A Cajun Christmas Killing

by Ellen Byron

  “This is bad,” Gaynell fretted. “With it being winter, if that pup stays out too long, he could succumb to the elements.”

  Rufus whistled to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, folks, Chief Perske refused to make this a high-priority case, so we’re on our own. I’ve got a squad car, so at least I can look for the little guy as part of my rounds. I’m gonna divide the area into four quadrants and split y’all up between them. I’m assigning a group leader to each quadrant, and we’ll communicate by text.”

  Maggie, Gaynell, and Ione volunteered to be group leaders, and Rufus assigned each a quadrant. “Maggie, you take Doucet,” he said. “There might be some connection to it in the kidnapper’s mind since that’s where Harmon was offed.”

  “Smart thinking, Ru.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Sandy said. Her eyes were puffy, and her face red from crying. Maggie felt for the dancer. She could tell King Cake was more than a pet. His unconditional love helped heal the emotional wounds created by Sandy’s dark former career. Maggie thought of the animal brood that the Crozats tended to. She couldn’t imagine losing one of them, especially her beloved basset hound, Gopher.

  She had a sudden brainstorm.

  “Gopher,” she exclaimed. “He’s a scent hound. Sandy, get me anything that would have King Cake’s scent on it, like a blanket or a chew toy.”

  Sandy darted to her office and returned with a worn blanket and stuffed alligator. “He wraps himself with the blanket when he’s cold and sleeps with his head on the alligator. It’s his baby.”

  Sandy burst into tears and buried herself in Ru’s arms again. “I swear,” he said with clenched teeth, “when I find whoever did this . . .” He didn’t have to finish his sentence. The look on Rufus Durand’s face was enough to make the group actually fear for the fate of the dognapper once the officer got his hands on him—or her.

  *

  “How could anyone do something so cruel?” Sandy asked plaintively as Maggie drove them to Crozat so she could retrieve Gopher. “It’s a rhetorical question. I don’t think there’s a real answer. I just don’t understand it.”

  “Because you’re a good person,” Maggie responded. “Some people aren’t. Sometimes they’re born wrong. Sometimes they’re too damaged to make the right choice.” She pulled into the long driveway lined by oaks leading to the front of the manor house. Maggie had called ahead to Tug, who was waiting for them on the veranda with Gopher on a leash. He brought the dog to them, and Gopher eagerly leaped into the car, planting himself between the two women. “If there’s sniffing to be done, Gopher’s the dog to do it,” he said. “He’ll track down your boy.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Sandy erupted into more tears. Gopher gave a deep, consoling bark and licked her cheek. She hugged the hound and kept her arms around him as Maggie took off for their mission.

  By the time Maggie, Sandy, and Gopher reached Doucet, a group of volunteers was waiting for them. The plantation had yet to open for the day, so the search party was able to spread out over the plantation’s grounds without fear of disturbing visitors. Maggie bent down in front of Gopher and held King Cake’s blanket and toy under his nose. “You can do it, boy, I know you can.”

  Gopher barked as if in agreement and then began walking, nose to the ground. Maggie gave his leash a lot of slack, allowing him more freedom to follow the scent. He led her into the woods behind the manor house toward the ruins of the plantation’s sugar mill. Gopher picked up his pace, and the two began jogging through the thick overgrowth, Maggie trying to dodge low-hanging branches as they went. She was only semisuccessful, and after a few minutes, her arms were covered with scratches.

  She was beginning to feel like she was on a fool’s errand when she heard a faint bark. “Gopher, wait,” she said and gently tugged on his leash. They came to a halt, and for a moment, the only sound was Gopher’s panting. And then the faint barking began again, this time with urgency. Gopher barked back and shot off toward the sugar mill ruins, dragging Maggie with him. They jumped over shattered bricks from the mill’s broken walls. And there, resting haphazardly on a dirt mound, was King Cake in a crate. Maggie texted Sandy two triumphant words: “Found him!”

  Sandy’s reunion with her cherished pooch was euphoric, her joy seconded by Rufus and the search parties that reconvened on Doucet’s front lawn. “I can’t thank y’all enough,” she told everyone. “And Gopher most of all. He’s a hero. I’m buying him steak for the rest of his days.”

  “Not necessary,” Maggie said with a laugh. “Much as he’d love that, it would probably shorten his life pretty fast.”

  “Well, at least one mystery around here is solved, after a fashion,” Rufus said.

  Sandy took his hand. “If it weren’t for you, it might not have been. Thank you for caring.”

  “It’s my job. And then some.” Rufus gave Sandy a sly smile, and she blushed. Then he grew serious. “I still want to nail the SOB who did this. Whoever it is has a date with my chokehold.”

  Despite the morning’s drama, Maggie had enough time to go home and shower before returning to Doucet for work. She parked and trudged back to the cottage. Her heart stopped when she saw Gran’ slumped over her tablet keyboard. She rushed to her, but before she got there, the octogenarian popped her head up. “It’s just form e-mail after form response from Trippee,” Gran’ moaned. “I survived Katrina and the second Great Depression. I survived laying your grandfather, the love of my life, to rest. But if this madness continues, Magnolia, I swear Trippee.com will be the death of me. Anyway, enough about that evil website. Did you find that poor girl’s doggy?”

  “Yes, they’ve been reunited, and he seems fine.”

  “Who would do such a terrible thing?”

  “Sandy asked that exact question. And I don’t have an answer. It might be someone who genuinely liked Harmon, which is a pretty small pool of suspects. Besides Dan Levy, Tannis and Harrison are the only two I can think of. I don’t know if Tannis has an alibi, but Harrison was at his uncle’s funeral. Or . . . it could be Steve’s murderer trying to throw the investigation off course.”

  “Well, much as I’d love to theorize with you, I’d best return to the miserable task at hand.”

  Gran’ whimpered and turned back to the computer. Maggie gave her grandmother’s shoulders a light massage. “I think you need a break from that stupid site. Before I was distracted by the King Cake debacle, I found out Bea Boxler’s mother was a supermodel who once dated Steve Harmon. Would you do me a favor and see if you can find out anything else about their relationship?”

  Gran’ instantly perked up. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As Maggie got ready, she heard the computer-simulated clacking of typewriter keys coming from Gran’s tablet and smiled to herself. She’d managed to both distract her grand-mère and use the older woman’s love of the Internet to her advantage. Maggie finished applying her makeup and picked up her cell. She had one phone call to make. She dialed the number for Belle Vista and asked to be transferred to Harrison, who didn’t bother to hide his surprise at hearing from her. “It’s about our conversation this morning,” she told him. “I know this is none of my business, but I think you should leave Belle Vista. Take a sick day or a vacation day. After what you’ve been through, I’m sure no one will wonder why. I’ve got a very weird feeling that won’t go away.”

  “Thanks,” Harrison said, “but I’d be letting my uncle down if I bailed. I owe it to him to stay here and do my job.”

  Still worried, she told Harrison to keep her posted and ended the call. Maggie’s instincts were telling her that something was very wrong in the Harmon-Charbonnet universe. Since these instincts had helped catch killers and once saved her grand-mère from a murderous psychopath, she’d learned to trust them. But Harrison had sidelined her, and it was time to get to work.

  As soon as Maggie arrived at Doucet, Gaynell pulled her aside. “As if today hasn’t already been crazy enough, you would not believe what Tannis is doing,” she
hissed, furious. “Since her Doucet sugar daddy’s gone, she’s parading other rich people through here to see if they might take his place.”

  Little Earlie, who was loitering nearby, sidled up to the women. “What’s up?”

  “It seems Tannis wants to sell Doucet to the highest bidder,” said Maggie, who was even angrier about the situation than Gaynell, “which was not my family’s intention when we donated it to the state. My greats wanted to preserve its history and share its past, good and bad, with the public.”

  “I gotta say, selling isn’t the worst idea in the world,” Little Earlie said. “Rich people got the money to pour into an old place like this.”

  “Until it’s not making money and they unload it,” Maggie said. “Or if it stays nonprofit, but they don’t need a tax deduction anymore.”

  Gaynell poked Maggie in the ribs to silence her. Tannis, back to her immaculately dressed business self, marched toward them. “You’re not being paid to stand around having girl talk,” she snapped. “Little Earlie excepted, natch.” She graced him with a flirty smile, which he returned. Then Tannis continued to march on, her balance occasionally thrown off when one of her stiletto heels bumped up against a pebble on the decomposed granite path.

  As soon as Tannis was out of earshot, an irritated Maggie turned to Earlie. “Every time I start to like you, you do something like hook up with that pain in the pricey do-me pumps,” she told the Penny Clipper publisher and editor.

  Little Earlie pulled himself to his full height, which almost put him at eyeline with the five-foot-four Maggie. “My personal life is none of your busybody business. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have tours to lead, as do you.” Earlie turned and marched off after Tannis.

  “Maybe I should take an auto repair class and help Chret out at the garage,” Gaynell muttered. “It’d beat this place these days.” She slumped off to meet her tour group, and after releasing a deep sigh, Maggie followed her friend.

  *

  Maggie finished her last tour and was changing out of her costume when Gran’ called. “I thought you’d want the results of my research project. It seems Mr. Harmon and Sayfrid Gerner didn’t begin their affair until after Bea was born. I’ve checked a myriad of sites, and all mention approximately the same year.”

  “Oh,” Maggie said, disappointed her instincts hadn’t come through for her. “That rules out the Harmon-is-Bea’s-father angle.”

  “I’m afraid so. But I did make an interesting discovery in a piece from a German magazine, thanks to one of those marvelous free translation sites. According to the article, Sayfrid didn’t die of an accidental overdose. She committed suicide because she was despondent over the end of a relationship—with a married man.”

  Maggie contemplated this new twist. “So Bea was orphaned as a teenager, and years later she takes a job with the man who may have driven her mother to take her own life.”

  “That does not strike me as a coincidence.”

  “Me neither. Great work, Gran’. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And now, God help me, it’s back to Trippee.”

  Maggie had a sudden flash of an idea. “Wait, Gran’, can you make a note of the exact day Bea’s mother died?”

  “Will do, chère. Oh, and I spoke to our darling Lia. She’s feeling much better, which is a great relief to all of us. Triplets. Isn’t that something?”

  Gran’ chuckled as she signed off. Maggie dialed the Pelican police headquarters, and Cal Vichet answered the call. “They’re not here,” he responded after Maggie asked for Bo or Rufus. “They were called to an accident at the river curve.” The curve was a stretch of river road notorious for wrecks.

  “I don’t want to bother them on the job. Can you have either one call me as soon as they get back to the station?”

  “Sure, but it may be a while. It looks like the kid from Belle Vista, the one whose uncle was murdered, got run off the road.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Maggie got to the hospital as fast as she could. She found Bo and Rufus drinking sodas in the waiting room. “Cal told me what happened,” she said. “How’s Harrison?”

  “Bruised and shaken up,” Bo said.

  “Would it be okay if I talked to him?”

  “Doctor didn’t have a problem with us talking to him, so I don’t see why you can’t,” Rufus said. “Go for it.”

  Maggie followed Bo’s instructions to Harrison’s room on the hospital’s first floor and peeked inside. “Harrison?” she said softly.

  “Hey,” he responded in a weak voice. “Come on in.”

  Maggie stepped into the room. She was relieved to see his injuries appeared superficial. He had a large bruise under his left eye and a butterfly bandage adhered to his forehead. There were a few other contusions and scratches on his arms but no casts anywhere. He had dodged broken bones. “I wanted to check on you,” she told him. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I was hit by a car.” Harrison gave a small laugh. “Which I wasn’t. I was forced off the road by one into the gully below the levee. I’m lucky my car didn’t flip over. I’d be dead meat.”

  “Did you see anything that could help identify the other car?”

  “Nope. Like I told the cops, it came out of nowhere. That curve’s a big blind spot.”

  “It really is. Does your family know what happened?”

  “Yeah, the cops called my father. He wanted to come get me tomorrow when they let me out of here, but that ain’t happening. I’m getting a rental car.”

  “Are you sure? I think it—”

  Harrison held up his hand. “Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t care what you think. Please stop trying to push me into some stupid ‘and they all lived happily ever after’ thing with my father. It’s really none of your business.”

  “Ouch. That’s the second time someone’s told me that today.”

  “Well, maybe you should listen to people. You’re kind of a pain in the butt. But,” Harrison backtracked, “a nice one.”

  Maggie laughed. “Thank you. ‘Kind of.’ I won’t bother you again. Feel free to bother me if you need to.”

  “Got it.”

  Maggie left Harrison and went down the hallway to the nurse’s station. She had one other visit to make. She asked the nurse on duty to look up a room number for her, then took the elevator up one floor and found room 213. Lia, looking bored, lay in bed flipping through a magazine. Maggie cleared her throat, and Lia looked up. She instantly brightened. “Mags!” she said and threw her arms wide open.

  Maggie went to her, and the women hugged. “I needed this,” Maggie said. She mimed weeping. “I just got called ‘ma’am.’”

  “Oh, no,” Lia said, patting her cousin sympathetically on the back. “Nothing hurts like the first time you go from ‘miss’ to ‘ma’am.’”

  “When are they releasing you from the hospital?”

  “In a day or two. And then I have to take it real easy. Mostly bed rest. A couple of hours where I can do simple stuff, but that’s it. Triplets, Maggie. Can you believe that?”

  “No, I cannot. We’ll all help out. Mama’s already cooked up enough food to practically take you through the holidays. And Nessa’s doing a great job minding Bon Bon.”

  “Too good,” Lia joked. “Kyle’s so impressed by her sales figures, I’m not sure he’ll want me back at the store.”

  Maggie laughed. Then she grew sober. “I worry about you.” She pointed to her cousin’s stomach. “And them.”

  “Don’t. We’ll be fine.” She hesitated for a moment. “Mags . . . before all this happened”—Lia waved her hands over her torso—“Chris came into the store to buy candy. He took a phone call, and it sounded like he was talking about money he owed, a loan or something. He kept saying that he’d pay it off in a couple of weeks and he’d never sell the loft. I thought you should know in case you still share anything with him.”

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Maggie said. “I appreciate you looking out for me. But I cut that cord compl
etely. The only thing I share with Chris is memories. Some good, some not so good.”

  “That’s a relief. He sounded panicked.”

  “What’s going on with Chris is his to manage. I’m passed done. Anyway, enough about him. We need to talk about your baby shower.”

  “Well,” Lia said, “I was thinking maybe an LSU theme.” The two women burst out laughing. They had endured an LSU-themed wedding-that-wasn’t when Vanessa left Rufus at the altar.

  The women chatted a little longer, then sensing Lia was growing tired, Maggie kissed her cousin on the cheek and said good night. She took the escalator down to the ER waiting room. Bo and Rufus were no longer there, but she caught up to them in the parking lot and relayed what Lia had told her about Chris’s telephone conversation.

  “We know,” Rufus said.

  “You do?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. We may not have your famous ‘instincts,’ but we are professionally trained law enforcement officials.”

  “Yes. My bad.”

  “We didn’t tell you—” Bo began.

  “—because you know too much already,” Rufus cut in.

  Bo glared at him. “You mind? Anyway, that’s part of it. The other part is . . . we weren’t sure you were completely estranged from Chris.”

  “He is a definite person of interest,” Rufus said. “Feel free to mention that to him, by the way. Nervous criminals make mistakes, which makes our job way easier.”

  The two men got into Bo’s patrol car and took off. Maggie stood in the parking lot for a minute, trying to sort through her feelings. She was hurt but couldn’t be angry at Bo for not trusting her. It was time to face the truth. She’d felt sick to her stomach when Lia revealed the conversation she overheard. Whether this was caused by a dormant affection for Chris or for the beloved loft they had once shared didn’t matter. Despite what she said to Lia, the cord connecting her and Chris may have been frayed and down to its last thread, but it wasn’t cut completely.

  Maggie’s phone pinged a text from Gaynell. It read, “DanceBod?”