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friend. It’s going to take me away from the bakery for the next few days.”
    Miss Frankie’s hands stopped moving. “Oh? You’re going away somewhere?”
    “You don’t need to worry about the bakery,” I said, hoping to reassure her. “Ox will be taking charge while I’m gone. And I’m not going to disappear completely. I should be there for a few hours every day. Just not full-time. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
    She smiled, but I could tell she was still worried. “Well, of course it will be, sugar. I just worry that you’ll be stretching yourself too thin, that’s all. What kind of favor are we talking about? Or can’t you talk about it?”
    I shook my head and wiped my fingers on a napkin. “I don’t think it’s any big secret. You remember Old Dog Leg, the trumpet player down at the Dizzy Duke?”
    Concern flashed through Miss Frankie’s eyes. “Of course. But what on earth does he need from you? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
    “I really don’t know. It’s hard to say.” I explained about the letter he’d received and told her what I knew about Monroe’s disappearance forty years ago. “Dog Leg needs someone to find out if this guy is really his brother or if he’s an imposter.”
    “Well, of course he does. The poor man can’t do it for himself. But how does he expect you to identify his brother?”
    “Apparently Monroe has a distinctive birthmark on one shoulder. If we can get a look at that, we’ll be able to tell.”
    Miss Frankie pushed her plate away and stood. “Coffee?”
    “Please.”
    She got the pot started, speaking over her shoulder while she worked. “I’m glad to hear you’re not going alone. Is Dog Leg going with you, then?”
    “Not exactly. I’m going with Gabriel Broussard. You remember him, don’t you? He tends bar at the Dizzy Duke.”
    She turned abruptly. “Of course I remember him. Are you still seeing him? Socially?”
    Something in her tone gave me pause. Had she sounded edgy, or was it my imagination? “We see each other occasionally.”
    Her lips thinned slightly, making her smile look slightly strained. “Well, why don’t the two of you take care of Old Dog Leg’s problem tomorrow, then? We can meet with Ox on Saturday.”
    “We may not be able to get answers that fast,” I said. “Dog Leg is worried that we’ll spook the guy if he suspects we’re checking him out. He’s staying at a B and B over on the West Bank. Dog Leg wants us to get a room there and treat this as some kind of covert operation.” Hearing myself say it aloud made me laugh at the absurdity of the plan.
    Miss Frankie’s posture stiffened, and this time I knew I wasn’t imagining her reaction. “You’ll be sharing a room with Gabriel?”
    “Well, yes. We have to. The place is some kind of honeymoon getaway.” I carried my plate to the sink, uncomfortably aware of my mother-in-law staring at me through eyes of stone. “It’s not a big deal,” I assured her. “It’s not like we’re—you know— getting a room . It’s just a cover to keep Monroe, or whoever he is, from realizing that we’re checking him out.”
    “But sharing a room . . . I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Rita.”
    For a while after Philippe died, Miss Frankie had held on to the belief that he and I would have reconciled if he’d lived. Over time she’d begun to accept the idea that I would eventually move on with my life, and she’d seemed accepting of my decisions to date Gabriel and Sullivan. Now I wondered if she was backsliding. It wasn’t like Miss Frankie to be judgmental.
    I put a hand on her arm and met her gaze. “It’s not like that. It’s just . . . you know . . . a cover.”
    “But how is it going to look for you to spend the weekend at some bed-and-breakfast with that bartender?”
    “I thought you liked Gabriel.”
    “Of course I like him. It has nothing to do with that. But, really, Rita. Don’t you think checking into some hotel together will