Read Online Cake on a Hot Tin Roof by Jacklyn Brady - Free Book Online Page B

to see if Uncle Nestor and Aunt Yolanda had gotten into the spirit. Miss Frankie descended on me before I could spot them.
    “Where in the world have you been?” she demanded. Her eyes spit fire, but the smile on her face was faultless.
    “Outside,” I said, hoping to avoid a long explanation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
    “People have been asking where you were.”
    “Well, I’m back now,” I pointed out, then tried to divert her. “Has Ivanka Hedge arrived yet?”
    “No, and you’re lucky she hasn’t. I swear—”
    I cut her off as politely as I could. “Can it wait until later? I need to find Estelle. Have you seen her?”
    The smile on Miss Frankie’s face slipped ever-so-slightly. “Sugar, have you been working?”
    “Not exactly.” I craned to see over the heads of people standing close by, but that was a waste of effort. The sea of partying humanity had grown in the time I’d been gone. Just as I was ready to give up, I spotted a flash of turquoise near the bandstand. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I assured my mother-in-law. “I just have to ask her one little question.”
    Miss Frankie grabbed my hand as if she intended to stop me. I’ll never know whether she would have succeeded, because at that precise moment a hush fell over the crowd closest to us and people turned toward the archway wearing expressions filled with such anticipation I wondered if Ivanka had finally arrived and I stopped myself from leaving.
    “Who is it?” I asked Miss Frankie.
    “I can’t tell,” she said with a slight scowl. “Let’s go see, shall we?”
    We made our way through a wall of people who let us through with expressions ranging from impatience to outright irritation. And all for nothing. Instead of the cool willowy blonde I was hoping to find, a large man with dark hair, close-set eyes, and a broad smile surged into the room. He wore a ten-gallon cowboy hat and greeted the people around him like a politician on the campaign trail.
    I recognized him immediately as Big Daddy Boudreaux, a minor celebrity in New Orleans—owner of half a dozen car dealerships and a string of other small businesses. As far as I could tell, he spent the majority of his time blowing up storage sheds and jumping out of airplanes to prove that his cars were the best and his prices the lowest around—and of course, he did it all on camera for his commercials.
    Biting back disappointment that he wasn’t Ivanka, I turned away again and glimpsed Miss Frankie’s expression. It was gone in a blink, but I knew I hadn’t imagined the slight curl of her lip or the coolness in her eyes.
    Intrigued by her reaction, I grabbed another glass of wine and moved closer to her. I spoke softly, hoping my voice wouldn’t carry. “I take it you’re not a fan?”
    “Of Bradley’s?”
    For some reason it struck me as odd that Big Daddy Boudreaux had an actual first name. “Bradley?”
    Miss Frankie gave me a smile that was all wide-eyed innocence. “Only a handful of us can get away with calling him that. And why wouldn’t I be a fan? He’s the life of the party.”
    “Then why the sour look on your face?”
    She shrugged. “Indigestion.”
    I didn’t believe that for a moment, but I didn’t get a chance to pursue it.
    Big Daddy—with that big-ass hat and look-at-me grin, I couldn’t think of him any other way—spotted Miss Frankie and advanced on her with wide-spread arms. “There she is. How are you, darlin’?”
    She surrendered to a quick hug, but another pained look flickered over her face, convincing me that her “indigestion” was a figment of her imagination. “Well, Bradley, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. It’s been such a long time since I saw you. I hope you’ve been well.”
    He let out a hearty laugh. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss the Captain’s Court for anything, especially not when I knew it was in your hands.”
    “How you do go on,” Miss Frankie said,