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She waved, crossing the street to the grocery store. The proprietor’s aged mother took Brulee with her behind the customer service desk so Maggie could shop. She took her time, browsing for eye-catching food to feed her guest. Grimacing, she’d have to fix dinner nightly. Her mind was a blank, and then she smelled fried chicken.
She followed her nose; the deli would save the day one more time. Loading up on fried chicken, boiled crawfish, gumbo and shrimp in gravy, a gallon of different salads—potato, macaroni, and olive salad—and everything under the sun to make sandwiches—po’boys and muffuletta sandwiches—along with rice pudding and bread pudding.
At the bakery, she bypassed king cake, laughing to herself, and got beignets and pralines and pecan pie. “She’s going to hate me.”
Ice cream and other snacks finished off her shopping.
The party on Epiphany Eve was a classic potluck, and she was sure she’d have tons of leftovers from that to serve her guest for a week, too. Feeding slender Katrina suddenly didn’t feel so desperate.
“Wow, you went all out,” the checkout clerk said, looking at all the goodies. “Out-of-town company?”
“Yep. And I’m having a party Sunday night.”
“Gosh, it early for Mardi Gras, too! You wait; next month, they be waiting in line for an invite. My husband shut off the phone about two weeks before ’cause his brothers and cousins all be begging for a bed.”
Maggie laughed with her, enjoying the comradery. She and Justin and her company would have a ringside seat for the parades, at her aunt Elizabeth’s house in town.
“Can I get this stuff hauled down to my boat?” she asked. “I’m going to run up by my aunt’s house real quick.”
She was already talking like a native, and it made her smile.
“Sure, I’ll get Denny to take it down. Gus got your boat?”
“Right. I’ll send him a text that Denny’s coming with the food.”
She paid the bill, grabbed Brulee, and literally ran up the street to her aunt’s house. It was really her new husband, Val Amotte’s house, but they were so generous with the old renovated mansion that every wedding and party held in the past six months had taken place there. Maggie’s widowed mother, Rose, also lived with them.
A uniformed maid answered the door. Frowning, Maggie wondered where this came from. “Hi, I’m Rose Angel’s daughter and Elizabeth Amotte’s niece. Are they available?”
“Come in,” she said, unsmiling, pointing to a bench in the vestibule. “Please wait here.”
She turned away and marched determinedly down the vast tiled, gloomy hallway. Off in the distance, Maggie heard her mother’s laughter. Light from the bright living room at the end of the hall did little to brighten up the entrance.
In seconds, Rose entered the hallway with her quick, light step. “Maggie! What a surprise!” She bent down to scratch Brulee behind the ears.
“Yeah, so is the maid. What’s that all about?”
“It was time,” she whispered. “Your aunt was beginning to feel like the reason Val married her was to be the maid. He has the money for a staff. Casi is around to pick up the slack, answer the door, keep things organized, fetch our tea, but she doesn’t do it alone. There is a full-time cook now and a weekly housekeeping team.”
“Jeez, no wonder you like living here.”
“Exactly. I don’t see Dr. Chastain doing that, although he does have that awful cook.”
Her mother was romantically involved with Justin’s father, retired veterinarian Victor Chastain.
“Mother, she’s not that bad!”
“If you have to eat her food daily, it’s pretty bad,” she whispered. “Casi is her sister, so I have to be careful.”
“She’s a little taciturn for being a maid. Aren’t they supposed to be more welcoming?”
“Maybe. If she doesn’t warm up, I might suggest the old heave-ho. It’s too hard having a stranger around all the time.”
“I guess I’m not going to be invited in,” Maggie said, tongue in cheek.
“Oh, it’s not that. Val’s attorney is here, talking wills and trusts. All very boring. What are you doing in town?”
“Remember Katrina Blanchard?”
