Fat Tuesday Fricassee by J. J. Cook Page A

fresh coffee, and I ate a second beignet.
    I knew I shouldn’t have eaten the second beignet, but I was stressed. I needed something to get through it, and they tasted so good. Yes, massage and exercise are better for yourbody, but I could hardly break out in jumping jacks. And beignets were good for your soul.
    â€œI appreciate you telling me about your son and your family,” I said when Tucker paused for a sip of coffee. “But I’m not sure how I can help you.”
    Tucker leaned closer and whispered, “I know you found my grandson’s body at the Mistics of Time masquerade ball.”
    â€œWhat?” I gulped. If those two knew about it, who else knew?
    â€œDon’t worry.” Chef Art rubbed my shoulder. “It’s all hush-hush.”
    â€œYou mean there’s a mole in the Mistics of Time?”
    Tucker and Art made shushing noises louder than what I’d said. Everyone in the café turned to look at us.
    â€œNot a mole, exactly. There’s someone in the society who was decent enough to tell me what was really going on,” Tucker said. “I didn’t think things like this happened anymore. My father told me stories about crazy things during carnival in his day. The societies were much stronger then. I just want to know what you saw. I’m trying to figure out why Jordan was there.”
    â€œWho told you about it?” I asked.
    Tucker sat back, arms folded across his chest. “I can’t reveal my source. He came directly to me rather than going to Bennett or the police. I owe him.”
    â€œMy only part in this was finding Jordan’s body in the garden. I’m sorry, but I don’t see how I can be much help. I didn’t see anything. You should really go to the police. I have a friend who’s a homicide detective and—”
    â€œThat won’t work,” Tucker said. “Chadwick Sloane covered the thing up himself. He won’t let his officers investigate and drag up dirt on the Mistics.”
    Did he know Commissioner Sloane was a member of the Mistics? I wouldn’t want to be the one who told him. Ofcourse, maybe Sloane was the one who’d told Tucker about his grandson.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re looking for. It was dark, poorly lit. There may have been some things that I missed. I don’t know.”
    â€œI appreciate that, Zoe. My son says Jordan was following a lead on a big story. It’s frustrating, not finding any answers. You’re my last hope.”
    No pressure
.
    â€œI honestly don’t know what else I can say.” I thought back. “He had a piece of newspaper in his hand. There was blood. It was awful.”
    Chef Art cleared his throat. “Perhaps you could infiltrate the Mistics of Time using your father’s position. Someone in that group knows what happened.”
    I didn’t even ask how he knew about Daddy being a member. Maybe it was just an assumption. They knew about what had really happened at the masquerade. It was probably easy to put it together.
    I looked at him, hoping my total disbelief at his suggestion was written on my face. “Are you serious? My father is a complete basket case about this. He wants the two of us to leave Mobile until after Mardi Gras. He says he saw the ghost of Old Slac on the way home from the gym this morning. I’ve already seen a disappearing version of Jordan dressed as Death in the Biscuit Bowl as I was setting up today. I don’t think spying on the Mistics is a good idea.”
    Tucker’s face paled as I finished speaking. He exchanged glances with an equally pale Chef Art.
    â€œYou’re right.” Tucker got up from the table. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Zoe. Best of luck.”
    I watched him leave as Chef Art called for the check. “What’s up with you two?” The abrupt departure was making me nervous.
    â€œZoe, your father is right. Old Slac—or the ghost of