A Cajun Christmas Killing

by Ellen Byron

  She made a left into town, pulled into the parking lot behind Fais Dough Dough, hopped out of the car, and headed into her cousin’s shop. The tantalizing scent of cinnamon and vanilla instantly soothed Maggie. She was surprised and happy to see Ione behind the counter. “Welcome to Fais Dough Dough-licious,” Ione said.

  Maggie smiled at her friend’s play on words and gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re working here.”

  “When Lia heard Tannis laid me off, she hired me to help out for the holidays, bless her heart. What can I get you?”

  “I’ll take a cinnamon raisin croissant. And then I’m going next door for a big old dose of chocolate.”

  “Doubling down on the sweets, huh? Rough morning?”

  “So rough.”

  Ione went behind the counter and retrieved a croissant for Maggie. It managed the croissant hat trick of having a perfectly crispy crust, moist center, and buttery layers. Ione refused Maggie’s attempts to pay for the pastry, ignoring her protestations as she gently pushed her through the open doorway connecting Lia’s two shops. “This girl needs more sugar, stat,” Ione told Kyle, Lia’s husband, who was manning Bon Bon’s counter.

  “I’m on it,” he said with a grin, and Ione returned to Fais Dough Dough. “What can I get you, Maggie?”

  “Surprise me. Is Lia in the back? I’m going to say hi.”

  Kyle got to work assembling a small box of candy, and Maggie went into the store’s workroom, where she found Vanessa Fleer-soon-to-be-MacIlhoney piling baby clothes onto Lia’s lap.

  “I’m giving her every little thing my Charli’s outgrown,” Vanessa explained after the women exchanged hellos and hugs.

  “You found out you’re having a girl?” Maggie asked her cousin.

  “She’s having twins,” Vanessa announced before Lia could respond.

  “Twins?!”

  “Yep,” Vanessa said, adding with pride, “I figured it out before the doctors.”

  “She did,” Lia said with a sheepish look. “We were trying to keep it a secret, but it’s hard with Vanessa around.”

  “That is so true,” Vanessa agreed with a nod.

  Maggie and Lia exchanged an amused look. Maggie bent down and wrapped her arms around her cousin. “This is such amazing news, Leelee. I couldn’t be happier for you and Kyle.”

  Vanessa clapped her hands together excitedly. “And, Lia, I saved the best for last. A present for you, not the babies.” Vanessa reached into her large canvas bag and pulled out an oversized T-shirt decorated with a jokey graphic of a sexy woman’s torso in a bikini. “You wear this over your big old belly and it looks like you’re the one who’s wearing the bikini. It’s hilarious. Try it on.”

  “Why not?” Lia took the shirt, then stood up and pulled it over her head. The café au lait coloring of her mixed-race heritage ended at the neck, where the cartoon white woman’s bodacious body began. All three women burst out laughing.

  “You’re right, Nessa,” Maggie said. “It is hilarious.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t get one in your skin color, Lia.”

  “That’s okay,” Lia said. “It’s the thought that counts.”

  The women dissolved into more laughter. Quentin MacIlhoney appeared in the back doorway and observed the scene. “I’m here for my future missus, but if she’s having this much fun, maybe I should come back later.”

  “I’m good to go, honey bunny,” Vanessa said with a wave to her fiancé.

  “Quentin, how do I look?” Lia struck a silly model’s pose.

  “Like a client I’d be bailing out of jail after she beaned her husband with a longneck beer bottle.”

  “I have to show this to Kyle.”

  Lia started for the door and then stopped suddenly. She clutched her stomach. Maggie ran to Lia and helped support her as the pregnant woman doubled over. “Lia, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got a real bad cramp.” Lia cried out in pain. Fear etched her face. “Oh, God, Maggie. I think something’s wrong.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Vanessa convinced Lia and Kyle not to waste time waiting for an ambulance. “Trust me, Quentie will get you there way, way faster,” she declared. “Don’t worry about anything here. I’ll look after Bon Bon.”

  Quentin rushed the others to his purple Bentley. Kyle helped Lia into the back of the car while Maggie jumped into the front seat. The defense attorney pulled out a police siren and placed it on the roof of the sedan. “Buckle up, folks. Kyle, hold on tight to your lady.”

  Maggie barely got her door closed before Quentin activated the police siren, tore out of the parking lot, and raced toward the hospital at the speed of a Formula One driver. The shriek of the siren hurt Maggie’s ears. “Is that thing even legal?”

  “Nope, but there’s not an officer in the parish who’s gonna stop me.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s Louisiana, chère. For every cop in the family, there’s also a scofflaw who’s gonna need a good lawyer.”

  Vanessa was right about Quentin’s driving. They got to the hospital in the time it would have taken an ambulance to reach Bon Bon. The defense attorney pulled into a handicapped spot in front of the ER entrance and slung a handicapped placard onto his rearview mirror. “What?” he said off of Maggie’s look. “I’ve got a golf handicap.”

  Kyle flagged down an orderly, who rushed toward them with a wheelchair. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” Kyle told his wife, holding her hand as they headed into the ER. Maggie and Quentin followed close behind.

  “No worries, sir, we’ll get her in right away,” the orderly said. “Your friends can wait here.”

  The orderly disappeared down a hallway with Kyle and Lia. The automatic doors to the ER whooshed open, and paramedics wheeled in a gurney accompanied by a police officer. The man on the gurney alternated between writhing in pain and screaming a stream of profanity. Quentin sniffed the air. “I smell gunshot residue.” Maggie wouldn’t say the lawyer’s eyes lit up, but they came close to it. “Which means I smell the possible need for a lawyer. If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  Quentin dashed down the hall after the gurney, leaving Maggie alone in the waiting room. She collapsed into a hard plastic chair, which hadn’t grown more comfortable in the days since her father’s recent health scare. That visit had a happy outcome. She prayed it would be the same for Lia.

  A cluster of doctors walked by, and Maggie noticed Dr. Jen was among them. The doctor saw Maggie and split off from her colleagues. “Hi,” she said to Maggie. “Is something wrong with Tug? I thought he was doing well on the last medication I prescribed.”

  “He is. I’m here because of Lia. She’s pregnant with twins and experienced some painful cramping.”

  “Hopefully it’s just that—a cramp. Dr. Fran Vella’s the obstetrician on duty this afternoon, and she’s fantastic. By the way, I was going to call you. I have some really good news.” Jen took a seat next to Maggie. “I’m moving to New York. I took a position with Columbia Presbyterian.”

  “Oh. Wow. That’s great, Jen. Congratulations.” Maggie feigned happiness, but she was disappointed. She liked Jen and had hoped to rekindle their friendship.

  “Thanks. When you move back, we’ll get to hang out together. You can show me your favorite places in the city. I’d love some tips from an insider.” Maggie smiled but said nothing. “My parents are freaking out,” Jen continued, rolling her eyes. “I keep telling them I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life in the town where I grew up, and they think I’m nuts. You’re the only person around here who gets it.” The doctor’s beeper buzzed, and Jen stood up. “I have to get back to work. But text me how Lia is, and your dad too. I’ll be here until mid-January, and before I go, I’ll make sure I transfer his case to Dr. Marchand. He’s wonderful. I’m so excited about New York. We’ll have a blast.”

  Jen gave Maggie a hug and strode off. Coward, Maggie scolded herself. Why hadn’t she told Jen that she was ambivalent about returning t
o New York? She was pondering this when Quentin hastened over. “Seems like I landed myself a client. Easy peasy self-defense case. A little holiday present from Laborde’s Bar and Grill, home of the drunken bar fight. Anyhoo, I’ve called a car service to take you back to Bon Bon when you’re ready. Tell Vanessa I love her and we’re having the good champagne when I get home tonight.”

  “Will do.”

  Quentin took off, and Maggie remained in the cold plastic chair, absorbed in her own thoughts. She tabled the dilemma about her future and focused on something that felt less taxing: analyzing the suspects in Steve Harmon’s murder. Bea Boxler was the most interesting new addition to the long list. Some might simply find her reserved, but Maggie sensed the cool professional exterior was a front. It was time to play Internet detective and see what the web might reveal about the mysterious woman.

  Maggie was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear Kyle approach. “You’ve been here this whole time?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s five o’clock. We came in almost two hours ago.” Kyle took a seat next to Maggie and rubbed his temples.

  “How’s Lia?”

  “She’s going to be okay. And so are all three babies.”

  “Three?!” Maggie sat up straight. “Are you telling me—”

  “She’s pregnant with triplets.”

  “Triplets? Oh, Kyle. Congratulations, that’s beyond wonderful.”

  “The doctor wants Lia on bed rest for at least the next week, but my guess is it’s going to last for longer than that. I’m going to stay with her tonight and take her home in the morning. Ione can handle Fais Dough Dough, but we may have to close Bon Bon for a while.”

  “Don’t worry,” Maggie said, squeezing her cousin-in-law’s hand. “We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m heading back there now. If you need anything, call me.”

  “Will do.” Kyle smiled and squeezed Maggie’s hand back. “I swear, where would we be without our Magnolia Marie?”

  “That sounds like the lyrics to a really bad country song.”

  *

  As soon as Maggie left the hospital, she called Crozat to share Kyle and Lia’s news with her family. “Triplets? Oh, my goodness.” Gran’ laughed. “Well, as the mother of twins, I’ll be offering our dear Lia a few tips on how to parent multiples while maintaining your sanity.”

  “I’m going to make Kyle and Lia a week’s worth of meals,” Ninette said. “I’ll have your dad drop them by.”

  “I’ll tell Kyle. I know they’ll appreciate it.”

  “Triplets!” Gran’ and Ninette repeated in unison.

  Maggie ended the call and moved on to her next task. When she walked into Bon Bon a half hour later, she found Vanessa completing a transaction with a group of tourists. “Well, what do you know?” Vanessa said. She pointed to Maggie. “This is Magnolia Marie Crozat, the artist responsible for the mugs and mouse pads you bought. Maybe she’ll autograph them for you.” Vanessa held up a permanent marker. “What do you think, Maggie?”

  “Uh, sure,” Maggie responded. She was taken aback by Vanessa’s sales savvy, considering her former Doucet coworker was infamous for being a lazy employee who could barely operate a cash register. Maggie took the marker from Vanessa and autographed souvenirs as the tourists handed them to her. They showered her with thanks and left for their mini–tour bus. “Wow, Vanessa, nicely done. Thank you.”

  Vanessa blushed and waved her hand dismissively. “Weren’t nothing. How’s Lia and her babies?”

  “She’s going to be fine, but get this. She’s expecting triplets, not twins. She’ll be on bed rest for a while, though.”

  To Maggie’s surprise, tears rolled down Vanessa’s cheeks. “Nessa, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s my fault. I gave her that stupid T-shirt. I almost made her laugh out one of her babies.”

  “Oh, no, no.” Maggie felt for Nessa, who often overreached in her eagerness to make friends. She went around the Bon Bon counter and gave the weeping woman a hug. “Lia loves the shirt. It was a hilarious present.” Vanessa shook her head, not willing to be let off the hook. “I’ll tell you what. Lia’s going to be on bed rest for at least a week or two. If you want to help the Bruners, they could use someone to mind the store. You could even have Charli here with you.”

  Vanessa immediately cheered up. “I’d love that. I felt like I did important stuff working here today, Maggie. I think it was the Lord’s way of showing me how to make myself useful.”

  Maggie’s cell pinged, notifying her of a text from Tannis: “Doucet open tomorrow. Be there eight sharp.” She groaned. “Or you could replace me at Doucet.”

  Vanessa shook her head vigorously. “No, thank you. That Tannis girl is a real you-know-what.”

  “Oh, yes. I know exactly what.”

  Maggie’s phone sounded another text alert, and she muttered an epithet. “What do you want now, Tannis?” But the text wasn’t from Tannis. It was from Chris: “Can you talk? Meet me at Le Blanc’s.” Maggie ignored the unpleasant feeling in her stomach and texted back, “Okay. Give me five.”

  She went over a few shopkeeping details with Vanessa, popped over to Fais Dough Dough to update Ione on Lia’s condition, and then walked down the street to Le Blanc’s. Chris was waiting for her at the bar. He motioned to a glass of wine in front of the place next to him. “I ordered you a Chardonnay. I haven’t forgotten your favorite wine.”

  “Thanks,” Maggie said, although she had a feeling the rendezvous would require a stronger drink.

  “After the crazy dose of family drama at Belle Vista today, I figured it was time I told you the real reason I signed on for this trip.”

  “Okay. I’m listening.”

  Chris took a swig of his drink, which Maggie assumed was his usual Scotch on the rocks. “I’ve been Steve’s art adviser off and on for about a year. I know he can be a nightmare, but it’s been an awesome experience. We became friends. He even taught me how to fly his plane, this sweet Piper Aerostar. Like they say, rich is better. Anyway, when I heard he was flying down to Louisiana—and owned a place near you—I convinced him he needed me to come with him so I could evaluate all of his art down here. But that was an excuse. I wanted to talk to you. Face-to-face.” Maggie found the last statement ironic since Chris seemed unable to make eye contact with her. “The stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life is dump you, Maggie. It was a panic move. I never should have walked out on you. I never should have married Samantha. I totally own my mistake. And I want to make it up to you. I’d like another shot at our relationship. Because one thing really became clear to me over the last two years.” Chris finally turned to face Maggie. “I still love you.”

  A battery of responses collided in Maggie’s brain, all of which were variations on the same theme. “No,” she finally said. “I went through months of emotional torture, but I can finally say that I’ve moved on. And honestly, Chris, I don’t think you’re still in love with me. I think you’re in love with what we had together. Which is over. I’m sorry. But no.”

  Chris nodded. “I thought that would be your first reaction.”

  “It’s my only reaction.”

  “But if you’re not ready to come back to New York for me—”

  “It’s not a question of ready. It’s actually not a question at all.”

  Chris ignored her. “Come back for yourself. I feel bad that my crappy behavior chased you out of the city. Don’t lie to me and say you don’t miss it, because I know you do. You belong there, Mags. I worry about you, out here a hundred miles from nowhere. You’re a terrific artist, and you’ve gotten even better in the last couple of years. I’ll give Smalltownville credit for that. But don’t you want to share the power of your art with the world? You can’t do that from Pelican, Louisiana.”

  “To reiterate, we are over, and now so is this conversation.” Maggie hopped off her barstool. She was angry, exhausted, and close to tears but refused to give Chris the sa
tisfaction of seeing he had affected her. “You’ve forgotten the ‘Smalltownville’ you have such disdain for is where I was born and raised, so to put it down is to put me down. No matter what choice I make about my future, I can promise you it will never be a comment on Pelican, because I love this town and pretty much everyone in it.”

  “‘No matter what choice I make’? So you haven’t made up your mind.”

  Maggie gave a small, frustrated scream and mimed pulling out her hair. “Good-bye, Chris. I don’t know how much longer you’ll be in the area, but feel free not to contact me again. Ever.”

  With that, she stormed out of the upscale restaurant, slamming the door behind her.

  *

  Maggie lay awake staring at the shotgun cottage’s pickled cypress ceiling for most of the night. At dawn, she gave up trying to sleep and took a cold shower, hoping it would shock the exhaustion out of her. Between that and a cup of black coffee, she felt close to functional but restless. She tiptoed into her grand-mère’s room. “Gran’?” she whispered. Gran’ opened one eye. “If anyone’s looking for me, I’m going to my studio to paint for an hour or two. I need to think about something besides murder or my future.”

  “Paint flowers or butterflies,” Gran’ murmured. “You can’t go wrong with those.” She closed her eye and went back to sleep.

  Maggie made her way through a thick early morning fog to her studio. She inhaled the scent of oil paints hanging in the air and felt better. Then she dabbed a rainbow of colors onto a palette, placed a canvas on her easel, and studied it thoughtfully.

  A half hour later, she was still staring at a blank canvas.

  For the first time in her life, Maggie felt blocked. She threw down her paintbrush in frustration and began closing up the studio. The sound of rustling leaves drew her attention to one of the studio’s two large windows.

  Suddenly, an explosion blew out the glass from one of the windows, followed by a burst of flames. Maggie ran to the front door and tried pulling it open, but it was jammed. She fled to the back door and found it stuck as well. There was another explosion, and flames shot up outside the studio’s other window, cutting off Maggie’s last possible escape route.