Текст книги "Plantation Shudders"

Автор книги: Ellen Byron

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Epilogue

The new week brought game-changing developments to Pelican. Ears all over town bled from the scream Vanessa Fleer let out when Rufus caved to her nagging and said, “Fine, I’ll put a ring on it. Now shut up and lemme clean my gun.” A proposal was a proposal in Vanessa’s book, so its lack of romance didn’t bother her, especially when she learned that her fiancé would soon be up to his bushy eyebrows in cash. The Durand family had finally received an offer on Grove Hall that even Rufus couldn’t refuse. Maggie and Bo crossed their fingers that the perpetually slothful Ru would feel flush enough from his share of the sale to quit his position as police chief. But Rufus had no intention of relinquishing his throne. “Money and power, buddy,” he gloated to his cousin as he unscrewed the cap on a thirty-two ounce bottle of convenience store beer. “I’m livin’ the dream.”

Bo took comfort in the fact that his share of the sale would allow Xander to attend Bright Start, the Baton Rouge school dedicated to kids with unique academic needs. And Maggie did get to revel in Ru’s outrage when he learned that the LLC that purchased Grove Hall was owned by Kyle Bruner, whose move to Pelican brought joy to Lia and the rest of the Crozats. Any Crozat happiness would always mean Rufus Durand misery. “Tough break, Ru Ru,” Maggie fake-commiserated, making sure that she revealed Vanessa’s pet name for the police chief in front of delighted department gossips Cal and Artie.

To make up for the hell that Jan Robbins had gone through with her false arrest and Debbie Stern’s betrayal, Bo put in a call to the Cuties’ airline and arranged a few extra days in Pelican for the group with no change fee to their plane tickets. “You were the only ones who came here without some scheme in your visit plans, and I’ll never forget that,” Maggie told the women as she hugged them good-bye. Jan promised that when the Cuties returned to Cajun Country in the spring for their convention, many events would be held at Crozat, and with one last cry of “laissez les bons temps rouler!” the Cajun Cuties had taken off for the airport in their rented minivan.

There was news regarding the Ryker clan as well. Gran’, who’d set up an Internet alert for Crozat Plantation B and B, was tickled to receive an e-blast containing a rave review written by Lachlan Ryker on a website called aussiesinamerica.com. Carrie and Lachlan had adopted the American entrepreneurial spirit the minute they arrived in California and created a website for homesick Aussie ex-pats that would help them navigate the New World. It was rudimentary and would take time to grow, but Maggie’s instincts told her that the prosperity gris-gris bags Lia had gifted the family with would eventually bear financial fruit.

Crozat Plantation B and B slowly began its recovery from the fallout of a double murder on its property. Maggie came up with a “Don’t Labor on Labor Day Special” that offered low rates and a Crozat cookout, both of which attracted potential guests. “And we can credit morbid curiosity for a few of the reservations,” Gran’ said. “It’s sold many a ticket to a freak show.” The Shexnayders returned from their holiday rested and ready to resume their housekeeping and maintenance duties. From the little winks and butt pinches between them that Maggie observed, the break had also energized their libidos.

With Bud and Marie back at work, Maggie finally had time to market her line of souvenirs, and it was picked up by several of the nearby plantations. This provided the pressure she needed to convince Gran’ that it would be in perfectly fine taste to sell the items—displayed discreetly, of course—at Crozat. Once on board, Gran’ became a sales powerhouse, and no visitor to Crozat left without a memento, even if the poor soul just stuck their head in the door to ask for directions.

The best news of all came from a visit to Ninette’s oncologist, Dr. Felicia Gilbert.

“Negative,” Dr. Gilbert told Ninette’s family. “Every test.”

The Crozats fell into each other’s arms and breathed a collective sigh of relief. “But then what was wrong with me?” Ninette asked.

“There was no evidence of an infection, so I’m going to write off the fever and high white count as the result of stress you’ve been under, especially since your numbers are normal and appear to have stabilized. The night sweats are something else. You’re menopausal, Ninette. And given the intensity of those sweats, you might be in for a rough ride.”

“Given the alternative, I’ll take it.” Ninette grinned. Maggie hadn’t seen a smile that big on her mother’s face in a long time. The family would never be free of worry about Ninette’s health, but Dr. Gilbert had given them a respite from it.

With life at Crozat running relatively smoothly once again, Maggie could return to her art. But first . . .

*

It was early afternoon, and the light offered the first golden glint of autumn. Two easels stood side by side on the lawn next to the parterre. Tubes of oil paint covered a small table between them.

“They’re arranged by color and shades within each color,” Maggie explained to Xander, who nodded, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the tubes of paints. She was finally making good on her promise to give the boy an art lesson. Bo napped on a blanket next to them while Gopher rested his head on Xander’s feet. “But if you want to mix your own shade of a color, you can. Would you like to try that?”

Xander nodded yes. He picked up a few tubes with his slim little fingers and squeezed dollops onto the palette Maggie had given him. Maggie added a big blob of white. “You can make a ton of color shades just by adding a little or a lot of white,” she explained. Xander stared at the paints and then started carefully mixing some colors, adding a touch blue, a drip of yellow, a bit more white. When he was satisfied with the result, he showed it to Maggie, who stared at the palette, mesmerized.

“Wow, just . . . wow,” she sputtered.

Xander had created a shade of green that was extraordinary.

The boy then picked up tubes of yellow and blue and mixed them. He did the same with a range of other colors until his palette was a phantasmagorical rainbow. Maggie watched, amazed. How could a boy who wouldn’t eat his hot dog because the mustard and ketchup touched mix the most beautiful, otherworldly colors that she had ever seen?

Xander stopped and looked at her for approval. “Wow,” she said again. “Xander, those are just . . . gorgeous. Okay, so, let’s paint. I thought it would be fun to try and do the vegetable garden and chicken yard. Do you like that idea?”

Xander nodded and began painting. Maggie picked up a brush but put it down to watch Xander put his vision on canvas. He had a child’s surreal view, but it was coupled with an attention to detail that seemed channeled from another realm.

Xander’s hour lesson turned into the whole afternoon, which bled into early evening. The young boy finished his painting and wandered off to feed the chickens, followed as always by his canine shadow, Gopher. Bo roused himself from his nap with a yawn. “Has it been an hour yet?” he asked.

“It’s been four hours,” Maggie answered.

“What?” Bo jumped to his feet. “I didn’t mean to pass out.” He glanced at the finished canvas on the easel. “Hey, you’re really good.”

“That’s not mine. That’s your son’s.” Maggie pointed to Xander.

“Huh?” Bo rubbed his eyes. “Are you telling me Xander did this? Seven-year-old Xander?”

“Yes. He’s got a gift, Bo. Whether it’s from God or the universe or genetics, I don’t know. But wherever it’s from, it’s magical and special, and I want to help him.”

Bo ran his hands through his thick black hair as he tried to process what Maggie was telling him. “Yes. Sure. Do whatever you have to. I just want him to be happy. And feel good about himself. He needs that. He deserves it.”

Bo walked over to his son, picked him up, and carried him back to where Maggie was standing. “Wanna get something to eat?” he asked Xander, who nodded yes. “You wanna come with?” Bo asked Maggie, who shook her head no.

“You two go. I’ve got something I need to do.”

“Okay.” Bo rubbed noses with Xander, who gave a slight smile. “Do me a favor, buddy, go wait by the car. I’ll be right there.” He put Xander down, and the boy ran off around the side of the main house to the front drive where Bo had parked. Bo turned to Maggie. “Not to be crass and inartistic or anything, but the more lessons you give him, the more I get to see you in a way that even Ru can’t have a fit about.”

“I was so busy obsessing about Xander’s talent that I didn’t even think of that,” Maggie said. “But yes. Yay!”

Bo laughed. Then he bent his head down close to Maggie’s and kissed her. It was a kiss as soft and warm and electric as any she’d ever experienced or even fantasized about. Maggie shuddered. But this time, in a good way.

Bo held a finger to her lips and she nodded. The kiss, as well as any that followed, would be their secret . . . for now. No sense in poking the odious bear that was Rufus.

Bo disappeared into the darkness and Maggie soon heard the sound of his car driving away from Crozat. Then she turned back to the canvas on her easel and began sketching. She continued through the night, and when dawn broke, she transported her canvas and art supplies down to her special spot by the bayou, where she painted quickly and fiercely.

When Maggie was done, she eyed the result with a serenity that she hadn’t felt as an artist for a very long time. The painting depicted the languid bayou scene, but with a heightened photo-realism. Beyond that, an inquisitive art aficionado would discover something else—the silhouette of a man. Some would argue it wasn’t even there, that it was the mind playing tricks on the viewer. This was the artist’s intention—to imbue her work with a bit of sensual mystery.

She lay down and rested her head on a thicket of moss. “I know now,” she thought to herself. “I know why I came home.”

Then she smiled, closed her eyes, and with the soft Louisiana morning air as her blanket, Maggie fell asleep.

Crawfish Crozat

Ninette’s signature dish is deceptively simple, but for a good reason. While many recipes bury the crawfish in heavy cream sauces, Ninette’s is designed to let its delicious flavor dominate.

Ingredients

1 lb. peeled and cooked crawfish tails

1 cup okra, thinly sliced

1 red pepper, diced

1 lb. regular or whole wheat penne

4 tbsp. olive oil

3 minced garlic cloves

½ tsp. sea salt

½ tsp. paprika

¼ tsp. cayenne pepper (subtract or add more, depending on your taste for spicy)

¼ tsp. ground gumbo filé

½ tsp. garlic powder

½ tsp. onion powder

¼ tsp. thyme

¼ tsp. black pepper

2 tsp. Cajun seasoning, any brand

(Note: if your Cajun seasoning has salt, you may want to reduce the ½ tsp. sea salt. You can always add more if you feel it’s needed.)

Instructions

Mix the salt, paprika, cayenne pepper, filé, garlic powder, onion powder, black pepper, thyme, and Cajun seasoning together in a small bowl.

Warm two tablespoons of olive oil in a skillet on a medium flame, and add the okra and red pepper. Cook until softened, about five minutes. Turn off the heat and add the crawfish; stir so it absorbs some of the vegetable’s warmth.

Cook the penne until it’s al dente, and drain. Toss it with the remaining oil and the herb/spice mix.

Add the crawfish, okra, and red pepper, and toss gently.

Note: Don’t have crawfish or okra? Substitute shrimp and broccoli. Don’t like seafood? Substitute two cups of chopped cooked chicken.

Serves 4–6.

Chulanes

The broadest definition of a praline is a flat sugar candy flavored with nuts. Recipes often call for butter and brown sugar. Here is Tug’s somewhat healthier version, named in honor of his alma mater, Louisiana’s prestigious Tulane University.

Ingredients

8 oz. unsweetened baker’s chocolate, melted

½ cup honey, warmed

¼ tsp. vanilla (you can substitute a liquor like rum or bourbon if you prefer)

¼ tsp. sea salt

1 cup mix-ins, like chopped nuts, raisins, dried fruit (Tug’s favorites are raisins and slivered honeyed almonds)

Instructions

Stir the honey into the melted chocolate. It will be soupy. Don’t worry about that.

Add the vanilla and salt, and stir.

Mix in the mix-ins.

Line a baking sheet with parchment. Drop the Chulanes onto the parchment by large spoonfuls.

Place in the freezer until the Chulanes harden. They can be kept in the fridge after that and will have a chewy consistency.

Makes 12.

Bourbon Pecan Bread Pudding

Bread pudding is one of those fun dishes that’s easy to adapt to anyone’s taste. Lia jazzes hers up with bourbon and that other Louisiana staple, pecans. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Ingredients

4 ½ cups lightly packed bite-size croissant pieces (about 4 croissants)

1 cup chopped pecans

3 large eggs

¾ cups granulated sugar

1 cup milk

⅓ cup bourbon, plus 1 tsp.

½ cup heavy or whipping cream

1 tsp. vanilla

¼ tsp. salt

1 tbsp. dark brown sugar

2 tbsp. unsalted butter

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Dry bread uncovered at room temperature for 12 hours (or dry the bread in a 250-degree oven for one hour).

Butter an 8 × 8 baking dish.

Arrange the bread in the baking dish. Sprinkle the pecans over the bread, making sure they’re evenly dispersed.

In a bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, milk, ⅓ cup bourbon, ½ cup of cream, vanilla, and salt. Pour it slowly and evenly over the bread.

Cream the butter with the brown sugar and teaspoon of bourbon, then dot the pudding with the mixture.

(Note: you can chill the pudding, covered, for anywhere from an hour to a day before baking, but this is optional.)

Bake the pudding in the middle of the oven until it’s slightly puffed and golden and the middle has set—approximately 40 minutes.

Serves 6.

A Lagniappe* about Plantation Shudders

I became fascinated by Cajun culture when I was a student at Tulane University. During a visit to Louisiana after graduation, my friend Jan and I drove up the east bank of River Road, and we were drawn to a dilapidated but stunning plantation. It was glorious architecturally but in total disrepair. Yet a woman was offering tours. Her name was Gaynell Bourgeois Moore, and she worked for the only member of the Hayward family who refused to okay a sale of the plantation, Ashland-Belle Helene, to Shell Oil Company.

Even though Gaynell was more than twenty-five years my senior, we struck up a friendship. A self-taught artist, musician, and writer, she was a total delight. But I was in my twenties and living the life of a single New Yorker, so we lost touch.

Fast-forward to 1997: I’m a married television writer living in Los Angeles. I take my husband on a trip to Louisiana, where we wander through the bayous and back roads. We drive up River Road and stop at Houmas House, one of the great icons of Plantation Country. I mention to a saleswoman in the gift shop that I had a friend named Gaynell who once worked at Ashland-Belle Helene. The woman says, “Gaynell? She’s working here.” She calls for Gaynell on her walkie-talkie, and Gaynell runs in wearing her full tour guide regalia of hoop skirt, ball gown, and accessories. Our friendship is rekindled, now for life.

Houmas House inspired Doucet Plantation in Plantation Shudders. Crozat Plantation B and B was inspired by Madewood Plantation, where my husband and I enjoyed a wonderful evening’s respite. And Grove Hall was inspired by my beloved Ashland-Belle Helene, which was eventually sold to Shell Oil. Years later, it still sits waiting for a promised restoration. Grove Hall will meet a happier fate in Book Two of the series. (Sidebar: in my mind, Crozat looks like Ashland-Belle Helene and Doucet looks like Madewood. Writer’s prerogative!)

When I was writing Plantation Shudders, I knew I wanted to name a character after Gaynell. My protagonist is Magnolia “Maggie” Crozat, an aspiring artist who has returned home after living in New York for ten years. I called Gaynell and told her that she could choose between Maggie’s grandmother, a mischievous grand dame, or a nineteen-year-old friend Maggie has made while working as a tour guide at a local plantation. And seventysomething Gaynell quickly responded in her inimitable Cajun accent, “Oh, I’d like to be the nineteen-year-old.”

So she is.

Footnote

* Lagniappe: a small gift given with a purchase to a customer by way of compliment or for good measure; bonus. Also defined as “a little something extra.”

Acknowledgments

I am eternally grateful to many people for their support and input on Plantation Shudders. Thanks to my awesome agent, Doug Grad, and to editorial director Matthew Martz and editorial assistant Nike Power, the wonders behind Crooked Lane Books. Without this trifecta of talent, there would be no Cajun Country Mysteries. A big thanks to Rick Copp and Connie Archer for their generosity. Linda Konner, I will forever owe you for your invaluable advice throughout my journey. Thanks to my beloved brothers, Tony and David Seideman, for their love and support. A big shout-out to my patient and gifted TV writing partner, Lissa Kapstrom. Lisa Q. Mathews, you are, and always will be, my mystery BFF. Thank you, Kelly Goode and Lisa Libatique, for putting up with my walk ’n talks—and you, too, Kim Rose! Nancy Adler, Laura Graff, and June Stoddard, my friendship with each of you inspires me every day. Karen Fried and Denise and Stacy Smithers—ditto! Thanks to my Louisiana crew for all their help—that’s you, Laurie and Walter Becker, Gaynell Bourgeois Moore, and Jan Gilbert. The same goes for my Texas crew, Pam and Jon Shaffer and Charlotte Waguespack Allen, who does double duty as my source for great anecdotes about her illustrious Louisiana family. Tulane University, you are not a person, but without you, I honestly don’t know if I ever would have become a writer.

And finally, words can’t express my gratitude to Mindy Schneider for including me when she decided to start a writers group with Kathy McCullough, Kate Schein, and Teri Wagener. I’m honored and blessed to be in the company of such talented women. Thank you.