Ricki James-Diaz gets the best present ever when her parents arrive in New Orleans for the holidays. Not only is it a chance to catch up, it’s also an opportunity to jog her mom Josepha’s memory about Ricki’s adoption. The details have always been shrouded in mystery. And Ricki understands why when she learns her mother was blackmailed for years, simply for not wanting to lose her precious daughter.
But digging into the past soon lands the James-Diaz clan in water hotter than a big pot of gumbo! When the woman who extorted Ricki’s mom is found dead at her home, Josepha becomes the primary suspect. Now Ricki has another murder to solve, and tracking down a killer in Crescent City is going to take a miracle.
Luckily, ‘tis the season! And Ricki has all the staff at the Bon Vee Culinary House Museum on hand to help. Can she prove her mother’s innocence and have the case wrapped up in time for Christmas?
TWO
Crescent City Christmas Chaos
Since Eugenia was possibly the last purist on the planet who refused to put up a single strand of Christmas lights before Thanksgiving, the day after turned into an all-hands-on deck day of decorating for the holidays instead of Black Friday. Ricki was grateful to landlady Kitty Kat for hosting her parents, freeing her up to turn Miss Vee’s Vintage Cookbook and Kitchenware into a must-shop holiday destination.
Olivia Felice, Eugenia’s granddaughter—which made her another of Ricki’s newly discovered cousins—blew into the shop through its mullioned glass French doors. Miss Vee’s was located in a lovely room formerly known as the nineteenth century mansion’s “Ladies Parlor.” Pale green damask covered its walls and ornate molding painted white encircled the room. A glistening chandelier dangled from an intricately carved ceiling medallion. The instant Ricki had stepped foot in the parlor it felt like the perfect home for a gift shop dedicated to sharing the culinary past with fans of all things vintage.
“Ugh, I’m so glad to be here and out of the school library. Can I tell you how much I hate finals?” Olivia accompanied the statement with an eye roll and flip of her thick, dirty blonde ponytail. A junior at Tulane majoring in Communication, she’d added a minor in Psychology, motivated by a recent misjudgment of someone’s character that had almost led to her death. She’d transitioned from intern to Ricki’s sole part-time employee and lifetime young friend as well as relative.
“I’m glad you’re here. I could use help decorating this.” Ricki motioned to an artificial Christmas tree that exceeded her petite height by a foot. “I think I’ve bought up food-themed ornaments at every thrift shop in town. I thought we could fill in with smaller kitchenware items like these old measuring spoons.” She held up a set of nesting tin spoons. “Every item on the tree will be for sale, so I’m going with white lights. Colored lights would be too busy.”
“I’m on it.” Olivia reached into one of two big boxes loaded with holiday paraphernalia. She pulled out a long strand of tiny white lights. “And no, I haven’t heard anything from a krewe.”
“I was afraid to ask.”
While Ricki was born in the Big Easy, she’d moved to Los Angeles as a child when Josepha met and married Luis. She was still learning the ways of the quirky city she now called home. Olivia had educated her on the machinations of krewes, the organizations responsible for the city’s elaborate Mardi Gras parades and balls. The krewes chose local young women, mostly debutantes, for their courts. While carnival season didn’t officially kick off until January 6th—Twelfth Night—invitations to join the courts were delivered much earlier via a “court call” paid to the future queen and maids by representatives of the krewe. New Orleans may celebrate the winter holidays in a big way, but to Ricki, the local greeting of “Happy Almost Mardi Gras!” made the city’s priorities clear.
Olivia threaded the lights through the tree’s branches. “I honestly don’t care if I get a court call or not. I might even say no if they ask me to be on one.”
“Liar,” Ricki teased.
A fierce squawking disrupted the conversation. Ricki and Olivia dropped what they were doing to peer outside the shop’s bay window, where they saw Bon Vee’s resident peacocks Gumbo and Jambalaya chasing co-worker Theo Charbonnet—Eugenia’s nephew and yet another cousin to Ricki—across the mansion’s verdant green side yard.
“You OK?” Ricki called to Theo.
“I read somewhere that the Victorians put stuffed peacocks on top of their trees instead of stars or angels,” he called back. “Think about it.”
He disappeared around the corner.
The women left the window and resumed decorating. “Have you noticed Cousin Theo’s been acting more weird than usual?” Olivia asked as she added a second strand of lights to the tree.
“I wouldn’t call it weird,” Ricki said. “More like he’s being squirrelly. Secretive. I think he’s up to something.”
“That’s a scary thought.”
Ricki nodded in agreement. While she and Theo had achieved a rapprochement, she still wasn’t sure she could completely trust him.
“So, your parents are really nice,” Olivia said, providing a change of subject.
“Oh, thanks. They’re the best. I’m so glad you got to meet them.”
“Are you going to do anything special while they’re here? Like, a swamp tour or something?”
Ricki, who was about to hang a ceramic beignet ornament, paused. “Actually . . . since Dad will be busy on the TV shoot, I thought Mom and I could work together and dig up clues about my bio mom.”
Ricki had been abandoned as an infant New Orleans’ infamous Charity Hospital, her teen mother disappearing after giving birth. She thanked the universe for Josepha, a NICU nurse who fell in love with the parentless baby and adopted her, parenting as a single mother until she met and fell in love with Luis, who happened to be in town working on a film.
Ricki adored her parents beyond belief, but questions about her past drove her to seek answers. So far, she’d learned that Genevieve Charbonnet had secretly given birth to a baby who would have been Ricki’s grandparent. Her friend Mordant, who’d added private investigator to a list of occupations that included haunted tour guide and Bon Vee handyman, had tracked down the father of Genevieve’s baby. Sadly, he’d died at the age of twenty-four of a rare heart condition.
Ricki resumed hanging ornaments. “Mordant hasn’t been able to come up with any leads since he discovered my great-grandfather’s grave. And I haven’t come across any new connections on my genealogy sites. I thought I’d drive Mom around to some of the places from when we lived here and see if anything jogs a memory that might be useful.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’m starving.”
Ricki grinned, amused by Olivia’s 180-degree turn to her own needs. “You keep decorating, I’ll get us a snack.”
She left the shop and headed down the mansion’s capacious center hallway. Cookie waved from the beautifully appointed living room, which she was showing off to a group of tourists. Bon Vee was currently low on both tour guides, who were paid part-timers, and docents who volunteered their time, so Cookie and other staff members had been drafted to lead tours.
Ricki gestured to her and Cookie detached from her group. “I’m making a run to the café. You want anything?”
“An iced coffee would be great. It’s on me.” Cookie reached into the phone pocket of her leggings and extracted a twenty. She gave it to Ricki. “Plenty more where this came from,” she said in a low voice. “This group’s a mix of Houston and Dallas-ites, or whatever you call ’em. We just started the tour and they’re already trying to out-tip each other to prove their city is better.”
“Nice.”
“I want to buy Nat the best Christmas present I can, so I need these groups to make it rain.” Cookie rubbed her thumb to her index and middle finger, indicating money. She was dating the neighbor next door to Bon Vee and determined to make him the future Mr. Cookie Yanover. “Any idea what you’re getting Virgil?”
“Not a clue,” Ricki said. “I better get to the café before it closes.”
Ricki continued down the hallway, embarrassed by her obvious change of subject and feeling guilty because she hadn’t even thought about getting Virgil a gift. It’s because our relationship is so new, she told herself, batting back the insecurity that led her to fear she and the handsome, successful chef weren’t destined to go the distance.
*
By the time Olivia reluctantly left a few hours later to continue studying for finals, Miss Vee’s was decorated to the point of kitschy. No shelf was left untouched by thrift shop Santas, nutcrackers, ornaments, and a variety of small artificial trees in materials ranging from silvery mylar to one made of oyster shells wired together as branches. Ricki’s favorites were the items that were Louisiana-themed, like the alligator nutcracker wearing a Santa hat, which claimed a space next to a ceramic ornament of Santa riding an alligator.
“You could put together a whole display of gator items.”
Ricki started, not realizing she had company. She turned to see Josepha. “Mom, hey.” The women hugged.
“I thought your dad might wanna have dinner, but he and Virgil still have a lot to go over. He’s taking a break, though.”
Josepha indicated the bay window. Ricki glanced out of it and saw Luis doing a series of choreographed movements in slow motion. “Dad’s still doing tai chi?”
“Yup. It relaxes him. And Lord knows that man could use some relaxing.” Josepha delivered this in a droll but affectionate tone. “Anyhoo, I thought me and my darlin’ daughter might go out for dinner.”
“A giant yes to that.” A thought occurred to Ricki. “I just want to make one stop on the way.”
Ricki locked up the shop and led her mother to the small staff lot where she parked her Prius. They followed Washington Avenue past lovely historic homes swathed in holiday lights and garlands, eventually reaching Claiborne Avenue, a much less scenic thoroughfare of dollar stores, gas stations, and fast-food restaurants. Ricki made a right on Tulane Avenue, followed by two more right turns that placed them in front of what was once Charity Hospital, rendered uninhabitable after Hurricane Katrina and now on the cusp of a new life as Tulane University’s new downtown medical school. Scaffolding covered the center of the massive twenty-story edifice, but even at the tail end of twilight much of the building’s 1930s structure was still evident and impressive despite years of decay.
Josepha stared out the car window, her expression unreadable. “Why are we here?”
“You haven’t been to New Orleans in so long. I thought maybe seeing Charity again might bring back memories.”
“About your bio mom.”
Ricki nodded. Josepha clasped her hand and held it tight as she continued to stare out the window. She and Luis had been nothing but supportive in Ricki’s quest for answers about her past but Ricki sensed her mother’s pain as she took in the abandoned monolith where she’d once pursued a career she loved.
The two were silent for several minutes. “I wish I could remember something that would help,” Josepha finally said in a husky voice. “All I keep seeing is your tiny body in the NICU and how my heart broke for you and how that turned into burning, all-consuming passion to be your mama.”
“Oooh . . .” Ricki fought back tears. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, baby girl.” Josepha gave Ricki’s hand another squeeze then released it. “I’m glad to see the old place and know it’s gonna be brought back to do good things in this city. Hey, we’re not too far from Mother’s restaurant here. I could go for one of their oyster po’boys.”
“Let’s do it,” Ricki said, knowing a change of subject when she heard one.
Ricki circled back to Tulane Avenue. As they drove, Josepha cheerfully recalled memories inspired by locations they passed. Ricki noted that none involved Charity or her experiences as a nurse. Ricki mused that perhaps it was too painful for Josepha to recall that time in her life. But another thought loomed larger: Josepha was hiding something.
And what she was hiding was tied to Ricki’s birth.
***
Excerpt from Crescent City Christmas Chaos by Ellen Byron. Copyright 2025 by Ellen Byron. Reproduced with permission from Ellen Byron. All rights reserved.
A native New Yorker, Byron is a graduate of Tulane University and lives in the Los Angeles area with her husband, daughter, and a rotating crew of rescue pups.
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