Текст книги "Plantation Shudders"

Автор книги: Ellen Byron

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Sixteen

Maggie wasn’t ready to go home and face Gran’. Instead, she drove into town and parked in back of Lia’s shops, which were keeping late summer hours. Lia’s teen employees greeted her with shy smiles as they packed online orders for shipping. Kyle was hunched over the computer, pulling orders off Lia’s website and distributing them to the kids. He’d obviously made himself an integral part of the Bon Bon/Fais Dough Dough operation.

“Oh hey, Maggie,” he said, greeting her with a smile. “Lia’s tending to customers. I installed a search engine optimization program I wrote, and online sales have exploded, so I’m handling things back here.”

She thanked him and walked into Bon Bon, where Lia was ringing up a sale for a chubby middle-aged couple in identical T-shirts that sported a drunk leaning against a lamppost above the words, “I Left My Lunch in New Orleans.” Lia wore a flowing cotton multicolored dress, and her thick mane of black curls was piled in a bun that was held in place by two pencils. Watching her, Maggie understood what her mother meant when she once said of a happy friend: “She was positively glowing.” Lia radiated a serene happiness that Maggie had never seen before, not even during her years with Degas, who, not to speak ill of the dead, Maggie had always found to be a bit prickly.

“Enjoy your candy and mugs,” Lia told the tourist couple. Before handing them their bag, she dropped in a few chocolate coins. “That’s what we call a lagniappe. A little something extra for you.”

The tourists, thrilled with their freebie and the new word they’d show off to their friends when they returned home, headed out, and Lia came around the counter to give Maggie a hug. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. Blame the end-of-summer rush. Is everything okay at the house?”

Maggie hesitated. She couldn’t bear tarnishing her cousin’s glow with her fears about Gran’. Lia deserved whatever joy Kyle brought into her life, so Maggie would keep her worries to herself. “As good as it can be with a murder investigation going on. Which, by the way, doesn’t seem to be bothering our comped guests one bit anymore. Never underestimate the power of a freebie.”

Lia nodded. “Something every good businessperson knows. I can’t tell you how often my gift of a little chocolate lagniappe generates repeat customers and five-star reviews online.”

“Hey, Lia, what’s Le Grand Plantation Estates like?” Kyle called from the back room.

“Trailer park.”

“Oh. Well, forget that.”

Maggie gave her cousin a quizzical look. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“I was waiting to say something,” Lia blushed. “But Kyle is looking for a house here.”

“Lia, that’s amazing!”

“I know. He can work from anywhere, really. And I guess he wants that anywhere to be here.”

“Uh, I wonder why.” Maggie grinned and hugged her cousin tightly.

“Hey, we’re going to grab a bite at Crawdaddy’s in a short while,” Lia said. “Come with us. You won’t be a third wheel, I promise. It’ll just be three friends hanging out.”

“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check. You guys go. Have fun. Oh, Li, I’m so, so happy for you.”

Maggie promised to join Lia for lunch sometime during the week and wandered out of the store and down the street, strolling aimlessly as she tried to stave off a case of the blues. Twilight had faded into night. Pelican was far enough away from a big city for the stars to fill the sky, so Maggie tried to distract herself from troubling thoughts by identifying constellations. She gave up after finding the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt, the only two she recognized.

Maggie was about to climb into her car when she heard C. J. Chenier and the Red Hot Louisiana Band coming from a jukebox and the murmur of muffled laughter. She looked across the square to Junie’s Oyster Bar and Dance Hall, Pelican’s favorite watering hole. Junie was long gone, but her son, known to all as JJ for Junie Junior, despite his given name of Philippe-Jean, had inherited the family business. He ran the place under the watchful ashes of Junie, whose urn held a place of honor next to Clinton, the stuffed alligator that rested atop the hangout’s turn-of-the-century bar. Clinton had wandered out of the swamps and onto Junie’s porch one day and hung around for the next twenty years. He’d passed away the night of Junie’s funeral, so JJ honored the odd couple by making sure they spent immortality side by side.

Maggie walked across the square and into Junie’s. She breathed in a collision of scents—beer, gumbo, and a hint of mildew from the hundred-plus-year-old walls.

“There she is, there’s my Magnolia Marie,” JJ called from behind the bar, where he was filling a pitcher with Bayou Teche Biere Pale. Tonight the fifty-five-year-old had squeezed his three hundred forty pounds into one of his late mother’s evening caftans. The sequins and seed beads sparkled every time they hit the light, as did those on JJ’s matching turban. On someone else, the outfit would have been Norman Bates-y, but JJ’s charm and exuberance dispelled all creepiness. It also helped that he and Mama Junie often clothes-swapped when she was alive.

JJ maneuvered his way around the bar and gave Maggie a bear hug that almost cracked a few ribs. “Ya hungry? I got crawfish boudin.”

“Sounds great. I’ll take one, with a side of dirty rice.”

“Bien, coming right up.”

JJ sashayed into the kitchen and Maggie sat down at a small table. The place was dimly lit, the better to hide how worn everything was, but the beer was cold, the atmosphere warm, and the entertainment exceptional. Unfortunately for Pelican, Junie’s had been discovered by the New Orleans cognoscenti, so it was packed on most weekends, but the crowd was light and local this Thursday evening, even with it being the week of Fet Let. A band was setting up on stage. Maggie was happy to see a rubboard, which indicated the music would be Zydeco. A slim blonde woman, her back to the patrons, did a nimble run on the heavy accordion around her neck. She turned around and Maggie saw it was Gaynell. Maggie waved to her friend from Doucet, and Gaynell squinted into the bright stage light. She smiled when she saw Maggie and then took off her accordion, hopped off the stage, and headed over to the table.

“Hey,” Gaynell said as she hugged her. “Thanks for coming tonight. I really appreciate the support.”

“Anytime,” Maggie said, covering the fact that she’d completely forgotten about the flyer announcing the first-ever performance by Gaynell and the Gator Girls that she’d stuffed into her glove compartment. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous but excited.” Gaynell eyed Maggie. “Are you okay? You look kinda upset about something.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Gaynell plopped down in a seat across from Maggie. “I got an hour to kill that I’d love to spend not worrying about my set. Talk to me.”

Normally, Maggie would think twice about confiding in someone she barely knew that a family member might be a murder suspect. But Gaynell radiated sensitivity and intelligence, so much so that Maggie was ashamed of herself for dismissing the nineteen-year-old as just another Pelicanette who’d wind up married and pregnant by twenty. Maggie poured out every detail of her conversation with Yvonne as Gaynell listened intently. “What do you think? Could my Gran’ have actually . . .” Maggie couldn’t finish the sentence.

“This may sound awful dark, but I think every one of us has the potential to kill someone. A lot of murderers are psychopaths, but a lot are just people like you and me who get pushed too far and snap. Do I think your Gran’ wanted to kill Francine? Probably, when it all went down. I bet pretty much everyone’s fantasized at least once about taking out someone they’re really mad at. I only met your Gran’ once or twice, but you can’t live in Pelican without hearing everything there is to hear about the Crozats, and from what I heard, she and your grand-père loved each other something fierce. So, do I think that she’d hold a grudge for sixty or more years against some slutty chick who stole her loser boyfriend? No, I do not.”

Maggie was relieved by Gaynell’s blunt words. “How’d you get so smart?”

Gaynell threw up her hands. “Dumb luck.”

“Thanks,” Maggie said with a laugh. “I feel much better. You have no idea how happy I am that I came tonight.”

“Here’s hoping you still feel that way after our set.” Gaynell crossed her fingers and then returned to the stage and started tuning up various instruments.

JJ brought over Maggie’s food, which she devoured, her appetite having been restored. The restaurant slowly filled up, and Maggie was less than thrilled to see Ru Durand and Vanessa in the crowd. It struck her that everything Vanessa had on was tight, from her sequined fuchsia tank top to her consciously ripped white jeans. Even her rhinestone-encrusted sandals were too snug; the fleshy tops of her feet were so constricted that Maggie feared for her coworker’s circulation.

Vanessa leaned against rotund Rufus with her hip jutting out like Maggie assumed she’d seen actresses and models do in magazines. But Vanessa looked less like a celebrity than like the handle to Ru’s teapot. Lucky for Ru, Maggie thought to herself, that in Louisiana, a family’s pedigree still offered a level of influence found in few parts of the country. Ru happily used the fact that his family was descended from pre–Louisiana Purchase French colonists to socially intimidate the locals. So while others at the police academy had outpaced him at every challenge, he would probably retire someday still Pelican’s chief of police.

Ru retrieved drinks from Old Shari, Junie’s ancient bartender, and handed one to Vanessa, who rewarded him with a slobbery, open-mouthed kiss. A man standing next to them pulled away in disgust, and Maggie’s heart flip-flopped when she saw it was Bo. She quickly focused on her dinner plate, pretending to dig up scraps from its empty surface. It was too late—Bo saw her and walked over.

“Don’t think you’re gonna find much there. If you’re up for some company, I’ll order us popcorn shrimp.”

“Sure,” she said, giving up her fake foraging.

Bo placed the order with JJ and joined her at the table. Gaynell and the Gator Girls spared them having to make awkward small talk by taking the stage and launching into the Zydeco classic, “P’Tit Fille O’Paradis.” Junie’s dance floor filled up and stayed filled as the band delivered one great song after another. Gaynell was an enormous talent, playing the accordion, rubboard, and guitar with equal panache. Maggie forgot her discomfort. She and Bo hooted and hollered with the rest of the appreciative crowd. When Maggie heard the opening notes of her all-time favorite song, “Jambalaya,” she leapt to her feet and pulled Bo up with her. He responded by whipping her around the room in a wicked Cajun two-step, and the two sang as they danced, like the other couples on the floor. They joined in the explosion of applause that greeted the end of the song.

Gaynell followed the foot-stomper with the much gentler strains of the Cajun waltz, “Jolie Blon.” Bo didn’t give Maggie the option of returning to her table. He pulled her close and they danced together gracefully, their bodies perfectly in tune.

“You have great eyes, you know,” Bo said as he stared into them with his own chocolate orbs. “They’re green, but they have that circle of orange in them. A ring of fire. Like the Johnny Cash song.”

“I like that song.”

“Me too.”

The two shared a smile and then broke apart to applaud as Gaynell finished “Jolie Blon.” She announced that the band would take a break, and Bo led Maggie back to their table where a big bowl of popcorn shrimp awaited them, steam rising off the crustaceans’ crusty coating. “So,” Bo said, “I’ve got some information on Suzy.”

“Really?” Maggie said. “I can’t wait to hear.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Bo cautioned. “Her husband’s a successful divorce attorney, so they’ve got plenty of money. The IRS has nothing on the Cajun Cuties. Their tax return is simple and straightforward—money in, money out, with no hint of impropriety. It’s a tiny nonprofit and they run a lean, clean operation, so it’s pretty hard to imagine what Suzy would get out of stealing their coin.”

“Oh,” she said, deflated. “But you never know about people. Look at how many kleptomaniacs have plenty of money and just steal for the thrill of it. Maybe Suzy’s like that.”

“Could be.” Bo picked up their drained beer glasses. “I’ll get us refills.”

As Maggie watched him walk away, she was overwhelmed with guilt for withholding what she’d learned from Yvonne about Gran’. He was clearly the one good apple on his low-class family tree.

Bo returned with the beers. The shrimp had cooled off enough to eat, so Maggie gave them a good dousing with Tabasco sauce and Bo dug in. She picked up a shrimp and toyed with it. Nerves had dampened her appetite. “Bo,” she said. “I discovered something that I need to tell you.” She took a deep breath and then related her conversation with Yvonne, not leaving out a single damaging detail. When she finished, much to her surprise, Bo simply shrugged. “Yeah, Yvonne told me all that already.”

“What?” Maggie yelped. “She told me she never breathed a word of it to you.”

Bo shook his head at her naïveté. “She’s an eighty-year-old lady who doesn’t get many visitors and then finds herself in the middle of this town’s most exciting drama in years. You think she’s gonna keep her mouth shut?”

“Oh, I am so mad at her. Look, Bo, even if what she said is true, I’m begging you to give Gran’ the benefit of the doubt. I just can’t bring myself to believe that she’d ever do something this horrible.”

Bo popped a shrimp in his mouth and crunched it. “Me neither.”

She stared at him. “Really?”

“Really. Two facts we know for sure: the murder weapon was that old box of rat poison, and it was planted in your kitchen to frame someone in your family. There’s no way on earth you could convince me that your Gran’ would do that. I may not be a Louisiana aristocrat, but you can’t function in this state if you don’t understand how they operate. And they would be ruthless about protecting their own; they’d never betray them.”

Maggie was overcome with a sense of relief. “I was so worried I didn’t even think about that. Thanks for figuring out what should’ve been totally obvious to me. God, I’m starving now.”

She grabbed a handful of shrimp and popped them into her mouth. Bo laughed. “Glad to see I gave you back your appetite. But we’re supposed to be sharing those.” He reached for a shrimp and she playfully pulled the bowl toward her. As they tussled over it, they didn’t see Ru approach the table.

“Well, look at you two.”

Maggie and Bo let go of the bowl. Ru’s appearance had ruined both their appetites. “Cavorting with the enemy,” Ru said, shaking his head. “Nice, Coz.”

“It’s consorting, not cavorting,” Maggie shot back before Bo could respond. “And he’s not. He’s just being polite and keeping me company because I was here alone.”

“Never could hold on to a boyfriend, could ya, Magnolia?”

“Hey, that’s enough, Rufus.” Bo stood up, towering over his cousin by a good head. “My personal life is none of your business.”

“Relax, I was just kidding around,” Ru said. “But you know what is my business, Bo? Your job, which won’t be yours much longer if you keep company with the Crozats. It’s not exactly the way to repay me, is it now?”

Bo’s face reflected his fury, and Maggie was afraid that he might strike Rufus. “We were talking business,” she said, trying to cover. “I was telling him something important about the murder.”

Rufus and Bo both stared at her, Ru with skepticism, Bo with confusion. Maggie froze. She didn’t dare say anything about Gran’ to the police chief to make his dream of jailing a family member come true. She wracked her brain, and then remembered something. “Footsteps. The night before Mrs. Clabber died, I went into the woods by the bayou to paint and I heard footsteps. They spooked me so much that I just grabbed everything and ran back to the house.”

“You’re just remembering this now?” Ru’s tone oozed distrust.

“I know I should have remembered sooner, but with all the craziness going on, I didn’t put it together that it happened the night before she died. That’s what Bo and I were just talking about.”

“Funny how a couple of turns around the dance floor jogged your memory.” Ru turned to Bo. “Check it out in the morning. And it better not be bull or you’ll be reloading whatever you unloaded from your pickup truck and looking at Pelican in your rearview mirror.” Having delivered this ultimatum, Ru headed back to Vanessa.

“I’m not lying,” Maggie insisted to Bo. “I did hear footsteps and they did scare me.”

“I believe you.” Bo looked toward Ru, his expression grim. “But it’ll be a whole lot better if we find something to prove that.”

Chapter Seventeen

“I have a newfound respect for your job,” Maggie said late the next morning as she and Bo crawled through the forest thicket trying to find any clue that would prove someone had been in the woods the night she’d come to paint. It was one of the summer’s steamiest days, and bits of leaves and twigs had found a home in her hair, which tended to expand with humidity.

“Yup, it’s a lot of grunt work,” Bo said as he scanned the ground and examined the branches of trees to see if any fiber from a shirt or pant leg might have gotten caught. He’d left his blazer in the car and stripped down to his T-shirt, which clung to his cut, sweat-soaked body. It was a good look for him. But then, thought Maggie, pretty much anything seemed to be a good look for Bo. And for a moment, she felt her body go weak.

Bo noticed Maggie falter and reached out to her, but she brushed him off. “You know, once when I was walking through Central Park in New York, some detectives stopped me and showed me a picture and asked if I knew the girl,” she said, trying to defuse the moment with mindless chatter. “They were canvassing everyone. Turned out she was killed by her boyfriend. But I remember thinking, wow, those detectives have to do that all day, how sad and bor-ahhhh!”

She suddenly lost her balance and tumbled into a hole that had been clumsily covered with a canopy of twigs and leaves. Bo raced over, reached down, and pulled her out. “Are you okay?”

Bo gently examined her, and still stunned by the fall, she let him. “Ow,” she said. “That fall really hurt. I feel like every bone in my body got a shake.”

“You’re banged up, but I don’t see any serious damage. More like you were in a fender bender than a big wreck.”

“What the hell?” Maggie rubbed her head where it ached from colliding with a wall of the hole. “What is that? I mean, I know what it is, but what is it doing here?”

Bo kneeled at the edge of the hole and examined it closely. “This is recent. Any guess why someone would be digging on your property?”

“Yes. It used to happen sometimes when I was growing up, but not since I’ve been home, so I forgot about it. The other night Gran’ was telling stories, and one of them was the legend about pirates burying treasure in our woods. It sometimes gets people to thinking they should go on a treasure hunt. I did it a few times myself with friends when I was a kid. I bet one of our guests has been doing some prospecting.”

“Any guess who?”

“No. I haven’t seen any shovels or metal detectors when I’ve cleaned, but I haven’t been looking for any. I’ll look tomorrow when I clean again. They might be keeping them in their car, so I’ll peek into those too.”

Maggie stood up. She felt stiff and sore. “Do you think this could have anything to do with Beverly’s murder?”

“Maybe. If someone actually found something and Bev caught them. She could have been killed to keep her quiet.”

“Which once again rules out Gran’. She was born and raised here. No way she’d search for buried treasure unless she had a sudden attack of the seniles.” Maggie checked her phone. “I need to go. I’m due at Doucet for my shift in an hour, and I need to shower first.” She took a step and felt aches in a variety of body parts.

“You should find someone to cover for you for a few days. That was a bad fall. They’d understand.”

“Yeah, but my bank account wouldn’t. I’ll be fine. Walk it off. Isn’t that what sports types say?”

Bo laughed. “Yeah, the ‘sports types’ do say that, Miss Artist. Speaking of which, I do want to get Xander together with you to paint. Maybe next time I have him.”

“I’d like that. And let me know if you find anything. I’ll do the same.”

Maggie headed out of the woods, trying to disguise the pain from her bumps and bruises. She knew Bo would have jumped to help her, but for a reason she couldn’t define, she didn’t want to display any weakness. It was her way of protecting herself, but from what, she wasn’t sure.

*

Doucet was packed with tourists getting in some last-minute plantation oohing and aahing before summer ended, and Maggie led four full tours before getting a break. By the time she sat down to rest and eat a yogurt, she was exhausted. The lack of answers for the minimysteries surrounding the bigger mystery of Beverly/Francine’s death was also getting to the artist. What was the big news B/F planned on throwing in Gran’s face? What exactly were the Georgia boys up to? And who was digging holes in the family property? Was it somehow related to the Georgia boys’ scheme? Was it a different guest? Maybe it wasn’t a guest at all. She groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

“Well, somebody looks like the last dog at the pound.”

Maggie looked up to see Gaynell, who flashed a sympathetic smile and then took a seat next to her. “It’s just . . . stuff,” Maggie said with a shrug.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“You know what, right now I’d actually like to take a break from talking or thinking about it.”

“You got it.”

“Thank you. Hey, I never told you how good you were last night.”

“Thanks. We’re working on a set we can submit for JazzFest. Playing there would be the dream of all dreams.”

“Well, if I can help in any way, let me know.” The two women ate lunch in companionable silence, and Maggie enjoyed letting her mind wander aimlessly for a change. It landed on a moment with Bo from the night before. “Gaynell, do you happen to know the lyrics to the song ‘Ring of Fire’? At least some of them? All I know is the ‘down, down, down’ part.”

“Sure,” Gaynell said. She began singing the plaintive tune in her rich alto. Gaynell filled each note with emotion, bringing to life the song’s pathos and longing. Maggie, who had a sweet voice of her own, joined in, and the two women harmonized on the chorus. As they wrapped up, a couple of Asian tourists applauded and snapped their picture with smart phones. Maggie and Gaynell laughed.

“Looks like I got myself a backup singer,” Gaynell teased.

“Yeah, right. If you only do one song.”

“It’s a good one, though. Hot. Super sexy.”

“Yes. It really is.”

“June Carter cowrote the song about how she was falling in love with Johnny Cash, even though I think they were both married to other people.” Gaynell raised an eyebrow. “Anything you wanna tell me, Maggie?”

“No, relax, it’s nothing like that. Marriages aren’t the only thing that can make liking someone complicated.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Not that I like someone,” Maggie backtracked.

“Right.” Gaynell stood up and picked a piece of lettuce off of her antebellum ball gown. “I gotta go take a tour group. If you need to talk, I’m around.”

“Thanks.”

By the time Maggie’s shift was over, the injuries from her fall, though minor, caught up with her, and she couldn’t wait to get home. The shotgun was empty, so Maggie drew a bath and soaked while listening to a download of vintage the Mamas & the Papas. Feeling much better, she threw on jean shorts and a tomato-red cotton halter top. She noticed the bag of art supplies for Xander on the floor of her closet and had an idea. Rather than wait for their lesson to happen, Maggie would get them to Xander so he could do some art experimenting on his own. She’d drop them off at the police station for Bo later on. But first she needed to check in at the main house to see if she could be of any help.

Maggie found Gran’ relaxing in the office chaise longue, ubiquitous iPad on her lap. Gopher snored at her feet. “I tell you, there are some funny if wildly inappropriate videos on YouTube,” Gran’ said. “If you’re looking for your parents, they’re both napping. Ninette needs her rest and Tug is worn out from picking up your cleaning shift.”

“I feel bad about that.”

“Don’t, that man needs the exercise. He’s got a gumbo pot for a stomach. So, I heard you did get in a visit to Yvonne yesterday.”

“Yes, and that woman is one huge gossip.”

“Don’t begrudge a lonely old lady a bit of entertainment.” Gran’ put down her iPad and looked Maggie in the eye. “You do know that I had nothing to do with Francine’s passing?”

“I know, Gran’.”

“Good. I swear, even in death, that tart is causing me trouble. Making me a murder suspect. The nerve of that woman.”

Maggie tsk-tsk’d with her grandmother, but something disturbed her. She’d never heard Gran’ call anyone such a harsh name before. Protestations to the contrary, Francine/Beverly still got to her.

Gran’ yawned and got up. “I’m going to take a bit of a lie-down too.” She vigorously shook her head. “I think I have a case of tinnitus. I keep hearing a humming sound.”

“I hear it too.” Maggie looked around the room and saw the source of the problem. “It’s the paper shredder. Someone left it on.”

“Oh my, that was me. Cutie Debbie wanted to shred something earlier, so I turned it on for her. I forgot to turn it off. Oh well, blame A-G-E syndrome.”

Gran’ and her iPad left for their nap, and Maggie turned off the paper shredder. She stared at it a moment. “Hmm. Is it weird that a retiree on vacation would need to shred a document, Goph? Or am I being paranoid?”

Gopher looked up at her, saw she was treat-free, and went back to napping and snoring. She decided to trust her suspicious instincts and opened the shredder. It was a rarely used, decrepit machine that, luckily for her, chunked the pages rather than shredded them. Having studied collage and mixed media at art school, she had no trouble reassembling Debbie’s document. Maggie found herself reading a meticulously laid-out business plan for co-opting the nonprofit Cajun Cuties, booting Jan from the presidency, and turning the group into a profit-making venture that Debbie would eventually take public for a generous financial profit.

It appeared that Dim Debbie wasn’t so dim after all.