by Ellen Byron
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why is Ville Blanc PD here?”
“Half the cemetery’s in their town, half is in ours.”
“Seriously?” Maggie shook her head in disbelief. “What is it with property lines in this parish?”
“They go back hundreds of years and nobody pays much attention to them until they have to.”
“Like with us at Crozat,” Maggie murmured. She watched Ville Blanc and Pelican investigators scour the area around the now-covered body of her late cousin Susannah, occasionally bumping into each other. “So, it’s officially a crime scene.”
“Not until the cause of death has been determined, but it’s pretty dang suspicious.”
The man Bo had been talking to a few minutes earlier sauntered over. “It’s a little crowded over there,” he said, gesturing to the collection of tombs. “You can call off your guys. Mine know what they’re doing.”
“So do mine.” Bo’s tone was measured, but Maggie knew him well enough to pick up his dislike of the man. “Maggie, this is Ville Blanc detective Zeke Griffith.”
“Hey there.” The detective cast an appraising glance at Maggie. “Crozat, right? You knew the deceased. I have a few questions for you.”
“Oh. I … I’m …”
Maggie looked to Bo for help. Before he could respond, Griffith said, “Just trying to dodge any hint of impropriety, seeing as how you two are a couple.”
Maggie saw Bo clench his teeth, a visceral response to the underlying threat in Griffith’s pseudo-casual comment. But Bo simply responded, “Good idea.” He hesitated a minute, then stepped away.
Griffith motioned to a row of folding chairs. Maggie sat down, clasping her hands together in her lap like a nervous schoolgirl. “This may be for nothing,” Griffith began. “For all we know, the deceased died of natural causes. But in case that’s not the case, I like to talk to people when an event is fresh in their minds.”
“I don’t know how much help I can be,” Maggie said, silently cursing the perspiration beading up on her forehead. Something about the Ville Blanc detective’s attitude was pushing her insecurity buttons. “I was watching from the audience like everyone else.”
“Must have been a shock to you, seeing Mrs. MacDowell appear all of a sudden like that.”
“Only because I’d seen the show before and knew there was no rougarou in it.” Good answer, Maggie congratulated herself. “There was an incident before the show started that I should share with you. One of our guests made eye contact with something in the woods. The experience terrified her. Another guest insisted it was a rougarou. I thought it might be Walter Breem, the Dupois caretaker. But maybe it was Susannah, in her costume.”
“Ms. MacDowell is staying with you, right?”
“Yes. She’s a distant cousin. We only recently connected. We hired her to be the massage therapist for our new spa facility.” Just the facts, ma’am, just the facts.
“But the relationship went south in a fight over property, and you fired her.”
Griffith shot this comment at her like it was attached to an arrow and Maggie was the bull’s-eye in his target. How had he dug all this up already? He was certainly on top of his job. Maybe a little too on top of it, which concerned her. Maggie’s heart fluttered, but she forced a calm response. “Susannah was fired because she secretly established a side business we hadn’t approved. We hired her to be a massage therapist, not a psychic, so she was let go for breach of contract. The property dispute had nothing to do with her dismissal.” Maggie’s cell rang, startling her. It was another spam call. She gritted her teeth and blocked the number.
“Okay. I guess that’s it for now.” Zeke stood up. “You know what, you and Bo and me and my girlfriend should have a double date someday. Play cards or something.”
“Cards?” Maggie was thrown by the detective’s abrupt change of subject. “Why cards?”
Griffith grinned. “Because you have a terrible poker face.”
Maggie stood up and faced him. “Everything I’ve told you is the truth. And you might want to rethink that double date because I happen to be a great poker player.”
She marched off before Griffith could respond with a comeback and found Bo, who was on his cell. He held up his index finger, and she waited for him to finish. “Right … okay. I’ll be there.” Bo ended the call. “Rufus. He’s on his way. Sandy dragged him to a yoga retreat this weekend, and he can’t downward dog his way out of there fast enough. We’re gonna meet at Crozat and inform the MacDowells of the death.”
“After you leave, we’ll check in with them to make sure they’re okay.”
Bo nodded. “Sounds good. How’d it go with Dirty Harry?”
He made a dismissive gesture toward Zeke Griffith, who appeared to be in the middle of an interview with Little Earlie Waddell, the editor, publisher, and delivery boy of the Pelican Penny Clipper. The Penny Clipper was a freebie handout that Little Earlie was determined to upgrade to a legitimate source of news despite his predilection for penning tabloid-style headlines and articles. The sight of the pugnacious journalist made Maggie groan. “I’m getting out of here before Little E sees me. He’ll be all over this, whether there’s a story here or not. Text me after you break the news to the MacDowells.” Maggie started for her car, then stopped. “Oh, and cher …”
“Yeah?”
“You need to teach me how to play poker.”
* * *
Despite the late hour, Maggie, her parents, and Grand-mère trooped over to the schoolhouse to pay their condolences as soon as Bo notified Maggie that Pelican PD had broken the news of Susannah’s death. Doug MacDowell, now a widower, opened the door to them. “Thank you. We’re all in shock,” Doug’s bleary-eyed, unkempt appearance confirmed his statement.
“I’ll take that,” his daughter Bonnie said, reaching for the basket of fruit and baked goods offered by Ninette. She inhaled the butter and cinnamon scent wafting from the muffins. “These smell so good. Please tell me they’re made with real butter and flour. Everything with Susannah was dairy and gluten-free.”
“Bonnie, show your late stepmother some respect,” Doug barked, then collapsed onto the room’s couch and dropped his head in his hands.
Bonnie, contrite, put down the basket and sat next to her father. She put an arm around his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m just hungry.”
“OMG, you’re a monster.” This came from Johnnie, who emerged from the bathroom. The aspiring poet’s skin was clammy and pale, and Maggie noticed his hands were shaking. “How can you even think of food right now? I’m so nauseous I think I may need to be hospitalized.”
“Stop being such a drama queen,” his sister said with an eye roll.
Johnnie threw his hands in the air. “If by drama queen, you mean a human being with actual feelings and emotions, then I’m proud to be called a drama queen.”
“Shut up, both of you!” Doug roused himself from grief long enough to yell at his children, then sagged again.
Maggie’s cell rang. She quickly turned it off. “Sorry, spam.”
Bonnie cast a knowing look at her brother. “Susannah?” He gave a slight nod. “She was such a b-i-t-c—”
“I can spell!” Doug roared.
The Crozats exchanged uncomfortable glances; then Maggie spoke for her family. “We feel terrible about your loss. We can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but if there’s anything we can do to help, we’re here for you.”
Doug lifted his head. He looked lost. “I don’t understand. Why was Susannah at that show? Why was she wearing that costume? What happened to her? None of this makes any sense.”
“Dad, you need to lie down. Let the police answer all those questions.” Johnnie helped his father to his feet, then addressed the Crozats. “Thank you for your kindness. It’s comforting to know some people around here have hearts.”
“Oh, shut up,” Bonnie said, with another eye roll.
> “You shut up!”
“Both of you shut up!”
The three MacDowells devolved into quarreling among themselves. “We’ll leave you to your grief,” Gran said as the Crozats backed out of the schoolhouse.
Tug pulled the schoolhouse door shut. “Wow. How old are those two again?”
Maggie made a face. “Chronologically or emotionally?”
“I’m a little worried about Johnnie,” Ninette said as the family made their way through the thick brush back to the manor house. “He seems fragile.”
“Agreed,” Maggie said. “I think he and Emma have become friends. I’ll ask her to keep an eye on him.” The family walked in silence. “Poor Doug. Those questions he asked, they’re baffling. Why was Susannah at the play? And why was she dressed up like a rougarou? Is she the one who’s been scaring the B and B guests? It doesn’t make sense. Or does it make sense in a way we haven’t figured out yet?”
“Oh my, this is giving me a headache,” Gran said. “I feel like we’ve fallen down a rabbit hole of confusion, or rather a rougarou hole.”
The family reached Gran and Maggie’s shotgun cottage. “We better pull ourselves out of that hole and get a decent night’s sleep, so we’re chipper for our guests in the AM,” Tug said. “We want them to go home with fun memories, not disturbing ones.”
The family chorused agreement and said their good-nights. But Maggie knew a good night’s sleep would be out of reach for all of them.
Chapter 8
Despite a communal exhaustion, the Crozats found the energy to send their guests off in the morning with a smile, along with a bag of Ninette’s sugar cookies as an added gesture of goodwill. With the help of their part-time employees, Marie and Bud Shexnayder, they spent the next few hours cleaning and prepping the rooms for the next batch of guests. Only DruCilla and her wing-baby Lovie were booked for the entire week, which allowed the Crozats some respite. Ninette and Tug delivered lunch to the MacDowells, reporting back that the family was in the middle of an interview with a couple of Ville Blanc detectives. This news made Maggie lose her appetite in the middle of a sugar cookie.
“I don’t know why you’re so jumpy,” Gran said when Maggie confessed her concern. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“It’s a feeling, Gran. Like we Doucets and Crozats sometimes get. A premonition.”
“The best thing to do is distract yourself.” Gran, who was thumbing through yet another bridal magazine, held up an ad for a poufy, frilly gown decorated with excessive lace and beading. “Do you think I could pull this off?”
“God, no,” Maggie instantly responded.
“Ouch.” Gran made a show of closing the magazine. “I’m sad to see that your nerves have made you tactless.”
“Sorry, Gran. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You know what, I’m going to text Bo.” Maggie pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket. “Oh, he just texted me. He’s here. With Rufus. And wants to meet us at the manor house. All of us. Come on, let’s go.”
Maggie and Gran found the Pelican law enforcement agents in the kitchen with Ninette and Tug. Rufus was inhaling a large bowl of Ninette’s jambalaya. “Soon as I finish this, I won’t say no to seconds. Sandy’s got me on this health kick. There should be a state law against making jambalaya with quinoa, whatever the heck that is.”
“There’s plenty more food, Rufus, although we’re not sure how long you’ll be staying?” Maggie knew Ninette’s posing this statement as a question was her mother’s indirect attempt at extracting the reason for the Pelican PD visit.
“We’ll be here for a while, most probably,” Rufus said through a mouthful of Ninette’s dish. “Bo, you wanna break it to them?”
“I, uh …” Bo stammered and looked down at the floor. Maggie tried recalling a time she’d seen her unflappable fiancé at a loss for words. None came to mind. After a minute, he looked up. “Ville Blanc’s crime lab has the budget to work fast. They already came back to us with a report on Susannah MacDowell’s rougarou mask. It was laced with strychnine. Her death is officially a murder investigation.”
Rufus scraped his bowl with his fork. “Your honey is tiptoeing around the reason we’re delivering this news in person.”
Maggie picked up Ru’s bowl, put it in the sink, and faced him. “Which is?”
Rufus held her glance. “Y’all are suspects. All of you.”
The Crozats digested this development. Gran was the first to respond. “I believe it’s score one for your instincts, Magnolia dear.”
“Why all of us?” Tug asked. “Make that, why any of us?”
“Two reasons, Dad,” Maggie said, recalling her unpleasant conversation with Ville Blanc detective Zeke Griffith. “I fired Susannah. I, not we, on that one. But we were all in on the property dispute.”
Ninette looked stricken. “Oh my, y’all can’t possibly think we’d resort to murder over a property line.”
Rufus shrugged. “There’s been people killed over a pair of sneakers, so yeah. I can think that. Although let me be clear here. Knowing your family as I’ve come to know you, I have trouble imagining a Crozat going to that dark place.”
“Unfortunately,” Bo said, “Ville Blanc’s lead detective on the case doesn’t.”
“Wait, alibis.” Maggie grabbed at this as a possible out. “I told Griffith I was watching the play. Do you all have alibis for last night?”
“Lee and I were taste-testing a wedding menu at Big Mama Catering,” Gran said. “I took notes for us, Maggie. There were some tasty choices.”
“Your mama went to bed early and I was poking around on the computer,” Tug said. “I ordered a couple of albums. Nothing beats vinyl for sound.”
“So there,” Maggie said. “We all have alibis, unless you can picture my mother sneaking out the bedroom window and shimmying down the gutter with a mind to murder.”
“Chère …” The expression on Bo’s face reflected his discomfort. “I don’t have to tell you where Rufus and I stand on this—”
“Although there was a time,” Rufus said, “when I did dream of jailing one or all of you for years. Or forever.”
Bo shot his cousin a look, then continued. “But we’ve got two problems. One, this case isn’t about the time of death, it’s about when the poison was placed in the mask. I’m not sure even Ville Blanc’s brilliance”—Bo’s tone was heavy with sarcasm—“can determine that. And speaking of Ville Blanc, they’re problem number two.”
“Bunch a dang neck-breathers,” Rufus muttered. “Think they’re so great with their brand-new SUVs and state-of-the-art facilities and stupid awards for their stupid-high rate of collars. I know, I know, hashtag jealous much?”
Crozat’s front doorbell screamed, and everyone jumped. “I’ll get it,” Tug said, heading out of the kitchen.
“Good thing I had that stent put in last year, or I’d be having a heart attack right now,” Rufus said.
“I feel like I’m a step away from one myself,” Maggie said. “So, what happens next?”
Bo’s cell pinged a text. He checked it and glowered. “What happens next is walking down the hallway with your father. And they will be here in—”
Tug pushed open the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room and led Zeke Griffith into the kitchen. A woman dressed in gray slacks and a black blazer followed the two men into the room. Maggie recognized her from the group working the cemetery scene the night before. Given that the woman had the same air of nonchalant arrogance as Griffith, Maggie assumed she was also a Ville Blanc detective.
Rufus stood up and positioned himself next to Bo as if creating a blue wall. “Griffith,” he said, curt.
“Durand One,” the detective responded, his way of noting that Rufus was both Bo’s boss and Bo’s cousin. He motioned to Bo with a sly grin. “And Durand Two.”
Bo worked his jaw. Maggie feared he might blow up at his Ville Blanc counterpart, but when he spoke, his voice was calm. “I’ve explained the situation to the Croz
ats.”
“Thanks for saving me the trouble,” Griffith said. “My partner and I’ll divvy up the family for interviews. You can hang out with them to make sure they don’t try to line up their stories.”
“A big old no on that,” Rufus said. “If you got any problems with my detective here conducting interviews, seeing as how he’s soon to be related to the family in question, we got the newest addition to our force, Detective Rogert, on his way over.”
“Or we can go with my plan and save time.”
“Or not.”
The tone in the Pelican police chief’s voice went from jocular to menacing. Rufus folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance, reminding Maggie of the years when he’d been a formidable enemy of the Crozats. She took some pleasure at seeing Ville Blanc’s finest at the receiving end of Rufus Durand’s enmity for a change.
Griffith hesitated, then turned to his yet-to-be-identified partner. “I’ll take them one at a time until Pelican’s guy gets here. You stay in here with the others.”
“I believe I’ll hang around too, just for giggles and grins.” Rufus, his voice softened, addressed Bo. “Go back to the station. I got this.”
Bo responded with the slightest of nods, then walked out of the room. Maggie ached for the love of her life, sidelined in an investigation he’d be helming under other circumstances.
Griffith crooked a finger at her. “Let’s pick up where we left off last night.”
“We can talk in our office,” Maggie said.
She led Griffith to the B and B office. “Nice,” he said, glancing around the room after taking a seat in a carved walnut side chair upholstered in a rich burgundy velvet. “I admire the way you upper-cruster Pelican families live. The antiques in here must be worth a fortune.”
“Which removes financial gain as a motive for murder,” Maggie said. “And trust me, we wish we were ‘upper-crusters.’”
Griffith acknowledged her comeback with a slight smile. “I’m an MCM guy myself. That stands for—”