Текст книги "Plantation Shudders"

Автор книги: Ellen Byron

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Twenty

“His car’s gone, too,” Maggie said, panting after a sprint to the parking lot and back.

“I know he didn’t run away,” Lia insisted. “That’s not who he is.”

“Agh!” Maggie groaned in frustration. “Again, Lia, a week. Seven days. If I could multiply seven times twenty-four in my head, I’d tell you how many hours. Okay, now I have to do that just to prove I can.” She closed her eyes and did the math. “A hundred and sixty-eight hours. Not much time to ‘know who he is.’ I’m calling Bo.” She took out her cell and dialed the police station. “Hi, Artie, it’s Maggie Crozat. I need to talk to Bo, it’s urgent . . . Thanks.”

Maggie paced while a prerecorded message from the PPD warned her never to leave a purse in the car or her home unlocked. She let out another groan of frustration when the phone went to Bo’s voicemail. “Great, he’s away from his desk.” She tapped her foot impatiently until she could leave a message. “Hey, it’s me, Maggie. You need to put out an APB or whatever you call them to stop Kyle Bruner. I have really important information for you. Lia and I are on our way over now.”

Maggie ended the call. “Close up the stores and come with me,” she told her cousin. Lia nodded and quickly locked up Fais Dough Dough and then did the same to Bon Bon. She turned off the lights as the two women headed out of the store. “We’ll take my car,” Maggie said. “We can make tracks in it. Thank you, Grand-père Crozat, for springing for the V8 engine.”

The two women jumped into the Falcon, Maggie gunned its engine, and they sped off to the Pelican police station. She pulled into the only spot available, hoping that the handicapped would forgive her, and then ran into the building, followed closely by Lia. Artie was on duty again, only this time his food companion was a bag of pork rinds.

“We have to see Bo,” Maggie told him.

“Sorry, but he’s interrogating a person of interest,” Artie said. “I believe it’s the guy you’ve been hanging with, Lia.”

“Kyle?” Lia ran to the front door, threw it open, scanned the parking lot, and pointed to a vehicle. “There. That’s his car. He turned himself in without us.” She turned to Maggie. “I told you I knew him,” she said, with a note of triumph that she instantly retreated from. “Wait, no, he’s just made himself a suspect.”

Lia collapsed on a metal bench. Maggie sat down next to Lia and hugged her. “Kyle knew what he had to do and did it,” she said. “He came here on his own. That says something about his character.”

“The police don’t care about character. They just want a suspect, and right now, Kyle is the only one they have. He’s doomed.”

Maggie wished that she could argue her cousin’s point, but she couldn’t. Kyle was the PPD’s primary suspect, and Maggie blamed herself. If she’d never seen that picture, if she’d never confronted Kyle about it, she wouldn’t be sitting on a cold, hard bench comforting Lia as she was about to lose another love, this time to the brutal Louisiana penal system. “This is all my fault.”

“No it’s not. Kyle wanted to go to the police right away and share his connection with that woman, but I begged him not to. And now everything just looks worse because he withheld information. It’s my fault if he goes to jail.”

“If it makes you feel any better, there’s a real good chance you could go to jail with him,” a male voice said.

The women looked up to see Rufus Durand looming over them. Occasionally, Rufus transformed from a lazy sack of cow manure into a genuinely dark presence. This was one of those times. “You withheld evidence,” he told Lia, his tone hard and angry. “That’s a crime. A jailable crime.”

“There’s no such word as ‘jailable,’” Maggie blurted without thinking.

“Lock this one up for contempt,” Rufus told Artie, who looked confused.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said. “That just came out.”

“Cuff her,” Rufus ordered Artie, who shrugged and came around the entry desk, cuffs in hand.

“Oh, come on.” Maggie gave the officer a look. “Artie, really?”

“You wanna add resisting arrest to the charges?” Rufus asked.

Maggie knew by his tone that Rufus was serious. She shot him a venomous look and placed her hands behind her back. Just as Artie was about to slap handcuffs on her, Bo appeared from the hallway. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Your girlfriend here has been mouthing off to law enforcement,” Ru said.

“I’m not his girlfriend, and if I offended law enforcement in any way, I am truly sorry.” Keeping her apology generic and not specific to Rufus somehow made the whole nauseating business more bearable for Maggie. She could see in Bo’s eyes how much he despised his cousin and admired him for keeping his tone polite when he spoke.

“She apologized, Ru. You really want to waste your time on this? That’s giving her the power, man.”

Ru contemplated this new angle and then nodded curtly to Artie. “Let her go. But take this as a warning, Magnolia. You better show me and my boys respect every time you see us or you’ll be making your home in the cell next to Kyle Bruner.”

“He’s in jail?” Lia cried out.

“I’m sorry, Lia,” Bo said. “Between the strong circumstantial evidence and the fact that he has no alibi, we had enough to charge him with first-degree murder.”

Lia grew so pale that Maggie was afraid she might faint. “He needs a lawyer.”

“He has one. I recommended Quentin MacIlhoney. He’s on his way down from Baton Rouge. He’s one of the best in the state.”

“Hey, whose side are you on?” Rufus demanded.

“I’m on the side of what’s fair, Cousin. That’s it.”

“Can I see him?” Lia asked. “Please, even just for a minute?”

Bo shook his head. “Look, the most important thing he needs to do right now is to meet with his lawyer. Why don’t you two grab some coffee and come back in an hour? MacIlhoney should be here by then.”

Maggie held a hand out to Lia. “Coffee nuthin’. We’re going to Junie’s. Come on.”

Lia took Maggie’s hand and allowed her cousin to lead her out of the police station. The women climbed into the Falcon and drove to Junie’s.

“I was right,” Lia said, her voice dull. “The police are going to stop looking for other suspects and just lay this on Kyle.”

“I can’t argue with you. But what I can say is that they would really need to find some actual evidence to get him convicted of first-degree murder. And if he didn’t do it, there won’t be any.”

“‘If.’ You said ‘if.’ Even you think he might have done it.”

“You’re right. My bad. What we need to do is focus on other suspects. If you have faith in him, I do too. And he certainly scored points by turning himself in.”

*

Since it was Friday night, the New Orleans crowd had come upriver for a little local color, and it took longer than usual to find a parking space. Maggie and Lia walked into Junie’s just as Gaynell and the Gator Girls were ending a set, and they were jostled by a throng of people abandoning the dance floor for the bar. But when JJ saw them, he shooed away a too-cool-for-school city couple and claimed their stools for the women. JJ was clad in an elegant sleeveless black linen caftan over white slacks. But even with the ceiling fans going full blast, the place was sticky with heat, and JJ’s mascara dripped down from the corners of his eyes, giving him the look of a mournful clown.

“What can I get for my two favorite dollies?” he asked Maggie and Lia.

“Two Jim Beams, neat.”

JJ eyed them curiously. “It’s a hard liquor night, huh? Something must be up. Talk to me.”

Before either woman could say anything, Gaynell joined them at the bar. Her Zachary Richard concert T-shirt was so drenched with perspiration that she looked like she’d run through a sprinkler, but she had the afterglow that came with a great performance.

“Hey,” she greeted the others, who responded in kind.

“Dolly, I order you to stop being so good,” JJ mock-scolded Gaynell as he pulled her a beer from the tap. “I do not want to see you lured away from me to some hot club in New Orleans.” He turned to Maggie and Lia. “Now, back to you two.”

“Kyle . . .” Lia stopped, too emotional to continue.

“PPD arrested him for Beverly Clabber’s murder,” Maggie said, stepping in for her cousin. The others reacted with shock. “We’re sure he didn’t do it,” she continued, emphasizing the “we” for Lia’s sake, “but it turns out he did have an incriminating history with Mrs. Clabber.”

Maggie brought JJ and Gaynell up to speed on Kyle and then started listing other potential suspects. “Of anyone local, Gran’ really had the most reason to kill off Beverly/Francine, but Bo agreed that we can basically rule her out. The Georgia boys are up to something, but I haven’t figured out what yet. At first I thought there was something hinky about Suzy, but turns out she’s okay. But her fellow board member, Debbie Stern, is planning a coup d’ Cutie, so covering that up gives her a motive. Then there are the Butlers, who spend way too much time in their room for a couple on a vacation. Nobody has that much sex.”

“Except maybe a couple that’s hot for each other and is on vacation,” Gaynell said with an impish smile. Maggie snorted dismissively.

“Oooh, jealous much?” JJ teased her.

“Uh, noooo.” The others cast skeptical looks at Maggie, and she caved. “Okay, fine, a little. Anyway, back to suspects. There’s also whoever’s been digging for treasure. I’m sure it’s one of our guests, but which one I don’t know. Could be the Butlers, the Rykers, even the Georgia boys. If they did actually find something, covering that up gives them a motive.”

“Hmm,” JJ said as he dabbed his shiny forehead with a cocktail napkin. “First off, you need to find out what those college kids are doing and who’s diggin’ up the pea patch.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. I took over housekeeping to do some snooping, but it’s hard, because I actually do have to clean, which eats up a lot of time. Curse my parents for maintaining such a high standard.”

“I’ll help,” Gaynell volunteered, much to Maggie’s surprise.

“Really?”

“Sure. It’ll make cleaning and snooping go faster.”

“If you’re sure . . .”

“I am. I used to help my Gran’ clean the Cavalier Motel off I-10, so I pretty much know the drill.”

“That makes one of us,” Maggie smiled at Gaynell. “Okay then, thanks.”

Lia checked her phone. “It’s been almost an hour. We should go back. Hopefully the lawyer has gotten there by now.”

After confirming a meeting time with Gaynell and arguing with JJ, who refused to accept money for their drinks, Maggie and Lia drove back to the police station. There was a new car in the parking lot—a bright purple Bentley with a vanity plate that read, “LWYR UP.”

“I’m guessing Quentin MacIlhoney’s here,” Maggie said as she eyed the car. “He must be pretty good at his job if he can afford this.”

“Maggie . . .” Lia said, then hesitated. Maggie put a comforting hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “Can I see the picture again?”

“Sure.”

Maggie reached into her grocery bag and pulled out the photo. She handed it to Lia, who stared at it for a moment. There was no gray in Kyle’s hair, no sadness in his smile. Sarah, his new bride, had her arm entwined with his and leaned against him slightly, a lock of curled red hair resting on his shoulders.

“She was beautiful,” Lia finally said.

Maggie gently extricated the picture from Lia’s hands and placed it back in the bag. “Let’s go inside,” she said softly. “Kyle needs you.”

As they walked into the station, they were greeted by an unexpected sound—roars of laughter. A middle-aged man in pressed designer jeans and a yellow sport coat was in the middle of telling a story to a small circle of officers. He was trim and of average height with white hair and a beard that made him look like Father Christmas after a weight-loss program. His sockless feet were clad in soft, expensive-looking Italian loafers, and a top-of-the-line Rolex watch peeked out from under the French cuffs of what looked to Maggie like a bespoke cotton shirt. His gold cufflinks glittered under the florescent lights of the police station lobby, as did a medallion shaped like a Mardi Gras coin that rested on a bed of white chest hairs made visible by the fact that he left open the three top buttons of his shirt.

“So the guy says to his lawyer, ‘Lady, that’s not what I meant by ‘get me off,’ but I sure do appreciate it,” the man said to another round of laughter from the officers.

Lia stepped forward tentatively. “Excuse me, are you Mr. MacIlhoney?”

“It’s Mac, honey, which answers your question. You must be my client’s beloved.” Quentin “Mac” MacIlhoney gave Lia’s hand a hard shake. He turned to Maggie. “And you are?”

“Maggie Crozat, Lia’s cousin. My family owns Crozat, where the murder happened, and none of us believe for a minute that Kyle did it.”

“Neither do I, dear,” Mac said, then gestured to the officers. “We just have to convince these doubters here.”

“And a judge and a jury,” Artie Belloise, who was food-free for a change, retorted.

“A hundred bucks says it don’t even get that far.” Mac pulled a bill out of his blazer breast pocket—a hundred dollar bill. “Tell you what: none of you even have to put up the money.” Quentin brandished the bill and the officers gaped, as did Maggie. “I lose, this goes to your Boys and Girls Club, along with a crawfish boil on me. If I win . . .” Mac took a sharp pencil out of the same pocket, stuck the bill on it, and then flung the pencil and money up to the ceiling, where it lodged in a soft acoustic tile. “I take back my bill. Deal, boys?”

Impressed, the cops nodded. Mac walked to the door and held it open for Lia and Maggie. “Ladies, if you will,” he said with a gallant wave. As they left, he winked at Pelican’s men in blue and then followed the women out the door. The minute they cleared the officers’ eye line, Mac’s demeanor changed. “Your boyfriend is in some serious trouble,” he said to Lia tersely. Even the timbre of his voice was different—low and rough. “There are no other viable suspects and enough circumstantial evidence for the DA to build a case. I’ll talk to the judge first thing in the morning about posting bail, but around here, it’s a tough sell on a murder one charge.”

Lia, shocked into silence, simply nodded. But Maggie had to know. “Mr. MacIlhoney—Mac—what was all that?” she said as she gestured toward the police station.

“Law enforcement sees defense attorneys as the enemy,” Mac took out a key fob with the initial M emblazoned in what Maggie swore were real diamonds. “If I break the ice, pal around with them, it levels the playing field a little. Creates a friendlier atmosphere.” Mac pressed the fob and his door unlocked. “And believe me, if your boyfriend wants to beat a possible death sentence, he’s gonna need a lot of friends.”

Mac got into his car, which started so silently Maggie wasn’t sure it was actually on. She and Lia jumped when the car accelerated and pulled out onto the highway with a roar. As Quentin “Mac” MacIlhoney drove away, green-and-gold tracer lights around his vanity plate flashed in the night.

Chapter Twenty-One

Maggie offered to spend the night at Lia’s or have Lia stay over at Crozat. She was worried about her cousin being alone after experiencing one of the worst days of her life. Lia thanked her but said that she’d be okay. “Please don’t worry about me. Between what all’s going on at Crozat and your mom being sick, you’ve got enough to deal with. What you can do, though, is come up with other suspects that even Rufus Durand can’t ignore.”

“I will, I swear.”

But Maggie wasn’t as confident as she pretended to be, and she had a restless night. There was no evening break from the heat, and when she wasn’t having nightmares about Crozat guests dying in horribly gory ways, she was awake listening to the buzz of mosquitoes trying to find an opening in the net around her bed.

She forced herself to get out of bed at six and called her dad before she prepared breakfast for the guests. “The doctors knocked down your mom’s fever, so that’s the good news,” Tug reported. “But the first test they ran was inconclusive, so they want to run a couple more.”

“What kind of tests are these, Dad?”

“Who can remember all those medical names? I’m hoping to be home this afternoon. I’ll let you know for sure later.” Tug ended the call before Maggie could protest. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to talk specifics about the tests. Maybe, she thought, it’s too painful for him.

Given how preoccupied she was, Maggie’s ability to pull together a decent breakfast surprised her. Gran’ roused herself early to help out, and the two set out bowls of scrambled eggs, plates of sausage and bacon, and a basket of rolls that Maggie hoped no one would recognize as leftovers from the previous night’s dinner.

“I am tired like I done a big ironing,” Gran’ yawned as she untied her apron. “There’s a reason your dad only trots me out to entertain the visiting troops. He knows what I’ve refused to admit until now: I’m too old to do actual work.”

“You’ve been incredible, Gran’. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m outta here, as the kids say.” Gran’ tossed her apron over her shoulder and left the kitchen for the shotgun. Maggie popped a roll in her mouth and chased it with a cup of strong chicory coffee. She was worn down to the point where it would take everything short of speed to keep her going.

As promised, Gaynell showed up at Crozat promptly at 8 a.m. dressed to scrub. “Put me to work,” she told Maggie. Unfortunately, it was the one day when Crozat’s guests seemed primed to laze around the property rather than sight-see, so access to their rooms was nil. Then Maggie had an idea.

“I haven’t been able to check out anyone’s cars without looking nosy or suspicious,” she said. “What if we surprise them all with a free car wash? We’ll say that washing off the dirt and dead bugs is Crozat’s little gift to them. We won’t be able to get into the cars right away, but it gives us a way to look in the windows and see if there’s anything interesting.”

“I like it,” Gaynell said. “After we surprise them with the outside, we can ask if they want us to clean the inside too. If someone says no, it may mean they have something to hide.”

Maggie and Gaynell dragged buckets, rags, sponges, car wash detergent, and a hose to the gravel lot where guests parked. They filled the buckets and added soap and then hosed down the first car, which was the Cuties’ minivan. The two each took a sponge and a side of the car, and as they washed, peered into the windows. They saw nothing besides the usual tourist ephemera of maps and brochures. The same held true for the Butlers’ rented sedan. The inside of the Georgia boys’ truck, much like their room, resembled the inside of a trashcan. The floor was inches deep in fast food wrappers, and the stench from rotting food leaked through the closed windows.

“I’m actually hoping that these guys don’t want us to clean inside here,” Gaynell muttered, turning her face away from the stink.

“I know. But I’d like to dig up a little more info on whatever it is they’re doing.”

Maggie and Gaynell dried off the truck with rags and moved on to the Rykers’ rented SUV. The car floor, like the others, was littered with travel detritus, including receipts and a few toys. As Maggie washed the back window, she noticed a blanket in the storage well of the car. “Hmm. Now why would you need a blanket at summer’s end in Louisiana?”

Gaynell stopped washing to ponder the question. “If you had valuables in the car, you could use the blanket to cover them up. Or—”

“Or you use the blanket to hide something. Like maybe a metal detector.” Maggie pointed to what looked a small steering wheel poking out from under the blanket. “I did enough treasure hunting as a kid to know one when I see it. Looks like we found our diggers. Too bad. They seemed like a nice family. But sneaking around property looking for something you don’t plan on sharing with the owners isn’t very nice, is it?”

“No, it is not. Well, we know who won’t want us cleaning the inside of their car. Are you gonna bust them?”

“Nope. Not yet. Although this does add them to the suspect list. If Beverly somehow found out they were scavenging for Lafitte’s treasure, Carrie or Lachlan might have wanted to shut her up.”

“Ugh.” Gaynell shuddered. “That would make them superterrible parents.”

“Even without that, they won’t win any parenting awards. They’re either lying to their kids about what they’re doing or making their kids lie to us.”

The women finished cleaning the Rykers’ car and corralled the cleaning supplies. They stopped at the Crozat laundry facility, threw all the rags into the washing machine, and then walked into the dining room where the guests were finishing the breakfast Maggie had made for them. “’Morning,” she said. “This is my good friend, Gaynell. We wanted to let you know that as a special thank-you for your patience during this awful time, the two of us washed all your cars.”

There was a smattering of applause and appreciative comments. Maggie noticed Carrie and Lachlan Ryker exchange a nervous look and then plaster on smiles.

“And we’d be happy to clean inside the cars of anyone who’s interested,” she continued. There was a chorus of enthusiastic “yes,” “sure,” and “thanks.” Gaynell didn’t look too happy when the Georgia boys signed on for the cleaning. As predicted, only the Rykers demurred.

“That’s so sweet of you,” Carrie said. “But we’re going to have our kids clean our car.”

“Right,” Lachlan said. “We believe chores give them a sense of responsibility. In fact, I think it’s time to take this lesson a little further and have them clean up our room as well.”

The Ryker kids groaned and Carrie shushed them. “Your father’s right, and I don’t want to hear a single argument from you three.” She addressed Maggie. “So you can take our room off your agenda today, thanks so much.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Jan honked in her thick Noo Yawk accent. “Parents setting their kids right.”

Maggie clenched her teeth to keep from blurting out, “If you only knew.” Instead she flashed her best hostess smile. “I’m sure you all have fun things planned”—Hint, hint, she thought, clear out, everyone, so we can get into your rooms—“so whenever you get back or when it’s convenient for you, we’ll finish our complimentary car washes.”

This engendered chatter about the day’s activities. The Georgia boys were meeting up with friends at LSU, while the Rykers were going to Bataria Preserve. “Pirates used to live there,” Sam said, excited.

“We’re not going because of that, we’re going to do a swamp walk,” Lachlan said a little too quickly.

The Cuties had scheduled a visit to the Jungle Gardens at Avery Island, but Debbie begged off. “I think I’m going to take it easy today. Maybe get a ride into town and do some souvenir shopping.”

“Have fun,” Jan said as she hugged her. “Do what you need to take care of yourself so we don’t have to worry about you.”

Maggie wanted to yell, “Worry, Jan, worry!” But once again, she forced herself to be quiet. Revealing what she knew about Debbie’s plans would out her as a snoop.

“We’re going into town,” Shane offered. “Why don’t you come with us?”

Debbie thanked the Butlers and agreed to take them up on the offer. The guests gradually made their way out of the dining room, and Gaynell helped Maggie clear the tables, ignoring protestations that she really didn’t need to. “Now for the fun part,” Maggie said. “Housekeeping.” The two headed off to the supply closet and rolled out the heavy cart.

*

The morning flew by as double the workers cut the cleaning time in half. Rather than split up and take separate rooms, Maggie and Gaynell worked together. They quickly finished the Cuties’ rooms, finding nothing that would solidify a case against Debbie or incriminate another one of them. They emptied each Cutie’s trash into the large bag attached to the housekeeping cart and then pushed it past the Rykers’ suite. Maggie stopped in front of their door and contemplated ignoring Carrie and Lachlan’s instructions not to clean it.

“We could say we forgot,” she told Gaynell, who shook her head no.

“Sounds lame,” Gaynell said. “They’ll suspect something, and if there’s anything to remotely show they were involved in Beverly’s death, you’ll never have a chance to find it.”

“You’re right,” Maggie said. She wheeled the cart toward the Georgia boys’ room and parked it. “How long can you hold your breath?” she asked Gaynell.

“Not very.”

“That’s about to be a major problem for you.”

Maggie opened the door and the scent that wafted out actually forced Gaynell back a few steps. “Lordy May!” Gaynell exclaimed as she reeled. “Are you sure Beverly’s body isn’t actually in there?”

“Yes. But you know what’s super scary? I’m getting used to the smell.”

The women pushed the cart into the room and powered through the cleaning process. “Hey, this is interesting,” Gaynell said, holding up a bright blue T-shirt emblazoned with Greek letters that she’d found under a pile of candy bar wrappers. “Your Georgia boys are Pi Pis.”

“Say what now?”

“Pi Pi Iota. It’s a Southern fraternity. So Southern that it was supposedly founded by some KKK members. There are only a few chapters left. A lot were kicked off college campuses because of some hardcore hazing practices. I know about them because they rushed my brother and he said, ‘No thank you.’”

“Really? There has to be a tie-in to what I found.” She told Gaynell about the brochure for Confederate uniforms and the “slave” scribbles.

“I’ll check with my brother and see what he knows about the Pi Pis,” Gaynell said. “He’s a Navy lieutenant and his ship is deployed to the Black Sea, so it may take a few days to hear back.”

“Thanks. Not to lay on any pressure, but the sooner, the better. I hate to think of poor Kyle stuck in some awful jail cell.”

“Do you know if he was able to post bail?”

Maggie shook her head somberly. “Lia hasn’t called me, which isn’t good. The lawyer didn’t sound too optimistic.”

The women finished their tasks and moved on to the Butlers’ room. Emily and Shane were among the neater of the Crozat guests, so cleaning the place was comparatively easy.

“Anything?” Maggie asked as Gaynell gathered some loose scraps of papers off the floor.

“Just doodles. Take a look and see if they mean something.”

Gaynell handed the papers to Maggie, who examined them carefully. “Lots of square boxes—that is such a guy thing—a cartoony-looking face on a knight with a shield,” she said. “You’re right, just doodles. Not bad, though. I like the detail on the shield. Whoever drew this isn’t much of a visual artist, but they have a talent for animation.” Maggie thought for a moment. “I wonder if the knight is from a statue or suit of armor from Emily’s home? I did a little research on the Butlers and she comes from one of those WASPy New England families that goes back to the Magna Carta or something. They’re ‘Brahmins’—you know, Boston high society.”

“You mean, like the Crozats are Pelican high society?” Gaynell teased.

Maggie gestured to her sweaty tank top and stained jeans. “Hello, have you smelled me lately?”

Gaynell laughed. “You, lady, are Louisiana royalty on both sides of the family and even a little BO won’t let you escape that.”

Maggie rolled her eyes and tossed the paper scraps into the bathroom trash bin that Gaynell had carried into the bedroom. As Gaynell emptied the trash, something wrapped in tissue fell out of the bottom of the bin and rattled onto the floor. Maggie bent down to pick it up.

“This is interesting,” she said as she unwrapped the tissue. She held up a pregnancy stick.

“Wow. Is it positive?”

Maggie checked. “No.”

“Too bad, they’re obviously trying.” Gaynell made a face. “I feel skeevy now. Like we’re getting in people’s personal business.”

“I know.” Maggie carefully rewrapped the stick with the piece of tissue and placed it in the large garbage bag. “It’s a little weird, though. This was hidden on the bottom of the bin, all covered up. It’s like Emily didn’t want Shane to know about it.”

“Huh.” Gaynell considered this. “Maybe she didn’t want to disappoint him. She could be waiting until she has good news to share.”

“That’s true. Or . . .”

“Or?”

“Maybe she had an affair and is terrified she’s pregnant by another man, and Mrs. Clabber found out and was going to tell Shane, so Emily killed her.”

Gaynell burst out laughing. “Okay, now we’ve gone from snooping to telenovelas.”

“I know. I clearly need a break. Let’s roll this baby out of here. This was the last room, so we’re done.”

“Except for the inside car cleaning,” Gaynell reminded her.

Maggie groaned. “Oh, I really, really hope no one takes us up on that today.”

The women put away the cart, and Maggie insisted on fixing Gaynell a bite. It was early afternoon and guests were already trickling back. They passed the Georgia boys, and by their loud voices and slight staggers, Maggie assumed they’d enjoyed a liquid lunch. Jan pulled the Cutie van into the parking lot and called to them. “Have you seen Debbie? We bought her some hot sauce.”

Maggie and Gaynell shook their heads no and continued into Crozat’s kitchen, where Gran’ was enjoying a turkey sandwich and a Brandy Milk Punch. Maggie introduced the two women.

“You’re Undine Bourgeois’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” Gran’ said as she scrutinized Gaynell. “You’re even prettier than your grandmama. I want you to know that she and her mama always carried themselves with an innate grace. You can be proud of your ancestors.” Since Gaynell’s ancestors were fisherman and farmers, not plantation owners, this put them on a low rung of Pelican’s dated but still very much alive social ladder.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Gaynell said, more politely than she needed to, thought Maggie, who, much as she loved Gran’, found the compliment condescending. She hated to admit it, but Gaynell was right. Even in the twenty-first century, it was hard to escape from the class system that had ruled Louisiana for so long.

“Look who’s home.”

Tug walked into the kitchen, followed by Ninette, who was instantly enveloped in a hug by her daughter. “Mom, we were so worried about you.”