Fatal Cajun Festival

by Ellen Byron

  Fatal Cajun Festival

  A CAJUN COUNTRY MYSTERY

  Ellen Byron

  Dedicated to Elizabeth DiVirgilio Seideman, a wonderful mother and nonna who has no idea how much she inspired the humor and warmth of Grand-mère.

  Acknowledgments

  A shout-out as always to my indefatigable agent, Doug Grad, and to the extraordinary team at Crooked Lane Books, including Matt Martz, Sarah Poppe, Ashley DiDio, Jenny Chen, and extraordinary cover artist, Stephen Gardner. Mindy Schneider, Kathy McCullough, and Kate Shein—GoWrite rules! As does chicksonthecase.com, and my fab fellow chicks Lisa Q. Mathews, Kellye Garrett, Mariella Krause, Vickie Fee, Cynthia Kuhn, and Leslie Karst. Ladies, I am nothing without your priceless feedback.

  Nancy Cole Silverman, our weekly walks have been lifesavers. West Donas Walkers Lisa Libatique, Kelly Goode, Kathy Wood, and Nancy McIlvaney, same goes for our power walks! Jan Gilbert and Kevin McCaffrey, I couldn’t write this—or any of my books–without your support. Same goes for you, my dear friends Charlotte Allen and Gaynell Bourgeois Moore. A shout-out to the rest of my NOLA krewe as well: Laurie Smith Becker, Shawn Holahan, and Madelaine Hedgpeth Feldman, plus Debra Jo and Jonathan Burnette. I can’t tell you how reassuring it is to know you’re all there when I need you.

  A special thank-you to my friend Hope Juber and her brilliant musician husband, Lawrence Juber. Your input helped me paint a realistic picture of concerts, the music industry, and Tammy’s band members.

  Tammy Barker, thank you for your generosity at the Malice Domestic Convention and hope you enjoy being in print. Your name could not have been more perfect for Cajun Country Live!’s diva country star.

  I’m blessed to belong to Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America, specifically the chapters SinCLA and SoCalMWA. Without the Guppies, a SinC subgroup, I never would have gotten anywhere in the mystery world. A million fin flaps to all of you! Thanks to all the friends who’ve supported me throughout this fabulous journey—I’m talking to you, June Stoddard, Denise and Stacy Smithers, Karen Fried, Laurie Graff, Von Rae Wood, and Kim Rose! If I missed anyone, let me know and I’ll make it up to you in the next book. And infinite thanks to my mom, my bros, and especially my husband Jerry and daughter Eliza.

  “We do not need to know everything in this world. There are times to treat mystery like wildness and leave it alone.”

  —Oliver A. Houck, Down on the Batture

  The People of Fatal Cajun Festival

  The family

  Magnolia Marie—“Maggie”—Crozat, our heroine

  Tug Crozat—her father

  Ninette Crozat—her mother

  Grand-mère—her grandmother on her dad’s side

  Law enforcement and adjacent

  Bo Durand—detective and Maggie’s fiancé

  Rufus Durand—Pelican PD police chief

  Cal Vichet—officer

  Artie Belloise—officer

  Jace Jerierre—assistant district attorney

  Oliver Gaudet—a judge

  Friends and frenemies

  Gaynell Bourgeois—friend and coworker

  Ione Savreau—friend and coworker

  Lia Tienne Bruner—Maggie’s cousin

  Kyle Bruner—Lia’s husband

  Vanessa Fleer—frenemy turned friend … adjacent

  Quentin MacIlhoney—defense attorney, Vanessa’s fiancé

  Xander Durand—Bo’s seven-year-old son

  Whitney Evans—Bo’s ex-wife

  Lee Bertrand—Grand-mère’s boyfriend

  Chret Bertrand—Gaynell’s boyfriend

  Kaity Bertrand—another teen

  Clinton Poche—a local high school student

  Brianna Poche—Clinton’s younger sister

  Zenephra—shop owner in a nearby town

  Esme—a young friend of Xander’s

  The singer and her entourage

  Tammy Barker—country star, local girl made good

  Pony Pickner—Tammy’s manager

  Sara Salinas—Tammy’s assistant

  Bokie Phlen—the band’s drummer

  East MacLeod—guitarist

  Uffen Irgstaad—bassist

  The Sound—keyboardist

  Toulouse Delaroux Caresmeatrand—accordionist, modified washboard (frottoir)

  Valeria Aguilar—backup singer

  Gigi Barker—Tammy’s cousin

  Narcisse Barker—Gigi’s husband

  Chapter 1

  “So, we agree we’re not getting married in the summer,” Maggie said.

  “Not unless you want me to walk down the aisle in shorts and flip-flops.”

  Bo grinned and squeezed his fiancée’s hand. The couple had just finished a tour of their future home, an apartment above the plantation’s 1920s garage, which was being remodeled as a spa facility. Despite an engagement already two months old, Bo and Maggie had yet to set a wedding date. This delay was due to a brainstorm on the part of Charlotte Crozat, Maggie’s beloved grand-mère. “Pelican should do a musical festival that runs Sunday through Thursday,” Gran had announced at a meeting of the tiny town’s equally tiny tourism board. “Those are the slow days in our business. We can advertise our festival as a way for New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival attendees to get a dose of music and local flavor on their way to New Orleans.”

  The board members, who usually saw meetings as a chance to imbibe and gossip, were stunned by Gran’s brilliant idea. They put down their Sazeracs and got to work. But pulling off such a major undertaking in such a short time required herculean efforts on the part of pretty much everyone in town, so Maggie and Bo put their wedding plans on the back burner and pitched in. Maggie took charge of graphics for the Cajun Country Live! Music and Culture Fest while her detective beau coordinated security, which would be provided by on- and off-duty members of the Pelican Police Department. The only matrimonial detail confirmed by the couple was Maggie’s bridal attire. She’d be married in the 150-year-old gown worn by her mother, Ninette Doucet Crozat, and generations of Doucet women before her. Due to its age, the dress would remain in storage until as close to the wedding date as possible. Whenever that date might be.

  “We could do a Halloween wedding or a Christmas wedding,” Maggie said as she and Bo strolled past the plantation’s garçonnière and carriage house, both renovated to serve as guest lodgings.

  “Or a wedding where the only holiday we’re celebrating is our actual wedding.”

  “Or that. So many choices. But none involving flip-flops, please, oh please.”

  They reached the back door of the Crozat manor house. With its thirty-two square columns and galleries encircling the home on both the ground and second floors, Maggie’s family home was a gracious example of Greek Revival architecture and a landmark on Louisiana’s Great River Road. Overwhelmed by the cost of maintaining a majestic but centuries-old compound, many locals turned their plantations over to the state or a nonprofit historical foundation. Some historic homes became derelict, the victims of a family’s internecine fighting over their shared inheritance. Others were sold to and eventually razed by one of the oil or chemical corporations lining the lower Mississippi River. But the Crozats opted to hold on to their ancestral land and run it as a bed-and-breakfast. Like many small businesses, Crozat Plantation B and B rode a roller coaster of ups and downs. However, unlike many small businesses, most of the recent downs at Crozat involved murders.

  Bo held open the door for his bride-to-be. “Merci,” she said with a flirtatious smile, which he returned. He then followed her inside and into the kitchen. Maggie’s father, Tug, was there, unpacking groceries, while her mother, Ninette, brow furrowed, examined a computer printout. The headliner for Cajun Country Live! was Tammy Barker, a nati
ve daughter of Pelican who’d won Sing It, a hugely successful TV talent show. Her manager had booked the whole B and B for the length of the festival, so the Crozats were prepping for a crowd. A tray of pecan pralines sat on top of the kitchen’s old stove. Maggie took two and handed one to Bo. “Everything okay, Mom? You don’t look happy.”

  Ninette continued to study the paper in her hand. “Our guests sent a list of food demands for at least three of them. One is a pescatarian—”

  Tug stopped unpacking. “Pesca what now?”

  “Pescatarian,” Maggie said. “It means someone who doesn’t eat meat or poultry. Only fish.”

  Ninette waved the paper in the air. “But Tammy is allergic to seafood, so she can’t eat it at all. She’s a vegetarian. And her manager is following something called the Paleo Diet.”

  “Paleo what now?” Tug looked befuddled.

  “Okay, I’m not even sure what that is.” Maggie pulled her cell phone out of her jeans back pocket and did a quick search. “Hmmm … might be better to list what you can’t eat on this diet. Dairy, potatoes, grains, legumes, refined sugar, refined vegetable oil—”

  Ninette groaned. “Stop right there. Tug, honey, we’re going back to the store.” This elicited a groan from her husband. “Thank goodness I made enough pralines to get us through tomorrow.” Crozat B and B was sponsoring a booth at Cajun Country Live! that they’d titled Pelican Pralines, which would sell Ninette’s homemade treats as well as Maggie’s paintings and a souvenir line she’d created featuring her illustrations of local plantations.

  Maggie opened the refrigerator door and peered inside. “Pralines, pralines, and more pralines. Is there a pecan left in the state?”

  “Probably not, thanks to your mama,” Tug said.

  Maggie’s father grabbed his car keys off the kitchen’s large trestle table, and then he and Ninette left for another round of shopping. Bo helped himself to a second candy. “I think I’m gonna go on the praline diet and only eat your mama’s fine sweets. Get my protein from those pecans.” He finished the praline in two bites. “So, are y’all excited about having a famous guest? Whitney’s a big fan of Tammy’s,” he said, referencing his ex-wife. “Did you know her at all when she lived here?”

  “No. I’ve never met Tammy. She was a kid when I left for New York. I knew of her family but didn’t know them personally. As soon as she won that TV contest, pretty much all the Barkers took off to Los Angeles with her. Brothers, sisters, parents, stepparents, grandparents, even a few ex-grandparents. I hear she’s got some cousins left in Pelican, but that’s about it.” A shadow crossed Maggie’s face. “Gaynell went to high school with her. But she isn’t at all excited about her coming back. She actually seems unhappy about it but won’t say why.”

  “Maybe Gaynell’s jealous. They’re both singers.”

  Maggie shook her head. She’d met Gaynell through her job as a tour guide at Doucet, a plantation once owned by Ninette’s family. Although a dozen years younger than thirty-two-year-old Maggie, Gaynell quickly became one of her closest friends. The multitalented musician was as kind and bighearted as they came and possessed an intelligence that belied her angelic blonde looks. “I think it’s more serious than that. She gets this look like something bad happened, but she doesn’t want to go there. I’m a little concerned.”

  “You know what concerns me?”

  “What?”

  “That we’re alone for a change and not doing anything about it.”

  With that, Bo pulled Maggie in for a kiss.

  * * *

  The next day was Maggie’s last before taking a week off from her new position as Doucet’s art collection specialist. Late April brought the lush, damp warmth of a south Louisiana spring, and she drove across the Mississippi River with the top down on the 1964 Falcon convertible she’d inherited from Papa Doucet, her late grandfather. A few bars of a Trombone Shorty song alerted her to an incoming call, and she pressed a button on the Bluetooth device straddling her ear. She was greeted by her grand-mère’s tinkly voice. “Hello, chère.”

  “Hi, Gran. How’d the meeting go?” Her grandmother, a pillar of the Cajun Country Live! festival committee, had been called to an early-morning confab to finalize details for the event, which would start the next day.

  “Oh, the usual last-minute panic. But I’ve got some great gossip. Rufus Durand and Quentin MacIlhoney both dropped out of the mayor’s race.” Pelican’s current mayor had abruptly announced he was moving to New York to pursue his dream of being an actor. Besides mutterings about whether or not Broadway was crying out for a rotund sixty-five-year-old with a thick Cajun accent, his departure generated a race to replace him.

  “Both of them? Why?”

  “Neither realized it was an unpaid position.”

  Maggie burst out laughing. “Seriously?”

  “Oh, yes.” Gran giggled.

  “Wow. That was some poor research on their parts.” Maggie heard Gran giggle again. “Gran, are you drunk?”

  “No.” There was a pause. “All right, maybe a little. We had a bit of champagne to celebrate the festival’s approach. Anyway, since no one’s running against her, Eula Banks is our new mayor. And that’s your Pelican scuttlebutt update for the day. Hold on, young man, where are you going with that bottle? Bye, chère.” Gran ended the call and her granddaughter shook her head, amused.

  Maggie pulled into the driveway leading to Doucet, a large, stately home on the west side of the Mississippi. She parked in the small employees’ lot and strolled to her office in a newer building designed as a mini version of the Doucet manor house. The room, bathed with natural light from a bank of windows, served as a studio where Maggie could restore damaged artwork, as well as a transitional space for pieces being rotated in or out of the plantation’s collection. She spent the morning cataloging a portfolio of sketches she’d found squirreled away in the manor house’s cavernous attic. The drawings, in exceptional shape, depicted rarely seen images of post–Civil War plantation life. Maggie’s boss and close friend, Ione Savreau, was thrilled with the discovery and planned to display them in a special exhibit.

  Maggie broke for lunch at noon, joining Ione and Gaynell at a bench under the plantation’s most majestic magnolia tree. Her friends still wore the antebellum costumes Maggie had happily shed for her new job. A group of part-time new hires, teens from the local community college, approached them.

  “Hi, Maggie.” The greeting came from the group’s leader, a thin, frizzy-haired redhead.

  The girl made a move to sit on the bench next to Maggie, and the three other teens followed suit, but Ione held up her hand. “Nuh-uh, girls. We’re talking business. You can take it over there.” She pointed to a picnic bench in the distance.

  The redhead stood up, disgruntled, then recovered with a smile. “Okay. We’ll see y’all later.” The teens then took off.

  “And by y’all, she meant you.”

  Ione said this to Maggie, who responded with an eye roll. “Ever since word got out that Tammy Barker is staying with us, I’ve become the most popular gal in town. At least with teens and tweens. If I’d been this cool when I was a teenager, I might never have bolted for New York. It took Tammy to put me on the social map in Pelican.”

  “Did you hear we have a new mayor?”

  This out-of-left-field comment came from Gaynell. Maggie and Ione swiveled toward their friend. “Gaynell, chère,” Ione said, her tone soothing, “every time this Tammy’s name comes up, there’s a sadness to you. I think you’ll feel better if you tell us what’s going on.”

  Gaynell stared at the uneaten sandwich in the container on her lap. “It’s silly. I mean, it was just high school stuff. Tammy was a junior when I was a freshman. She dated my older brother Arnaud a little. We were both into music. I’ve never been that competitive, but she kinda was, and …”

  Maggie cut to it. “Did she bully you?”

  Gaynell sighed and nodded. “She was one of the cool kids, so she could get people
to not sit with me or believe rumors she started. During a school talent show, when it was my turn, she got up and walked out. A ton of kids followed her. She got called out on it by the principal, but that never makes things better. Only worse.”

  Maggie gritted her teeth to suppress her emotions. Few things made her angrier than bullying. Bo’s seven-year-old son, Xander, who was on the autism spectrum, had suffered such relentless teasing at his old school in northern Louisiana that it motivated the family’s move to Pelican. “We officially hate Tammy,” she declared. “Right, Ione?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ione said with a vigorous nod.

  Gaynell smiled. “Y’all are too much. But really, it’s okay. It’s silly that it still bothers me. It’s been a long time since high school. Like, two years.”

  “Ouch,” Ione said. “Thinking on how young you are reminds me how old I am.”

  Maggie sighed and nodded. “Me too.”

  “I’m sure Tammy’s changed,” Gaynell said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself this might be true. “I mean, she’s a big star now and I’m a nobody. There’s nothing to compete for.”

  “Whoa.” Maggie took her friend by the shoulders. “You are not a nobody. You are an awesomely talented musician who just needs someone to see that and do something about it.”

  “Well …” Gaynell took a deep breath. “I haven’t told anyone this yet, but I filled out a Jazz Fest application for Gaynell and the Gator Girls. Someone’s coming to hear our set, and if they like it, they’ll give us a slot next year.”

  Maggie and Ione whooped, drawing attention from the teen cabal at the picnic table. “Did Tammy show up at Crozat?” the redhead called to them hopefully.

  “No,” Maggie called back. “We’ve got something way cooler to be excited about.” She hugged Gaynell, and then her cell phone buzzed. Maggie checked and saw a text message. “It’s from my mom. Tammy did show up. Along with a bunch of buses and trucks.” She held up the cell phone so her friends could read Ninette’s message: