by Ellen Byron
It was late afternoon when the guests cleared out, immortelles and cookies in hand. Some returned to their rooms to relax or nap and others made their way to the spa for treatments, but most headed to Bon Ami for the pet parade. Maggie helped herself to a couple of broken cookies while she and Gran cleaned up the dining room. “Did you know they make black wedding gowns?” Gran said. She used a Dustbuster to clear the table of sprinkles and crumbs. “I suppose it would work for a Halloween wedding. Otherwise it’s a bit funereal for my tastes.”
“Have you found an outfit yet?” Maggie asked.
“No,” Gran said with a pout. “Everything around here is either too youthful or too matronly. Can I interest you in a shopping expedition to New Orleans after all the drama around here has settled?”
“You can always interest me in a trip to New Orleans.” Maggie crumpled up a long stretch of butcher paper and stuffed it in a trash bag. “We’ll bring Mom with us. Make it a girls’ day out.”
“Wonderful idea. I’ll make a lunch reservation at Galatoire’s for next—”
Gran stopped midsentence. She stared at the archway separating the parlor from the main hall. Maggie followed her gaze. Johnnie MacDowell stood there, gripping the side of the archway’s polished walnut frame. His freckled skin had a sickly grayish pallor, and Maggie got the sense that if he let go of the wood, he’d collapse to the floor. “My goodness,” Gran said. “Did the hospital release you already?”
“It’s America, not Canada,” Johnnie said, his voice barely above a whisper. “They kick you to the curb as soon as they can. Doesn’t matter; we’re leaving here anyway. I’m looking for Bonnie. We have a late flight from NOLA tonight, and I haven’t seen her in a couple of hours.” He licked his dry lips and took a deep breath, as if getting out those few sentences had been an effort for him.
“I haven’t seen her,” Gran said. “Have you, Maggie?”
Maggie shook her head. “I can look for her if you want.”
“That’s okay,” Johnnie said. “Her car’s not here. She’s probably saying goodbye to that ignoramus Gavin. I’ll wait at the schoolhouse.”
He let go of his grip and turned to go but pitched forward. Gran and Maggie ran to him. They each grabbed one of his arms, managing to break his fall. “You poor boy,” Gran said. “You’re not going anywhere but onto this sofa.”
The women led him to the couch and helped him lie down. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’ve never had alcohol poisoning before. I know that’s hard to believe with my history, but it’s true. It’s more than a hangover. It’s like I’m coming off something. Like I was drugged.”
“That’s because I’m pretty sure you were,” Maggie said.
Johnnie stared at her, glassy-eyed. “What? No. Why?”
Maggie wet a paper towel and dabbed the man’s forehead, which was sticky with sweat. “That’s what the police are trying to figure out. That bourbon didn’t come from me, but someone wanted to make it look like it did. And you seemed way more than drunk. By what you’re describing, you feel that way, too. The police are having the contents of the bottle tested. I’m guessing someone loaded it up with a sedative.”
“It did taste strange,” Johnnie said, “but I figured that’s because I hadn’t had a drink in a while.” He struggled to sit up and took a sip of water that Gran offered him. “Was someone trying to kill me, too?”
“I’m not sure if they wanted to kill you or incapacitate you,” Maggie said. “But they definitely wanted me blamed for whatever happened.”
Johnnie winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Maggie said. “It’s certainly not your fault.”
Johnnie scrunched up his face. Maggie thought he might cry. “Why did we ever come to this despicable, horrible portal to hell? No offense.”
“It’s okay. I get why it’s not your favorite place.”
Johnnie held up his hand, declining another offer of water, and fell back against the couch. “If you’re wondering if I have a clue why anyone would do something like this, I have zero idea.”
“You disagreed with your family about selling the MacDowell land,” Maggie said. “It could have something to do with that.”
What Maggie was hinting at dawned on him. “You think Bonnie did this? That’s nuts. We fight all the time, we don’t have anything in common or even like each other that much, but no. We’re still family. She would never.”
Gran cast a doubtful look at Maggie. “If you say so, dear.”
“Maybe her motivation came from another source,” Maggie said. “Like her boyfriend.”
“Gavin Grody? Ha.” Johnnie scoffed. “He’s slutting around on Bonnie with a dippy actress from that cemetery freak show. I told her, but she refused to believe me.”
“Could she have done this to get back at you?” Gran asked. “You know, a ‘kill the messenger’ sort of thing?”
He pondered this. “I dunno. Maybe. She’s pretty into him. But the only thing that male skank’s into is money or hot bodies, and Bonnie doesn’t have either. She’s cute, but …” Johnnie’s voice faded. He closed his eyes. “Sorry. I got really tired.”
Gran patted his hand. “That’s all right. We’ll keep an eye out for your sister. You rest.”
Johnnie nodded, then drifted off to sleep. “I’ll see if I can find her,” Maggie said to Gran in a low voice.
“I’ll let your parents know to be on the lookout as well,” Gran said. She glanced down at Johnnie, passed out on the sofa. “But I’ll tell you one thing. That boy is not getting on an airplane tonight.”
“I’ll text Bonnie. I don’t know why she’s not getting back to Johnnie, but hopefully she’ll get back to me.”
“I’ll look after Johnnie until someone tracks her down.”
“Thanks, Gran.” Maggie checked the time on her cell phone. “Now I have to get ready for some serious trick-or-treating.”
* * *
While Maggie got into costume, she pondered the extreme nature of Johnnie’s condition. The MacDowell twin was nothing if not dramatic. She flashed on a glib comment Johnnie had made at his stepmother’s quasi-funeral: “It’s Susannah. She was a horror. Who didn’t want her dead?” Was the comment flippant or telling? Johnnie was an unemployed poet frustrated by his parent and stepparent’s rigid control of the MacDowell purse strings. Their deaths removed this obstacle to the family funds. Another thought occurred to Maggie. Could Johnny have staged his own relapse? Stop it, you’re being as dramatic as he is, she scolded herself. But this new concern gnawed at her. And then another thought struck Maggie. What if Johnnie and Bonnie were coconspirators in the murders? As far as she knew, they benefited equally from Susannah and Doug’s deaths. Could greed have propelled them into patricide and whatever ‘cide’ you call killing a stepparent? she wondered.
Her phone flashed a text announcing that Bo had parked and would be there in a minute, so Maggie shelved her murder musings and focused on adding the finishing touches to her outfit. It’s a good thing I’m not going for the Sexy Bride of Frankenstein look, Maggie thought as she studied her reflection in the mirror. The polyester gown was as shapeless out of the bag as it was in it. The fanny pack Maggie strapped on to hold her essentials didn’t help, creating an unflattering bunching around her waist. She wore a white makeup base and black lipstick. In addition to her real scar, she’d used a grease stick to draw one on her check and another on her neck. The foot-high frizzy gray-and-black wig that came with the dress completed Maggie’s stuck-a-finger-in-a-socket look.
“We’re here,” Bo called from outside.
“Coming.” Maggie stepped out of the cottage onto the front steps. She grunted and clumped down the steps with her arms outstretched. Bo laughed while Xander jumped up and down with glee.
“Madame,” Bo said, offering her his arm. He wore a ripped distressed jacket and pants, and his black hair was flattened to his forehead. He’d skipped the Frankenstein mask, instead opting for green makeup, grease paint scars, a
nd blacked-out teeth for added effect.
“No talking, just grunting,” Xander scolded, shaking a finger at his father. He wore a white doctor’s coat and sported a stethoscope around his neck. The eight-year-old had recently been prescribed eyeglasses, and his costume, coupled with the new black plastic frames, gave him the look of a pint-sized medical professional. He held up his phone. “Selfie.”
The three mugged as Xander snapped a shot, and then they walked to Bo’s SUV. “We’re going to the village first,” Bo explained as they loaded into it. “Then we’ll hit a few neighborhoods.”
The quaint shops that ringed Pelican’s town square were prepared for the onslaught of trick-or-treaters. Children received large handfuls of candy at some locations, small toys at others. Maggie, Bo, and Xander passed Vanessa and Quentin, who were pushing Charli, Vanessa’s eighteen-month-old by former fiancé Rufus, in a stroller. Charli, dressed as a sparkly unicorn, gabbled and chewed on a stuffed unicorn she held tight with her tiny hands. Vanessa was clad in her heavily embellished wedding gown and Quentin wore the morning suit he’d worn at their wedding, her first and his third or fourth, Maggie wasn’t sure which. “You like our costumes?” Van said, striking a pose. “We figured our wedding gear was so nice, why just wear it once? Might as well get a little more mileage outa these duds, especially for what they cost.”
“Amen to that,” Quentin seconded in a jovial tone.
Vanessa cast a critical eye at Maggie’s costume. “No offense, Maggie, but I think I make a way prettier bride than you.”
Maggie gestured to her and Bo. “You do know we’re not getting married in these outfits?”
“I heard your wedding dress went missing and I wasn’t sure. Oh, you’ll def wanna stop by Fais Dough,” Vanessa said. “The Poche kids are running it so me and Quentin could have the night off.”
“Lia told me they were going to put out a bowl of candy at their place, then turn off the lights and hunker down,” Maggie said. “They don’t want doorbells setting off the triplets.”
“I’ll say an amen to that,” Vanessa said. She gestured to Charli. “Soon as this one starts fussing, it’s lights out for us too.”
“You’re not stopping by Bon Ami’s costume party?”
Vanessa shook her head. “These Spooky Past weekends were a great idea, but I’m ready for a break. It was fun doing the play, but I’m glad all you B and Bs scheduled a party tonight instead of a performance. Oh, that reminds me, when you see Emma, tell her we have her last check. She was supposed to come by and get it today. I guess she forgot.” Van began pushing the stroller. “We need to move on. We gotta hit at least a few more shops before Charli fades.”
Maggie eyed Charli’s candy bucket, which was also shaped like a unicorn. “Isn’t she a little young for all that candy?”
“Oh, she totally is.” Vanessa pulled a fun-size chocolate bar out of the bucket, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. “But I ain’t.”
Maggie’s trio moved on to Fais Dough Dough, where a ninja who revealed himself to be Clinton Poche, Brianna’s older brother, handed them each a cake pop dripping with red frosting “blood.” Brianna, who was manning Bon Bon Sweets, gifted them with ghost-shaped handmade marshmallows.
“Now, onto the Bayou Oaks neighborhood,” Bo said through a mouthful of marshmallow.
“Uh-huh,” Maggie said, distracted. “Bonnie still hasn’t gotten back to me.”
“Check your phone. Maybe you didn’t hear the text come through.”
Maggie pulled out her phone. “Nothing. And it just occurred to me I haven’t seen Emma all day.”
“Is that unusual for a guest?”
“No,” Maggie admitted. “But no Bonnie. Now no Emma.”
“Those Crozat instincts sending up flares?” Bo said with affection. He added, more seriously, “I have to drive, but text Rufus. I think it’s time for Pelican PD to try tracking down Bonnie.”
The three climbed into Bo’s SUV. Maggie tapped a message to Rufus and got an instant response. Already on it. Your Gran was concerned. No sign of Bonnie. Or her car.
“Now my cop instincts are sending up flares.” Bo’s tone was grim. Xander chuckled and he glanced back at his son, who was focused on his cell phone. “You good, buddy?”
“Uh-huh. Friend stuff. Lotsa likes for my picture.”
Xander held up his phone, where his photo of the Frankenstein trio now sported hearts and likes. Then he put in earbuds and zoned out in the back seat. “Tonight’s about him,” Bo said, keeping his voice low. “I’m gonna let Ru handle police business, at least until I bring Xander back to Whitney and Zach. They’re doing his candy count with him.”
“Of course,” Maggie said. “We can’t do anything to spoil tonight. Xan’s having such a great time. And so am I. Thank you for making Halloween fun again.”
Bo grinned. “Don’t thank me, thank Dr. Frankenstein.”
The Bayou Oaks neighborhood proved disappointing, with many homes either dark or housing visitors. Maggie fumed at the number of Rent My Digs stickers affixed to house windows. “That app is like a tech termite, eating up all the local housing,” she griped to Bo as they drove to a more promising neighborhood. Xander filled his bucket within a half hour, and the threesome headed for Bon Ami’s costume party. Blow-up spiders and ghosts decorated the roof of the plantation’s Creole-style raised-cottage “big house,” which was painted in the traditional plantation colors of green and yellow that Creole settlers had favored because they hid the mold and mildew that came with Louisiana’s sultry climate. Music and loud chatter emanated from the tent Bon Ami had erected in their parking lot. Costumed animals who’d lingered with their parents following the pet parade barked, tweeted, meowed, mooed, brayed, and made whatever sound a lizard dressed as a cowboy might make.
Xander ran off to find his friends while Maggie and Bo separated to circulate. She greeted guests, pleased to see how much fun they were having. “I’m Frida Kahlo,” DruCilla announced, modeling her Mexican peasant outfit, which featured Lovie perched on her shoulder.
“Down to the unibrow,” Maggie said, and laughed. She saw Gavin Grody hanging out with actors from Resurrection of the Spirit. He had his arm around Patria’s waist. “Excuse me,” Maggie said.
Lovie made a farting sound. “Pee-yew! You’re excused.”
Maggie negotiated her way through throngs of costumed partygoers until she reached the techie. “Having fun?” she asked him.
Grody crooked his mouth in a half smile that reeked of superiority. “Sure. What is it they say around here? Cajun Country knows how to pass a good time.”
Maggie motioned to the party’s zydeco band, which had struck up an infectious tune. The dance floor quickly became a sea of two-stepping guests. “People aren’t gonna find this at one of your rentals.”
The entrepreneur gave an insolent shrug. “My ‘people’ are way younger than yours. They don’t need cheesy stuff like this.”
Patria pouted and held out her glass. She spoke in baby talk. “Waaa, my wine-y’s all gone.”
Grody took her glass. “I’ll get us refills.”
He started for the bar, Maggie on his heels. She got perverse pleasure from seeing how much this annoyed him. “Bonnie MacDowell’s not going to be too happy to hear that you’re only using her as a front to buy houses from people who think they’re not selling them to you.”
“A Chardonnay and a whiskey neat,” Grody said to the bartender. He got the drinks and started back to Patria. “Bonnie and I were never in a monogamous relationship. It’s the sharing economy, bruh. And what she’s sharing is me.”
“She’s gone missing.”
For once, Grody’s arrogance failed him. He stopped so short Maggie almost bumped into him. Wine slopped out of Patria’s drink. “What? What do you mean, missing?”
“I mean, she’s missing. No one’s seen her all day. She’s supposed to catch a flight to Toronto tonight. The police are looking for her. They’ll probably want to talk to y
ou.”
“Me?” Now the hipster looked scared. “Why? I don’t know anything about it.”
“I’m sure all they’ll want to know is when you last spoke to her or saw her. That kind of thing.”
Grody fought to regain his insouciance. “Yeah well, my guess is she caught an early flight to T-town to get away from that head case of a brother of hers.” He used his whiskey glass to point in the opposite direction. “Your boyfriend wants you.”
Maggie turned and saw Bo trying to get her attention. Grody grabbed the chance to escape her company. She threaded her way through the crowd of revelers to her fiancé. “I just broke it to Grody that one of his girlfriends is missing.”
Bo raised an eyebrow. “How did he take it?”
“I wish I could say he acted guilty,” Maggie said, “but he didn’t. He seemed genuinely thrown by the news.” She clenched her fists. “I so want the killer to be him. Is it wrong that I don’t care if that makes me a bad person?”
Bo couldn’t help smiling. He patted Maggie on the shoulder. “Don’t give up hope. There’s still a chance he could be our guy. You ready to go? It’s time for me to tear Xander away from his posse.”
“I’m ready. With what all’s going on, I’m not in a party mood.”
The couple retrieved Xander, whose lab coat pockets were so stuffed with Bon Ami’s free candy that he shed small chocolate bars as he walked. Bo dropped Maggie off at home. On her way to the cottage, she crossed paths with a clutch of members of the Paranormal group returning from the Bon Ami party. “Great costume,” a woman called out.
“Thanks,” Maggie said.