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Authors: Jessica Fletcher
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in the sun. Are you going to Jazz Fest?”
“I was hoping I could tag along with you and Wayne. I’ve never been there before.”
“Of course. Wayne should be here any minute.”
“Did I hear my name being bandied about?”
“Good morning,” Doris and I said in unison.
Wayne pulled out a chair, sank into it, and fanned his face with his straw hat. The waitress ambled off to get a third place setting.
“No comments about the ‘late’ Wayne Copely? You ladies are too good to me. My apologies nevertheless. My sister called just as I was stepping out the door, and love that she is, she does go on and on. Jessica, she has invited you to Sunday dinner, a rare treat since Clarice’s cook is superb. She stole her away from one of the cousins in the Long family, and of course, they haven’t talked to her since. Clarice promised Alberta her own cottage at the back of the garden, which clinched it. That plus a kitchen that looks like the Starship Enterprise, all chrome and stainless steel and enormous burners on the gas stove. Cost my brother-in-law a fortune, may he rest in peace. All the chefs in town have been trying to pry Alberta’s recipe for étouffée out of her for years. But she holds tight to it like a waterlogged cat on a downstream log. I have to beg Clarice to let me come over when Alberta makes étouffée, so you must come. These invitations are like gold. And she knew you were in town because I’ve talked about you. She gets all excited when I mention going somewhere with a woman.”
Wayne put his hand on Doris’s arm.
“My dear, I’m so sorry to talk of an invitation that doesn’t include you. Isn’t that like me? So rude! But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Think nothing of it, please. As it happens, I already have plans for Sunday.”
While Wayne had been recounting the call from his sister, the waitress had returned and set down napkins, utensils, and coffee cups, and handed menus to Doris and Wayne.
“Are the beignets from Café du Monde?” Wayne asked.
“Of course, sir.”
Wayne closed his menu and tapped it on the top of Doris’s.
“In that case, I recommend the continental breakfast. I hope you’re not one of those bacon-and-egg people. You must try the beignets. Jessica, you’ve already eaten? Yes?”
Wayne didn’t wait for a reply. He addressed the waitress.
“We’ll have two continental breakfasts with café au lait, and give us a lagniappe on the beignets, please. Jessica, you’ll have another, won’t you? Have you been down to Café du Monde yet?”
He was in high spirits and there was no point in contradicting his orders. I sat back, amused, and let the Wayne Copely steamroller roll over Doris and me. Wayne was delighted that Doris wanted to accompany us to Jazz Fest. He chatted away about the musicians scheduled to play throughout the day, consumed three beignets, and sent the waitress off for more coffee. Finally, he patted his mouth with a napkin, erasing the last vestige of powdered sugar, and sat back, contentment on his face, and absently brushed the front of his shirt with the side of his hand.
I decided not to spoil his good mood by relating yesterday’s disturbing conversation with Stanley in Jackson Square about Little Red LeCoeur. Bad news could wait, and maybe Stanley was wrong. I was still hopeful. Instead, I turned to Doris, who had been an attentive audience to Wayne’s monologue.
“Doris, tell us what kind of response you received to your request to tape voodoo practitioners,” I said.
“I met with three people yesterday, and I have a few appointments tomorrow. I haven’t been able to return two calls, but I’ll try again before we leave this morning.”
“How did you happen to become interested in voodoo?” I asked.
“I’d been teaching a course on the history of religion, and had to read up on voodoo because I knew so little about it. Voodoo is rich in folklore, but unlike most mainstream religions, it has no uniform
“I was hoping I could tag along with you and Wayne. I’ve never been there before.”
“Of course. Wayne should be here any minute.”
“Did I hear my name being bandied about?”
“Good morning,” Doris and I said in unison.
Wayne pulled out a chair, sank into it, and fanned his face with his straw hat. The waitress ambled off to get a third place setting.
“No comments about the ‘late’ Wayne Copely? You ladies are too good to me. My apologies nevertheless. My sister called just as I was stepping out the door, and love that she is, she does go on and on. Jessica, she has invited you to Sunday dinner, a rare treat since Clarice’s cook is superb. She stole her away from one of the cousins in the Long family, and of course, they haven’t talked to her since. Clarice promised Alberta her own cottage at the back of the garden, which clinched it. That plus a kitchen that looks like the Starship Enterprise, all chrome and stainless steel and enormous burners on the gas stove. Cost my brother-in-law a fortune, may he rest in peace. All the chefs in town have been trying to pry Alberta’s recipe for étouffée out of her for years. But she holds tight to it like a waterlogged cat on a downstream log. I have to beg Clarice to let me come over when Alberta makes étouffée, so you must come. These invitations are like gold. And she knew you were in town because I’ve talked about you. She gets all excited when I mention going somewhere with a woman.”
Wayne put his hand on Doris’s arm.
“My dear, I’m so sorry to talk of an invitation that doesn’t include you. Isn’t that like me? So rude! But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Think nothing of it, please. As it happens, I already have plans for Sunday.”
While Wayne had been recounting the call from his sister, the waitress had returned and set down napkins, utensils, and coffee cups, and handed menus to Doris and Wayne.
“Are the beignets from Café du Monde?” Wayne asked.
“Of course, sir.”
Wayne closed his menu and tapped it on the top of Doris’s.
“In that case, I recommend the continental breakfast. I hope you’re not one of those bacon-and-egg people. You must try the beignets. Jessica, you’ve already eaten? Yes?”
Wayne didn’t wait for a reply. He addressed the waitress.
“We’ll have two continental breakfasts with café au lait, and give us a lagniappe on the beignets, please. Jessica, you’ll have another, won’t you? Have you been down to Café du Monde yet?”
He was in high spirits and there was no point in contradicting his orders. I sat back, amused, and let the Wayne Copely steamroller roll over Doris and me. Wayne was delighted that Doris wanted to accompany us to Jazz Fest. He chatted away about the musicians scheduled to play throughout the day, consumed three beignets, and sent the waitress off for more coffee. Finally, he patted his mouth with a napkin, erasing the last vestige of powdered sugar, and sat back, contentment on his face, and absently brushed the front of his shirt with the side of his hand.
I decided not to spoil his good mood by relating yesterday’s disturbing conversation with Stanley in Jackson Square about Little Red LeCoeur. Bad news could wait, and maybe Stanley was wrong. I was still hopeful. Instead, I turned to Doris, who had been an attentive audience to Wayne’s monologue.
“Doris, tell us what kind of response you received to your request to tape voodoo practitioners,” I said.
“I met with three people yesterday, and I have a few appointments tomorrow. I haven’t been able to return two calls, but I’ll try again before we leave this morning.”
“How did you happen to become interested in voodoo?” I asked.
“I’d been teaching a course on the history of religion, and had to read up on voodoo because I knew so little about it. Voodoo is rich in folklore, but unlike most mainstream religions, it has no uniform
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