by Ellen Byron
“Marie and Bud Shexnayder are helping us clean the rooms,” Maggie said. “I’ll tell them.”
“All righty then, we’re done here,” Artie said.
The four trooped down the attic stairs. At the bottom, they pushed the writing desk back in place. “My new desk for the apartment,” Maggie said to Bo with pride.
“I like it,” he responded, planting a light kiss on her lips. Artie ahemed. “I’m off duty, remember?”
Artie ignored him. He rubbed his stomach. “Man, investigations work up an appetite.”
“Ninette’s ready for you with double servings of everything,” Tug said.
“Your missus knows me so well. Allons-y. Let’s go.”
Tug and Artie left for the kitchen while Maggie walked Bo back to his car. “Murders, burglaries, ghosts, rougarous,” she said. “I was safer in Brooklyn. The bad parts.”
“They still have bad parts? I thought every inch of it was gentrified.”
“There might be a sketchy block or two left in the borough. Gentrification makes me think of Rent My Digs. We wouldn’t be in this whole mess if pressure from that stupid app hadn’t made me think up the spooky weekends, which made me think of opening the spa to time with them, which made me think of hiring Susannah as our masseuse.” Maggie paused to take a breath. “If you can nail that slimeball techie Gavin Grody for any crime besides generally ruining Pelican, go for it.”
“I wish. But sadly, being an SOB isn’t a crime. Much as I wish it were.” The couple reached Bo’s car. “Be safe, chère.”
Bo kissed Maggie, this time lingering on her lips. Then he hopped into his SUV and took off. Maggie scampered up the steps into the cottage. Gran was there, dressed in navy pants and a gray silk top that brought out the shine in her silver hair. “Morning, darlin’ girl,” Gran said. “Lee took me to a wedding supply store outside Baton Rouge that just opened.”
“Already?” Maggie couldn’t help being amused by her grand-mere’s passion for wedding paraphernalia. “It’s only a little after nine o’clock.”
“We had to go first thing. Lee needed to get to work because the service station is swamped with cars having all sorts of troubles. He swears the Halloween season has brought out spirits that are making mischief with people’s engines. Anyhoo, the wedding shop owners were a bit surprised to see us knocking on their door at dawn’s early light. But because we were their very first customers, we earned ourselves a few freebies.” Gran held up two small bride and groom statues. “Look at these. Senior citizen cake toppers. I love how customized everything is these days. The bride has hair my color and the groom’s got a cane. How cute is that? And I thought this was so you.” Gran held up a small statue of a bride in jeans and a wedding veil flashing a peace sign. “And this is for Bo.”
Gran displayed the figure of a man with a pipe wearing a caped coat and deerstalker hat. He clutched a magnifying glass in his extended hand.
“Gran, that’s Sherlock Holmes.”
“Exactly. Because Bo is a detective. What? Too on the nose?”
Before Maggie could yell “Yes!” at her grandmother, her cell rang. “Hi, Mom. Has Artie eaten us out of business yet?”
“He left. I made him a to-go bag. A big one. Honey, we have a problem.” Hearing the anxiety in her mother’s voice, Maggie tensed. “Those detectives from Ville Blanc are here,” Ninette continued. “They’re asking for our consent to do a search. Your dad left to finalize the order for the new attic door and he forgot his phone, so I can’t reach him. I don’t know what to tell the detectives, so I’m stalling.”
Gran, worried, put down her collection of wedding cake toppers. “I don’t like the look on your face. What’s wrong?”
Maggie put a hand over her phone. “Ville Blanc detectives are asking to do a search.”
The octogenarian planted both hands on her hips. “Tell them no, non, ix-nay, nada, forget it,” she said, defiant. “And as they say in all the mobster movies and series, fuhgeddaboudit.”
“I don’t want to make things worse,” Maggie said. She returned to her mother. “Keep stalling. Tell them I’m in the shower so you can’t reach me either.”
Maggie ended the call and punched in a different number. “Are you calling Bo?” Gran asked.
“No. Ville Blanc is looking for an excuse to cite him for impropriety. I don’t want to give them any ammunition.” The cell on the other end rang only once before someone picked up. “Rufus, hi. We have a situation and need your help.”
Maggie filled Rufus in. He responded with a barrage of profanity that made Maggie, no slouch in the scatological department herself, blush. “Those nimrods have to come begging to do a search because they’re having trouble getting a warrant. Let me handle ’em. I’ll be there in five,” Rufus said, before hanging up.
Maggie decided to give truth to Ninette’s lie and jump into the shower. She rinsed off attic grime from her body, then stood under the soothing flow of water until she heard the scream of a police siren growing closer. She reluctantly turned off the water and got dressed, opting for a staid look of black pants and a cotton polo shirt decorated with the Doucet Plantation logo.
She found Rufus, her mother, grandmother, and Ville Blanc detectives Griffith and Broussard in the B and B’s office. Maggie got great pleasure from seeing that Rufus was already on a tear. “Next time, y’all better think long and hard before you try sneaking around our department and the law,” Rufus railed.
“Acck!” Lovie screeched. “Long and hard, long and hard.”
Gran raised an eyebrow. “Oh my, that sounds wildly inappropriate.”
“We’re not the Mayberry RFD buffoons you think we are, Griffith.” Rufus glared at the VBPD lead detective. “Not one of the Crozat family members has a motive for murder. Susannah MacDowell’s death doesn’t benefit anyone but her widder husband, Doug. He’s the beneficiary of her will, so the land and all that comes with it goes to him. That’s a big old motive in my book.”
Griffith didn’t seem the least bit ruffled by Ru’s hostility. This frustrated Maggie. But his response terrified her. “Anger,” he said. “Vengeance. Humiliation. I see a property dispute gone bad. Turned ugly. Deadly ugly.”
“Acck, ugly! Deadly! Ugly!”
“Will someone please shut that bird up?” Griffith snapped, his equanimity finally disturbed. “And I don’t wanna hear from you anymore either, Durand. You’re obviously in cahoots with the Crozats, just like your cousin.”
Rufus turned bright red with rage. Sweat poured off his forehead. “If you’re saying we let our personal lives blind us to criminal activity, that’s about as insulting as it gets, Griffith. If evidence pointed to anyone in this family as the killer, I’d be the first to march them out the door and into a patrol car, even Granny here.”
“Excuse me!” Gran, ire raised, barked. “Nobody ever calls me Granny. Do I look like I sit on a rockin’ chair on the ol’ front porch smokin’ a corncob pipe? I don’t think so.”
“My apologies, ma’am,” Rufus said, abashed. He resumed his tirade. “And who uses cahoots anymore? Are we solving crimes in the 1940s? But you know what, if being sure the citizens of my town get the fair treatment they deserve is being ‘in cahoots,’ then I am cahooting away. And let me tell you something else, Detective I’m-So-Cool-I-Should-Be-on-a-TV-Show, I—ah—I—agh—”
Rufus cried out in pain. He clutched his stomach, doubled over, and collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
“Acck!” Lovie squawked. “Oh my! Oh my, oh my, oh my!”
Chapter 12
Maggie might not have been a fan of the Ville Blanc detectives, but she was impressed by how quickly they jumped into action. Griffith provided emergency medical assistance to Rufus while Detective Broussard summoned an ambulance. Rufus came to and groaned. “Lord, my stomach. Who took a knife to me?”
Ninette dropped to her knees and dabbed his forehead with a moistened kitchen towel. “No one, Rufus. Nothing murderous here for a change. You got someth
ing bad going on inside you.”
“The ambulance is here,” Broussard said.
“I’ll fetch them,” Maggie said.
She ran down the hallway and threw open the heavy, centuries-old front door. EMTs Regine Armitage and Cody Pugh pushed a gurney through the doorway. “Where’s the body?” Cody asked as they raced the gurney down the hall.
“Back parlor, our office. It’s Rufus, and he’s alive.”
“That’s a nice change of pace with y’all,” Regine said.
“Yeah, thanks, my mother mentioned that, too,” Maggie tossed the acerbic response to the EMT’s back. Regine and Cody were already strapping a moaning Rufus onto the gurney.
“Call Sandy,” the police chief, his voice weak, said to Maggie as he was wheeled out of the room.
“I will,” Maggie promised. “We’ll meet you at the hospital.”
Within minutes, a siren announced that the ambulance was on the way to St. Pierre Parish Medical Center, leaving Maggie to face Detectives Griffith and Broussard. “Thank you for helping Rufus.”
“Just doing our job,” Griffith said. “Which started with our coming here to ask for permission to do a targeted search of the premises.”
“Right.” Maggie assumed a thoughtful position, then said, “Fuhgeddaboudit. I’d walk you to the door, but I have calls to make. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
She left the room for her car, tapping in Sandy’s cell number as she walked. Before she could finish entering it, her phone exploded with a flurry of texts from various friends in a group thread.
Heard about Ru going to hospital. Is he okay? What’s going on?
OMG, Ru Durand’s stomach exploded.
Heard Ru was poisoned.
Whaaa??? Noooo!
Maggie typed a response to quell the rumors, which were spiraling out of control: Ru had stomach pain. Maybe appendix. No exploding, no poison!!! Calm down, all! Then she jumped into her vintage convertible and took off for the hospital.
Maggie found Bo in the ER waiting room. The two embraced, then released each other. “Any updates?” Maggie asked.
“Not yet. Sandy is with him. What happened?”
Maggie shared the details of the Ville Blanc detectives’ visit and Ru’s sudden illness. Bo was more upset by the former than the latter, which would have amused Maggie if the situation hadn’t been so dire. “I can’t stand that Griffith,” Bo fumed. “He’s an ambitious operator who’s just trying to make some career noise. Tell your family, don’t give him anything.”
Bo’s dark tone concerned Maggie. “Do you think we should hire Quentin?”
“No. You don’t pull that trigger until you have to. If you hire a defense attorney now, it could give the appearance of guilt to someone as hungry for an arrest, any arrest, as Griffith.” Bo’s cell rang. “Sorry. With Ru out of commission, I’m the go-to guy. Which means it’s also the end of my week off.”
Maggie waved him off. “Go. Protect our fair city, Commissioner Gordon.”
Bo grinned. “Maybe that should be my costume for Halloween. The commissioner to Xander’s Batman.”
Bo stepped away. Maggie took a seat on one of the room’s unwelcoming hard plastic chairs, only to jump up when she saw Sandy Sechrest, Ru’s girlfriend, running down the hall toward the waiting room. She met Sandy halfway and enveloped the lithe exotic dancer–turned–exercise instructor in a hug. “What’s going on?” Maggie asked. “Is Ru going to be all right?”
Sandy nodded. “Yes, thank goodness. He had a gallbladder attack, which isn’t life-threatening. But the doctors have to remove it. They’ll prep Ru today and do the surgery tomorrow.”
The women walked into the waiting room. Maggie bought them each a bottle of water from the vending machine. “I’ve always thought they should sell booze instead of water in the ER,” she said, handing Sandy her bottle. “If there’s any place you need a drink, it’s here.”
“Agreed.” Sandy opened her bottle, drank half of it, then collapsed into a chair. “Ow, these are hard.”
“I know.” Maggie sat down next to her. “Another strike against the ER.”
Sandy placed her elbow on the chair’s arm and rested her head in the palm of her hand. She was dressed in purple leggings, a sports bra, and a tank top decorated with the logo of her exercise studio, DanceBod. “When you called me, I was terrified. All I could think was, don’t you die on me, Rufus Durand. He can be smug, overbearing, opinionated, lazy, a total slob—”
“And you’re with him why?”
Sandy teared up. “Because he’s smart and funny and loves me more than anybody I’ve ever known.”
“All good reasons.” Maggie pulled a clean tissue from her purse and gave it to Sandy. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
“It’s okay. But could you do me a favor and take King Cake for a walk?”
“Absolutely. I’ll do that right now.” Maggie stood up. She saw Bo end a call, then answer another one. “Let Bo know what’s going on with Ru, and where I went. I’ll touch base with you later.”
After Sandy gave her the key, Maggie departed for the dance studio. As she drove, she contemplated the recent developments. With Rufus immobilized and Bo forced to step back from the investigation into Susannah’s death—plus having to take on Ru’s Pelican PD duties—the Crozats’ two most powerful allies were sidelined. I’m pretty much on my own, Maggie thought to herself as she drove past fields of sugarcane into Pelican’s scenic town center. She parked behind the studio and let herself in. King Cake, Sandy’s corgi-Chihuahua mix who served as the instructor’s beloved companion and therapy dog, barked a sleepy hello and wagged his tail. “You’re a terrible guard dog,” Maggie chided him with affection.
She put on King Cake’s harness and leash and took him out the front door. DanceBod was only a few doors down from Junie’s Oyster Bar and Dance Hall. Maggie watched as a brand-new Tesla did a sleight-of-hand parallel-parking job in front of Junie’s. Bonnie MacDowell exited the car from the passenger’s side. A moment later, Rent My Digs mogul Gavin Grody emerged from the driver’s side. The two, each glued to their cell phones, managed to make their way into Junie’s without tripping or colliding with someone or something. When Maggie was sure they were out of sight, she walked King Cake to the Tesla, and he promptly peed on one of the tires. “That’s my boy,” Maggie said, reaching down to pet him. He ran in circles, then crouched on his back haunches and took a poo next to the driver’s door. “Well done,” Maggie congratulated him. “I so wish we could leave it there for a certain jerk to step in when he gets in his car. But we can’t.”
Maggie cleaned up after King Cake, then walked him back home. He devoured the treat she gave him, then sacked out in his deluxe doggy bed. She left the studio, but instead of heading home, she headed for Junie’s. It was time to do some investigating of her own.
JJ greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. Instead of wearing one of his late mother’s caftans, he was outfitted like a Valkyrie, complete with horned helmet. “What’s with the costume?” Maggie asked.
“You like?” JJ struck a pose. “It’s from when Mama was a supernumerary in The Ring Cycle up in Baton Rouge.” He blasted out a few shrill notes from the opera. The patrons, most of whom were used to JJ, ignored him. “Make yourself at home. I’ll have Old Shari mix you something.” He waved at the restaurant’s nonagenarian bartender, who was busy with a martini shaker.
“No drinking for me right now,” Maggie said.
“I know what that means, Nancy Drew-cette.” JJ gave her a theatrical wink. “If you need a Watson to your Holmes, lemme know.”
“That’s a whole lotta mystery references mashed up into one, JJ,” Maggie said, amused.
JJ sauntered off and Maggie scanned the room. It was lunchtime, so the bar was half empty, but the tables were full. Her goal was to finagle useful information out of Bonnie. She saw Patria, the ingenue actress from the cemetery play, at a table with a few castmates. Someone who was at the scene of the crime, Maggie
thought, which sounds ridiculously dramatic but is true. She noted that Bonnie and Gavin had just placed their order with JJ. They’d be there a while, so Maggie decided to home in on Patria first. She watched the actress get up and disappear into the restroom. Maggie waited a beat, then negotiated her way around a few tables and pushed the door to the restroom open. Patria was at the sink washing her hands.
“Hi,” Maggie said, affecting surprise at seeing the actress. “Patria, right? From the play?”
“Yes, hi.” The ingenue preened, assuming she’d been recognized for her bravura performance. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“Maggie. Maggie Crozat. My family owns Crozat B and B. We’ve been bringing our guests to the play. You’re amazing.” Maggie cringed at how unctuous she sounded, but it had the desired effect.
“Oh my, thank you,” Patria fluted. Maggie half expected her to take a bow. Patria’s face darkened. “It sucks, because pretty much all people remember about the show now is that lady dying.”
Maggie marveled at the actress’s self-absorption. “I know. She was the massage therapist at our B and B.” This didn’t seem to spark with the actress, but Maggie didn’t care. It was a segue into a more useful topic. “And a psychic. Oh, now I remember. You saw her and she said you were gonna meet your husband, and you were worried that it might not happen because she died.” I sound like a total bimbo, but if it works, who cares.
“Right.” Patria gave her head of blonde-highlighted hair a vigorous nod, which she followed with a Cheshire cat grin. “No worries there no more. I got someone who’s very interested.”
Maggie didn’t doubt that Patria’s combination of shallow personality, blandly pretty looks, and knockout figure had nabbed a guy—or girl, depending on Patria’s sexual orientation—who found those qualities irresistible. It was time to move off the topic of Patria, which Maggie hoped was possible. She dropped a line in the water to see if the actress would bite. “I wonder if all of Susannah’s readings were as on-target as yours.”