by Ellen Byron
Gran was taste-testing wedding cakes at a variety of bakeries in Baton Rouge, so Tug and Maggie showed everyone to their rooms while Ninette prepared a treat of Scary Spicy Cajun Sugar Cookies decorated like bats and pumpkins. By the time the guests reconvened in the front parlor to receive a schedule of the weekend’s events along with their cookies, night had fallen. “Tonight you’ll have dinner here, and in keeping with the weekend’s theme, it will be the kind of traditional meal our ancestors might have served to guests paying their respects to the family after someone passed away,” Maggie said. “Tomorrow morning, my grand-mère and I will lead a workshop where you can make your own version of an immortelle, the beaded and dried flower arrangements used to decorate tombs in the old days. You can do any of the events at the other plantations, and we’ll be happy to help with transportation. If you’re interested, you can also book an appointment for a massage or facial at our brand-new spa.”
“I’m up for both,” Jennifer, who was fast becoming Maggie’s favorite guest, said. “I also made an appointment with Helene Brevelle. I can’t wait to hear what she has to say.”
“Who’s that?” another guest asked.
“Helene is the town voodoo priestess,” Maggie said. “Which reminds me, we can also help you attend church services Sunday morning, if you’d like.” It wasn’t unusual for a Pelican resident to mention the voodoo priestess in the same breath as a priest or pastor. All were considered equal in the little Cajun village.
Dinner passed quickly, with the usual kudos for Ninette’s cooking. “I’m so looking forward to this weekend,” Jennifer told Maggie after the other guests said their good-nights. “I’m gonna take Benedict for a short poo walk, then hit the sack.”
“If you or Benedict need anything, let me know,” Maggie said.
She bussed the dining room table, bringing a tub of dirty dishes into the kitchen, where she found Gran and Lee. “I must’ve tasted over two dozen cakes,” the octogenarian gas station owner said, patting his stomach. “Wedding planning’s way more fun than in the old days, when we said I do and moved on with our lives.” He kissed Gran on her cheek. “I think I’m crashing from all this sugar, so I’m gonna call it a night.”
“Sleep well, dearest,” Gran said, favoring Lee with a warm smile.
After Lee departed, Gran gestured to small slices of cake she had laid out on three separate plates. “It wasn’t easy, but we managed to narrow down our choices. These are the top three from today’s tasting. I’m thinking we could do one cake with three layers, each in a different flavor, like—” A loud scream came from the front of the house. “Someone’s at the door.”
The scream came again. “That’s not a doorbell scream, Gran.” Maggie said. “That’s an actual scream.”
Maggie and Gran rushed from the kitchen through the long front hallway and out the front door. Jennifer ran toward them, clutching Benedict in her arms. She stumbled, and Maggie hurried to catch her before she fell. “Jennifer, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“I saw him,” the woman gasped.
“Him who?” Maggie asked, bewildered.
“Him.” Jennifer trembled. “The rougarou.”
Chapter 3
Gran put her arm around the frightened woman’s shoulders and led her toward the house. “Let’s get you and Benedict inside and get you a nip of something. I don’t know what you saw out there, but it was obviously terrifying.”
“I saw a rougarou,” Jennifer insisted. Her tiny dog barked as if to second what she said. “I was born and raised in this state. I know a rougarou when I see one. He had the body of a human but the head of a werewolf, and he was hairy all over, with horrible, sharp teeth. And he had sharp, ugly claws.” Jennifer mimed claws with her hands. “His eyes were blood-red, and he snarled at me like this.” She clenched her teeth and snarled, prompted teeth-baring growls from her pup.
“I’ll go check the woods,” Maggie said.
She started toward them, but Jennifer grabbed her arm. “No! It’s not safe.”
“Whatever it was is probably gone,” Gran said.
“I’m telling you, it was a rougarou.” Now Jennifer sounded angry.
“You know what, I bet you’re right,” Maggie said, eager to placate a guest who’d already booked two massages and a facial during her stay. “Some high school kid probably thought it would be funny to dress up like a rougarou and scare people.”
“A prank?” Jennifer asked, slightly calmer.
“Yes, absolutely,” Gran said, grabbing on to Maggie’s theory. “Maggie, chère, when we get in, call Bo and report what happened to poor Jennifer. I will not have our guests terrorized.”
The women guided Jennifer inside. “I think Benedict and I will go to bed,” she said. “I feel better knowing it was probably someone’s stupid idea of a joke, but still.”
“Of course,” Gran said. “You’re staying in the Rose Room, correct? That is by far the best room in the house. Did you know the carved ceiling medallions are made of cypress and the design was imported from France by the original architect?”
Gran, extolling the wonders of Crozat, took Jennifer to her room. Maggie retreated to the front parlor, where Emma Fine was making notes on her tablet after a day of rehearsals. “Everything okay? That woman sounded upset.”
Maggie poured a glass of wine and collapsed onto the sofa next to Emma. “A guest thought she saw a rougarou.”
“A what-arou?” Emma, who hailed from the New York tristate area, asked.
“A kind of werewolf-meets-vampire creature. They’re part human, part beast. Once someone’s blood is sucked, they have to live a hundred and one days as a rougarou and then can transfer the curse to someone else by sucking their blood.”
Emma shuddered. “Ugh, I hate that stuff. A hundred and one days seems arbitrary. Why isn’t it a hundred days? Or a hundred and ten?”
Maggie shrugged. “Got me. Our ancestors were a superstitious lot. How did rehearsal in the cemetery go?” She asked this to force a change of subject. The last thing Maggie needed was the image of a rougarou emblazoned on her brain.
“Great,” Emma said. “It’s so atmospheric. The actors really responded to the whole aura of the place. All their performances improved, even that yutz Barrymore.” She powered down her tablet. “I’ll see you in the morning. Night-night. Don’t let the rougarous bite.”
The evening’s misadventure left Maggie feeling jumpy, but she managed a chuckle for Emma’s benefit. As soon as the stage manager departed, Maggie pulled out her cell and called Bo, who listened as she described what had happened. “I do think it was probably some jokester trying to be funny,” she said, trying to convince herself of a harmless scenario. “But I don’t like someone scaring our guests. It’s bad for business.”
“I’ll let Rufus know,” Bo said, referencing the Pelican PD chief who also happened to be his first cousin. “We’ll definitely look into it. A stunt like that is bad for Pelican business in general. How are you holding up? You sound stressed.”
“I am. The magic of Susannah’s massage wore off. I kind of wish I hadn’t had the whole Pelican’s Spooky Past idea. The whole thing is starting to spook me.”
“It’s a fantastic promotion. Everyone in town is talking about it, especially about how the B and Bs are taking back a chunk of business from the home rentals. It’s bad, Maggie. We finally hired a couple of new officers today, but they can’t find places to live in Pelican, so they’ll either have to commute or take other jobs. That lowlife Gavin Grody, whoever he is, is buying up all the affordable housing stock. Pelican’s finally gonna have to enact zoning laws, but it may be too late by then.”
“Well, this conversation won’t make me sleep better tonight.”
“I’m sorry. Would it help if I said I love you?”
“That always helps. And right back at ya, cher.”
She blew a kiss into the phone, which Bo returned, and the call ended.
Maggie’s mood improved in the mornin
g. Doug MacDowell joined the guests for breakfast. Susannah was at the spa tending to a client, and the MacDowell twins were mercifully asleep. Without the fractured family dynamics to drag him down, Doug was surprisingly entertaining. The Crozat guests roared when he described some of the printouts he’d found in copy machines his store repaired. “You wouldn’t believe the body parts people copy,” he said. “Friends, do yourselves a favor and always spray the screen with bleach before putting anything on it, because there’s a good chance someone sat on it with their pants down.”
The day went so smoothly that Maggie even found the courage to endure the debut performance of Resurrection of a Spirit, the loftily titled “theatrical experience” being staged in the Dupois cemetery, which had been written by none other than Pelican defense attorney Quentin MacIlhoney. He’d gotten an assist from his new wife, Vanessa Fleer MacIlhoney, who was Maggie’s frenemy and police chief Rufus Durand’s ex-fiancée. Vanessa also had a role in the show. “I’m way too young to be playing the mother of a teenager,” she griped to Maggie, who had dropped by the cast’s makeshift dressing room in the woods to wish her luck. The newly minted actress yanked down her antebellum costume to expose even more of her plentiful cleavage.
“There are women your age around here who are already grandmothers,” Maggie pointed out.
Van pulled a shawl over her black gown and scowled at Maggie. “Go away. I need to prepare.”
She joined the other actors in making a collection of strange sounds they described as vocal warm-ups. Maggie wended her way to the rows of folding chairs reserved for the audience. Luckily for the attendees, it was a warm night. But clouds covered the moon and the stars, preventing them from providing ambient light, so even with the jerry-rigged stage lighting, the grounds were dark. Maggie stumbled past decrepit old tombs until she reached the seating area. Suddenly she sensed someone watching her. She stopped and turned around. A pair of muddy brown eyes set in the ancient weathered face of an old man stared at her. Maggie gave a shriek, which didn’t faze the man. He continued to stare while Maggie stood frozen. Then he disappeared among the theatergoers.
Maggie, adrenaline surging, searched the crowd. She saw Kaity Bertrand, Lee’s great-granddaughter who worked as a concierge at Belle Vista, shepherding guests to their seats. The teen, always a fountain of bubbly energy, noticed her and gave an excited wave. She hurried over and threw her arms around Maggie. “The spooky weekend thing was such a good idea,” Kaity enthused. “We’re full up every weekend in October, and so are the other B and Bs.”
“Glad to hear it, but not really focused on that right now. I just had a scary experience. Some strange old man was following me in the woods. I screamed and he went away.”
“Was he dressed in kinda old, ratty clothes?”
“I’m not sure. I think so.”
“It was probably Walter Breem, the caretaker of the Dupois place.”
“Oh.” Maggie relaxed. “I’ve heard about him but never seen him. He’s a hermit.”
“Yes, but harmless. He even lets the cast use the bathroom at his old cottage.”
“Phew. That reminds me … this is going to sound weird, but have any of your guests reported seeing a rougarou or some kind of creature that scared them?”
“No. Why?”
Maggie explained what had happened the night before.
“Wow, that is weird. We had a kid say he saw a ghost, but I think he only said it to scare his little brother. The kid is seriously obnoxious.”
Bo turned up as the show was about to begin and climbed over people to the seat Maggie had saved for him next to hers. Quentin took center stage—if standing between two tombs could be called that—and clapped his hands to get the audience’s attention. “Hey, y’all, welcome. I’m Quentin MacIlhoney, playwright, director, and crack defense attorney if any of you get into trouble this weekend. You’ll find my card on your seats.” Quentin held up a business card, then pocketed it. “Our show takes place on All Hallows’ Eve, many, many years ago.” Spooky music played over a wireless speaker. “A yellow fever epidemic rages in New Orleans. Jean-Luc Dupois, founder of the Dupois dynasty in Pelican, fears for the health of his one son, Jean-Luc Junior, who’s recently returned to the family plantation from a business trip to the Crescent City …”
The cast took their places. Barrymore Tuttle, playing the role of Jean-Luc, gesticulated and bemoaned as his wife, played by Vanessa, shared the news that their son was dying. The characters cycled through a dramatic display of fear, hope, and utter despair when the town doctor broke the news that their son had passed away. The audience watched, rapt, as a group of mourners moaned and keened during the funeral scene. “If only love had the power to bring someone back from the dead!” Barrymore cried to the heavens in a voice so booming the heavens might have heard him. The audience gasped when an angel materialized from behind a crypt. “I am here to answer your prayers,” the angel said.
She waved her hands over Jean-Luc Junior’s prostrate body. He slowly began to rise. “I live!” declared Rudy Ferrier, teen star of Pelican High School’s somewhat controversial production of the Broadway musical Urinetown. “I am cured of the fever!”
“Son!” Barrymore and Vanessa cried out, Barrymore falling to his knees and stage-weeping for extra effect.
“Husband!” An actress swayed dramatically and then ran to Junior.
“Father!” Two petite twenty-year-olds cast as Junior’s children threw their arms around the formerly dead character.
“Jean-Luc Junior has kids?” Bo whispered to Maggie. “I thought the guy was seventeen.”
“I guess he started young,” she whispered back.
Bo looked skeptical. “Those kids look older than their dad.”
There was a flourish of happy music as the entire Dupois family embraced and then faced the audience, bowing to much applause. Bo took off after the curtain call, but Maggie stayed and congratulated the performers after she helped her father load Crozat’s guests into the family van. “Best weekend ever,” said guest Jennifer, who seemed to have forgotten about her rendezvous with a rougarou. So far, despite that blip, the Pelican’s Spooky Past getaways were on track to be a success.
The following morning, there was another blip with Jennifer when she and Benedict Cumberpooch checked out. “How was your session with Helene?” Maggie asked while the woman paid her bill. Jennifer hesitated. “Oh, I ended up canceling. I figured I didn’t need a voodoo priestess telling me I was having a great time.” She punctuated the last comment with a loud laugh, but Maggie sensed something cagey in her response.
She’s lying, Maggie thought to herself. But why?
Chapter 4
During the next two weeks, positive reviews on the travel website trippee.com confirmed that the Halloween vacation package was a hit. A red flag popped up during the second week when Kaity posted in the B and B owners’ group chat that a child of a Belle Vista guest claimed he’d seen a “werewolf” in the woods. The staff searched and found nothing, but the little boy had nightmares that night and the family checked out the next morning, cutting their vacation short. Bon Ami posted a similar sighting; their guests who reported it also checked out. By the end of the weekend, several Crozat guests had reported rougarou run-ins. Fortunately, Gran managed to convince them it was all part of the Spooky Past weekend. “You can’t celebrate Halloween in Cajun Country without a visit from our mythical monster friend,” she declared, then muttered to Maggie that if she ever caught the prankster responsible for the sightings, whoever it was wouldn’t survive a run-in with her.
Maggie focused on the positive. Crozat was sold out for the third and fourth weekends and weekday spa bookings were growing, with visitors and locals raving about Susannah’s golden touch. Maggie occasionally saw Johnnie MacDowell wandering around with a pen and journal muttering to himself, while his twin Bonnie never missed a chance to complain about something, always ending with the refrain, “How do you live here? It’s so boring.” Mag
gie rarely caught a glimpse of Doug MacDowell, who she assumed was running his print shops from afar.
The third weekend arrived with a further assortment of pets, including Lovie, a chatty fifty-year-old parrot. Lovie’s pet mom, DruCilla, was an amiable guest in her late fifties who smelled like patchouli oil and introduced herself as a Wiccan. Bo stopped by with Xander and the young boy’s “girlfriend,” eight-year-old fellow classmate Esme. The three had taken the St. Felice’s Creole Mourning Tour on their way over to Crozat, and they shared the ghoulish customs they’d learned about on the tour with the B and B’s enthralled visiting children. “Dead people were loaded into the hearse feetfirst so they couldn’t look back at the living people and doom them,” Esme said, her tiny body bobbing up and down with excitement. “Everybody tried not to yawn, because a spirit could get inside you that way. And people in the olden days thought spirits could get inside you if you touched a coffin, which is why the guys carrying them—”
“Pallbearers,” Bo said.
“Right, them—wore gloves. And just to make sure a person was really dead, nobody got buried for …” She turned to Xander. “How many hours?”
“Twenty-four to forty-eight,” he said.
“Good memory, son,” Bo said. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and Xander responded with a shy smile. Maggie marveled at how much Bo’s son, who had Asperger’s syndrome, had blossomed during his year-plus living in Pelican. When they first met, he’d refused to speak or make eye contact. Now he did both, and so much more.
The front doorbell let out a shriek, startling the guests, who responded with more screams. “I’ll get it,” Ninette called from the kitchen.
“Tell us another story,” a young boy from Shreveport on vacation with his parents begged.
“Everyone was super afraid of ghosts.” Esme, with her white-blonde hair and alabaster skin, looked ghostlike herself. “They covered mirrors with cloth, because if you saw yourself after someone died, you’d die next. The ladies had to wear black way longer than the men, which I think is really mean. Even the dolls got put in black dresses. And—”