by Ellen Byron
“Hey, Rufus, any chance you can bring them up here?” Tug yelled.
Rufus got up and walked over to the logs. “My back’s been acting up,” he told Maggie. He rubbed a spot on his spine. “I gotta pass.”
Maggie shot him a skeptical look. “Seriously?”
“Sorry, Tug,” Rufus called out. “No can do.”
Tug started down the levee, but Maggie held up her hand. “No, Dad, I’ll do it.” She faced Rufus, furious. “My father is in no shape to haul logs anywhere, and I think you’re a fakin’ lazy-butt.”
Maggie bent down and channeled her anger into dragging the bundle of logs. She couldn’t move them more than an inch. She tried again with less success. She let loose a stream of cuss words and kicked the bundle. Rufus put a hand on her arm.
“Calm down, Magnolia Marie. And congratulations. You just dodged a murder rap.”
“I what?”
“Harmon wasn’t killed in the house. We found evidence proving he was killed elsewhere and dragged into the room.”
Maggie flashed on the moment she’d arrived at the murder scene with her tour group. “There was water in the hallway,” she said. “And dirt. A streak of it. Like something had been dragged across the floor.”
“Exactly. Now you just showed me that you couldn’t move a bundle of logs, so I don’t believe there’s any way you could drag a hundred-and-fifty-pound body up a flight of steps into Doucet. You also let me know that your father isn’t up to it, and I can’t image your Gran’ or tiny mama having the strength either.”
Maggie dropped the bundle’s mesh handle. “Oh. Wow. Rufus . . . that was kind of brilliant.”
“No ‘kind of’ about it.”
“You’re right.” Once again, Maggie had misjudged Rufus. But this time, he’d done the one thing she never expected him to do—stand up for the Crozats. “Ru, I’m sorry. And I’m especially sorry I called you a lazy-butt.”
“You can make it up to me by nosing around Sandy Sechrest and letting me know if she’s seeing anyone.”
“Will do,” Maggie promised. “To be honest, I didn’t believe Bo when he said you’ve changed. But I truly believe you have.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Rufus looked down at the ground and scuffed pebbles back and forth with his shoe. “When you have a kid, you want to be the best person you can be for them. And that person isn’t someone who’s petty and bullies people and carries stupid grudges years old. If there’s anyone who should be throwing ‘sorrys’ around here, it’s me. So . . . I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Maggie said, marveling at the positive new direction of their relationship. Rufus looked up and acknowledged Maggie’s response with a small smile. She furrowed her brow. “Well, now that we’ve cleared the air and you very generously got my family and me off the hook, I need to point out that there’s no way Ione would have the strength to drag Harmon’s body either. Right?”
“Probably not.”
“Good,” Maggie said. “Feel free to mention that to Mr. Acting Chief Perske. But I have to tell you, I really think there’s something suspicious about that whole Tannis-Little Earlie meet up.”
“I had exactly the same feeling. Earlie said they’re writing a script together, trying to take advantage of all the film production that’s come our state’s way these last few years. Then again, ‘writing a script’ could be code for going at it. Earlie says they both fell asleep, which could have given either of them the chance to sneak out and do in Harmon, but I don’t see her having the heft to drag a body. Or Little Earlie either, for that matter. If I blew on him, he’d flutter off like a dandelion. Still, it could have been a team effort, so I’m keeping an eye on both of them.”
“Of course, it could have been a team effort with any of us too,” Maggie felt compelled to point out.
“Yeah, I thought of that, but my big old gut doesn’t buy it. If you offed the guy, I could see you marching into Pelican PD headquarters and announcing to anyone who would listen, ‘I killed the SOB, and I’m not sorry—now lock me up.’ I couldn’t see you or your kin sneaking around. Y’all would own your bad ways.”
“That would be classified as a backhanded compliment, but I’ll take it. I’m sure you’re breaking some rule telling me all this. I truly appreciate it.”
“Chère, it’s Louisiana. We only follow the rules we like.”
Maggie laughed. “True. You’re really good at your job, Rufus.”
“Thanks.” Rufus flashed an impish grin. “And you’re pretty good at my job too.”
Then he picked up the bundle of logs with ease, placed it on his shoulder, and marched up the levee to Tug.
*
For the next two hours, Maggie focused on providing customers with their morning sustenance. Eventually everything was gone except for a few water bottles, which Maggie brought up to the men—and one woman—working on the bonfire. Gaynell had joined Chret, her boyfriend, in the effort. “With Doucet closed today, I needed something to do with myself,” she told Maggie as she stacked a log on the pyramid.
“I need to bring the sales supplies back to Crozat, but that can wait a bit,” Maggie said and joined her friends and family in building the bonfire. She fell into a rhythm of hauling and placing logs, and the mindless task provided her with a welcome break from the stress of the last few days. The ring of her cell phone disrupted the calm, especially when Maggie saw that the caller was Tannis.
“Maggie, this is Tannis Greer,” her boss said, apparently including her last name so Maggie could differentiate her from the other Tannises in her life—of which there were none. “I’m calling to provide you with updates on Doucet. We’ll be closed for at least another two days, per the request of Pelican PD. I also want you to know that Ione Savreau has been placed on unpaid leave.”
“What?! Why?”
“She’s a suspect in a murder investigation, and I think her presence creates an uncomfortable and possibly dangerous situation for the staff.”
Maggie felt a surge of pleasure at the news she was about to deliver. “It just so happens that I have a little inside information on this issue. While I can’t reveal my source, I can share that the police do not view Ione as a suspect.”
“Sorry, but I don’t consider pillow talk between you and your detective boyfriend a reliable source.”
“I didn’t hear it from—”
“Until whoever murdered Steve—Mr. Harmon—is caught, Ms. Savreau is out. I’d recommend you put aside your personal relationship with her and acknowledge that this is a business decision for the benefit of Doucet Plantation. Have a good day.”
Tannis quickly ended the call before Maggie could protest. Ione’s plight made building a bonfire feel superfluous, so Maggie lugged the cash box and empty cooler back to Crozat. She needed to think, and for that she needed privacy. She was on her way to the shotgun cottage when she heard frustrated exclamations coming from the B and B office. Maggie stepped into the room and saw Gran’ typing furiously on the computer keyboard. “More bad reviews posted on Trippee.com,” she said. “They were dated from yesterday, which means Trippee had time to receive my warning that trolls are targeting us, but apparently the website’s fraud alert and review approval department operate at cross-purposes. Oh, fudge.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Every time I send an e-mail, I get some form response thanking me for contacting Trippee and warning me that not every e-mail can be answered individually. What does that even mean?! Oh, shi—ver me timbers, I got another one. Mo—mmy funny, there’s another. Ahhh!”
Maggie had to laugh at her grand-mère’s creative take on cussing. “Here,” she said, motioning to Gran’ to get up. The older woman did so, and Maggie replaced her at the computer. “I’m forwarding all your e-mails to Tig’s people. They’ve been trying to track down our troll from their end but haven’t had any luck yet. Preferred Property places ads on Trippee, so I’m sure the website will ‘trip’ over themselves to help them out . . .”<
br />
Gran’ shook her well-coiffed head.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” Maggie said.
“Well, I guess the misery of the last few days has earned you a terrible pun or two. It won’t be two, will it?”
Maggie stood up and gave her grand-mère a hug. “I’m done.”
“On a positive note, Lindy O’Day wrote a lovely review and even countered the negative ones with positive comments. So that’s something.”
Ninette appeared at the door. She held Jasmine, Xander’s favorite foster puppy, in her arm. “I was feeding our furbabies when I heard a car coming down the drive. I looked out, and I think it might be Mr. Harmon’s limo.”
Maggie and Gran’ exchanged a look. “That’s odd,” Gran’ said.
“Very,” Maggie agreed. “I’ll take care of this, Mama.”
She left the women and walked down Crozat’s wide hall to the front door, opening it as the limo came to a stop. Dan, Steve Harmon’s driver, got out and walked around the car to open the passenger’s door. An attractive brunette in her late forties got out, giving Dan a warm smile as she did so. Maggie found it curious that the woman had chosen to sit next to Harmon’s driver rather than be chauffeured by him. They exchanged a few words, then Dan looked down at the ground and shook his head. The woman placed a hand on his arm in a comforting gesture and walked up the stairs to where Maggie stood.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m looking for a Maggie Crozat.”
“You found her.” Not quite sure how to proceed, Maggie went with extending her hand, which the woman gave a limp shake. “I’m Maggie.”
“I’m Emme Charbonnet Harmon,” the woman said. “Steve Harmon’s widow.”
“Oh,” Maggie said, affecting more surprise than she felt. Maggie’s instincts had beat Emme to her introduction. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Emme gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you. I was told you’re the person who found my husband. I’m on my way to the morgue to make arrangements for Steve’s transportation and wanted to stop by for a quick chat.”
She sounds more like a travel agent than a widow, Maggie thought. “Come in. I’ll get us some coffee. Does Mr. Harmon’s driver want to join us?”
“No, Dan prefers to wait by the car. He’s devastated by Steve’s death.”
Well, at least one person is. “Why don’t we go to the front parlor?”
Maggie gestured for Emme to follow her. As they walked, Maggie sent a quick text to Ninette and Gran’, alerting them to this odd development. By the time she and Harmon’s widow entered the parlor, Gran’ was there waiting. Ninette showed up a minute later with coffee and pastries. Maggie introduced her mother and grand-mère to Emme, who responded to their expressions of sympathy with the same miniscule nod that she’d given Maggie. The four women sat down on the room’s ornately carved nineteenth-century settee and chairs. When Emme crossed her legs, Maggie noticed that her black pumps boasted the trademark red soles of an expensive shoe brand. Her black-and-white print wrap dress and black pashmina shawl seemed equally high-end.
Ninette poured coffee as Gran’ passed the plate of pastries. Emme chose a croissant. “Delicious,” she said as she nibbled on it.
“Thank you,” Maggie responded politely. “They’re from my cousin’s shop in town, Fais Dough Dough.”
“As in d-o-u-g-h? Clever.” Emme finished her croissant. “So tell me how you found Steve.”
The abrupt change of conversation caused Ninette to swallow the wrong way, and she coughed until tears came to her eyes. Gran’ gave her several sharp pats on the back, and she finally stopped. Emme didn’t seem to notice. “I was leading the first tour of the morning,” Maggie said. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to upset Harmon’s widow. Although judging from Emme’s behavior thus far, that didn’t seem cause for concern. “One of my guests saw your husband first. He thought he was a dumm . . . a prop . . . not real. But since Mr. Harmon was a guest here, I immediately recognized him. I transferred my tour group to two other guides and checked to see if he was still breathing.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“No.”
“You’re sure.”
“Yes,” Maggie said. This conversation is getting stranger by the minute. “As were the paramedics when they arrived. Anyway, once it was determined he was . . . deceased . . . I stepped back so I wasn’t in the way of the medical professionals and law enforcement.”
“Because you thought he might have been murdered.”
“Yes. There was a stain on his shirt. Where his heart was. A red stain.”
“A blood stain.”
“That’s what I assumed.”
“Well,” Emme said, “all right, then.”
There was silence as Emme sipped her coffee. Maggie exchanged subtle, perplexed glances with her mother and grand-mère. Then Gran’ finally spoke. “So . . . you’re a Charbonnet.”
“Yes,” Emme said.
“Are you by any chance related to Adelaide Charbonnet?”
“She’s my mother. Do you know her?”
“We were at Newcomb together. And we were debutantes the same season.”
“Really? What a small world.”
“Oh, yes, a small world, a very small world.” If Maggie had any doubt this was a bizarre conversation, her grand-mère’s reaction dispelled it. When Gran’ was uncomfortable, she had a tendency to lay on her accent and repeat words until she sounded like a Southern parrot.
Emme finished her coffee and placed the cup on its saucer. “Well, thank you for your time and hospitality. Dan and I need to go now.”
All four women stood up. “I’ll walk you out,” Maggie said. Emme followed her out of the room and down the hall until they reached Crozat’s old oak front door. Ninette and Gran’ tagged along behind them. “If you have any other questions, please feel free to call me,” Maggie said. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Thank you,” Emme said, “but I’m satisfied.”
She walked outside to the waiting limo. Dan opened the passenger’s door for her, and Emme rewarded him with a warm smile. Maggie was again struck by her familiarity with the man. Dan got into the driver’s seat, and the limo slowly made its way down the earthen drive out onto the road, where it disappeared toward Pelican.
“What on God’s green earth was that?” Ninette said.
“She was either the most self-contained widow on the planet,” Maggie said. “Or . . .”
“Someone who wasn’t too sorry to see her mate slip the surly bonds of earth,” Gran’ said. She thought for a moment and then turned to her granddaughter. “You know, this means that Adelaide Charbonnet lost her son-in-law. I assume she’s still living in New Orleans, where the family’s had a Garden District home for generations. Given our shared history, I feel that good form dictates I pay her a condolence call, don’t you?”
Maggie nodded. “Absolutely. And I’d be happy to join you in that call.”
She and her grand-mère shared a knowing look, which Ninette caught. “Oh, dear,” she said. “You two are going to nose around the Charbonnets, aren’t you?” She frowned. “Be careful. As if Mr. Harmon’s murder wasn’t enough, his widow’s visit gave me the shudders.”
“Me too,” Maggie said.
“Well, chère,” Gran’ said, “if you find Emme Charbonnet Harmon unsettling, just wait until you meet her ogress of a mother.”
Chapter Eleven
Gran’ and Maggie planned their visit to the Charbonnet clan in New Orleans over a lunch of leftover shrimp étouffée. “You two should stay overnight,” Ninette said. She saw the amused look Maggie and Gran’ shared. “That’s right, I’m on board now. Give yourself plenty of time to find out everything you can about these people.”
“Good idea, Mama,” Maggie said.
“And here’s another one. Remember your high school classmate Lulu Colombe? She went into hospitality and works as the general manager at the Reveille Orleans Hotel, which is part of a larger b
outique hotel chain, the Orleans Group. Your dad and I have run into her at some travel trade shows, and she’s lovely. I’m sure she’d give you a fair hotel rate. Plus, she may have some suggestions about how we should deal with our negative reviews.”
“Mom, you are on a roll. I’ll shoot her an e-mail through the hotel website.”
Maggie sopped up the last of her étouffée sauce with a hunk of French bread and left for the B and B office. An Internet search yielded the Reveille Orleans website, and Maggie dashed off an e-mail to her old friend Lulu. She then sent a text to Bo and Rufus alerting them to the widow Charbonnet’s odd visit. By the time she finished feeding the family’s rescue puppies and kittens and helping her parents prep for the B and B’s cocktail hour, it was early evening. Her phone pinged a text: “Junie’s in 30?”
Tug, who was opening a bottle of red wine, glanced at Maggie’s phone. “Bo?” She nodded. “Go. We can handle tonight. Maybe he’s got some new intel on what all’s going on with Mr. Harmon’s passing.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Maggie gave her father a kiss on his weathered cheek and left the manor house for the shotgun cottage, where she changed into slim black jeans, black boots, and a snug, long-sleeved, purple V-neck T-shirt. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and wrapped a purple ombré knit scarf around her neck, then threw on a black leather jacket. After a quick check of her makeup, she left the cottage for her convertible.
It was a clear night, and the sky was crowded with stars, a sight Maggie had missed while living in New York. The bonfires loomed like large dark shadows on the levee and spooked her a bit as she drove by them. But Pelican was bright and full of holiday cheer, enabling Maggie to shake off the vaguely ominous feeling she’d had as she drove by the bonfires.
She parked and walked into Junie’s. Bo waved to her. But he wasn’t alone. Rufus was with him, alternating between drinking a beer and tossing fried crawfish in his mouth. Maggie brushed aside her disappointment at not having Bo all to herself and took a seat between the two men. Rufus pushed the bowl of crunchy crustaceans toward her. Maggie hesitated. “Come on,” he said. “No better Cajun popcorn anywhere around. You know you want some.”