Sashé Boudreaux has an eye for fashion, a heart for community, and some of the best cooking skills in the state. She delivers home-cooked lunches to shut-ins and color-coordinates the ladies of Cypress Grove, Louisiana.
But don’t let her vintage style and Southern twang fool you. Her mind's as sharp as her chef’s knife—quick, intuitive, and able to cut to the truth before her rice starts to boil.
When a neighbor misses his Monday lunch delivery—and a human bone turns up at the town’s recycling drop-off—Sashé is drawn into a mystery murkier than the average cozy. What begins with small-town concern soon unravels into a web of forgotten crimes, buried histories, and a past that refuses to stay hidden.
With her eccentric circle of friends—Arleen the former beat cop, Delphine the bone-identifying recycling oracle, Bobbie Rae the aura-reading soap maker, and Jax the haunted cemetery groundskeeper—Sashé follows a trail that leads from modern-day disappearances to a historical tragedy in ancient Houma burial grounds.
Warm, witty, and cozy at heart yet rich with depth and danger, Sashé Boudreaux: Beignets, Bones & Buried Secrets blends Southern charm, quirky characters, twisty suspense, and a redemptive thread that ties past and present together.
Sashé Boudreaux has an eye for fashion, a heart for community, and some of the best cooking skills in the state. She delivers home-cooked lunches to shut-ins and color-coordinates the ladies of Cypress Grove, Louisiana.
But don’t let her vintage style and Southern twang fool you. Her mind's as sharp as her chef’s knife—quick, intuitive, and able to cut to the truth before her rice starts to boil.
When a neighbor misses his Monday lunch delivery—and a human bone turns up at the town’s recycling drop-off—Sashé is drawn into a mystery murkier than the average cozy. What begins with small-town concern soon unravels into a web of forgotten crimes, buried histories, and a past that refuses to stay hidden.
With her eccentric circle of friends—Arleen the former beat cop, Delphine the bone-identifying recycling oracle, Bobbie Rae the aura-reading soap maker, and Jax the haunted cemetery groundskeeper—Sashé follows a trail that leads from modern-day disappearances to a historical tragedy in ancient Houma burial grounds.
Warm, witty, and cozy at heart yet rich with depth and danger, Sashé Boudreaux: Beignets, Bones & Buried Secrets blends Southern charm, quirky characters, twisty suspense, and a redemptive thread that ties past and present together.
Tuesday
Sashé Marie Boudreaux was born on the back side of
a bayou in the middle of a thunderstorm. A bolt of
lightning struck, and out she came—copper hair blazing,
a Louisiana-shaped birthmark at the nape of her neck, and
attitude. Her mama swore she was electrified, sashayin’ into
the world like it was the Fourth of July, so she named her
accordingly—only with a French twist.
God had plans for a gal like Sashé, that much seemed
clear. Winning the Houma Parish Miss Crawdad Pageant
three years in a row only strengthened Sashé’s sense of
destiny. That was back when she could still do the splits and
twirl the fire batons.
But, when her mama took ill, Sashé’s ambitions were
sidelined, and she put her plans on the back burner. When
her mama finally passed—leaving Sashé the old bayou
shack, her daddy’s vintage Chevy and a freezer full of
pecans—well, she’d already made peace with her purpose
being in Cypress Grove.
These days, her aspirations pointed in a new direction:
comfort food, color consults, and crime.
She’d always been blessed with what her mama called
“good instincts,” and lately, they’d been telling her to put out
a plank and get to work. Every chance she got, she worked
on turning her plans into reality. She’d even designed her
calling cards for when she got things up and running. On the
one side they’d say:
Sashé Boudreaux
Blessed with Good Instincts
—embossed in gold on hot pink, with a lipstick kiss in the
corner. On the other:
Café Sashé
Food Fashion Forensics
Because everybody knows the good things in life always
come in threes, and Sashé was a firm believer in the good
things—and in being well-rounded, too. Maybe she’d even
go ahead and order her cards early, just in case. You never
knew who might roll out one morning—starving to death
and pale as cold grits, while a crime was taking place two
doors down. Best to remind folks she delivered the whole
package: hushpuppies, make-overs and justice.
She smiled at the thought of her destiny finally
beginning to take shape, and right then and there decided to
add a touch of cheetah print to her cards.
Born in ‘65, she’d come of age in bell-bottoms, crop-
tops, and big hair. She decided the look suited her and
dragged the seventies—and most of the eighties—right
along with her into the present. At forty-five, with her
signature style, dazzling smile, and unmistakable flash of
copper, she was still a force of nature. When the sunlight hit
her just right, well, she’d been known to cause more than
one fender-bender without even trying. As for romance,
Sashé knew exactly what she wanted—and heaven help the
man who thought he could change her mind.
Today, Sashé had her hair tied up in a bandana with a
knot at the top of her head like a paisley tiara. She hauled up
her leggings with one hand, opened the station wagon door
with the other, popped her gum, and scootched in.
“Come on, Francine. We need to hustle. If we don’t get
a move on, Mr. Landry’s gonna think I forgot his tapioca
cup,” she said to her car, patting the dash.
Francine was a two-toned 1957 Chevy Bel Air that had
been her daddy’s pride and joy. He always said bringing her
home was the happiest day of his life—next to marrying
Sashé’s mama and her own dramatic arrival, lightening
included.
“Francine’ll be yours one day, Sashé,” he’d said.
“Treat her good, and she’ll return the favor.”
When Sashé was eleven years old, her daddy died from
electrocution while working as a lineman. Francine had
been tucked away in the back shed and forgotten about—
until Sashé turned sixteen and needed to learn to drive. She
and Francine had been inseparable ever since.
Sashé turned the key, and Francine roared to life. As
she backed down the driveway, she looked in the rearview
mirror, slathered on some Raspberry Parfait lip gloss, and
put on her sunglasses.
“Presentation is half the battle,” she murmured,
pressing her lips together. Then she eased out into the road.
Every rut on Sycamore Street sent her life-sized cherry
bobble earrings bouncing like mad.
Behind her, a cooler of hot meals was buckled in like
a backseat passenger, nestled beside a tote full of color-
consultation fabric swatches. Sashé delivered home-cooked
lunches to shut-ins Monday through Friday. By three, she
was color-coordinating the ladies of Cypress Grove.
The smell of catfish and hushpuppies hit her halfway
past Jan’s Fry House.
“Uh-oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Jan’s late changin’
out her fry oil again. Pee-yew! Don’t know what’s worse—
rancid oil or swamp sludge.”
A red and white striped barbershop pole spun lazily
out in front of Taffy’s Cut and Run, Cypress Grove’s only
salon. Sashé hit Francine’s blinker and slowed to turn right at
the corner of Main and Second. Willy of Willy’s Bait Shop
was on a ladder, hanging out a new sign that read:
Nightcrawlers Live Bait Ammo Beer Open 9-3
GET IN HERE
She gave him a wave as she turned the corner.
Three doors down, Sashé pulled into Harold Landry’s
drive, put Francine into park, pulled Landry’s lunch tray out
of the back seat and headed for the door. The old concrete
walk leading up to the house was cracked and crumbling,
with dandelions rooted in the chunks missing here and
there. Sashé bent an ankle, recovered and wobbled forward
through the obstacle course in three-inch strappy sandals,
lunch tray balanced in the crook of her arm. She gave the
front window a quick glance, pushed a stray strand of
tangerine hair behind her ear, and knocked on the front door.
She’d been delivering meals long enough to know
what’s what. So, when Mr. Landry didn’t answer after her
third knock, she didn’t waste time.
“Mr. Landry? Y’all ready for lunch?” she called,
pushing the door open. The front room was quiet. She
stepped inside, nudged the door shut with a bump of her hip,
and looked around. The recliner was empty. The TV was
on, though muted. Yesterday’s lunch still sat on the TV tray.
Sashé set today’s lunch down and scanned the room.
“Mr. Landry?” she called again, louder this time.
No answer.
His bedroom door was open, so she peeked in. The bed
was unmade. The closet door was open, and the bathroom
light was on.
“Huh,” she said, heading to the kitchen.
His keys were on the little hook by the fridge, and his
shoes were right where he always kept them—tucked under
the bench by the back door.
Sashé opened the creaky screen door and stepped
down three mossy steps into the backyard. Near the fence, a
chipped, life-sized plastic flamingo leaned at an odd angle,
its beak tipped high, one beady eye lined up perfectly with a
knot in the cedar slats—like it was spying on the neighbors.
Beside it, a rusty barbecue and a weathered lawn chair with
one leg snapped off were nearly swallowed by knee-high
weeds.
“Mr. Laaaandryyyyy,” she called. “You back here?
Don’t s’pose you’ve seen him?” she asked the flamingo.
The only reply came from a fat crow perched on an
oak branch, watching her like he knew all about it.
“I tell you what, Mr. Landry, if you’ve gone and run
off without your shoes, there’ll be trouble to pay,” she said,
scanning the yard one last time before heading back inside.
She pulled her phone out of her bra and started dialing.
Arleen picked up on the second ring.
“Sashé?”
“Hey, you got a sec?”
“Uh-huh. Just dropped off Wallace for his foot checkup.
Man alive, he’s spittin’ mean today. What’s up?”
Arleen drove the town shuttle, hauling folks around
who needed rides to doctor appointments, the store and
whatnot.
Sashé picked up a church bulletin she found sitting
next to yesterday’s lunch tray and fanned herself.
“You carry Mr. Landry anywhere this week?”
“Hang on.” Arleen grabbed what she affectionately
called her leave-no-one-behind log, thumbed through a few
pages, and cleared her throat.
“Not since last Thursday. I toted him, Miss Maiv, and
Tommy Burns down to Our Lady of the Bayou for bingo.
Speakin’ of which… y’all ever been to one of those
bingos?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Sashé replied.
“Well, count yourself lucky—and I mean it. Those
bingo regulars are cutthroat. I ain’t kiddin’. Heaven help ya
if you try to sneak out for the bathroom while the balls are
still rollin’."
Sashé laughed.
“Okay, so what about Landry now?”
“He’s gone AWOL,” Sashé said. “No sign of him.”
Arleen paused.
“You think he forgot where he was and
wandered?”
“Lord only knows. But with his broken down knees?
Ain’t likely,” Sashé said.
“Want me to check the clinic logs? See if he called for
a ride under someone else’s name?”
“That’d be a help. Don’t get everybody’s knickers in a
twist, though. Could be nothin’.”
“You don’t call me over nothin’,” Arleen said flatly.
Sashé popped a bubble.
“Well, truth be told, I got a shiver when I looked out back.
I could feel the good instincts kickin’ in hard.”
Arleen exhaled.
“Man,” she whispered.
“Uh-huh. Let me know if you find anything. I’ll poke
around a bit.”
Sashé ended the call, slipped her phone back
into her bra, and looked around the yard and house one
more time.
“Now, where’d y’all get yourself to Mr. Landry?”
Sashé Boudreaux: Beignets, Bones and Buried Secrets is a cozy mystery by Coco McQ. First, before sitting down to read this delightful who-done-it, grab yourself a Beignet because this novel and “warm, sugar-dusted pillows of fried heaven” go hand in hand. In fact, get yourself a plate of your favorite southern cooking, because you won't get far in this novel before McQ’s food descriptions make you good and hungry. Whether it's the food, the people, or the situation, McQ’s descriptions are fun and captivating.
If the food is what leads you in, the people and the Southern charm are what bring you back for more. McQ’s cast of characters are quirky and endearing. Sashé Boudreaux, the main character, is bold, witty, and someone you’d want to enjoy a sweet tea with. The rest of the cast is well-developed, and each character has a distinct personality, adding depth and humor to this tale. McQ gives the same devotion to the Southern setting as she does to her characters. Her descriptions of Louisiana’s bayous, small-town living, and cultural traditions are immersive, giving her novel that Southern authenticity.
Let’s not forget that this novel, first and foremost, is a cozy mystery. Someone has gone missing, and Sashé is on the case. McQ will delight all the armchair sleuths. With her foreshadowing and subtle hints, McQ gives enough clues to solve this mystery, but only if you are really paying attention.
Sashé Boudreaux: Beignets, Bones and Buried Secrets is a fun and witty cozy mystery with a colorful cast of characters and enough Southern charm that you can feel the humidity and taste the sweet tea. The blend of humor, mystery, history, and lighthearted storytelling makes this a fun novel for those who want to immerse themselves in a southern small town with a delightful cast of characters and plates full of great foods. So get your beignets while they are fresh and join Sashé Boudreaux as she serves up gumbo and solves mysteries, all with a fiery attitude.