Murder in the Bayou Boneyard

by Ellen Byron

  Griffith ignored Quentin. “I’ll be in touch,” he said to Maggie.

  He and his team headed for their vehicles. Maggie, Tug, and Quentin watched as the law enforcement officials pulled out of the parking area and drove off. “I’m sorry, chère,” Tug said. He dropped his head, unable to make eye contact with his daughter. “I should’ve done something to stop them. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless in my life.”

  “Dad, don’t blame yourself.” Maggie, feeling bad for her father, rubbed his shoulder. “They had a warrant. There was nothing you could do.”

  Quentin brushed some dust that the patrol cars had kicked up off his jacket. “Operating under the ‘It’s five o’clock somewhere’ rule, I wouldn’t say no to a bourbon neat, and I’m guessing you wouldn’t either.”

  “It would be my second drink before sunset today.” Maggie turned to the lawyer. “Let’s do it.”

  Maggie, Quentin, and Tug retreated to the office, where they found Ninette. The room smelled like a blend of sugar and spices. A plate of Cajun Pecan Cookie Fingers sat on the coffee table, alongside a Sugar High Pie. “Two desserts?” Maggie knew her mother baked to relieve anxiety. “You must have been super nervous.”

  “I already had the pie and cookies on hand,” Ninette said. “But I’ve got a bread pudding in the oven. I’m hoping the scent will find its way outdoors and make those officers hungry. Then I’d get to tell them, ‘Too bad, you’re not getting any.’”

  Quentin picked up a cookie. “Punishment by tasty treats. I like it.” The lawyer made himself comfortable on the room’s antique carved walnut sofa. He took the glass of bourbon Maggie offered him and then bit into his cookie. “Delicious. Too bad these weren’t done before Griffith and his cronies showed up. We might have used the cookies to bribe them into not executing that warrant.”

  Tug took the bottle of bourbon from Maggie and poured himself a double. “Any idea what’s gonna happen now, Quentin?”

  “Griffith’s got a bug up his behind about Magnolia here being a suspect.” The lawyer took a swallow of his drink. “He’s gonna test the voodoo doll for traces of strychnine to tie it to her, which he won’t find.”

  “Lord, no,” Maggie said with vehemence.

  “Which means Griffith can’t make his case. Even Judge Archer, who’d sign anything except a check for his half of the dinner we were supposed to go Dutch on, wouldn’t issue an arrest warrant on such a ridiculous lack of evidence.”

  “So, we’ve got some breathing room,” Tug said.

  “Yes …”

  Maggie picked up on the hesitation in the defense attorney’s voice. “What Quentin doesn’t want to say is that I’ll still be in Griffith’s cross hairs until there are other suspects, or the actual killer is caught.”

  “I appreciate you not making me have to articulate that, my friend.” Quentin knocked back the rest of his drink. “I’d best be going. Vanessa did an interview with Little Earlie for the Penny Clipper about her star turn in my production, and I promised I’d take glam shots of her for the paper.” He handed his empty glass back to Maggie and looked at her with compassion. “They’re not gonna get you, Maggie. I won’t let them.”

  Maggie pressed her lips together. She swallowed, then said, “Thanks, Quentin. Just … thank you.”

  Quentin started out of the office, almost colliding with Brianna Poche, Maggie’s young helper, on the way out. They danced around each other a minute, then the lawyer left, and Brianna came into the room. The pretty African-American teenager carried full shopping bags in each hand. “Hey, y’all. Maggie, I got awesome stuff for the immortelles.”

  “Great,” Maggie said, welcoming a break from obsessing about her status as a murder suspect. “Let’s see what you have.”

  She moved Ninette’s sweets to an end table next to the sofa. Brianna placed her bags on the coffee table. Maggie began pulling out an assortment of leaves, twigs, and flowers. “Nice … nice …” She held up a branch laden with orange berries. “I haven’t seen these before. They’re perfect for the immortelles.”

  “I know,” Brianna said. “Don’t tell no one, but my friends and me found a way to sneak through the fence into those old gardens at the Dupois place. It’s super creepy, but there’s so many cool plants and trees and things there.”

  “Brianna, honey, I appreciate your hard work, but that’s trespassing,” Maggie said, her tone kind but firm. “From now on, stick to public locations, okay?”

  “’Kay, but everyone goes there. I’m the only one looking for leaves and stuff. All my friends only go to”—she whispered—“make out.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re more industrious than your friends,” Ninette said, amused. She handed the girl a cookie. “A small reward. I’ll make you a bag of them to take home.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Wait. Let me see that branch.” Tug took the branch from Maggie and examined it. He carried it to the computer, where he typed in a search. A photo appeared on the computer screen. “Oh, man. I was afraid of this.”

  “What’s wrong?” Maggie asked.

  Tug grimaced and rubbed his forehead. “Remember when I took that horticulture class at Coastal Community? The one that helped me be able to name the plants around here when guests asked about them? There was a section on poisonous plants, and this here was one of them.” Tug motioned to the others, who gathered behind him. They peered at the computer as he held the branch next to a picture on the screen. The two were an exact match. “See? It’s the same berry. And the seeds are poisonous.”

  “Oh, dear,” Ninette said. “What kind of poison?”

  Maggie read the description under the photo. Her stomach began to roil. “Strychnine.”

  The family exchanged uneasy glances. No one wanted to say what they were all thinking in front of Brianna.

  Strychnine was the poison that had been used to kill Susannah.

  Chapter 16

  Maggie recovered first. “It’s a good thing you identified these before we used them, Dad.”

  “Am I gonna die?” Brianna asked, wringing her hands.

  “No, no, chère, of course not,” Ninette said, her voice comforting. “The poison is on the inside, not the outside. But let’s wash your hands real well anyway.”

  Ninette led Brianna from the room. Maggie let go of a breath. “Nice catch, Dad. Thank goodness Brianna didn’t find these sooner. We’d have to call all our guests and tell them their immortelles might do the reverse and cut their lives short.”

  “Now that we know they’re from the Dupois property, the police will have to take a closer look at Walter Breem as a possible suspect,” Tug said.

  “Yes,” Maggie said, “except it won’t let us off the hook completely. Griffith can claim we knew there was a strychnine tree on the Dupois land. You took a class that covered poisonous plants.” Maggie pointed to the computer. “And now there’s a search for it on your computer.”

  “From today. After Susannah’s death.”

  Maggie frowned. She twisted a lock of her thick chestnut-brown hair around her finger. “True, but it still makes me nervous.”

  “We can’t withhold potential evidence,” Tug said.

  “I know,” Maggie said with reluctance.

  “But … that don’t mean we have to rush to share it.” Tug crooked a corner of his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I got a long to-do list. I think the rest of the day may get away from me.”

  “And I haven’t even had a chance to file a police report about my stolen wedding dress.” Maggie was surprised by how emotional she felt saying this out loud.

  Tug gave his daughter a sympathetic pat on the hand. “We’re gonna get that back, Magnolia. No worries.”

  Gran breezed into the office. She was dressed in her version of casual, a white silk top tucked into gray slacks buckled with a silver belt. Her silver hair was topped with a crown headband that had the words Bride-to-Be emblazoned in hot-pink glitter. She carried a tote bag pri
nted with Your Big Day! in a swirly pink font. She greeted her son and granddaughter with kisses on their cheeks. “I finagled a sample of that gator toothpick holder out of the vendor,” she said to Maggie. Gran reached into her bag and pulled out a small enameled alligator. His open mouth held toothpicks. “Isn’t he adorable?” She handed the favor to Maggie. Noticing the strychnine branch, she picked it up. “I love the color of these berries. Is this for the immortelle workshop? It’s perfect.”

  “It’s strychnine.”

  Gran dropped the branch. “Never mind. Why is it here?”

  “Brianna found it when she was gathering flora for this weekend’s workshop,” Maggie said. “It turns out she’s been doing some illegal foraging on the Dupois property. Which is where she came across a strychnine tree.”

  “‘A deciduous tree native to India and southeast Asia,” Tug said, reading from his computer screen.

  “That makes sense,” Gran said. “The Dupois family gathered plants from all over the world. It’s what made their garden legendary.”

  “We need to share this with the police,” Tug said, adding with emphasis, “Eventually.”

  Gran gave a nod. “Got it.”

  “First, I’m going to Pelican PD to report my missing wedding gown,” Maggie said.

  Gran put her bag down on the chair. “I’m coming with you. I have a wonderfully vivid image of your mother in that gown. I can provide details, if the police need them.” She favored her granddaughter with a compassionate smile. “And provide a bit of moral support as well.”

  “Thanks, Gran,” Maggie said. “I could use it.”

  * * *

  Bo returned Maggie’s call while she and Gran were driving to the police station. She put her fiancé on speaker phone and updated him on the VBPD search and her missing wedding gown. “There was a hit-and-run on Airline Highway,” he said. “Luckily, no major injuries, but I’ll be tied up for the next few hours. When I’m free, I’ll call Griffith and rip him a new one. He had a warrant, so he was within his rights, but it’ll feel good. After that, I’m all over finding your dress. In the meantime, put whoever’s at the station on it.”

  “We’re on our way there now.” Maggie debated, then said, “There’s something else.” She told him about the strychnine branch.

  “That’s bad news for Walter Breem and good news for you,” Bo said, relief in his voice.

  “Griffith can still twist it to make me or my family look bad.”

  “He can try, but it’s a reach. No evidence to show you had prior knowledge of the strychnine’s presence or any use of it.”

  “We were going to wait to mention this to VBPD,” Maggie said. “But I guess we have to tell them now that I told you. Or you have to tell them.”

  “Although … I got a busy night. There’s a good chance I might forget we ever had this conversation. Just in case, maybe you should text me the information sometime tomorrow. Say, late in the day. Real late.”

  Maggie smiled. “That makes me feel a little better.”

  “When all this is over, I’m looking forward to making you feel a lot better.”

  The sexy tone of Bo’s voice left no guesswork as to how he planned on doing this. Gran mock-fanned herself. “Oh, my.”

  “Is that your grandmother?” Bo couldn’t have sounded more embarrassed.

  “Yes,” Maggie said, giggling.

  “Um, hello, Mrs. Crozat.”

  “Hello, Bo. Perhaps we should end this call.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Bo instantly signed off, and Gran winked at her granddaughter.

  When Maggie and Gran arrived at Pelican PD headquarters, they found Artie Belloise manning the desk. The portly police officer was eating a large order of jambalaya from a Styrofoam container. “Hey there, Crozats. Ru’s still out on medical leave and Bo’s on a call, so the inmates are running the asylum. Meaning me.” He held up the container, which sagged under the jambalaya’s weight. “Late-afternoon snack. A little takeout from Junie’s. Little in the figurative sense.”

  “I can see,” Maggie said. “But I can’t imagine eating anything less than a big portion of Junie’s jambalaya.”

  Artie dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin. “Bo called and gave me the heads-up about your wedding gown. Takes a lotta nerve to steal something so precious.”

  “Tell me about it,” Maggie said. Gran took her hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze.

  Artie reluctantly pushed away his jambalaya and handed Maggie a form. “Here. Let’s start the hunt with you filling out this report.”

  Maggie and Gran took seats on the lobby’s aging, hard plastic chairs. Maggie filled out the form with as many details as she could. “We think the thief stole other stuff too, Artie, but we don’t know exactly what.”

  “No worries,” the officer said. “When we find your dress, I’m sure we’ll find the rest of the loot. That’s generally how it works. Usually they store it all in the same place or stick with the same fence to unload the goods.”

  “Meaning the dress could have been sold already.” Maggie couldn’t control the quaver in her voice.

  “Doubt it,” Artie said, his mouth full of the forkful of jambalaya he couldn’t resist eating. “A dress like that, all historical and such, requires a real specific buyer. Finding one of those’d take some time, even with the Internet, where a lotta ill-gotten gains end up these days.”

  “I’m praying you’re right,” Maggie said.

  She finished the form and returned it to Artie. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “And Maggie …” The jocular officer turned serious. “Around here, there’s no particular fondness for our brethren over at Ville Blanc. Know that we’ll do anything to protect our own citizens. Anything.”

  “I appreciate that,” Maggie said, grateful for the force’s support. “But I don’t want you doing something that might get you in trouble.”

  “You know our motto. In Louisiana …”

  Maggie and Gran chimed in with Artie. “We only follow the rules we like.”

  The women left Artie to finish what was left of his lunch. It was a beautiful fall day, with a cloudless azure sky and a slight nip in the unusually dry air. “Can I treat you to an early dinner, Gran?”

  “Yes, but first …” Gran checked her watch. “Good, the bank is still open. Come with me.”

  The two cut through the verdant town square, setting off the gazebo’s band of ghouls as they walked past it. A Frankenstein monster wearing suspenders and a straw boater hat sang, Halloween, Halloween, this is Halloween, watch for ghouls and ghosties. An ambulance suddenly zoomed by with its siren blaring, which drowned out the rest of the song.

  “Who thought I’d prefer a siren to a song,” Gran said. “But when it comes to whatever that ‘ghostie’ was singing, I do.”

  “Agreed,” Maggie said, “about a bazillion percent.”

  They stepped into Morrin National Bank, a lofty name for a local institution with a mere three branches in the parish. The bank’s interior was a nineteenth-century time capsule, with polished marble columns and ornate brass grates separating the two tellers from customers. Bank president Robert “Bob” Morrin, the seventy-something cadaverous bald descendant of the founding family, greeted Gran like she was a rock star. “Mrs. Crozat, how wonderful to see you. What a delightful end to my day. Come in, come in.”

  He put a hand under Gran’s elbow and guided her into his office. Maggie brought up the rear. Morrin settled Gran into a wingback chair upholstered in navy leather with brass nailhead trim. Since the room lacked a second chair, Maggie stood behind her grandmother. “I assume you know my granddaughter, Magnolia,” Gran said.

  “I’m afraid not. I don’t think she banks with us.”

  Morrin extended his hand with a smile, but there was enough of a hint of admonishment in his tone to make Maggie feel guilty. “I like to use my phone to make deposits,” she said, a little sheepish.

  “We just brought my millennial granddaughter into t
he bank fold, so you can bet she’ll have us using an app a-sapp,” Morrin quipped.

  Maggie gave a polite laugh. Gran got down to business. “Robert, I need you to retrieve my safety deposit box.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The bank president shot out of the room. Maggie furrowed her brow. “Everything okay, Gran? I know business has been more down than up, but you’re not going to cash out anything, are you? We can always cut back on the wedding.”

  “Never,” Gran declared. “No, darling girl, this isn’t regarding a financial crisis. At least this week.”

  Morrin returned with a flat metal box. He placed it on his desk. “Mrs. Crozat, why don’t you sit behind my desk? Magnolia can take your seat. I’ll keep watch from outside the office.”

  He unlocked the box and stepped out of the room. Grand-mère extracted a flat black velvet case from the strongbox. She handed it to Maggie. “For you, chère. From my side of the family, the Bringiers.”

  Maggie opened the case and gasped. Resting on a bed of satin was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. She gently removed the heirloom, a white-gold filigree necklace with vines and blossoms shaped from diamonds and pearls. “Oh, Gran …”

  “I was going to surprise you with it on our wedding day,” her grandmother said. “But I decided not to wait. No matter what gown you walk down the aisle in, you’ll be wearing something rife with beauty, history, and sentiment.”

  Maggie held the necklace up to the light. The diamonds sparkled and cast tiny rainbows. “You’re getting married, too. Don’t you want to wear it?”

  “I’d much rather watch those gems reflect the glow of my beautiful granddaughter.”

  Maggie threw her arms around her grandmother. She held Grand-mère tightly, then said, “I love you so much.”