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Please join me in welcoming Suzanne Stauffer to Salty Inspirations! Suzanne is sharing a character guest post from French Toast a la Santa Fe, featuring Flora Culp, who has plenty to say about the people she meets along the way. There’s a book excerpt waiting for you below the post, too!
A Character Guest Post
Howdy! I’m Flora Culp, a manicurist from Kansas City. Some people say I’m a flapper, others say I’m a good-time girl. I just know, ya’ only live once, so why not enjoy it? I’m in the book French Toast a la Santa Fe by Suzanne Stauffer. She asked me to say a little somethin’ about the characters in the book. I spent three days – and nights! – with ‘em, so ya’ can bet I know a few things about ‘em and I don’t mind sharin’. She’s crampin’ my style, though, because she said “No spoilers!” What fun is that? But, I’ll play fair. No one can say I’m not a good sport.
So, there I was, nursin’ a hangover (there’s a great little speakeasy in Las Vegas, if yer ever there. It’s at the Meadows Hotel) and I get on the bus and get my first view of the ten people I’ll be spendin’ the next three days with. Let me tell ya’, I almost got right back off!
What do I see but a very married middle-aged couple in the back? Frank (I learned their names later) lookin’ like someone’s idea of a the mayor of a country town, with his paunch and his self-satisfied smirk and Dessie sittin’ next to him, the perfect motherly type, all smiles and ruffles. Nothin’ of interest for me there!
In front a’ them, two more women the same age. My guess was they were all three sisters. They kinda’ looked alike. Turned out I was right. Philly looked all sweet and serene– which she was – and Dilly, all in black, with a sour puss that would make a pickle pucker. I can’t see us gettin’ together to cut a rug and toss back some giggle water at some juice joint.
In front a’ them, the two Rubinstein girls. Well, I guessed that they were sisters from their looks and their clothes and learned their names later and that they were from Chicago. Chicago. I go there every chance I get. It’s just a short hop from Kansas City. It’s full of speakeasies and jazz clubs and sheiks who can really show a girl a good time. I’ve spent some weekends I’ll never forget in Chicago … but I’m supposed to be talkin’ about the Detourists. Who was next?
Oh, yes, the German birds, dressed like college boys in their button-up shirts and pullover sweaters, which it turned out they were. They had possibilities, but were kind a’ on the young side. When I looked closer, I had a suspicion that they weren’t my type and I wasn’t theirs. Well, it takes all kinds.
And in front a’ them, a dowdy spinster type in last year’s clothes, lookin’ like she wouldn’t say “Boo” to a goose, and next to her, Prudence playin’ cowgirl in her jeans and her plaid shirt and that little hat. Haha! Didn’t look like I’d even have a girlfriend to go to the speakeasy with. Course, I learned different later. My grandma always told me not to judge a book by it’s cover, not that she read all that much, ‘cept the Bible. It’s kinda’ appropriate, what with Prudence bein’ a librarian and all.
Then there was Marcie, the, whaddaya’ call ‘em? The guide – no – oh, that’s right – the Courier. Her velvet blouse looked plenty hot, and the silver and turquoise jewelry she was wearin’ must a’ weighed a coupla’ pounds. Give me costume any day! It looks as good as the real stuff, but doesn’t weigh nothin’, and ya’ don’t have to worry ‘bout losin’ it or it bein’ stolen. I will say she sure looked all calm and competent. I could tell from the first that we were in good hands.
Speakin’ a’ hands – that brings us to our driver, Tom. He had a real nice pair a’ hands. Now, he’s just the kind a’ guy I go for. The strong, silent type. A real manly man, if ya’ know what I mean. But, at our first cigarette break, he gave me to know that we Detourists – he called us “dudes” – were off-limits, so I had to be satisfied with just lookin’, not touchin’.
Suzanne didn’t ask me to say anything about Bob and Javier, but she didn’t say not to. They didn’t show up until about halfway into the trip, but when they did, things started hoppin’. That Bob, there’s somethin’ about him that tickles my fancy. I get the feelin’ that deep down, or maybe not so deep, he’s really somethin’ of a bad boy himself. When he lets loose – well, a girl forgets all about him bein’ a prohibition agent. Javier, he’s easy on the eyes, and he’s sweet and
real earnest and not my type at all. Him and Prudence would make a good couple, if ya’ ask me.
So, that about does it. Now ya’ know who I spent three days with goin’ from Las Vegas to Albuquerque, stoppin’ at Indian ruins and Indian pueblos and stayin’ at top-a’-the-line hotels and eatin’ in fancy restaurants. If a friend a’ mine wasn’t springin’ for the trip, I couldn’t afford it.
Buy French Toast a la Santa Fe if you wanna’ know more about ‘em. You can also subscribe to Suzanne’s newsletter on Substack, Amuse-Bouche (https://smstauffer.substack.com/) for prequels and sequels and other short stories.
French Toast a la Santa Fe by Suzanne StaufferAbout French Toast a la Santa Fe
French Toast a la Santa Fe
Historical Culinary Cozy Mystery
2nd in the Series
Setting – New Mexico
Publisher : Artemesia Publishing, LLC
Publication date : October 13, 2026
Print length : 230 pages
Paperback
ISBN-10 : 1963832612
ISBN-13 : 978-1963832617
Digital Info Coming Soon
In 1929 New Mexico, Prudence Bates joins ten other Detourists, their Courier, and driver, on the three-day Fred Harvey Indian Detour from Las Vegas through Santa Fe and to Albuquerque.
During the trip small, valuable items belonging to the Detourists begin disappearing, and a retired Australian school teacher falls into a kiva. Or was she pushed? Prudence begins to suspect that someone is trying to kill her fellow traveler and wonders where the flapper from Kansas City disappears to at every stop. Or is La Llorona haunting the Detour? And what secrets are the two German men hiding? Prudence is determined to solve the mysteries and uncover the truth.
About Suzanne Stauffer
After 20 years as a librarian and 20 as a professor of library science and library historian, Suzanne Stauffer has moved on to a third career as a mystery novelist. She currently lives in Albuquerque with her Australian husband and brown and white spotted rat terrier dogter, Treme. Her debut novel, Fried Chicken Castañeda (Artemesia Publishing, May 2025), won the CIPA EVVY Bronze Medal in Mystery/Crime/Detection and the New Mexico Book Award for Cozy Mystery.
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Excerpt
June 1929. Hotel Castañeda, Las Vegas, New Mexico
“Mornin’, Clara,” the tall, lean man in the deputy sheriff’s uniform greeted the young woman behind the reception desk. His cowboy hat was tipped back on his head and he leaned casually on the counter.
“Good morning, Jim,” she responded, smiling. “And to you, as well, Mr. Simmons.”
“Good morning, Miss Morgan,” replied the young man in the grey suit, as he tipped his grey fedora.
“I forgot you’d know Bob,” Jim said.
“He’s been staying with us for the past several days,” Clara reminded him.
“Well, then you know he’s with the Bureau of Prohibition.”
Clara nodded. “Yes, I read about that in the Optic.” She looked at Bob. “That was quite a coup, arresting that gang of bootleggers.”
Bob grinned. “Just doin’ my job.” He winked at Jim. “With a little help from my friends.”
“So, how can I help you gentlemen?”
Bob laid a sheet of paper on the desk. “Do you recognize any of the names on this list?”
Clara wrinkled her brow as she perused it. She stopped at one name and glanced at Jim, then continued reading. “No, just this one, Prudence Bates.” She looked at Bob. “She was staying here for the past week, but she left this morning on one of the three-day Indian Detours.”
“Any idea where they’re headed?”
Clara reached over and picked up a folded brochure from a stack on the desk. “I know
they are spending tonight in Santa Fe. I think they stop at the Apache Inn for lunch and the Pecos ruins after that. This brochure has the complete itinerary.”
Bob glanced through the leaflet and nodded. “Thanks. This is helpful. Now, back to the names on the list. We have reason to believe that some of them were guests at the hotel last night. Mind checking? And which rooms.” He didn’t make it a question.
Clara looked at Jim. He nodded.
“It’s official business,” he confirmed.
“All right,” Clara said slowly. She turned the registration book around to face her, then began writing numbers next to some of the names on the list. “These are the room numbers of the people who stayed here last night. It looks like they all came in on the 10:10, except for Prudence,” she said, at last, handing the paper back to Bob. “She came in last week, as you probably know.”
“Have the maids cleaned the rooms yet?”
She shook her head. “They don’t start until noon, after the last guest checks out.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. We’d like to search the rooms they occupied last night, if you don’t mind.” He didn’t make it a request. “You can just give us the keys to the rooms. No need to leave your work.”
Clara wrinkled her brow again and glanced at Jim, but didn’t say anything.
“Official business,” he repeated.
She reached under the desk and pulled out a key. She paused, then handed it to Jim. “That’s a master key. I’m making you responsible for it, Deputy Sheriff.” She smiled to soften the statement.
“You know you can trust me,” Jim said, grinning back. He turned to Bob. “Let’s go.”
“When we’re finished searching the rooms,” Bob said to Clara, “we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly. I’ll be here.”
Bob saluted with two fingers to his forehead, then he and Jim headed up the stairs. Clara slowly polished the shining countertop as she strained to hear their sotto voce conversation until they were completely out of earshot.
When the men returned an hour later, Clara was sitting on a stool at the desk, reading a large, thick book. She quickly closed it and looked up at them.
“Looks like one of my old college textbooks,” Bob chuckled.
Clara nodded. “I’m studying teaching at the Normal University here. The manager doesn’t mind if I do a little reading when it’s quiet. Did you find what you were looking for?”
Jim handed Clara the master key and ignored her question. “I’ll be getting back to the station. Bob here has a couple of questions for you. It’s all official business,” he reiterated. He turned to Bob. “Stop by the station when you’re finished. We’ll grab some lunch and you can fill me in.”
“You got it, Chief,” Bob said, saluting with two fingers. Jim laughed as he walked away. Bob watched Jim leave the lobby, then turned back to Clara. He placed the list on the counter in front of her.
“You might have gathered that this is a list of people who left here this morning on an Indian Detour.”
Clara nodded. “I assumed they must be, since the ones who stayed here only stayed the one night. I’m guessing the others came in on this morning’s train.”
“You guess right,” Bob grinned. “What time did they leave on their Detour?”
“About nine o’clock, more or less,” Clara answered. “One of the passengers was late, but the other cars left on time.”
Bob consulted his watch. “So, about two hours ago. Any idea how many cars?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t paying too much attention. A couple of cars, I think. At least two, maybe three, of the buses. They hold eleven passengers each,” she added before he could ask. “And, yes, the lobby was crowded.”
“Any idea who went in which car — or bus?”
“No, I don’t have that information. The Couriers take care of all of that. You’d have to check with the office at the La Fonda in Santa Fe. We just give them a bed for the night, if they come in on the night train, and breakfast in the morning.”
“Pretty decent breakfast, I have to say,” Bob smiled. “Would you say that you know anything about any of the people on this list, other than Prudence Bates?” He grinned.
“No,” Clara shook her head. “They either arrived on the Navajo at 10:10 last night, after my shift was over, or they came in on the California Limited at 6:50 this morning.” She paused and quirked a smile. “I do remember one woman very upset about not being able to take all of her luggage on the HarveyCar. Her husband tried to bribe the porter.”
“And?” Bob asked.
“He wasn’t successful. There simply isn’t room for that kind of baggage. She had to transfer her jewel case to her valise.”
“Anything else unusual?”
“Oh, that isn’t unusual. There’s always at least one.” She paused and pursed her lips. “No, not that I can think of. They seemed to be the usual mix of middle-aged retired
couples, college students on summer vacation, and foreign tourists.”
Bob raised his eyebrows. “Foreigners?”
“Yes,” Clara nodded. “I definitely heard some people speaking French — I took a couple of years in high school — and, I think, German. Spanish, of course, but whether they were foreigners, I can’t say.” She wrinkled her brow again. “And a few English accents. Martha—“
“The Harvey Girl waitress here?”
“Yes, she told me that one of the women asked for tea, rather than coffee. That isn’t so unusual, but Martha thought she sounded English.”
“Hmmm. Tell me about this passenger who was late.”
Clara laughed. “Oh, she came charging down the stairs about five minutes after nine, still in the clothes she’d worn the night before, lugging her valise with her. Practically threw her key on the desk. She looked as if she had quite a night last night.”
“Sounds like my kinda’ gal,” Bob laughed. “I’d love to meet her. Any idea what her name might be?”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize her and I didn’t pay any attention to the room number on the key.”
“She left without paying her bill?”
“No, the Detour is paid in advance.”
“Well, that’s all my questions. Thanks for being so helpful.”
“Do you mind if I ask what this is about?”
Bob shook his head. “You can ask, but — as Jim would say, official business.”
“Can you at least tell me whether Prudence is in danger?”
“I wouldn’t like to think so, but it depends on who else is in that HarveyCar with her.” He grimaced for a moment, then grinned, patted the desk, and saluted. “Thanks again, doll!”
He stepped jauntily through the lobby. Clara watched him walk down the street in the direction of the sheriff’s office. She wrinkled her brow, pursed her lips, and shook her head slightly, then opened her textbook and started to read.
***
“Hi, honey. Ready to go?” John asked. Clara nodded.
“I’ll be off now, Dan,” she said to the man behind the desk.
“You kids have a good evening,” he replied.
“Thank you.”
John put his arm around Clara’s shoulders as they left the hotel and she slipped her arm around his waist. “Have a good day?” He asked.
“Mmn-hmm,” she nodded.
“Where do you want to get dinner?”
“Oh, let’s just go to my place. I’ll rustle something up, even if it’s just scrambled eggs. I wanted to talk to you about something strange that happened today.”
“Hmm?”
“Bob Simmons, that prohibition agent, remember him?”
“Yeah.”
“He and Jim searched the rooms of the Detourists who stayed with us last night. ”
“That is strange. Any idea why?”
“They wouldn’t tell say. I tried to listen in on their conversation, but I could only
catch a couple of words. John, Prudence’s was one of the rooms they searched.” She looked up at him, concern on her face.
“Really?” He shook his head. “I wonder why. She can’t be mixed up with anything illegal. Not Prudence.”
“I wonder if it has anything to do with the bootlegging gang that Simmons arrested.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Our Prudence? A gangster’s moll?”
“No, silly,” Clara laughed. “She’s hardly the type. Besides, you know her heart belongs to that Navajo school teacher. But, Simmons is a prohibition agent, and you know that he was here investigating bootlegging.”
“That’s true,” John agreed, “but Prudence wasn’t involved with any of that.”
“Not that we know of, but the newspaper did say that there was an unnamed ‘undercover agent.’”
“And you think that might have been Prudence? Her story about coming out here to be a Courier for the Indian Detours was just a cover? Seems like a pretty elaborate ruse. And if that were the case, why would Simmons be searching her room?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” Clara exclaimed. “It does sound unlikely when you put it that way. But what else could it be?”
John slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. As you say, Simmons is a prohis, so bootlegging seems reasonable, but, Prudence as an undercover agent?” He frowned. “If she is one, she’s a good one, because no one would ever guess she’s anything but a former librarian.”
“I thought I heard Simmons say something about ‘pot smuggling.’ Could it be to do with marijuana?”
John laughed loudly. “Prudence is even less likely to be messed up with bootleg dope, honey! Not that someone else on the Detour might not be, but not Prudence. She doesn’t even smoke legal cigarettes.”
“Well, whatever it is,” Clara said, as they approached the steps to her house, “I hope she’s not in danger.”
“So do I, honey, so do I,” John said as he held the door open for Clara to pass through.
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Thank you to Suzanne Stauffer for joining me on Salty Inspirations and sharing Flora Culp’s character guest post. If French Toast a la Santa Fe sounds like a book you’d enjoy, consider adding it to your TBR list.
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As always, thanks for stopping by for some Salty Inspirations! —Michelle❤️
