by Ellen Byron
“It makes sense Pony’s actual children would be musicians,” Maggie said. “According to my online searches, he pretty much slept with either groupies or female artists. There was a good chance any kids he sired would either have music in their genes or gravitate toward the field.”
Bo resumed telling the story. “DNA confirmed Pony’s paternity in both cases, so he had his PI dig into their backgrounds to vet them. At the end of the tour, Pony planned to reveal to them that he was their father and they’d be the beneficiaries of his estate. But the PI discovered one of the two was engaged in criminal activity. There was evidence this particular offspring—The Sound, aka Paul—was running a thriving opioid ring through his Piloga businesses. There was Downward Dog in the studio and drug sales in the back room. Rather than turn this information over to the police, Pony, being an arrogant control freak, decided to confront his newly discovered son and lay a triple whammy on him: First, he told The Sound he was his birth father. Then he shared what the PI uncovered and said he that the musician was supposed to be in his will but now wouldn’t be. And third, he said he’d be reporting The Sound’s illegal activities to the authorities. These boneheaded moves set him up to be murdered.”
“How do you know all this?” Ione asked.
“Pickner put his plan into a letter he mailed to Newman on the day he died. If it weren’t for Newman’s rehab stint, we could have ended the whole thing days ago. Instead of a dead keyboard player being fished out of the Mississippi, he’d be in jail facing dealing, money laundering, and murder charges. By the way, LAPD discovered something interesting when they busted the ‘Piloga’ studio. One of the dealers operating from it was smuggling more than drugs across the border. Want to guess what else?”
Maggie’s mind was blank for a minute; then it hit her. “Exotic animals.”
Bo nodded. “Snakes, mostly. Venomous ones banned in the U.S. One of the things this guy confessed to when he was scrounging around for a plea deal was selling a Mexican pit viper to The Sound. Pony’s offspring was a real sick piece of work.”
“One of his offspring,” Maggie said. “He had two. The Sound was Cain. So, who’s Abel?”
“Valeria Aguilar,” Bo said.
Maggie gaped at her fiancé. “Valeria? She’s Pony’s daughter?” Bo nodded. “I don’t know why, but that never occurred to me. I guess because they were so different.”
“Valeria was raised by a single mother in Manhattan. The woman was a session singer years ago but got out of the business once her daughter was born and pursued a more stable career as an office manager.”
“My money was on Bokie.”
“So was Pony’s. Literally. That’s why he secretly paid Bokie more. According to Newman, he spoke very highly of him and was disappointed the guy wasn’t his son. Bokie’s mother was one of Pony’s flings. But he didn’t father her child.”
“What a story.” Ione made a face and put her hands on her head. “Wait, if Pony thought all these musicians could be his kids—”
“Except for Tammy Barker; she was a legit client. Her tour is what gave him the idea to pull together his potential offspring, some new to him, some musicians he’d actually worked with before.”
“But it means he even had a little somethin’ somethin’ with that boy Toulouse’s mama.”
“I guess Petite, Louisiana, is as good a place for a fling as any when you’re on tour.”
“By the way, I gave Miss Zenephra a call yesterday to see how Toulouse is doing,” Maggie said. “Quentin got him a plea deal where he’ll be sent to a mental health facility rather than do time for Gaynell’s kidnapping, since she refused to press charges. When he’s ready, Miss Zenephra’s s going to bring him home with her. She hopes that eventually he’ll start playing with some local bands like he used to. Toulouse is so talented, I think they’ll welcome him back.”
Bo shifted his weight, then yawned and stretched. His T-shirt rose up, revealing a few inches of a very taut stomach. “Easy, girl,” Ione whispered to Maggie, who couldn’t help giggling.
“So,” he said, oblivious to Maggie’s hormonal surge, “the way things shake down, Valeria will inherit Pony’s estate. She’s putting aside her tell-all for now to focus on helping with Bokie’s recovery from the injury he sustained when The Sound conked him on the head at Belle Vista. You were right, Maggie, someone was threatened when they heard Bokie yell to Valeria that he had some good dirt for her book. But it was The Sound, not Toulouse.”
“Glad as I am that Valeria will be there for Bokie, it’s too bad about her book,” Maggie said. “It is one great read.”
Ione stood up. Following Bo’s lead, she also stretched. “Better get the kinks out now before we stuff ourselves into Quentin’s car.”
Maggie stared down the end of the driveway. “We’re not going in his car.”
She pointed to a blinged-out party bus rolling toward them. A speaker on the roof shared Dixieland jazz with the world. White chaser lights surrounded all the windows. Colored lights rimmed the hubcaps. The bus came to a stop and its door sprung open. Quentin, wearing a vest bedecked with musical notes, jumped out, followed by Vanessa, wearing a dress featuring the same pattern. The driver of the bus appeared next. To the surprise of the onlookers, it was Rufus, wearing the same vest as Quentin. Next out was Sandy—wearing the same dress as Vanessa.
“What all’s goin’ on here?” Bo asked, amused.
Quentin gleefully threw open his arms. “Why wait until Jazz Fest to get this party started?”
“I think Bo means …” Maggie gestured back and forth between the couples. “This. Your outfits. It’s nice to see détente between y’all, but this is a whole lotta détente.”
“We wanted to show the world that we’ve moved past our petty squabbles,” Vanessa said, taking a spin to model her dress. Maggie grew dizzy watching the busy pattern swirl by. “I’m just sorry my dressmaker ran out of fabric before we could make y’all matching outfits.”
“Not as sorry as we would’ve been if she hadn’t,” Bo muttered to Maggie, who put a hand over her mouth to hide a laugh.
Quentin clapped his hands together. “All righty, my friends, let’s get this party on the road. We don’t want to miss the Gator Girls’ Jazz Fest debut.”
“I’d be a lot more excited if Gaynell was debuting with them,” Maggie said as they loaded onto the bus.
“We all would, chère.” Quentin handed her a frozen daiquiri. “Drown your sorrows in this. And there’s more where it came from. Allons-y, my friends. Laissez les bon temps par-tay!”
Chapter 26
It was one of those days Jazz Fest celebrants pray for—sunny, dry, humidity a mere ninety percent. The fairgrounds were packed with music lovers, many holding gaily decorated umbrellas to shield them from the sun and dance with whenever a second line broke out. The air hummed with a cacophony of sounds—excited conversations, music from the ten stages and tents, cheers for various acts, even band devotees singing along to their favorite group’s tunes. A cloud of delicious scents from the food areas hovered over the entire festival, seasoning the air with a mix of Cajun, Creole, Asian, Caribbean, and other foods from cultures all over the world.
“I forgot how much I love Jazz Fest,” Maggie said to the others as a security guard led them behind the primary main stage to the area, where acts cooled their heels before their sets. She cast a longing glance at the stand selling the one and only genuine Crawfish Monica. It was eleven fifteen in the morning, and the line already looped around itself. Time wouldn’t allow for a wait. She’d have to ask Ninette to make her version of the dish when she got home.
The security guard led the way behind metal barriers and deposited the group in front of trailers that served as both dressing and green rooms for the stage’s acts. A few of the Gator Girls lounged at the folding tables and chairs set up in the middle of the area. Pixie waved to them. “If you’re looking for Gaynell, she’s in that one,” the drummer said, pointing to one of the trailers.
“She just got back from doing a mascara run for Tammy.”
Maggie flushed with anger. “It’s not enough for Tammy to dismiss Gaynell? She has to turn her into an errand girl?”
Bo put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm yourself, chère. We’re here to support our friends, so leave it be.”
Maggie reluctantly held her tongue. Her anger dissipated when she saw Uffen and East emerge from the second trailer on the site. Both men looked exhausted. Uffen didn’t even notice the underage teen girls on the other side of the barriers trying to get his attention. “Be right back,” she said to Bo. She walked over to the musicians. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but the answer is on your faces.”
Uffen responded with a mirthless chuckle. “Finding out that your mother slept with your boss and you might be related to him but you’re not, but two of your bandmates are, or rather were, and one was also running a lucrative opioid business, but he was about to be busted so he offed himself … it can age a fella.”
“Uh-huh,” East said, nodding vigorously.
“Are you going to continue with Tammy’s tour?”
The musicians simultaneously shook their heads. “I’m going home to my girl and our baby-to-be,” East said. “I’m gonna be the father I never had. Maybe do some research of my own and find out who he was. My mother either didn’t know or didn’t want me to know. It’s hard growing up with big questions about who you are, where you came from. I don’t want that for my kid.”
“And I am all about this brave new world of DNA testing,” Uffen said. “I’ll be crossing the pond to my homeland and acquiring the spittle of my mother and father. Or is he really my father? To be continued. Besides,” the guitarist added, this time with a genuine smile, “I can’t stand Tammy’s new music.”
“Dude, it sucks,” East said. “I’m so glad I’m not alone on that.”
Maggie left the two musicians bonding over their mutual hatred of Tammy’s new pop sound and returned to the others. The door to Tammy’s trailer opened. The singer appeared, carrying a giant travel mug. She was followed down the stairs by Narcisse, Sara, and Gigi. Gaynell was the last one out. Her face lit up when she saw her friends, and she came to them. “Chret’s saving us lawn space by the front of the stage,” she said.
“You’re sure you’re okay only watching?” Maggie asked.
“Totally,” Gaynell said with an undeniable sincerity. “My turn will come.”
“Yes, it will. And you will own Jazz Fest.”
Maggie said this loudly for Tammy’s benefit, but the singer wasn’t paying attention. She did a few vocal warm-ups, then took a sip of her beverage. “That’s some big container,” Rufus said.
“After all that rain up in Pelican, I felt like I might be getting a cold, so Gigi made this brew for me. It better work, because it sure tastes horrible.” She waved a hand at Pixie. “Hey, Gator Girls, over here. Not you, Gaynell.”
“Why not?” Maggie blurted.
She was instantly the focus of everyone’s attention. “It’s okay, Maggie,” Gaynell said under her breath.
“You know what? It’s not.” Having opened her mouth, Maggie decided not to shut it. “What exactly is your problem with Gaynell, Tammy?”
“It’s not any of your business.”
“Wrong. It’s all of our business. You made it that way by trying to drag our friend down.”
The singer’s eyes flashed. “Oh, you wanna go there? I’ll go there. Miss Gaynell here knows exactly what the problem is.”
“Huh?” The expression on Gaynell’s face was utter bewilderment.
Tammy snorted. “Oh please, don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“Actually,” Gaynell said, “I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t, Tammy. Really. I don’t.”
“She doesn’t,” Maggie threw in as confirmation. “So tell us, Tammy. What is your big problem with her? Or is it plain old, very ugly, jealousy?”
The others watched transfixed. “If this were a TV show, they’d go to commercial break right now,” Rufus said.
“Ain’t that right,” Quentin agreed.
Tammy’s lower lip quivered. She spoke directly to Gaynell. “You broke up me and your brother Arnaud.”
“What?” Gaynell stared at the singer, dumbfounded. “That’s crazy talk. I never did no such thing.”
“Yeah, you did. He told me. He said you said there could be only one star in the family and it was you, so he had to break up with me.” Gaynell opened and closed her mouth, too speechless to form words. But Tammy was on a weepy roll. “I wanted to get married. My whole life would be different. Well, I’d still be one of the biggest stars on the planet, but he’d be by my side cheering me on. Thanks to you, he ain’t.”
Gaynell found her voice. “Tammy, I never said any of that. I hate to tell you this, but Arnaud made it up as an excuse to break up with you.”
Tammy folded her arms in front of her chest and stared down Gaynell. “I don’t believe it. You’re just saying that cuz you don’t want to own what you did.”
“I swear on a Bible. It’s how he operates. He did the same thing with other girlfriends, only he told different lies.”
Tammy uncrossed her arms. “He lied to me to get out of the relationship?”
“’Fraid so. He’s always been a big old coward.”
The angry expression on the singing star’s face faded, replaced by embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Gaynell. I can’t believe Arnaud did that. I have half a mind to call him and tell him off.”
“Uh …” Gaynell took her phone out of her back pocket. “Maybe you should see what he looks like these days before you make that call.” She thumbed through her phone, then held it up to the singer. “Here.”
Tammy took the phone and checked out the photo. Embarrassment morphed into an expression of distaste. “Wow. Talk about not aging well.” Maggie glanced at the phone and saw a photo of an obese, gap-toothed man in a chef’s uniform holding up a thirty-two-ounce beer can as he flashed a victory sign.
“What’s he look like? I wanna see.”
Pixie and the Gator Girls huddled around Tammy, but the singer quickly handed the phone back to Gaynell. “Best to leave things be.”
Sara clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Hello, we have a set coming up, anyone remember that? What’re we here for? Enough boyfriend drama. Focus, people.”
“Right,” Tammy said. She took a big swallow of the brew in her travel mug and addressed the Gator Girls. “I just wanna confirm that as soon as I finish ‘My Loving Country Heart,’ y’all get off the stage and the dancers get on it, so I can show off my new numbers.”
“You’ve told us this a bunch of times, so consider it confirmed.” Pixie’s tone was bright, but Maggie picked up more than a hint of annoyance.
Tammy took another sip of her drink. “Sara, you got what we need for the quick change into my pop outfit behind the dancers?”
Sara held up a bomber jacket decorated with gangster-style graffiti. “I’ve got it right here.”
“Good, I don’t want—I don’t want anything—” Tammy’s faced turned red. She began gasping for air. She dropped her travel mug and clasped her hands around her throat.
“Oh my God,” Sara cried out. “What’s happening?”
Tammy’s face began to swell up. Rufus and Bo instantly went into law enforcement mode. Rufus called for medical backup while Bo focused on Tammy. “You’re having an allergic reaction.” Bo reached for her, but she staggered away from him. “Do you have an EpiPen?”
“It’s in her purse. I’ll get it.” Sara ran into the trailer.
“Shellfish,” Tammy gasped out. “Poisoned. You.”
The singer pointed an accusing finger at Gaynell. Shocked, Gaynell opened her mouth to defend herself. But before she could, Gigi spoke up. “Not her. Me.” Tammy’s cousin said this with malevolent pride.
Sara flew out of the trailer, almost tumbling down the steps. “It�
�s not there! Her EpiPen’s gone.”
Gigi hovered over Tammy, who had fallen to her knees. “You think I don’t know what’s been going on? How you moved in on my husband? How the two of you were planning to move to Los Angeles without me?” An ambulance, siren blaring, pulled up next to the holding area. “I know why you stayed at Crozat instead of Belle Vista, why you rented out the whole place. It was easier to cat around with Narcisse. Well, guess what? I loaded that drink of yours with crawfish juice. That’s why it tasted so awful. You want your EpiPen? Try and get it.”
Gigi pulled the pen out of her pocket and waved it in the air. Bo grabbed the pen from her and stuck it in Tammy’s thigh. The singer screamed, and then passed out. But the color began returning to her face and her breathing slowly normalized.
Rufus called NOPD while Bo used his belt to secure Gigi’s hands behind her back until law enforcement arrived. The EMTs loaded Tammy onto a gurney. “I’m Tammy’s manager; I’ll go with her,” Sara said. She hopped into the back of the ambulance, which careened off the field.
The others watched, reeling from the whirlwind of events. “Did we get this whole thing wrong?” Maggie asked, trying to make sense of the bizarre new development. “Tammy thought she was the original target.” She faced Gigi. “Did you try to kill your cousin and get Pony instead?”
Gigi, who was struggling to break free from Bo’s tight grip, gave up the fight. She burst into tears. “No, I swear I didn’t,” she said between sobs and hiccups. “I only found out about Tammy and Narcisse hooking up when I was making her stupid drink and heard those dumbbell dancers talking about how Narcisse was ‘puttin’ the body into bodyguard, if you know what I mean. And I knew exactly what she meant.”
Gigi threw the last comment at her husband with a fury so frightening that the rest of the onlookers took a step back from her. An NOPD patrol car sped up to the scene, and two officers jumped out. They relieved Bo of the attempted murderess and cuffed her. “Thanks, we’ll take it from here,” the senior officer said.