by Ellen Byron
“You’re the smart one, Harrison,” Maggie said. “It sounds like neither your uncle nor Bea really appreciated what you could bring to Belle Vista.”
“I know, right?” Harrison sounded aggrieved. “Bea never respected me or my talents. You should have seen the performance evaluation she wrote about me. It was a bunch of lies. Okay, so sometimes I took a little cash when I needed it or yelled at a guest when they were asking for stupid stuff like extra towels. But I was the owner’s nephew, so it’s like the money was mine. And it cost money to wash those towels. I was doing BV a favor. But what really ticked me off is when she said Uncle Steve only sent me down here because he thought I couldn’t hack the investment banking business. Turned out to be true. Wow, was that a bummer.”
“Is that why you helped . . . bring about his demise?” Maggie posed the question delicately, hoping it wouldn’t cause him to blow.
“Oh, I didn’t. I loved Uncle Steve. Well, until he turned on me. Stupid Bea’s the one who offed him. I just helped her cover it up.”
“When you think about it, she did you a favor,” Maggie said. “It removed one obstacle to you running Belle Vista.”
“Well, yeah, except there was still Bea.” He smirked and added, “Until there wasn’t.” Harrison finished tying up Maggie and gave the ropes a tug. “Excellent. We’re in good shape here. Now let’s hit the river.”
Harrison turned his attention to the motorboat engine. He yanked on a cord to engage it but nothing happened. He cursed and tried again. The engine sputtered for a minute and died. As Harrison futzed with the engine, Maggie came to a potentially lifesaving realization. Steve Harmon’s nephew might claim to be a sharpshooter, but he’d clearly never been a Boy Scout. His knots were weak, and he’d left enough slack in the rope for Maggie, with some effort, to wriggle her hands free. She reached down and untied her legs as quickly as possible. The noise from the bonfire celebrations was her friend, masking the sound of her sneaking up behind Harrison. There was nothing on the boat that she could use to knock him out, so she simply grabbed his gun and threw it in the water. Then she jumped out of the boat onto the shore. The rocking caused by her leap got Harrison’s attention. He yelled a stream of profanity as he jumped out of the boat after her and gave chase.
Maggie slipped and slid as she ran from Harrison. She fell to her knees and clawed her way up the hill. Lightning flashed, and the clouds unleashed a hard, steady rain. She reached the top of the levee, where the earth was compacted into a dirt road, and sprinted through a thick haze of soot and rain toward the Crozat bonfire. She blessed Sandy and DanceBod. No one could hear her screaming for help, but frequent classes had given her increased stamina and agility. Maggie easily kept a fast pace and leapt over bumps while Harrison, who was clearly no athlete, stumbled as he tried to keep up with her.
She finally reached the Crozat bonfire, now a fierce blaze that even the rain couldn’t dampen. She saw her father halfway down the levee offering beer to bystanders and yelled to him. Another strand of firecrackers erupted, trapping Maggie in a smoke cloud. A hand reached out and grabbed her arm. Maggie turned and came face-to-face with her would-be captor. She remembered a move from Hip-HopBod and threw all her strength into leaping into the air and spinning. She landed on one foot and kickboxed Harrison with the other. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance, falling backward into the bonfire with a scream. As Maggie watched in horror, the fire illuminated Harrison’s face, making him resemble less a man than a fiery, homicidal gargoyle.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As Maggie dragged her attacker out of the fire by his feet, there was a flash of lightning and more rain poured down on them. The cloudburst stopped as quickly as it began, dampening the fire and saving Harrison’s life but not preventing him from receiving severe burns. Tug and other partygoers realized what was happening and ran to her. Suddenly, the bonfire collapsed. Tug grabbed a fire extinguisher and aimed it at the flaming logs rolling toward revelers, who screamed and stumbled in a desperate dash away from the blazing wood.
“Call an ambulance for Harrison,” Maggie yelled, collapsing on the ground next to him. “And the police. Harrison killed Bea Boxler and just tried to kill me too.”
“Already done,” said Little Earlie, who was by Tug’s side. “Ambulance and police were here to begin with, in case of an accident. That’s them coming up the levee.”
Maggie saw EMTs Cody and Regine making their way up the hillside with a stretcher. Behind them were Rufus and Artie Belloise, moving as fast as the spare tires around their middles would let them. Cal Vichet loped up the hill after Ru and Artie. Tug tossed aside the fire extinguisher and went to his daughter. He helped Maggie to her feet just as Rufus and Artie reached them. “We were right, Ru,” Maggie said, using her jacket sleeve to wipe grime off her face.
“Harrison, huh?” He walked over to the EMTs. “He gonna live?”
“Yeah,” Cody said. “But the next few months are gonna be painful.” He and Rene lifted Harrison, now conscious and groaning, onto the stretcher.
“Artie, go with the ambulance and guard the suspect,” Rufus said.
The official business was interrupted by Tannis Greer, who’d managed to make her way up the steep levee despite her cocktail attire. “Little Earlie Waddell, you are the worst date ever,” she snapped at him, furious. “I’m still waiting on the drink you said you were going to get me, like, a half hour ago.”
“You’re gonna have to wait a lot longer,” Little Earlie said. He addressed the officers. “While you’re arresting people, you might want to take her into custody. I found out why she’s so het up on selling Doucet. She’s been taking bribes from developers.”
“What?!” Tannis screeched. “He’s lying because I said I was thinking of breaking up with him.”
“Actually, the only reason I ‘dated’ you was because I got to wondering how someone on your salary could afford such fancy clothes and a fancy car. I had a feeling something bad was going on, and I was right. I took a ton of notes whenever I was around one of your ‘business meetings.’ I shared them with the executive board, and they filed charges against you. The executive board has filed charges to have you arrested for fraud.”
“Wha—you—I—” Tannis sputtered. Then a look of panic crossed her face, and she took off running down the levee. However, her expensive pumps were not designed for anything except showing off toe cleavage, so she lost her balance, fell, and began rolling down the hill like a beer bottle.
“I’ll get her,” Cal Vichet said. “With all this arresting, I’m barely getting to see the dang bonfires.” He sighed and set off after Tannis.
“Little Earlie, forgive me for thinking you’d traded your morals for a hot blonde,” Maggie said.
“I’m not that desperate. Well, a little, maybe. But I do try to keep my standards a skosh above rock bottom.”
Tug put his arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home and into a hot shower. Then we can talk the rest of the night away.”
“Sounds wonderful, Dad.”
Maggie, Tug, and Little Earlie hiked down the hillside. In the dark, Maggie saw the outline of a man striding up to meet them. “Bo,” she cried out and ran to him. She slipped and slid her way down the hill until she literally fell into his arms.
“Thank God you’re okay,” he said, holding Maggie close to him. They clung to each other for a moment, and then he released her. “We need to talk.” He stepped away from the others and motioned for Maggie to follow him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here faster, but with so many officers on bonfire duty, I got pulled onto another case.” Bo paused. “A warrant went out for Chris’s arrest. He’s alleged to have stolen and then tried to sell a painting from Belle Vista.”
Maggie took a moment to process this ugly turn, and then it hit her. “The Audubon print at Belle Vista,” Maggie said dully. “I was right. It’s authentic.”
“Yes, and apparently worth a fortune. Anyway, we picked him up at St. Pierre
Parish Airfield. He was about to take off in Harmon’s plane.”
Maggie nodded. “Harmon taught him how to fly.”
Her voice broke on the word “fly,” and Bo took her in his arms again. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s not who he was, Bo. He’s just not.”
“I know.”
Tug approached the couple. “Y’all up for trying to salvage some of tonight? It is Christmas Eve.”
“Yes,” Maggie said. “But the first stop is church.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Somehow, despite the evening’s mayhem, Maggie made it to the nine PM mass at St. Theresa’s. So did her friends, family, and guests. Visiting priest Father Jerome, well aware he was a ringer for beloved Father Prit, kept the mass light and quick. Maggie said a silent prayer for Chris. She hoped that somehow he’d find his way back to being the man she once loved.
By ten PM, everyone was gathered under the Crozat party tent, enjoying a potluck buffet as they waited for a special showing of the Midnight Mass broadcast from the Vatican. The Crozats had used extra proceeds from their bake sales to rent a blow-up screen. A playlist of Christmas carols mixed with traditional Cajun tunes provided background music. Only in Pelican is there a Midnight Mass after-party, Maggie thought with affection.
The tent was filled with people she cared deeply about, or could at least tolerate. Little Earlie and Ione were hanging out together. Ione was grateful to the journalist for exposing Tannis, and he was happy to celebrate the emergency phone call from Doucet’s executive board restoring Ione to her position as Doucet’s general manager. “The descendant of enslaved people running a plantation,” Ione mused. “I’ve always wondered how my ancestors would react to that. Would they see it as ironic or as some kind of vindication? Anyway, Earlie, I don’t know how you figured out what that Tannis was up to, but I owe you for it.”
“You don’t, and it wasn’t too hard. No one’s driving a Beamer on that salary.”
“That is the God’s honest truth,” Ione chortled.
As Maggie made the rounds of guests, she noted a prodigious amount of hand-holding. Gaynell and Chret hadn’t let go of each other all night. Lee had managed to intertwine his calloused fingers with Gran’s soft, delicate ones. Whitney and Zach each held one of Xander’s small hands. And Sandy held Ru’s big mitt with one hand while the other clung to King Cake’s lead. Maggie was happy to see that the O’Days and Marco’s tour group were having a great time as well, although she didn’t spot Marco in the crowd. Bo had gone home to shower and change after his encounter with Chris but was due back shortly. The only loved ones missing were Kyle and Lia, who was still on bed rest, but Maggie planned on visiting them Christmas Day, armed with a hot meal and baby presents.
Ninette came toward her daughter. She was wearing a red sweater with dark-green pants and her Christmas apron. Since Maggie’s mother was so rarely without an apron, for years her family had given her ornately decorated “holiday” aprons as a joke. This one sported jingle bells, along with a sequined Santa. “There’s someone to see you,” Ninette said.
“Really?” Maggie responded, intrigued. “I thought everyone I knew was here.”
Ninette raised an eyebrow and gestured with her head toward the tent’s opening, where Emme Charbonnet Harmon stood. Maggie raised an eyebrow as well and went to the widow.
“My apologies for disturbing your party,” Emme said.
“You’re not disturbing a thing. In fact, we’d love to have you join us. Is Dan here?”
“He’s in the car. We’re on our way back to New Orleans from the hospital. We met with Harrison and his lawyer.”
“This must be so hard on Dan. And you, of course.”
“It’s really only hard on me because it’s hard on Dan. But his other son is flying in from California to be with him. And he’s got me.” A strand of hair had escaped Emme’s black velvet headband. She tucked it back in place. “Having experienced my mother and brother—and I’m sorry for that—I thought you’d appreciate a small update on their situation. To help out my mother financially, Steve bought the family manse using a reverse mortgage arrangement years ago. That’s run out, so I own the house now. I’m putting it on the market right after the holidays. Mother will be relocated to an assisted living facility.”
“And Philip?”
“He’s on his own. He’ll actually have to—gasp!—get a job. So if you were considering commingling your bloodlines—”
Maggie held up her hand. “Oh, stop right there. So not happening.”
Emme smiled. “I didn’t think so. You seem bright and capable, qualities that would doom my brother’s chances with you.” She glanced behind her. Maggie could see Dan in the driver’s seat of the car, resting his head against the steering wheel. “I better go. But thank you. Hideous as it is to lose a husband and learn a nephew is a murderer, it’s better to have answers. And I know you were part of that.”
“Good luck, Emme. And I’m not sure if this is appropriate or not, but . . . Merry Christmas.”
“That’s not my holiday anymore. It’s my mother’s. I’m converting to Judaism.” The expression on Emme’s face was happy yet also slightly malicious. “So mazel tov, Maggie. Good luck to you.”
Emme departed, and Maggie made a beeline to the liquor table. JJ, dressed in a silk caftan covered with a design of holiday ornaments, reached under the table and pulled out a chilled bottle of champagne. “Private stash,” he stage-whispered, holding a finger to his lips.
“I promise not to tell if you promise to keep pouring,” Maggie said. JJ winked at her, and she kissed him on the cheek.
Her friends had all convened at a large table. Gaynell motioned her over. “We want to know how y’all figured out Harrison was the murderer.”
“He didn’t murder Steve Harmon,” Rufus said, correcting her. “We have evidence that would make a solid case against Bea Boxler, if she was still among us. Her knife was confirmed as the murder weapon. We also found a key to Doucet among her belongings. Harmon had one as well, and she sneaked off with it to make a copy at Colombe Hardware. Emile Bouchard verified making it for her, as well as selling her an accelerant that matched what was used to start the fire at the art studio. Apparently Maggie’s reputation as an amateur detective made her nervous. It’s a little insulting that my detecting skills didn’t inspire her to torch me, but I’ll get over it.”
“I was a way easier target, Ru. You’re too intimidating.”
“Nice, Magnolia. Thank you for that,” Rufus said. He tipped an imaginary hat to her. “What also helped us tag Boxler as the culprit was an interesting discovery that Maggie and her Gran’ made.”
“Bea began working for Harmon on the day that marked the ten-year anniversary of her mother’s suicide,” Maggie said. “And killed him on the twentieth anniversary of her death. It was a plan that must have festered inside of her for years. We—” Maggie stopped herself. “I can say ‘we,’ Rufus?”
“Yeah, but don’t make a habit of it.”
“Noted. Anyway, we think when Harrison discovered Bea’s plot, not only did he do nothing to stop her, he helped transport Harmon’s body from Belle Vista where she killed him to Doucet.”
“We—and by this we I mean the actual Pelican PD—picked up evidence of blood splatter in her car that we matched to the victim,” Rufus said.
“But I thought Harrison idolized his uncle.” Ione put her hands on her head and shook it back and forth. “It’s all so messed up.”
“That’s because Harrison is ‘messed up,’ mentally and emotionally. Gran’ once said something about Philip Charbonnet that kept coming back to me: ‘The son is not the father.’ I was looking at Magnolia Marie Doucet’s portrait one day and noticed how the artist portrayed her second husband, General Cabot, as being very protective of his stepson.” Maggie chose not to include Magnolia Marie’s appearances in her dreams. “Steve Harmon didn’t have sons. But he had a nephew: Harrison. And what if the nephew was not the uncle?
As I got to know Harrison, I began getting a sense that he wasn’t quite right. He had major anger issues and was self-involved to the point of being a narcissist. And it occurred to me the only person who ever mentioned that Harrison was in line for the throne was Harrison himself.”
“Steve Harmon was one of those business dudes who had an employee whose only job was to hide or get rid of negative stories about him or his family,” Rufus shared. “But when Bo was stuck on desk duty, he used the time to drill down on the Internet and found some interesting facts about our suspect. Court records of assault charges brought against him as early as prep school. He spent a year at a Connecticut facility for troubled teens after he tried stabbing a teacher with a letter opener for giving him a bad grade.”
Maggie picked up the story. “I think at first Steve Harmon probably saw Harrison as a kid from a troubled background who was acting out. Who knows, maybe he felt a glimmer of guilt after Harrison’s dad took the fall for him in an insider trading case and went to jail. He may have also thought Harrison’s aggression would make him a success on Wall Street. But Harrison’s deviant behavior was only that. It didn’t go hand and hand with some kind of business brilliance. Once Harmon realized this, he sent him down here. Harrison’s not stupid. He knew his uncle had shunted him aside. And the flip side of adoration is hatred. But he was desperately conflicted. That’s why he punished Sandy by kidnapping King Cake. He was furious that she shared how his uncle had assaulted her.”
“I can talk smack about my people, but you can’t,” Ione said.
“Exactly. He stopped by our bake stand the morning of the kidnapping and said he was on the way back from Harmon’s funeral. But I noticed big splotches of mud on the bottom of his pants and on his jacket. It made me suspicious.”
“Gotta love that artist’s eagle eye of yours,” Rufus said, nodding with approval.