his hands together several times in admiration. "You must have them. Now, what else can I help you find?"
Cayenne pulled out her identification card. "I'm with Del Roi Investigators and I'd like to get some information from you."
"Oh, darling, has someone been bad? Are you tracking down a philander?" he clapped his hands together again in delight. "Who was it? Was it someone I know? Oooh, someone's been naughty!"
"I'm hoping you could give me some information on antique Mardi Gras beads." She pulled out the Polaroid that Mary Dan had given her and showed it to him. "Do you recognize this kind of bead, Mr. Teutite?"
"Call me, Jacques," he said and took the Polaroid from Cay. He looked carefully at the picture, then handed it back with a self-satisfied grin. "Of course I recognize this bead. I never forget a strand, and this bead was part of a very special set. How did it get separated from the others?"
He leaned in again, not waiting for a response. He whispered dramatically. "They say these are voodoo beads and filled with magic. Those beads brought a powerful price, so it must be true."
"You sold them here?" Cay said, excited that finally she had a break in this weird case.
He waved his hand dramatically, "The Krewe du Couture over in the warehouse district, down near the bad side of town. I sold it about two months ago. Darling girls. Some of my best customers. Always good for a juicy tidbit or two. Impeccable taste in aprons..."
Cay interrupted. "Then you sold it directly to Mary Dan?"
"A true Southern lady. I sell her lots of merchandise, but she was very excited when she saw those particular beads. She usually dickers, but she would have bought those for twice the price."
"Where did you find them?"
"I bought it off EBay, some collector out of Chicago. It hung in the shop for a couple weeks until Mare-sey came in. She was quite excited about it.
EBay. Cay squelched a self satisfied laugh. She then remembered his earlier comment. "Voodoo. What did you mean by voodoo?"
Jacques leaned in and crooked his finger. He whispered in a gossipy tone. "You know New Orleans.. There's always a history behind everything. The write-up on EBay didn't say much, but in my research, I found a reference book on Mardi Gras memorabilia at the library at Tulane that said that beads like these were used by an old voodoo priest to gain power over the krewes in New Orleans. Someone got killed and the beads disappeared. Mare-sey seemed to know all about it, or at least she recognized the beads. Supposedly it's the only strand left from that original krewe which was named Thirteenth Night Revellers or something, but you know that everyone on EBay says that their product is the last. It jacks the price up."
"Why was Ms. Dan so interested in a pair of voodoo beads?"
Jacques shook his heard. "If you ask me, darling, I think it was sentimentality. She has family or someone that was involved in the old krewe, but you know those groups are always so secretive." He leaned in with his conspiratorial voice. "Maybe our Miss Dan is a voodoo mambo…"
Cayenne didn't learn much more about the beads, but she did end up buying three yards of lace and a set of shell pink buttons with a gold slash for Marcy to include in her next Mardi Gras gown. She also bought the lavender beads for a greatly reduced price because Jacques was almost reduced to tears at how beautiful they looked on her. Jacques was entertaining, clever, and not very busy, so Cayenne stayed a lot longer than she planned.
"Del Roi," Jacques Teutite said at one point. "I think I remember hearing about a krewe captain named Del Roi. Who is your family, girlfriend?"
Cay didn't want to give Jacques any ammunition about herself, so she skillfully turned the conversation back to Mr. Teutite with a question about the rumored love life of the current mayor of New Orleans.
It was late afternoon when she finally got away from Teutite's. Jacques let her go only after she promised to call him the instant she discovered the theme of the Krewe du Couture float. Cayenne hadn't had eaten since her mug of merlot, so she thought she'd hit lunch and dinner with one stone with a bowl of gumbo and a cold beer.
But Jacques's question hung with her long after she left the little green shop in the Quarter.
"Who is my family?" she asked herself as she headed to McCloskey's. She wondered how much she really knew about her father's life in New Orleans before he moved north to Chicago and married her mother.
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"Hey, darling," Steve McCloskey, the barkeep, sang out. Cay peered her way through the pub and headed up to the bar. "Gumbo ya ya is outstanding today. Can I get you a bowl?"
Cay nodded as she eased herself up on a barstool. Teutite's had been fun, but this was her home away from home. God help her if she ever had to really learn how to cook.
"I'll have a Henieken with that too."
"Please make that a Miller Genuine Draft, my good man," a voice rang out from the end of the bar. "And put it on my tab."
Cayenne peered through the dimly lit room to see a good looking black man in a bright red plaid jacket drinking at the other end of the bar.
"How are you today, darling?" the gentleman asked and held up his glass of beer.
"Fine, Mr. Jonathon. Thank you for asking!" Cay answered the traditional greeting.
Mr. Jonathon was an old time New Orleans blues musician. Cayenne had seen him a dozen times playing trumpet in blues clubs and here at McCloskey's where he was a regular. His tastes in jackets usually ran from Palm Springs to second hand stores, and always in polyester. He never wore the same jacket more than once. She always looked forward to seeing him either in McCloskey's or down at the Blue Note, mostly because she wanted to see what kind of jacket he had found.
When Steve brought the beer, she tipped it toward Mr. Jonathon in salute. "Blessings upon you!" Cay had to admit that she was crushing a bit on the musician.
Steve also plunked a hearty bowl of gumbo in front of her. Cay's knees weakened as she smelled the hearty roux and saw the plump andouille swimming in a dark fragrant broth. Steve's gumbo was famous and she ate it at least once a week.
She dipped a spoon into her gumbo ya-ya. Despite her crush on Mr. Jonathon, Cay had the impulsive urge to ask Steve to marry her. The soup was spicy and chunky, filled with rice and okra, and made with a dark Cajun roux. It was heaven in a spoon. Cay ate in silence and reverie.
Steve was a man of few words and didn't chit chat too much. So she was surprised when after a short while, he wandered back to her stool with glass and bar towel in hand. He paused in front of her, wiping a glass, and let a few minutes pass before he casually said. "I just got a call from my friend over at the Ponchatrain Café."
He stopped to draw a beer from the tap into the glass he had just dried and took a long pull off his draught. He paused so long after the sip that Cayenne thought he had lost his train of thought. Then she saw that he was struggling for the words.
"They found Evangeline Pon Pon dead this morning. Bless her soul."
Cayenne's spoon clattered to the surface of bar.
"He said they found her in her office, dead as the day after Mardi Gras. You know her at all?"
Cay nodded her head stiffly.
Steve picked up his bar towel again and leaned over to wipe the gumbo spattered from Cay's fallen spoon. "Said they found her with her throat cut from ear to ear."
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CHAPTER FIVE:
Fighting Crime with Knock You Naked Margaritas
