Sandra Hill - [Jinx 03] by Wild Jinx Page A

he was going to cut her dead by ignoring her or do something to humiliate her . . . like smile . . . or wink.
    Aaarrgh! This assignment was going to be the death of her.
    Meanwhile, various conversations were taking place around the table, and she had to admit it was an interesting group of people. They would make a colorful feature story, in themselves.
    “How long have you been a newspaper reporter?” asked Brenda Caslow, who was seated on her right. And, boy, talk about interesting! She was a former race car mechanic and was married to superstar NASCAR driver Lance Caslow. The sports editor at the
Times-Tribune
was going to have a bird when he found out she’d gotten a promise of a personal interview with Lance and an exclusive on some yet-to-be-disclosed future plans.
    “Since I graduated from college. I started out with a Houston weekly, went to the
Dallas Morning Call
, and then six months ago moved to the New Orleans paper.”
    Adam Famosa, the Cuban professor, turned to her, from her other side. He was about forty, with silver-threaded black hair tied at his nape with a leather thong. Not unattractive when he wasn’t aggressively hitting on her. She suspected there was a human interest story in him, too. Just how did he arrive in this country at age eleven? “John says you’ve had lots of awards . . . for someone so young.”
    Celine’s gaze shot to John with surprise.
    “What?” said John. “You didn’t think I knew anything about you,
chère?
”
    Now, that is an alarming idea.
“Why would you care to know anything about me?”
    “Darlin’,” he chided her, “you’re a good-lookin’ woman. I’m a Cajun man. Enough said.”
    “Bull! I don’t want you checking out anything about me.”
    He waggled his eyebrows at her, as if to show he was definitely checking her out. “What? It’s okay for you to dig into my past, but reciprocation is taboo?”
    He had a point there. She crinkled her nose at him.
    “What’s with you two sniping at each other all the time?” asked Caleb Peachey, an ex-Amish Navy SEAL, of all things. Caleb was overly serious and rarely spoke about anything personal, Celine had noticed. Getting his life story wouldn’t be easy. “You two got a thing goin’ on?”
    “No!” she and John said as one.
    “Mebbe,” Tante Lulu interjected.
    Celine’s head swiveled on her neck to stare with shock at the old lady behind her at the stove. She hated to admit it, but Tante Lulu was the most interesting of them all. Outrageous in appearance and the things she said, the old lady had a reputation throughout the bayou as a respected healer. “Where would you get such a ludicrous idea?”
    John laughed and put his hands up in a “Not me!” fashion.
    “Doan go gettin’ yer thong all bunched up, Celine. I jist said mebbe.”
    “There is no maybe,” Celine insisted, her face flaming at the mention of her wearing a thong. She never wore thongs, but they were all probably picturing her in one.
    “Methinks the chick doth protest too much,” Adam murmured.
    The
chick?
With still heated face, she decided to ignore the bunch of them and resumed eating the shrimp étouffée which Tante Lulu had placed before them along with warm French bread and a crisp green salad smothered in vinaigrette dressing. “The food is delicious,” she remarked. “As good as any meal in a French Quarter restaurant. I expected to see cold sandwiches and bottled water.”
    “Not with my aunt,” John pointed out. He and Tante Lulu exchanged warm smiles. It was obvious that they were really close.
    “Thank ya very much, sweetie,” Tante Lulu said to her. “We’s havin’ okra ice cream fer dessert.”
    Celine’s head shot up, along with a few others at the table.
    “Jist kiddin’. There’s beignets and coffee comin’ up.”
    “I hate okra,” Celine said with a shiver of distaste.
    “Ya cain’t be Cajun and hate okra,” Tante Lulu contended. “How come ya doan have a Cajun accent? And what’s