by Ellen Byron
Wow, that was a quick trip from “Mr. Harmon” to “Stevie,” thought Maggie. She was repulsed by the rapacious couple and made a mental note to start a campaign against the privatization of Doucet as soon as Crozat’s future had been secured. “I have to go,” Maggie said.
“Keep those great ideas coming, Tannis,” Harmon said. “I’ll see you later, Miss Magnolia.” He had the audacity to follow up the flirtatious comment with another wink.
Maggie strode toward her car as fast as she could without breaking into a run. “Maggie, wait,” she heard Tannis call. “I forgot to tell you something.” She reluctantly stopped and let Tannis catch up to her. Away from the ambient light of Doucet, the parking lot was pitch dark. Tannis stumbled on the gravel in her spike heels and reached to grab Maggie’s arm for balance. Or so Maggie thought. Instead the Doucet manager dug her manicured nails into Maggie’s forearm and then leaned in until their faces were only inches apart. “Stay away from Steve or you’ll be sorry,” she hissed. “He’s mine.”
Chapter Five
Tannis stormed away. Maggie stood by her car for a moment, so shaken by the strength of the woman’s venom that she didn’t notice Gaynell and Ione approach.
“What’s wrong?” Gaynell asked. “You look kind of freaked out.”
Maggie started at the sound of Gaynell’s voice. “Sorry. I just had a very weird experience.” She shared Tannis’s threat with her friends.
“That woman is more than a pain in my posterior; she is pure evil,” Ione declared.
“Steve Harmon is the one who’s pure evil, and he infects other people with his bile.” Maggie sunk back against her vintage convertible.
Gaynell studied her friend. “Do you need to help with dinner at Crozat tonight?”
“No, my parents are handling it.”
“Good. I know what’ll get your mind off of this whole mess.”
“Drinks?”
Gaynell shook her head. “Exercise.”
Ione frowned. “I like Maggie’s idea better.”
“If we go for drinks, all we’ll do is talk about all the bad that’s happening with Maggie,” Gaynell said. “But if we go to DanceBod and do whatever class Sandy is leading, it’ll distract us.” Then she added, “We can go for drinks after.”
“Now I’m on board,” Ione said.
Maggie gave Gaynell a grateful smile. “It’s a great idea. Thank you. Ladies, let’s dance!”
*
DanceBod Fitness Studio was housed in one of the quaint nineteenth-century brick storefronts that encircled Pelican’s grassy town square. Sandy Sechrest, the studio’s owner and a relative newcomer to town, was a former pole dancer who had saved enough tips to open her own business just months earlier. Pelicaners were generally a soft-hearted lot, not prone to judging a person’s present by their past. Sandy was a terrific teacher who made shedding those Cajun and Creole food babies fun, which was enough for the locals.
Maggie and her friends arrived at the studio in time for DiscoBod, fifty minutes of medium and high cardio dance routines set to classic disco tunes. They went into the small locker room and changed into workout gear, then found places on the dance floor. Maggie took a spot next to her cousin, Lia Tienne. Until recently, Lia had managed to stay lithe despite owning Pelican’s two popular sweeteries, Fais Dough Dough Patisserie and Bon Bon Sweets. But as Maggie gave her cousin a hug, she noticed that Lia, a Nefertiti-like beauty, seemed to be filling out. Years of creating delectable pastries, pralines, and chocolates had finally caught up to the thirty-six-year-old.
A woman Maggie had never seen before hurried into the studio. She deposited a gym bag on a bench, then searched for a space on the dance floor. Maggie indicated there was room next to her. The woman smiled gratefully and took the space. “Thank you so much,” she said. Maggie detected a slight accent that she couldn’t place. The woman appeared to be around Maggie’s age, but where Maggie was petite and brunette, her new dance-floor neighbor was tall and slim with flaxen hair cut into a bob. Scandinavian, maybe? Maggie wondered. German? She realized the woman was talking to her and forced herself to focus.
“This is my first class,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to come for months, but I’ve been too busy. I’m Bea Boxler, the new general manager at Belle Vista.”
Maggie felt the usual pinprick of jealousy she got when she heard the name of Crozat’s upscale competitor. “I’m Maggie Crozat,” she said, forcing a polite smile. “Of Crozat Plantation B and B.”
“Really?” The woman seemed delighted. “I love your place. It’s so beautiful and genuine. Sometimes I fear we’ve lost that at BV. A little too much resort and too little history.”
Maggie was surprised—and a bit gleeful—to hear Bea voice a critique of “BV.” “I’d be happy to give you a tour of Crozat sometime,” she said, this time with a genuine smile.
“I’d love that, and I’d be happy to reciprocate if you’d like a tour of BV. Let me get my card. And give me yours.”
“I—actually, I don’t have one,” Maggie said, hating that she felt embarrassed by this. “It’s more of a helping out my family thing than an actual job.”
“No worries. Just call me, and I’ll have your number.”
Bea dashed over to her gym bag and returned with a business card. She handed it to Maggie, who stuck it in her sports bra. “Thanks,” Maggie said, “and welcome to class.”
“Maggie. Maggie!”
She instantly recognized the voice and turned to see her former coworker Vanessa Fleer in the back row. The zaftig new mother waved to Maggie with one hand and blew her a kiss with the other. Maggie responded with a wan smile. She had helped clear Vanessa of a murder charge only weeks before, which turned the “Loch Nessa Monster” from foe to self-appointed BFF, much to Maggie’s consternation. “I gotta work off the baby weight,” Vanessa announced to Maggie and the room. She stuck out her derriere and spanked it. “Mama’s got way too much junk in the trunk.”
Before Maggie could come up with an appropriately fatuous response, Sandy Sechrest, her dancer’s body clad in black leggings and a turquoise fitness tank, came bounding into the room. King Cake, Sandy’s beloved little rescue mutt, trotted in after her and parked himself in a doggy bed at the front of the studio. “Hey, Pelican!” Sandy yelled into her head mic. “Are you ready to dance?!” Her enthusiasm was infectious, and everyone in the room roared back, “Yes!”
Every session at the studio had a different theme, and tonight’s was disco. Maggie and the class Hustled and Bumped their way through Sandy’s routines. By the time DiscoBod ended, Maggie was drenched with sweat. But she felt relaxed and happy for the first time in days. Thanks to Gaynell’s suggestion, she’d danced off her stress—at least for the moment.
The women retreated to the locker room to change back into their street clothes. Lia sat on a wooden bench and dabbed at her face with a tissue. Maggie noticed that she looked pale. “Lia, are you okay? You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine. My stomach’s a little upset is all.”
Lia took a soda cracker out of a small plastic bag in her purse and nibbled on it. Vanessa let out a screech that startled the room and set nearby crows cawing. “You’re pregnant!”
“What?!” Maggie said. “That’s ridiculous, Nessa. You’re just seeing babies everywhere because you’ve got one.”
“Wrong-o, Magnolia. I bet you five dollars Lia’s having a baby.” Vanessa turned to Lia. “I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.”
Lia paused. “You’re not.” The other women screamed, and Lia disappeared under their hugs. “Careful—I’m having a bad case of morning sickness today.” The women instantly pulled back. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, Maggie, but Kyle and I wanted to wait until I was into my second trimester. We’re still a few weeks away. But I guess I can wear this now.”
Lia reached into her purse again. This time she pulled out a thin gold band, which she placed on the ring finger of her left hand, eliciting more shrieks from the
women. Maggie collapsed onto the bench next to her cousin. “Married. A baby. Lia, you are seriously messing with my mind.”
Lia looked sheepish. “Kyle and I eloped three weeks after we met. We didn’t tell anyone because we thought people would think we were moving too fast. But we knew we weren’t. Are you mad at me for keeping secrets?”
Maggie thought about everything Lia and Kyle had endured. Lia’s first husband had died of cancer at thirty-six, and Kyle had lost his pregnant wife in a car accident. These two grieving souls found solace in each other, and for that Maggie thanked the universe. “Not one bit. Your life is yours to live any way you want.” She hugged her cousin gently, mindful of her condition. “Yay! Gals, let’s celebrate.”
The group headed out the door for Junie’s Oyster Bar and Dance Hall. Waiting outside the studio were Vanessa’s ex-fiancé, Rufus Durand, and her soon-to-be husband, defense attorney Quentin MacIlhoney. Despite three previous marriages and an upcoming birthday that would see sixty candles on his cake, Quentin had never sired his own offspring. He’d taken to stepfatherhood with gusto, even commissioning a made-to-order, monogrammed alligator diaper bag for himself.
Rufus pushed a baby carriage toward Vanessa, who sauntered over to it. “There’s my little princess,” she cooed to the infant inside. “Did you miss your mommy?”
“No, because she was having so much fun with the daddy that made her,” Rufus, the baby’s birth father, said. He scowled at Quentin, who gave him a jovial slap on the shoulder.
“I’m gonna wipe that frown off your face by telling you I’ll be picking up all the costs for little Charli’s baptism,” Quentin said. He turned his attention to Maggie. “Hey there, Miss Magnolia. Anyone murdered at Crozat lately? My caseload’s a little light around the holidays.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but all our guests are alive and well,” Maggie said.
“I’m gonna pop into DanceBod and say hi to Sandy.” Rufus did his best to sound casual, but it was obvious to Maggie that the police officer, who knew Sandy from her strip club days, had a bit of a crush on the dance instructor.
Good-byes were said, and Maggie’s group walked down the street toward Junie’s. As they passed Le Blanc’s Bistro, Pelican’s first high-end restaurant, a limo pulled up to the curb. The limo driver got out and opened the passenger’s door. Steve Harmon exited from the vehicle, followed by a beautiful redhead. Maggie was surprised when she recognized the woman. What was Bo’s ex-wife, Whitney Durand Evans, doing with the hedge fund manager? “Y’all go ahead,” Maggie told her friends, who did so. Harmon appeared to be giving his limo driver instructions, so Maggie approached Whitney.
“Hey, Whitney. What’s up? I didn’t know you knew our guest.”
“I didn’t. Well, I do now.” Whitney spoke in a jumble of words. “He found me because he saw Xander’s painting at Crozat, and he thinks he’s a prodigy, so he, me, and his art adviser are having dinner at Le Blanc’s, which I’ve been dying to try, but it’s superexpensive, which doesn’t matter to Steve at all.” Whitney stopped to take a breath. “Zach would be here too,” she added, referencing her second husband, who held a middle management position at a nearby oil refinery, “but he had to work late.”
“Does Bo know about this?” Maggie asked, keeping her tone measured.
“I texted him and he’s on his way. Isn’t it exciting?”
Maggie didn’t respond. It wasn’t her place to share Bo’s repulsion at the thought of his young, emotionally challenged son turned into some kind of art world circus act.
Steve Harmon finished conversing with his driver and rapped on the passenger’s-side window. “You done? I’m hungry.”
Maggie saw the shadow of a figure put a cell phone into a jacket pocket. The limo door opened, and a man got out. “That’s the art adviser,” Whitney whispered to her. “He’s real nice. He explained how we have to bring Xander to New York because he’s so talented that if people don’t see him in person, they’ll think we’re lying about his art being done by a kid.”
The man stepped onto the sidewalk and into the glow of a streetlight. When she saw who he was, for a moment Maggie couldn’t breathe.
“Hi, Maggie,” the man said.
Maggie opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.
“You know each other?” Whitney asked, surprised.
Maggie finally found her voice. “Yes. He’s Chris Harper. My ex-boyfriend.”
Chapter Six
“Sorry I didn’t call to warn you, but this whole trip came together really fast,” Chris said.
Still in shock, Maggie nodded. Her ex hadn’t changed in the two years since she’d last seen him. A hint of gray in his curly brown hair, maybe. A few more crow’s-feet. He was dressed in the uniform of jeans, black thermal Henley shirt, and the utilitarian black eyeglass frames Brooklyn hipsters had appropriated from the 1950s. “How’s Samantha?” she asked, aiming for polite small talk. She hoped no one noticed the slight crack in her voice when she said the name of the woman Chris had married instead of her.
“Good. How’s your family?”
“Good.”
“You look great.”
“You too.”
Eager to end the forced pleasantries, Maggie was searching for an exit line when Bo pulled up in his SUV and screeched to a halt. He jumped out of the car, slammed the driver’s door shut, and strode over to Whitney. “You need to not be here,” he said, his tone laced with fury.
“Bo, you’re being stubborn,” Whitney said. “Steve is offering Xander an amazing opportunity. He’d meet professional artists and be introduced to that world at such a young age. Zach and I both think it could draw him out of himself more. And if his paintings sold, they could pay for college someday.”
“Zach’s a good stepdad, and I appreciate that, but I’m Xander’s father, and I will be paying for college. He’s finally in a school where he’s happy and self-confident, Whitney. He’s making friends. After three years, he’s talking again, for God’s sake. You really want to tear him away from all that so some money guy can parade him around to make himself look like a big shot?”
“I want to do what’s best for Xander and not deprive him of an opportunity that could change his life.”
“In a bad way. We’ve seen what happens to prodigies when they’re not prodigies anymore. They go from being famous to ‘used to be famous,’ and a lot of them never recover from that.”
“May I say something here?” Steve Harmon asked.
“Please do,” Whitney said. Bo glowered. Maggie and Chris simply stood there, trapped in the awkward face-off.
“You have no idea if your son will show any kind of a talent when he grows up,” Harmon said, “so you might as well milk the moment. This may be as good as it gets for a kid like him.”
The rage Bo had tamped down bubbled up. He drew back his fist and was about to send it into Harmon’s jaw when the mogul’s chauffeur clocked Bo with a punch that knocked him to the ground. Whitney whimpered as Maggie fell to her knees next to Bo.
“Thanks, Dan,” Harmon said. He pulled open the restaurant door and addressed Whitney. “I leave in the morning, so it’s now or never.”
Bo shook off the blow and pulled himself to his feet. “I’m warning you both,” he said. “If you even think of taking Xander to New York, I will do whatever it takes to stop you.”
Whitney, clearly conflicted, looked from Bo to Harmon. Then she followed the businessman into the restaurant with Chris right behind her. “I’ll call you,” he told Maggie.
“Please don’t,” she called after him as he disappeared into Le Blanc’s. She turned her attention to Bo, who leaned against his SUV, massaging his jaw. “You should ice that. I’ll run into Junie’s and get some from the bar.”
Bo shook his head. “I’ve gotta get home and look at my divorce papers. Whitney can’t take Xander out of the state without my permission, but I want to make sure there aren’t any loopholes I’m missing. I’ll get in touch wit
h my lawyer first thing in the morning to lock everything down.” Bo pulled open the driver’s door, jumped in, and started the engine. “I’ll call you.”
“Please do.”
Bo began backing out and then hit the brakes. “Wait a minute—who was the other guy who said he’d call you? The one with Harmon?”
Maggie paused. “That was Chris.”
“The Chris? Ex-boyfriend Chris? From New York?”
“Yes. But please, so not important right now. I’ll explain after you’ve made sure Xander’s not turned into some kind of art gallery sideshow.”
Bo frowned, muttered a string of expletives, and then roared out of his parking space. Maggie was alone, which she welcomed after the ugly confrontation that had just taken place. She took a few deep breaths to center herself and then headed down the block to Junie’s. “Maggie . . . Maggie . . .” the air whispered. At least she thought it was the air until she heard the yappy bark of a small dog. Sandy Sechrest, with King Cake on a lead, materialized out of the shadows, startling her. “I swear,” Maggie coughed out, clutching her heart, “if I survive tonight, it’ll be a tribute to some hardy Crozat genes.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sandy said. Maggie noticed the young woman was trembling, despite her fleece hoodie. “I need to know . . . was one of those men Steve Harmon?”
“Yes, he’s staying at our B and B.”
Sandy’s trembling increased. “F—f—for how long?”
“He’s leaving tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank God.” Then Sandy burst into tears and began running back to her studio. King Cake, thinking it was a game, barked happily and nipped at her heels.
Strangest night ever, Maggie thought to herself as she made her way toward Junie’s. She found Gaynell and Ione parked at the hangout’s turn-of-the-century bar. Junie’s was the kind of place that was pitch dark on summer’s sunniest day. It smelled like a century of beer, jambalaya, and mildew, and the locals couldn’t have loved it more. The ashes of Junie, the bar and grill’s late owner, sat in a bedazzled urn atop the bar, next to the stuffed body of her deceased pet alligator. Junie’s son, JJ, had inherited her business and her wardrobe, and he treated them both with tender, loving care.