A little bit cozy. A little bit thriller. A whole lot of trouble.
Between Mayan prophecies, doomsday predictions, and Hurricane Isaac bearing down on Louisiana, 2012 is shaping up to be an unforgettable year. As the storm closes in, Sashé Boudreaux braves rising floodwaters to deliver lunch to one of her shut-ins and stumbles into a deadly international conspiracy that draws her into a world of Cold War secrets, long-buried betrayals, espionage, and assassination.
Set against the richly atmospheric backdrop of small-town Cajun Louisiana, Sashé Boudreaux: Entanglements, Espionage, and Étouffée blends quirky characters, humor, and Southern charm with high-stakes suspense.
This is the second novel in the Sashé Boudreaux Mysteries, following the Eric Hoffer Award-winning debut, Sashé Boudreaux: Beignets, Bones, and Buried Secrets.
A little bit cozy. A little bit thriller. A whole lot of trouble.
Between Mayan prophecies, doomsday predictions, and Hurricane Isaac bearing down on Louisiana, 2012 is shaping up to be an unforgettable year. As the storm closes in, Sashé Boudreaux braves rising floodwaters to deliver lunch to one of her shut-ins and stumbles into a deadly international conspiracy that draws her into a world of Cold War secrets, long-buried betrayals, espionage, and assassination.
Set against the richly atmospheric backdrop of small-town Cajun Louisiana, Sashé Boudreaux: Entanglements, Espionage, and Étouffée blends quirky characters, humor, and Southern charm with high-stakes suspense.
This is the second novel in the Sashé Boudreaux Mysteries, following the Eric Hoffer Award-winning debut, Sashé Boudreaux: Beignets, Bones, and Buried Secrets.
Cypress Grove, Louisiana 2012
In Cypress Grove, there were two reasons to show up at the annual chainsaw carving competition: the elephant ears and the carvers. At least that’s what Sashé Boudreaux always said, though not necessarily in that order.
She stood off to the side of the judges’ makeshift platform made from old pallets and plywood, watching the competitors take on their logs. A gust of sawdust blew her way, and she instinctively patted her updo. Her hand came away dusty.
“Lord help if any of this settles in my lip gloss,” she murmured.
Sawdust or not, filling in for the current Miss Crawdad of Cypress Grove, Louisiana—who was laid up after getting her wisdom teeth pulled—definitely had its perks. Sashé had forgotten how good it felt to have the spotlight, her being a former beauty queen and all. Not just anybody could hand out the trophies like they knew what they were doing, either. But that was right up Sashé’s alley.
Even without this year’s sash and crown, Sashé held court with ease—and looked good while doing it, too, in red-hot capris and a fiesta-embroidered blouse cinched tight with a lime green cummerbund. She finished off the look with wedge espadrilles and two-inch silver hoops. Maybe it had been a couple of decades since she held the Miss Crawdad title, three years in a row, but judging by the looks of admiration directed toward her, she figured that ship hadn’t sailed just yet anyway.
A new entry gave her a once-over, then fired up his chainsaw, eyes locked on hers. He meant business, and anybody who was watching knew it. Somebody even whistled. He gave Sashé a crooked smile then started carving a huge slab from a log the size of a VW. Sashé raised an eyebrow and smirked. She’d always been a firm believer that good food and hard work kept a body young. This proves it, she thought as she fanned herself with a festival flier. I just peeled off a decade at least, watching him go at it.
She turned to scan the crowd. There were more tourists than she’d seen at previous competitions. Not that that was a problem exactly—it’s just that, with so many city people, it changed the vibe, and Sashé wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. Just last year, a group from Baton Rouge had meandered through—nostrils flared, gawking and smirking, like the locals were some kind of zoo exhibit.
She gave the crowd another sweep. Over near the shave-ice truck, Arleen had someone cornered—finger pointing, head shaking. For a split second, Sashé wondered if she should intervene, but only for a split second. Arleen, being a retired beat cop turned local shuttle driver, could hold her own. Her take-no-prisoners approach to justice had caused more than a few altercations, and Sashé knew first-hand not to get into the middle of one of Arleen’s cat fights. Uh-uh, I ain’t touchin’ that with a ten-foot pole, she decided, popping in a piece of Hubba Bubba bubblegum.
A burst of applause rippled through the crowd as one of the carvers stepped back from the sculpture he’d been working on—a seven-foot alligator, leaping from water, its toothy jaws open wide. The crowd went wild. A judge on the platform gave a nod in her direction.
Showtime.
She popped a bubble, smoothed the front of her blouse, and walked toward the platform.
“Sashé Boudreaux, y’all come on up here and announce the winners of this year’s chainsaw contest!” the judge called.
Sashé turned on her best pageant smile, gave a little wave, and stepped up.
“Hey, everybody! Thanks for comin’ out to Cypress Grove’s annual carvin’ competition! Hope y’all are havin’ scads of fun and that you’ll agree with me when I say the three best things about today are fresh air, power tools, and men who know how to use ‘em.” She glanced over at the carver with the alligator and then winked at the spectators.
The crowd cheered.
“Not to slight the elephant ears in the least, them bein’ practically biblical, big as platters and smellin’ like manna from heaven.”
Some whoops and hollers.
She picked up the grand prize trophy from the judge’s table and held it up for everyone to admire. Behind the crowd, Bobbie Rae was grinning and waving from her booth, her goat milk soaps and lavender smudge bundles haphazardly stacked in those lopsided pyramids of hers.
Sashé had a soft spot for Bobbie Rae who was a good twenty years younger. A bohemian spirit through and through, she was part warrior, part mystic child—strong and fragile all at the same time, like some ancient earth goddess reimagined for the modern world.
The judge called out the grand prize. Sashé turned and presented the trophy to the carver with the leaping alligator. He accepted it with a nod and a handshake that wouldn’t let go until he pulled her in for a kiss.
“Lordy!” Sashé gasped as she regained her balance, wiping shavings from her cheek. “Appears gators ain’t the only predators ‘round the bayou today. Didn’t reckon handin’ out prizes’d be a combat sport,” she blurted. Laughs and applause rippled across the crowd.
The sun was brutal, but Sashé wasn’t about to wilt. By the time she handed out the third-place ribbon and the newly required standard-issue kiss, her feet were sweating and sliding around the insides of her espadrilles.
Five minutes later, she handed out the last prize, thanked the crowd, and turned to step off the platform in search of a shave-ice and some shade. Two steps down, her wedge caught in a cracked plank and her ankle rolled. Sashé Marie Boudreaux, former beauty queen, color consultant, and meals-on-wheels gal went airborne.
In the blink of an eye she was bracing for impact. But instead of falling headlong into the dirt in front of God and who knows who all, she landed in the arms of a stranger with broad shoulders and a grip firm enough to stop gravity.
“Ma’am,” he said, steadying her.
Sashé looked up and nearly swallowed her gum. He was devastatingly handsome with grey eyes framed by sun-browned skin and a dazzling smile.
“You all right?” he drawled, still holding her like he’d dipped her in a ballroom dance.
“Lordy,” she breathed, pulling herself up and disengaging herself from his arms. “I’m so hot I’m past perspirin’. My feet’ve fused with my sandals.”
Her rescuer chuckled.
“Langston Sinclair the Third, at your service.”
He was tall, clean-shaven, dressed in a linen blazer, and not even breaking a sweat. His accent was pure Southern gentleman.
She adjusted her cummerbund and smoothed her hair.
“Nice to meet y’all. I’m Sashé Boudreaux.” She offered her hand. “Thanks for catchin’ me before I plowed clear through to China.”
He grinned. “My pleasure. Don’t suppose there’s a prize for catching a maiden in distress, is there? A kiss, perhaps?”
Sashé’s cheeks were already flushed from the heat, but she blushed just the same.
“That what they teach y’all wherever you’re from? Rushin’ in to sweep a gal off her feet for a kiss?”
Langston smiled.
She took a tentative step, winced, and nearly collapsed. Langston reached out to steady her as pain tore at her ankle.
His brow furrowed. “Let’s get you to the first aid tent.” He put his arm around her waist, his sun-warmed cologne enveloping her.
Help, Lord. My ankle’s shot and now my knees’re givin’ out, he smells so good.
The crowd parted as he helped her through the booth alleys. Sashé limped along, leaning into him for support.
For the first time since she could remember, she was truly embarrassed. A gust caught her hair, pulling it into her eyes. As she reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear, she caught a flash of color. Delphine, in her brightly colored caftan, silver braids, and enough turquoise jewelry to open up a trading post, stood still as stone in the middle of the alley—staring right at her, like an Old Testament prophet about to call down fire from heaven.
Sashé shot Delphine a sheepish look. Now I’m in for it, she thought, though she wasn’t even sure why, except that when Delphine zeroed in on you, you were pretty much toast.
Delphine ran the town’s recycling drop-off, which had been a lifeline after she lost her husband, giving her something to do that had a purpose. She referred to it as her ‘sacred charge.’ Once when Sashé was delivering Delphine’s Tuesday lunch of Dirty Rice and cornbread, Delphine had confided, “Reckon, my Cherokee heritage laid a duty on me. I recycle more than tossed out plastic, Sashé. There’s lives been tossed to the curb without so much as a by-your-leave. I take that personal. If I can put ‘em back together and help ‘em git a new start, I reckon I’ll have done my part.”
Delphine was tougher than nails, and could be meaner than a snapping turtle, but she’d give you her last stick of furniture, if she thought it’d help.
Sashé stepped a little too hard and winced.
Langston paused. “Okay?”
“Yeah. I just hate to be a burden.”
“Ms. Boudreaux, I am convinced you are many things, but a burden you are not.”
How does everything he say sound like seduction? I need to get a grip or I’m a goner.
She came to an abrupt stop and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I appreciate your help and all, but just so y’all know, I carry bear spray.”
Langston smiled. “Good to know.”
Inside the first aid tent, an EMT helped Sashé into a folding chair, propped her foot up on a cooler, and put an ice pack on her ankle. Langston removed himself from the examination and leaned against a tent pole, watching with a mixture of concern and amusement.
“So,” Sashé said, studying him from the corner of her eye, “what brings a Sinclair the Third all the way to podunk Cypress Grove? Don’t tell me you’re here for the climate.”
He grinned. “I’m on vacation. Flew into New Orleans a week ago. When a friend told me about a chainsaw carving competition, well, I couldn’t resist. Nothing quite like small town America to charge your batteries and remind you of what’s right in this world.”
Sashé scrutinized him—the perfectly pressed linen blazer, the million-dollar smile that didn’t quite reach his storm-cloud eyes. Well, her mama hadn’t raised a fool, anyway. Langston Sinclair might be smooth as honey, but there were stingers beneath the charm—Sashé’d bet her best Sunday outfit on that.
“Uh-huh. If y’all say so,” she purred.
Of all the charming little towns in America, he picks Cypress Grove, sweltering in Southern Louisiana for his vacation? Nu-uh. Not likely. What’s he really doin’ sniffin’ ‘round my neck of the swamp, I wonder?
The synopsis was on point!
This story was a mix of coziness and thrills along with a whole lot of trouble, found family and more! We have a wide array of characters in an exciting, new backdrop that investigate a mystery amidst hurricanes, chainsaw competitions, and acts as the second installment to the author's series!
What stood out to me instantly about this book was the prose. This is typically the first aspect of a book that I focus on when I'm reading, because to me, prose is always what makes or breaks a book. Of course, there are certain exceptions, but to me, I think following the basic prose structure is what helps magnify a story's impact.
Sashé Boudreaux Mysteries is a prime example of beautiful prose.
There's not much lyrical about the story. There aren't a lot of flowery phrases or long paragraphs. The story is laid out, but it's not told to us. Through the actions of the characters, we're shown the events that Sashe and his group go through.
I enjoyed the mystery around Langston Sinclair, a newcomer to the town who arouses Sashe's suspicions, especially when his arrival coincides with the strange activity happening around town. Added to that is the drama of the Soviet scientist whose former efforts bring more danger to the town.
I felt like all of these themes weren't overwhelming, and to me, they flowed naturally. I particularly loved Pearl and Sashe's relationship and bond, and when Pearl learns about the inheritance I was beyond curious and excited to see how the author developed side characters!
Overall, I definitely would recommend this book. Even if you aren't into mystery, I think that McQ has managed to create a new type of cozy adventure, blending mystery with thrill and history, along with friendship and small town ties. This is a story you won't want to miss!