Cayenne McKenzie Del Roi slumped in her antique roll away wooden desk chair, bellied up to her paper cluttered desk , and waited for her phone to ring.  She read out loud the words printed in block letters on the 3 x 5 card in her hand.

"Claro que sí "  she uttered with enthusiasm then flipped the card over and read from the other side.  "Of course!"  

Her office was bathed in off- white pallor from the noisy fluorescent lighting overhead, turning  everything an icy blue glow. It felt as the Del Roi Detective Agency had moved into the nearest Kmart. A cold damp permeated the mall and a space heater near the floor gave out extra heat at the expense of the landlord who refused to fix the drafty leaks.

"You need to roll your r's more," Mambozo told her, tiny glasses perched on his beak.
"Your Chicago accent sounds like you are talking about your Aunt Clara."  He sniffed his little chicken sniff, then turned back to sorting through old insurance papers.

'Nobody can understand the Cubans anyway,'  Cay snapped back crossly and slapped the card down. She picked up the next card. 'That's what Senor Edouardo says!'

She continued loudly, over emphasizing her vowels.  "MOO-CHAS GRAH-CEE-ASS PARRA AYOODAHMAY.  THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR HELPING ME!"  She shot Mambozo a cranky look and slapped the card down hard.    In front of her, a piece of dried up king cake sat forlornly on a paper plate,  She picked up the crusty tined fork on the plate and picked at the dried frosting and as she moved her feet closer to the space heater.   

"Hummpf!"  was all the chicken said.

 Mambozo was bent out of shape because Cay had not allowed him to teach her Spanish despite the fact that Mambozo had been with her a long time.  Back when she was first starting as a detective, she got caught up in solving a mystery of a missing Mardi Gras bead, and Mambozo was sent to protect her. He became her sidekick and she had long become used to having a talking Cuban chicken in her midst.  Still, he kept a low profile in the city.  Santaria was alive and well in the streets ofNew Orleans and neither Cay nor Mambozo wanted to take the chance that Mambozo would be sacrificed in order to improve someone's love life.  

"Me dice que ," she flipped another index card and read the back.   " She told me that ...blah, blah, blah."      New Orleans had been turning much more Hispanic since all the workers came in to help rebuild the city since Katrina.  She was taking lessons from a Señor Eduoardo Gravas to improve her Spanish so she could keep up with potential clientele. New Orleans was limping back but these days, the city still had an air of being part frontier and part apocalypse.

She looked around her office. She hated this mini mall, but it was the only thing she could afford since her building was condemned after repeated attempts to repair it. She spent most of her time here and somef in Lake Charles where she continued to do insurance work and pursue an on again, off again stormy romance with a guide and construction worker named Francisco. 

At first, she would try to practice her Spanish with Mambozo, but his Cuban accent was too heavy.  So she was delighted when a young man named Flamenco,  a cousin of Francisco's who had  moved to New Orleans from Spain.   She invited him to a weekly standing lunch date, but even that didn't seem to help much. He was a gentle and sensitive soul who would get excited and talk too fast, then get emotional and start to cry.  " Tu eres mucha bonita y amable y  yo no sé..."  And then he would start crying and Cay would have to loan him her napkin to blow his large Spanish nose with  " much gusto."   Still,  she enjoyed his company and in some odd way, made her feel that maybe this thing with Francisco might work out some day. 

At least Carnival Season was ratcheting up again.   The Phunny Phorty Phellows had kicked off the season by riding the St. Charles Street Trolley and the parade schedules were being listed in the paper.  Maybe I'll take the plunge and take one of Marcy's zydeco lessons down at the Rock'n Bowl, she mused, prying another piece of dried king cake off the plate.
 

The detective business was way down. Even the usual bread-and-butter cases of philandering spouses and potential divorce proceedings had slowed. No one wants to fight over the house when the house ain't worth anything anymore in these times, she thought to herself.  Cayenne was just wondering how to say "late rent" in Spanish when the bell hanging from the front door tinkled and the door swung open. 

"¡Adiós!"   Mambozo uttered before he scrambled under his desk out of site.

A gnome of a man with rimless, thick glasses and a pixie face topped with a pile of unruly hair walked in hesitantly and looked around. He was gingerly carrying a large paper sack and wore a finely made black suit coat. A brightly colored plaid bowtie popped out like an accent in the harsh lighting.  His eyes blinked rapidly behind the thick lenses.   He looked around and spotted Cay. He walked over tentatively and asked in a timid voice.  " May I speak to Detective Del Roi, please?"

Cay turned her index cards over so her potential customer couldn't  see that the next phrase in her lesson was  una más cerveza, Señorita, por favor.   She stood up and stuck her hand out. "I'm Cayenne McKenzie Del Roi." 

He shook her hand enthusiastically.  " How good to meet you!"

She couldn't help herself.  " Nice bowtie."

"Thank you very much, Ms. Del Roi." He responded humbly with just the slightest hint of a cultured Mississippi accent. "I like the bowtie."

"Please, have a seat,"  She gestured to the client chair to the side of her desk. He sat down and placed his paper sack carefully at his feet.  " What can I do for you,  Señor?..." She caught herself, "I mean, Mr...?"   

"De queso."  He flashed a nerdy, gentle smile that Cay warmed to immediately.  "Monterey de Queso."  He jumped up and extended his hand again enthusiastically. Again, Cay shook it, trying to make a good impression on her first customer in weeks. "But everyone calls me Rey.  I require your services, Detective Del Roi."

"De Queso?"  She said. " Are you that family that makes all the cheese? I love your Red Pepper Jack. God, I love that stuff!"

He nodded and bowed his head slightly.  " Yes, m'am, I come from the family behind the De Queso Family of Cheeses from Tupelo, Mississippi.   I live here in New Orleans now and my visits here today concerns only myself and not that of my family." He smiled behind his huge round glasses and unconsciously adjusted his bowtie.  " Though my brother Colby is waiting for me in his automobile in the parking lot.  He decided he much rather listen to jazz on his Ipod than hear my story yet another time."

"Colby, huh?   So your parents had a sense of humor?"  Cay cracked while taking out a fresh paper tablet from her desk drawer.  " So tell me, why do you need the services of a detective, Mr. de Queso?"

He leaned forward and spoke earnestly.  " Someone has been stealing from me, and I need your help to track the scoundrel down."

"Have you contacted the police?"

"Yes. They were of no help at all. They told me a crime hasn't really been committed.  I tried several policemen and finally found a very nice gentleman named Thibodeaux that suggested that I contacted you for help."

Cay made a note on her legal pad to send a thank you to Rufus for helping her pay her credit card bills this month.   " I don't understand. You say something has been stolen from you, but the police say a crime hasn't been committed?"

Rey suddenly became very upset.  " I am sorry for the display of emotion, Ms. Del Roi, but this is my life's work. I was hoping to debut my work at Food Con but this scoundrel and thief is ruining me, ruining me."  He searched for a freshly starched handkerchief in his inside pocket and dabbed his now sweating forehead while he composed himself. 

Cayenne leaned over and shut off the space heater as slowly as she could to give him a little more time to pull himself together.

She picked up her pen and adjusted her tablet, then started asking questions.  " Why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what happened. And by the way, what is Food Con?"

"Food Con is stands for The Cook Book and Food Reviewer Writers and Publishers Conference down at the Marriott."   He sheepish smiled behind those big glasses.  " You can see why we call it Food Con. It is the biggest convention of food journalists, restaurant reviewers and cookbook writers in North America. This year, Food Con is being held in New Orleans.  Lots of conventions are choosing New Orleans to help the economy rebound after Katrina, and the Association of Food Journalists thought that this would help shore up the city and also bring attention to the fact that food is still big business in New Orleans ."

Without seeming to be aware, he leaned down and touched the paper bag, as if checking to make sure it was still there, then continued.  "Have you ever heard of the Houma Brewing Company?"

Cay nodded. "I love the Skeleton Key Lager. When you can find it, that is.  It's known for its limited distribution."

Rey nodded.  " One of Louisiana's finest microbreweries.  The beer is divine for drinking, Ms Del Roi. But it is great for cooking, too.  I've been working with the brewery to put together a cookbook of recipes featuring Houma's line of beers.   Because of the damage that Hurricane Gustav did to the area, the Food Con organizers have decided to highlighting Louisiana food and beverage industries. Both Houma Brewing Company and my cookbook are going to be featured at one of the special events.  But recently,  I've discovered that someone is stealing my recipes and publishing them on the internet."

"And the police don't consider that a crime?"

Rey shook his head.  " They said that the recipes are published under my name and technically I'm given full credit for them so there is no crime."

"I'm sorry, Mr. de Queso. I still don't understand."

"Well, whoever it is takes my recipes and changes them first.  Then he puts up a website with my name and the address of the brewery.  But the recipes are awful. I've been receiving complaints from people who have tried them.  One woman went to the hospital with a gall stone attack that she actually blamed on me."    Rey started gesturing excitedly, obviously distraught. "Can you imagine?" 

He stopped and took a calming breath.

"My publisher is threatening to pull my contract if I insist on publishing my recipes on the internet, but they are not even mine! Houma is starting to have second thoughts, too.  No one will ever buy a book that is filled with recipes that send them to the hospital.  I need your help."

Cay chose her words carefully.  " Mr. de Queso, are you sure that the recipes are being changed?  Maybe they need to be adjusted a bit? Or someone can't read your handwritten notes?" 

"That is what my publisher keeps telling me. She tells me there's something wrong with the recipes. So I brought proof."  He reached into his bag and pulled out two small and identical Tupperware tubs and handed them to Cay.  They both were warm to the touch.   " This is my recipe for lamb stew made with the Parish Porter.   Try the one on the left first. That's my original recipe.   The second is made from the recipe I found on the internet under my name, purporting to be the same recipe."

Cay reached for the fork on the king cake plate, wiped it off with a Kleenex.  She flipped the cover on the first container and took out a warm, delicious smelling scoop of stew.

It was velvety and rich, a hint of garlic with overtones of thyme, and a kick of something warm at the end of the bite.  There was something both tangy and sweet in the stew that demanded Cay take another bite before mumbling, "this is really good..." through a mouth of tender potatoes and morsels of lamb.

"Porter and port. It's the perfect combination with the stew. And you cook it slow and steady like stirring a roux so that everything blends together gently."

He leaned over and took of the lid of the other container.  " Now try this one."

Cay took a bit of the other sample which looked identical in color.The lamb was tougher with a stronger taste of  salty and  taste of thyme. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't close to being in the same league as the first sample.  She reached for the cup on her desk, filled with old cold Cuban coffee from that morning.  She took yet another bit from the frist sample, as if double checking her judgment. It was still fabulous.

"That is why I need a detective, Ms. Del Roi.  To stop this madman from ruining my good name and destroying my life's work.  He adjusts the oven temperature a bit,  or turns a tsp into a Tbsp or leaves out an ingredient.  Enough so that it turns into a mediocre copy."

"Who knows about your recipes?"

"The only people that have access to these recipes are my family, the Houma Brewing Company owners and my publisher.   Why would someone want to do this?"

"Who's your publisher?"   Cayenne asked, relunctantly putting the covers back on the tubs. She picked her pen back up in order to keep from picking up the crusty spoon again and licking it for every last bite.

"I'm very pleased to be working with Carson Fontainbleau, the famous food writer. He is a friend of our families and he is writing the introduction for it, as well as helping with the publishing."   

Cay frowned.  " You mentioned a 'she' earlier, when you talked about your publisher." 

Rey nodded and dipped his head. Cay swore he was blushing. "Well, Mr. Fontainbleau is a very busy man, so my main contact is actually Mr. Fontainbleau's assistant.   She is also one of the Food Con organizers. She's arranged a showcase for the recipes at the event sponsored by the Brewers Association of America."

"Any thing else that has happened out of the ordinary?"

His face clouded.  " I did have a break in a few weeks ago, but it didn't look like anything was taken. Just like they went through some papers and looked on my computer. It was on when I got home and that's the only reason I noticed that something was wrong. Do you think there's a connection?"

Cayenne shrugged.  " Let me see what I can find out,  Mr. de Queso.  I'll go down to the conference and see what I can find.   I'll need that site address of where the recipes are showing up."

He nodded. He reached again into his inside coat pocket and pulled a slip of paper.  " I thought you might need it.   Thank you.  Thank you."  He got up again and extended his hand again.  " Let me know whatever you need." 

She put on her straightest face and shook his hand.  " I may need more samples to help in the investigation."

************************************************

The door had barely closed behind Rey de Queso when Mambozo waddled his way back out to inspect the still warm stew left behind.  Cay was about to snatch the plastic storage container away from him when the phone shrilled.   

"Don't eat it all,"  she warned as she went toward the phone and Mambozo went toward the lamb.   She noticed by caller ID that it was Kristina Guillaumes calling from her cell phone.  Cay brightened, hoping it was an invitation to join Kristina and her husband Stan at their restaurant  Stew du Roux. The aromatic smell of the stew was making her stomach make insistent sounds. 

"Hey, girlfriend, what's up?" 

Kristina's voice was high and agitated.  Excited voices punctuated the background noise.  " Cay, I need your help.  There's been a death."

Cayenne straightened up fast like a bullet going north. "Is Stan okay?"   Mambozo's fork froze in mid air at the urgency of her voice. 

"No one we know. At least personally.  But remember Gusto, my friend who owns the Casa de Gumbo in Uptown?"   Kristina's voice trembled.   " A man died in his restaurant and the police are blaming it on his gumbo."

To her horror, Cay giggled.  " Sounds like when I cook," she offered.  She noticed that Mambozo had resumed heartily helping himself to Mr. de Queso's stew and looking thoughtfully at the dish.

"This is not a laughing matter, Cay."   The urgency in Kristina's voice pulled Cayenne's attention back to the phone.    " He was eating a bowl of Gusto's famous gumbo and then started choking and collapsed.   Gusto called 911 but he was already dead.  The police are waiting for the detectives from homicide to come  before removing the body and the health department has also been called.  Gusto called me and I called you.  I know you don't investigate accidental deaths, but could you help Gusto talk to the police? His English is not the best and he's scared to death."

Cay paused,  " Is he legal?"

"Yes, thank God! He's got a green card. Married to an American who moved here from Texas. He's been in New Orleans since the rebuilding.  Juliana is out of town."

"I'll head on over.  Death by a bowl of gumbo, huh?" Cay eyed Mambozo obviously enjoying his generous helping of  Rey de Queso's Houma porter and port lamb stew. She tried another stab at levity.  " Have to admit, it's not a bad way to go."

Kristina's tense voice poked through the silence of the line.  " Unless you happen to be one of the restaurant reviewers for the New York Times in town for Food Con. He's the guy that took the nose dive into the soup."