by Ellen Byron
Ione steered the women back to the gift shop. “Before we break up, are there any problems we haven’t addressed?”
There was a chorus of nos and one yes from Sandy. “Now that the Fryboys have added themselves to the entertainment lineup along with the Rosé the Riveters troop, I’m short on time. Especially since the Riveters are begging for a third number.”
The dance instructor glared at Grand-mère, who flashed an impish grin. “I can’t help it if my fellow dancers are so inspired by your marvelous choreography that they begged for more of it,” she said, all innocence.
“Nice try, Charlotte,” Sandy said, not buying the flattery. “It ain’t happening.”
“The Gator Girls can cut a number from our set,” Gaynell said, which drew a vociferous response from the others. Even Gran chimed in with an objection. “Okay, okay.” Gaynell threw her hands up in mock surrender. “We’ll just make the entertainment portion of the evening a little longer to get in everything.”
“See?” Gran said. “Problem solved. And remember, the Riveters and Fryboys will be bidding on auction items, as will all their friends and relatives who’ve bought gala tickets to see them perform. I’ve solicited several items that will go over big with the Medicare crowd. I hope people don’t come to blows over the medic alert necklace with a year of free monitoring.”
The group adjourned, and Maggie made her way to her office, where she worked on curating Carrie Jones’s artwork. After a few hours, her stomach began bothering her again, so she decided to head home. The day was warm and sunny despite it still being winter. As soon as she parked the Falcon on the ferry, Maggie left the car and stood by the ship’s railing, enjoying the light breeze as they began chugging toward the river’s opposite shore.
“Hey there, Maggie.”
Maggie turned. The instant she saw who was speaking, she was overwhelmed by fear. Scooter Pitot stood in front of her. His lank, unwashed dirty-blond hair sat plastered to his head. His eyes, their pupils dilated, twitched back and forth. He sniffed and rubbed his nose, repeating the gesture with tic-like frequency. He was on something for sure, Maggie thought. Most likely meth.
“Surprise, surprise.” Scooter delivered this with a sick smile. “Did you like my gifts? I hope you ate the doughnuts. They weren’t poisoned, I swear.”
Maggie forced her response to sound calm even while her heart hammered in her chest. “Those were from you? Why, Scooter? We barely know each other.”
He threw back his head and cackled, the sound chilling, then abruptly stopped—which was even more chilling. “Bingo. That’s exactly why. You think we ‘barely know each other.’ ” He accompanied the statement with exaggerated air quotes. “But we know each other way better than that. Remember after you broke up with Ash and came to a football game at St. Francis? I’d been kicked out of school, but I still hung around because I didn’t have much better to do. You remember that game? Huh? You remember it?”
Desperate, Maggie searched her bank of memories from high school. A foggy image came up. Hanging out in the woods by the football field after the game. Bottles of booze and beer lifted from parents’ liquor cabinets. “I do. But not well. I’m sorry.”
“You were hot. I flirted. You were nice but not into it. I made a move and you slapped me. The guys made fun of me for that, I’ll tell you.” Scooter leaned into her. She took a step away and backed up against the ship’s railing, leaving her with no place to go. “And then when I showed up at Crozat for the Chanson meetings, all bright and shiny with my new job at the restaurant—you didn’t even recognize me. It’s like I’d never existed. Ouch. I’ll be honest, that really undermined my self-confidence. It hurt, Maggie. Hurt a lot.”
Maggie again recalled how Bo once told her the main underlying motive for murder wasn’t revenge or anger or even financial gain—it was humiliation. The drugged-up addict in front of her was proving Bo right in the most frightening way possible.
“Yup, you really ticked me off,” Scooter said. “But …” He rubbed his hands together, a smug smile on his face “I had a lot of fun planning how to get back at you. I even borrowed a friend’s car to follow you from Doucet that one time. Told him I needed to run an errand. The errand? Scaring you.”
Maggie subtly scanned Scooter for a weapon but saw nothing. He was no longer the cocky restaurant employee she knew from Chanson’s. The drugs had dragged Scooter down, turning him into the worst version of himself. “It’s been a long time since high school, Scooter,” she said, keeping her tone even. “We’ve both changed a lot since then. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I never meant to. But if you kill me, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison. Or face the death penalty. I’m not worth that.”
Scooter cackled again. He waved away her fear. “You don’t have to worry about being offed. Really. That’s not my plan at all. It’s too boring. Nope.” The twisted smile returned. “Peoples in Louisiana is always bragging about how we’re the most haunted state in America, right? So, I’m gonna haunt you. You’ll never know when or where me or my ‘gifts’ will show up. Who is or isn’t me.” He facetiously wagged a finger at her. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘That nutjob Scooter’ll be off in jail, so I’ll be okay. I got nothing to worry about.’ Sorry, but I done time before. I know how to work the system. I got connections. And friends. Even better, people who owe me favors. You’ll be living in a waking hell for the rest of your life. At least that’s my goal. It’s good to have goals, isn’t it? Gives you a reason to get up in the morning.”
“Oh, I’m big believer in goals,” Maggie said. “Like, right now mine is to end the nightmare you’ve inflicted on me. Which is why the minute I saw you, I pressed 911 on my phone, which is in my pocket.”
This didn’t remotely faze Scooter. He hooted and mock-applauded. “Nice try.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. “Except you know what else friends who owe you favors do? Pilot a boat to help you escape.”
Maggie looked down at the river and saw a speedboat idling by the side of the ferry. She heard a siren. A police boat sped down the river toward them. Her 911 call had gone through. Scooter climbed the side of the ship and positioned himself to jump. Suddenly the ferry made an unexpected sharp turn starboard. Scooter lost his balance and tumbled into the Mississippi. He tried to swim toward the speedboat, but the speedboat took off, the police in pursuit. “Help!” Scooter screamed. A deckhand raced to throw him a life preserver. But Scooter failed in his battle against the river’s mighty current. Maggie, horrified, watched as he disappeared. She looked up to the captain’s bridge and caught Antonio DiVirgilio’s eye. As he steered the ship to the eastern landing, the expression on his face told her that the ferry’s unexpected veer off course had been no accident.
* * *
Scooter’s body was recovered the next day, down the river almost to New Orleans. Bo insisted on being there. “I know I sound paranoid, but I wanna make sure that psycho didn’t pull off another escape act,” he told his wife, who didn’t think he sounded remotely paranoid. Traumatized by witnessing Scooter’s death, Maggie took it easy the few days prior to the gala. Her friends and family periodically dropped by with gossip and sustenance. Trick and Kate gave up trying to make a go of Chanson’s Cajun Kitchen, deeming it cursed. They turned over the lease to new proprietors: JJ and Abel Garavant in a joint venture, helmed by executive chef Luis Alvaro. Luis planned to marry Cajun and Central American cuisine, giving the restaurant a unique twist that could make it a culinary destination. And the Department of Transportation finally announced the Sunshine Bridge’s reopening date. Ferry service would be suspended the day after the Doucet gala.
Maggie, who now understood her friend Lulu Colombe’s negative attitude toward Scooter, made a point of calling her friend to recount his criminal activity and demise. “No surprise there,” Lulu said. “Although I’m disappointed in Ash.”
“He was an unwilling participant trying to save his father’s business. He’s staying in town t
o help Abel and is going to testify against the criminals who stole the oysters.”
“That’s brave.” Lulu paused. “I always thought Ash was basically a good guy. It’d be great to see him again. Show some support.”
“Long story, but we’re having a gala to raise funds for Doucet. He and his dad donated to the silent auction, so they’ll be there. Why don’t you come as my guest?”
“I’d love that, thanks. Send me the deets.”
The night of the gala finally arrived. Maggie donned the red dress she’d bought in Baton Rouge. Bo, who was seated in the living room, let out an admiring whistle when Maggie emerged from the bedroom. “Whoa. My hottie valentine. If you’re ready, gorgeous, let’s book.”
Bo stood up, and Maggie responded with a whistle of her own. He was clad in a charcoal suit and red tie that complemented his dark, winter coloring. “Oooh, baby. Too bad we have to go out tonight.”
Bo shot her a sexy grin. “I’m gonna wear a suit more often around here.”
The couple joined Ninette and Tug to carpool on the ferry across the river. Gran and Lee had gone to Doucet earlier for a dress rehearsal of the talent show. Maggie was thrilled to see throngs of guests streaming into the historical site, which glowed like an architectural jewel. The evening’s entertainment was a huge hit. Gran had the satisfaction of being proven right on two points: the performers and supporters alike bid a bundle on the silent-auction items, and two seventy-year-old men almost came to blows over the medic alert necklace and year of free monitoring. Ash Garavant stepped in to avert a case of geriatric fisticuffs—the only break he took from Lulu Colombe’s company.
As the evening drew to a close, Ione took the mic from Gaynell and got everyone’s attention. “I’m very pleased to announce that not only have we reached our fund-raising goal for tonight, we’ve exceeded it.” The partygoers roared their approval. Ione held up a glass of champagne. “A toast to the committee that put together this amazing evening. Judging by its success, I think we’re gonna make the gala an annual event.”
There were more roars and many toasts. Vanessa, who happened to be standing next to the Crozat-Durands, eyed Maggie. “You don’t have champagne.”
“My stomach’s still a little off.”
“Mm-hmm,” Vanessa said, skeptical. “Now that I think about it, I ain’t seen you with a drink for a while now.” Her jaw dropped as it dawned on her. “Oh. My. Goodness. Magnolia Maria Crozat—you’re pregnant!”
Caught, Maggie exchanged a look with Bo. “No point hiding it now that Van’s sniffed it out,” Bo said with a proud grin, pulling her close to him.
“Then yes, Vanessa,” Maggie said. “We’re going to have a baby.”
Vanessa let out a scream, startling nearby guests. “OMG, OMG, OMG!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down.
“Careful,” Maggie warned with a laugh. “You’ve got your own little one to worry about.”
Van waved her off. “Oh, he’s a fighter. I’m so excited!” She threw her arms around Maggie, released her, and threw her arms around Bo. She let go of him and embraced Maggie again. “Our kids are gonna be the same age! We’re gonna do everything together. Play groups, PTA, room parents, extracurriculars. You and me are gonna be together twenty-four/seven, three-sixty-five.”
Maggie, getting a glimpse into a future filled with the human steamroller that was Vanessa Fleer MacIlhoney, blanched. She wriggled out of Vanessa’s grasp and clutched her stomach. “Excuse me.” Maggie made a run for the bathroom, dodging scads of well-wishers who’d heard that Maggie and Bo were expecting their first child together. Pelican didn’t need a 5G network for news to travel fast.
“It’s never too early to open a savings account for your little one,” bank president Bob Monnin called after her as his wife Mary rolled her eyes.
When the party wound down around one AM, Maggie, Bo, and a phalanx of family and guests crowded onto the ferry for its last run across the river. It was a clear night. The deckhands had strung fairy lights all over the Baroness Pontalba, creating a festive atmosphere. Maggie eyed the group with great affection. Tug had wrapped his suit jacket around Ninette’s shoulders, the couple standing together as one at the ship’s railing. Step-grandfather Lee was showing off his wife of six weeks to some friends he hadn’t seen in a while. Maggie, amused, could tell Gran reveled in being the center of attention.
Maggie looked to the port side of the ship, where friends had congregated. Quentin, surrounded by a small coterie of pals and probably former clients, entertained them with one of his droll anecdotes, engendering peals of laughter while his wife beamed with pride at being the spouse of the indefatigable attorney. Kyle Bruner had claimed the deck’s sole bench. He and wife Lia rested against each other, the parents of triplets both sound asleep. Rufus teased his giggling bride Sandy by sneaking unexpected kisses while Gaynell and boyfriend Chret kissed for real. Maggie sensed a new engagement would soon provide local gossip with fresh material. She noticed another couple romantically entangled in the shadows: Ginny and Little Earlie. Might have to make that two engagements, she thought.
Bo wrapped his arms around his wife, and they snuggled together, watching the river reflect the sky full of stars blinking above them. As the ferry approached the eastern levee, Maggie could see the widow’s walk that sat atop her family’s manor house. Crozat Plantation Bed and Breakfast. Her home. Her talisman.
Grand-mère and Lee wandered over to the couple. “Our mighty Mississippi,” Gran said, gazing with fondness at the dark waters. “It really does keep rolling along, doesn’t it?”
“Just like with life,” her husband concurred.
“Cher, how profound,” Gran said, impressed.
Maggie cast an affectionate glance at her grandmother. “My friend Captain Antonio has a saying. He has a lot of them, actually, but this may be my favorite. Mangia bene, ridi spesso, e ama molto.”
“Translation, please.” The request came from Bo.
“Eat well, laugh often …” Maggie took Bo’s hand. She placed it on her stomach. “And love much.”
Epilogue
Twenty-ish years later …
It was once said by a local wag that the little village of Pelican, Louisiana, was so fond of parties it should change its name to “Partycan.” But there was true cause for celebration this particular evening. The Art Institute of Manhattan was mounting an exhibit of Talismans, an iconic series of paintings by renowned Louisiana artist Magnolia Marie Crozat. Maggie and her husband Bo were flying to New York on a late flight that evening. Joining them would be their twenty-year-old daughter, Nola. She’d celebrate the opening with her parents, then leave for Paris the next day for a semester abroad from her college, New Orleans’s Tulane University, her grandfather Tug’s alma mater.
While friends and family two-stepped into the B and B party tent to a tune by the internationally popular Cajun band Gaynell and the Gator Girls, Nola left the festivities to finish packing, which basically amounted to throwing leggings and T-shirts into a suitcase. Like her mother Maggie, Nola was all about simple, convenient outfits. And like her mother, she was an artist, although she also shared her father’s fascination with law enforcement. She’d soon have to make the final call on which direction to pursue as a major.
Nola heard a light rap on the bedroom door. She smiled when she saw it was her boyfriend QJ, short for Quentin Junior. She and QJ, only a few months apart in age, had grown up together. QJ’s mother Vanessa had claimed Nola at birth for her son, to much skepticism from Maggie. But Van had proved prescient. After Nola and QJ fought their attraction to each other, they finally gave in as lonely freshman at adjoining colleges. Like Nola, Q J was now a junior, but at his father’s alma mater, the Crescent City’s Loyola University, separated from Tulane by only a wall.
“Hey. You went missing on us.” QJ came into the room, followed by the couples’ friends. He kissed his girlfriend.
“We’re leaving soon,” Nola said. “I had to finish packing.” Nola pull
ed out a drawer filled with underwear and dumped it in her suitcase. “Finished.” She zipped the suitcase shut and yanked it onto the floor, then collapsed onto the bed. QJ fell back next to her, and then their friends piled on. “We’re gonna break the bed,” Nola said, laughing.
“Sorry,” chorused Lia and Kyle’s triplets, Kika, Asha, and Jabari.
“It’s hi-larious when y’all do that,” said Charli, QJ’s twenty-three-year-old half sister, the self-proclaimed den mom of the group. “You’re like three fleas on the same dog.” Rather than crowding on the bed with the others, Charli swayed back and forth in the room’s antique rocking chair, where infant Nola had been rocked to sleep by her mother like so many Crozats before her. “So, did you hear the latest about Vanessa?” Charli enjoyed the slightly rebellious tack of referring to her mother by her given name. Still not used to her new tongue piercing, she spoke with a slight lisp.
“It’s a good one.” QJ exchanged an amused look with his half sister. “Mom’s outdone herself.”
Charli and Vanessa’s relationship had been contentious over the years. Vanessa wanted nothing more than a daughter she could dress up and enter in beauty pageants. All Charli wanted was to be accepted for who she was: a proud young gay woman. They both prayed: one for change, the other for acceptance. It took time, but acceptance finally won. In a small town like Pelican, generally Catholic and conservative, this took courage on both their parts. But luckily for its citizens, at the end of the day, Pelican was a town that fiercely loved its own.