A Cajun Christmas Killing

by Ellen Byron

  After breakfast, it was finally time to trim the B and B Christmas tree. “I made two dozen sugar cookies for ornaments, all decorated with a Louisiana theme,” Ninette said. She revealed a large tray of frosted cookie streetcars, pelicans, alligators, and Mardi Gras masks to gasps of delight.

  “They look so pretty and yummy,” Sophie O’Day said. “Would it be okay if I maybe ate just one?”

  Ninette smiled at the young girl. “Don’t worry, sweetie; I made a whole other tray of cookies for eating. I’ll leave them in the kitchen with a pitcher of milk for anyone who wants one.”

  Maggie and Gran’ invited everyone to join them in the front parlor, where the imposing Douglas fir awaited its ornamentation. Ninette and Tug excused themselves so Tug could put the finishing touches on the bonfire and Ninette could prepare vats of gumbo and jambalaya for the B and B’s bonfire viewing party. Marco and his tour group opted to assist Tug. “I’m getting actual biceps, Mags,” Marco bragged, pulling up his shirt sleeve to show off a small muscle.

  Tug and his volunteer crew took off for the levee while the O’Day family followed Maggie and Gran’ into the parlor. “We’ve never been away from home at the holidays before,” Lindy said as they began removing delicate glass ornaments from an old box. “But it’s worth it to see the bonfires.”

  “We’ll make sure it’s as warm and cozy as a Christmas can be,” Gran’ assured her. She pulled out a faded children’s shoebox. “Oh, my, look. ‘Baby’s First Ornament.’ There must be half a dozen of them here.”

  “Yes, Mom went all in on ‘Baby’s First’ paraphernalia.” Maggie reached into the box and held up a ceramic white cherub. “I think I’ll give this to Rufus for Charli.”

  “That’s a lovely idea. It even looks a bit like her.” Gran’ eyed her granddaughter. “Could it be? Am I sensing a rapprochement with the Durands after a century and a half of feuding?”

  “I’ve come to have a newfound respect—I admit, a little grudging—for Rufus.” It occurred to Maggie that hours had passed without the promised confirmation from the police officer. She texted him, “Any luck re: suspect?” but received no response.

  “Maggie, chère, can you get the stepladder so we can decorate the upper branches?” Gran’ asked.

  “Sure.”

  Maggie retrieved the ladder from the supply closet and set it up next to the tree. Tom climbed to the top, and the others handed him ornament after ornament until the upper branches sported as many as the lower half. He climbed down, and Maggie flipped a light switch, illuminating the majestic tree. Glass and glittery baubles sparkled under the glow of a thousand tiny white lights.

  “It’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen,” Allison O’Day said, dropping her jaded attitude. Her younger sister, Sophie, too awestruck to comment, simply nodded in agreement.

  “I think we’ve earned ourselves a few of those sugar cookies in the kitchen,” Gran’ said. “Why don’t y’all come with me?”

  The O’Days chorused their enthusiasm and started to follow Gran’ out of the parlor. “I’ll be there in a few,” Maggie told her grand-mère. “I want to check on Bo.”

  As soon as the decorating party cleared the room, Maggie scurried over to the sideboard in the dining room. She pulled out an armful of presents, carried them back to the parlor, and placed them under the tree. She repeated this task several times until the family’s hand-embroidered heirloom tree skirt was covered with gifts. After playing Santa, she relaxed for a minute on the dark-green velvet daybed and then called Bo. “Polar Express here, ready to pick you up at the hospital and transport you to your holiday destination of choice.”

  Bo laughed. “Too late. My ex gets props for remarrying well. Zach picked me up this morning and brought me back to their house so I can hang out with Xander while I rest. We’re in the middle of watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for the second time this morning. I’m guessing there’ll be at least four more viewings before the bonfires.”

  “Okay, chère, I’ll leave you to Rudolph. Text me when you get to the bonfires tonight.”

  “Have you looked outside? It’s ugly.”

  “I haven’t been paying attention. But not to worry, they’ll only postpone if there’s a big storm.”

  “Here’s hoping that doesn’t happen. Xander would be heartbroken.”

  “I’m guessing his dad would be too.”

  “A little,” Bo acknowledged. “I am a bonfire virgin. We didn’t have them up in Shreveport, and remember, it’s not just Xander’s first Christmas in Pelican—it’s mine.”

  Maggie heard cheers and applause coming from outside. “There’s some whooping going on. I’d better see what’s up. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Maggie threw on her black hoodie and left the manor house for the levee, where two workers were offloading portable toilets from a truck. “We have achieved porta-potties,” Tug called to her. “Laissez les bon temps rouler!”

  Marco held up his phone. “I have a zydeco playlist.” He tapped in a few numbers, and an infectious tune began to play, instigating an impromptu dance party. Maggie watched, amused. She didn’t want to dampen the holiday spirit by pointing out that the sky was blanketed with glowering black and gray rain clouds, so she said a silent prayer that any storm would arrive after the bonfires.

  Ninette stepped out on the veranda holding a heavy antique bell. “Lunch for anyone who wants it,” she called to the revelers. She rang the bell, which let out a few sonorous bongs, and people drifted back to the house.

  “It’s lunchtime already?” Maggie asked her mother.

  “Yes. It’s almost one o’clock, chère.”

  Ninette stepped back inside, and Maggie checked her phone again. Still nothing from Rufus. Okay, now I’m nervous, Maggie thought. She debated briefly and then punched in his telephone number. He answered immediately. “Hey. Sorry I haven’t called. But our P of I appears to have gone AWOL. We put out an ATL.”

  “I was with you until the end.”

  “An Attempt to Locate. Until we do that, be careful, Maggie. If our suspicions are correct, we’re talking about someone seriously deranged.”

  Maggie put her phone away. The conversation had escalated her nerves rather than quell them. The front door opened behind her a crack, and Gran’ stuck her head out. “Come eat before everything is gone, chère. Your mother’s oyster po’ boys are a huge hit. I think Akira’s on his third.”

  Maggie followed her grandmother inside. Her stomach might be twisted in apprehensive knots, but it was also rumbling. And like all Pelican natives, Maggie knew nothing helped elevate a mood like some fine Cajun cooking.

  *

  Maggie spent the rest of the afternoon assisting her mother in the kitchen as Ninette organized the food for the festivities with the timing of a military chef. Meanwhile, Tug, Chret Bertrand, and off-duty Pelican PD officers Artie and Cal set up the family’s party tent on the Crozat front lawn. The family’s Christmas Eve bonfire party was legendary, drawing hundreds of locals and visitors. Gaynell and her band, the Gator Girls, launched into a string of zydeco versions of Christmas songs as soon as they set up their equipment, and within minutes the tent’s dance floor was filled with couples dancing to the infectious rhythms.

  By six o’clock, the stretch of road fronting Crozat was so packed with eager observers it was reduced to a single, very slow lane. A light drizzle, one step above a mist, began to fall. “Don’t worry, it’d have to be a full-on storm for me to shut this shindig down,” Mayor Claude Beaufils assured Maggie, a bowl of Ninette’s seafood gumbo in one hand and a bottle of Abita beer in the other.

  “Glad to hear that,” Maggie responded politely, her attention elsewhere. The mayor wandered off, and Maggie circled the crowd, looking for anything or anyone suspicious. Little Earlie and Tannis were building themselves hefty plates of food at the buffet, but Maggie ignored them, still mad at the pipsqueak wannabe media mogul for hooking up with her detested boss. She passed Vane
ssa and Quentin MacIlhoney on the dance floor. Gaynell and the Gator Girls switched to a Cajun dance number, and the couple nimbly two-stepped, infant Charli happily bouncing up and down in the top-of-the-line baby carrier her stepfather wore strapped to his chest.

  “You Crozats sure know how to throw a party,” Quentin called to her as he gave his bride-to-be a twirl. “You ever need a defense attorney, I’m all yours at an extremely reduced hourly rate.”

  “Thanks for the offer, Quentin, but here’s hoping I never have to take you up on it.”

  Maggie continued her search but found nothing that merited concern. She helped her mother carry a large bourbon pecan bread pudding to the dessert table. “Dad wants us to meet him at the front of the house,” Ninette said after they deposited the pudding, which was instantly set upon by hungry revelers. “He’s got some kind of surprise.”

  The two women wended their way through the growing crowd to where Tug stood on the lawn in front of the manor house veranda. “Wait until you see this,” he said with childlike enthusiasm. “I found it online and figured what with all we’ve been through, we deserved something special.”

  Tug plugged a cord into an outdoor socket, and large red letters that spelled “Happy Cajun Christmas” came to life. Maggie, Ninette, and the partygoers burst into applause. Maggie noticed that Whitney and Zach had arrived, along with Xander, who was staring at the display with fascination. “Merry Christmas Eve,” she greeted them.

  “Merry to you too,” Whitney said. “Bo’ll be here ASAP. He got called into work at the last minute. Pretty much everyone else is working the bonfires.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Maggie said. She hoped Whitney was right and Bo showed up soon. Having him nearby would help relieve her growing anxiety. “Xander, the pups and kittens could use some petting, especially Jasmine. But be quick, sweetie. They’re going to light the bonfires soon.”

  The young boy instantly began jogging toward the house with his mother and stepfather on his heels. Maggie heard Ninette calling and went to her mother, who was filling a paper cup with coffee from a carafe. “Your father’s gone up to the bonfire with a few others to get ready for the lighting. Would you bring him this coffee? He could catch the worst kind of winter cold from this weather.”

  Maggie took the coffee cup and tromped through the damp grass toward the levee. She passed Gran’ and Lee, who had set up folding chairs at a prime viewing spot. They huddled under Lee’s large umbrella. “It’s dark as pitch out here,” Gran’ complained. “This road isn’t well lit to begin with, and it’s made even darker by this cussed mist and the clouds blocking the stars.”

  “I like this weather,” Lee said. “It’s right good for snuggling.”

  He rested his head on Gran’s shoulder. She sighed theatrically but didn’t push him away. Maggie suppressed a grin and continued on her way. She struggled to get through the crowd, which had grown tenfold in the last half hour, and finally made it to the foot of the levee. She started to traipse up the hillside but lost her balance and slid back down.

  “Need a hand, Maggie?”

  She squinted, trying to identify the shadowy figure offering assistance. A hand reached out and yanked Maggie to her feet. She found herself face-to-face with Harrison Fenner.

  “I think you and your buddies have been looking for me,” he said. “But awesome luck, I found you first. Well, lucky for me. For you? Not so much.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Maggie tried to pull away from him, but Harrison held tight to her wrist with his right hand. Maggie saw that he held a gun in his left. “Harrison, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I need to get this coffee to my father.”

  “Sorry. Not gonna happen.”

  Maggie, heart pumping with fear, tried another tack. “You’re obviously pretty upset. Can you at least let me go so we can talk about it?”

  “Uh, that would be no. Props for a nice try, though.”

  Fear made Maggie perspire. The sweat mingled with the light rain and dripped into her eyes, stinging them. She struggled again to release herself, but Harrison yanked her arm behind her, causing Maggie to wince with pain. “Stop that,” he ordered. “It’s superannoying.”

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . .” came a chant from the crowd. The countdown to the lighting of the bonfires had begun. Maggie prayed that the bright glow from the flames would illuminate her dire situation and bring about a rescue. “Five, four, three, two, one!”

  There was a whoosh and then the snap and pop of firecrackers. A distant bonfire burst into flames. But the ones nearest Maggie stayed dark, too damp from the rain. Maggie could distinguish the outlines of bonfire builders trying to ignite their masterpieces. But no saving light came.

  “Hey, do me a favor and ditch the coffee,” Harrison said. “And not on me, or boom boom.” Harrison mimed shooting. Maggie hesitated and then did as she was instructed. She tossed the coffee cup and with it her plan to throw it at him, creating a distraction that would allow her to run for safety.

  Harrison, confident that he was in control, became chatty. “Even though it’s superdark, I see the way you’re looking at me right now. I know that look. I’ve seen it when people all of a sudden start being scared of me. I saw it in your eyes for a flicker of a second on the steps of BV the night Bea Boxler died. There was a question in your eyes too. Could he? Did he? I could tell you weren’t sure, but the fact that it even occurred to you I might have killed her was no good. With her gone, I was the acting general manager. I finally had the position I wanted. The position I deserved. But there you were, snooping around.”

  A nearby bonfire suddenly exploded into flames, setting off the dozens of firecracker strands that covered it. The brief flash of light provided by the bonfire disappeared under a cloud of smoke and soot. Ash fell on Maggie, combining with the rain and perspiration to create a grimy coating. Between the roar of flames and relentless explosion of fireworks, the noise was deafening. Maggie knew screaming wasn’t an option. No one would hear her, and it might push Harrison into using the pistol he had trained on her. So she kept quiet, hoping if she lulled Harrison into complacency, it would give her an opportunity to break free.

  “The interesting thing is,” Harrison continued, “I never saw that scaredy-cat look in Uncle Steve’s eyes. He always thought he was so much smarter and better than everyone else. But I bet he wouldn’t have figured out how to get the bonfire to collapse. I was pretty proud of myself for that. I was always really good at Jenga. I knew exactly what piece to move so the tower would either stay upright or fall down.”

  He let go of Maggie’s wrist and gestured with his gun for her to start walking. They climbed the levee with his gun to her back. “Don’t even think about trying to get away,” he warned her. “Uncle Steve made all his execs learn how to shoot. He sometimes based bonuses on your target practice scores. I got really good bonuses.”

  They reached the top of the levee, and Maggie paused. One bonfire after another burst into flames. The Crozats’ was the last to go, and Maggie could hear her family and friends cheer. “It really is a festive occasion,” Harrison said. “I was looking forward to it.”

  He frowned at Maggie as if missing the event was her fault. “Uh . . . sorry?” she responded, stupefied by his attitude.

  Harrison poked her in the back with his gun. “Keep moving.”

  “Where?”

  Harrison pointed toward the river. “That way.”

  Maggie carefully negotiated the wet hillside, but she couldn’t stop herself from slipping and falling a few times. “You’re wearing the wrong shoes for this,” Harrison admonished her.

  “If I’d known I was going to be kidnapped, I would’ve worn hiking boots,” she responded, adding with a mutter, “with switchblade toes.”

  “Heard that. Wasn’t funny.”

  They finally reached the river’s edge. Maggie felt numb with fear. “So what are you going to do? Shoot me and dump my body in the water?”


  “Eventually. But first, a boat ride.”

  Harrison prodded her toward an old boat with an ancient motor attached to its stern. Labeling it a rust bucket would have been a compliment. Maggie feared for both their lives in the beat-up dinghy. She couldn’t imagine it bucking the forceful currents of the Mighty Mississip.

  “Welcome to the SS Good-Bye Maggie,” Harrison said, grinning at his mordant joke. “I had a great idea for doing river tours from Belle Vista. In a better boat, natch, but this is all I can afford right now. But isn’t that a good idea?”

  “It’s a great idea.” Maybe if I flatter him, he’ll let me go, Maggie thought. She knew this was a reach but was desperate for any kind of plan.

  “Uncle Steve shot it down. Said the insurance premium would be too high. I thought once he was dead, Bea would go for it, but she was all, ‘Your uncle was right; it’s too expensive to insure.’ Idiots.”

  “Being rejected by your idol must have been hard,” Maggie said, mustering up a sympathetic tone, hoping to soften Harrison. A spasm of emotion crossed his face, and for a moment she thought the tactic might have worked. Then he shrugged.

  “Just makes him as big a loser as my father. Hop on board.”

  Maggie did as she was told, and Harrison followed after her. She clutched the side of the small boat as it rocked back and forth. “Let me guess. Your plan is to head down the river a few miles, shoot me, and then toss me over. The current is so strong, it could carry me to the ocean. They might never find my body.”

  “Yes, exactly. Look at you, so smart.”

  “I know the river. I grew up next to it.”

  Harrison picked up a long, heavy rope. “I have to put my gun down to get the engine started, so I need to tie you up.” He grabbed Maggie’s hands before she could make a move away from him and wound the rope around them. He tied it off and gave her a shove. She fell on her back, and Harrison began tying her feet together with another piece of rope.