Mardi Gras Murder_A Cajun Country Mystery

by Ellen Byron

  “I need to get you help.” Maggie pulled away, but Gerard clung to her with a clawlike grip and garbled something that sounded like “please.” He tried to form another word, but all he could manage to express was a puff of air. “Gerard, let me go! I have to call 911.”

  Instead of freeing her, Gerard grabbed Maggie’s shirt with his other hand and yanked himself up to a sitting position. “Lies. Secrets.”

  He articulated the two words perfectly. Then the St. Pierre Parish Historical Society president released Maggie, made a gurgling sound, keeled over into the passenger’s seat, and took his last breath.

  Chapter 6

  Maggie refused to believe Gerard had died. “I-I’ll … I’ll call for an ambulance.” She ran back to the Falcon and grabbed her purse. She rummaged through it, but her phone wasn’t there. Maggie searched the car seats and floor. No phone. “What do I do, what do I do?”

  She saw a car coming from the opposite direction, and jumped up and down to get the driver’s attention. The car raced past her. “That’s what I get for wearing all black,” she muttered. Another car drove by, and the pattern repeated itself. Maggie, desperate, started running toward Pelican. A new-model SUV came down the road. She threw her arms in the air and yelled as loudly as she could. The car stopped and Maggie ran to it. Her relief grew when she saw the driver was Pauline Tremblay. Next to her was Allouette. “Maggie? What’s wrong? I was just driving Allouette home.”

  “There’s an emergency.” Maggie pointed to Gerard’s car. “And I can’t find my phone.”

  Pauline pulled up behind it and jumped out of her SUV. “Call 911 and stay in the car,” she instructed Allouette. The teen, who looked terrified, nodded.

  Pauline followed Maggie, and peered into the pageant judge’s car. She let out a shriek. “Oh my God! How … what…?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Pauline murmured, crossing herself. She’d gone so pale Maggie was afraid she might pass out. “Lord have mercy.”

  The pageant mom, her gait unsteady, walked to a nearby tree and leaned against it. A minute later an ambulance came screaming up the road, and EMTs Cody Pugh and Regine Armitage jumped out. “Over here!” Maggie called to them as they ran to her. “But I think it’s too late.”

  Cody pulled open the door to Gerard’s car. He lifted Gerard’s hand to take his pulse. “Nothing,” he said after a minute. He laid the late man’s hand down, and then did a double-take. Cody leaned into the car to take a closer look at Gerard’s body. “Regine, call Pelican PD,” he said to his partner, who immediately did so.

  “Why?” Maggie asked. Her heart began beating rapidly.

  “That.” Cody gestured to a hole in Gerard’s jacket under his shoulder blade—a small, perfectly round hole, singed around the edges.

  “Is it…?”

  “A gunshot wound? Looks like it.” Cody bent down and sniffed the air above the hole. “And smells like it.”

  A Pelican PD patrol car pulled up behind the ambulance. Maggie was so absorbed in her conversation with Cody she hadn’t heard its siren. Officers Cal Vichet and Artie Belloise emerged from the patrol car. Artie, who had a fondness for anything edible, held a half-eaten po’ boy in one hand.

  “Got your call, Cody,” Cal said. “We were just around the corner, running a DUI checkpoint.”

  “Which we got going pretty much twenty-four/seven with Mardi Gras coming,” Artie chimed in. He took the last bite of his po’boy, then noticed Maggie. “Uh-oh. If Maggie’s here, there must be a murder.”

  “Hey,” Maggie protested.

  Cody motioned to the officers. “You need to take a look-see.”

  Cal and Artie took turns leaning into the car and giving the late Gerard a once-over. “Seems like we got a crime scene on our hands,” Artie said. He headed back to the patrol car to retrieve the familiar yellow tape that would mark off Gerard’s car and the area surrounding it.

  “Excuse me.” Pauline had recovered from her near faint and joined the group. “I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but if no one needs me, I should get my cousin’s daughter home.”

  “Hold tight for a bit, ma’am,” Cal said. His tone was polite, but firm. Cal, on the laconic side, was often the Laurel to Artie’s affable Hardy.

  “Really? Oh dear.” The expression on Pauline’s face was worry trending toward panic.

  “Why don’t we check on Allouette?” Maggie suggested to the anxious woman. “She’s probably wondering what’s going on.”

  She gently steered Pauline back to her SUV. Allouette stuck her head out the window. “What’s the deal?” the teen asked. “Why do we need the police and an ambulance?”

  “Chére,” Pauline said, “there’s been an accident of some kind. Mr. Damboise, the man who runs the pageant … has passed away.”

  “Seriously? He died?” Allouette wrinkled her brow as if trying to wrap her mind around this shocking development. “Wow.” Her expression grew hopeful. “Does this mean the pageant is cancelled?”

  Pauline emitted a frustrated snort. “Teenagers,” she said to Maggie, shaking her head. “Allouette, we have to show some respect and not worry about superficialities like the pageant right now.” Allouette, who was engaged in a flurry of texting on her cell, didn’t respond.

  Artie approached the women. “As they say in the movies, looks like we got ourselves a situation. The evidence van is on its way to check things out. Meanwhile, I’m going to need some statements.”

  “Oh my God, I didn’t see anything, I swear.” Pauline was close to hyperventilating. “I stopped to help Maggie. I won’t say anything else without a lawyer.” Pauline had obviously seen a few police procedural TV shows.

  “It’s true, Artie,” Maggie said. “I waved her down after I found Gerard was … incapacitated.”

  “Alrighty. But I need your contact info.”

  Pauline released the breath she was holding. “Yes, Officer. Of course. Allouette, can you please pull a business card out of the glove compartment?” Allouette did as instructed, and Pauline handed the card to Artie. “Poor Gerard. Poor, poor Gerard.”

  “Hey, Cousin Pauline, I have homework,” Allouette said.

  Maggie, struck by the mundane juxtaposition of homework and death, emitted a giggle tinged with hysteria. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. Nerves.”

  “Don’t know why you’re nervous,” Artie said. “You’ve been around more of these investigations than half the department. If those other murders hadn’t been solved, we’d think there was a serial killer in our midst, and her initials were MMC. Magnolia Maria—”

  “We get it, Artie,” Maggie said, gritting her teeth.

  Artie turned to Pauline. “You’re free to go, but make sure you’re available if needed.”

  “Yes, of course, will do. What a night. I should have taken I-10.” Pauline hoisted herself into the SUV and screeched off like a NASCAR car driver racing away from his pit crew. Maggie spit out the dust the SUV kicked up.

  Cal, a serious look on his long face, approached her. “Won’t know for sure what all’s up until Ferdie Chauvin gets Gerard on the coroner’s table, but evidence indicates his death wasn’t an accident. Maggie, walk us through how you came on him.”

  Maggie shared the story of how she discovered Gerard, before saying, “You can check my rear fender and see if there’s any damage that would support my story.”

  “For your sake, I hope there’s not,” Artie said. “I knew you well enough to assume you didn’t kill Gerard, even if he was the town pain. And vintage cars are pricey to repair.”

  Maggie, Cal, and Artie walked over to the Falcon. Artie trained his flashlight on the car’s bumper while Cal got on his knees to examine it. “Nothing. Let’s check out Damboise’s front fender.”

  The three moved over to Gerard’s car. Once again, Cal examined it carefully. “There,” he said, pointing to a dent in the license plate frame. “That’s new. If the damage was old, it wouldn�
�t have that sheen to it. It would show the effects of weathering.”

  “Alright then,” Artie said. “Anything else you can tell us?”

  “Yes. He begged me for help, or at least tried to. And then he said two words very clearly: ‘Lies. Secrets.’”

  “Did he happen to say what these lies and secrets were?” Maggie shook her head. “Dang. Would make our job so much easier if he had. We’ll need a written statement. We can meet you down at the station.”

  “I’ll be there shortly.”

  Maggie climbed into the Falcon, turned the car around, and drove back into town. She nabbed a parking spot in front of Junie’s. The restaurant had emptied out. Only a few stalwarts remained planted at the bar.

  “Hey,” JJ said, surprised to see her. “You forget something?”

  Maggie hesitated and then decided not to share the news of Gerard’s death. She wasn’t ready to handle the barrage of questions that would follow. “I can’t find my cell. Has anyone turned it in?”

  JJ shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not here. Place is so dark, I walk into stuff myself.” JJ turned up the lights, exposing Junie’s in all its stained and faded glory. The bar regulars shielded their eyes and protested. “Oh, hush up. I’ll turn ’em down soon as we find Maggie’s phone.”

  Maggie checked around the table where she and Bo had been sitting, but found nothing. She and JJ scoured the restaurant. “This is nuts,” Maggie said, frowning. “I know I had it here. It’s not in my car. Maybe I dropped it when I was leaving.”

  “Or maybe the phone got throwed away when the tables was bussed,” Old Shari piped in.

  “It’s worth taking a look,” Maggie said.

  “Lucky for you, I haven’t put the trash in the dumpster yet,” JJ said. He pointed to a black plastic bag by the back door. “Unlucky for you, that doesn’t make it any less fragrant.”

  JJ left Maggie by the bag. She wrinkled her nose and tried to take shallow breaths as she donned plastic gloves and dug through the refuse from a night at Junie’s. She could feel the slimy remnants of diner’s meals through the gloves. Her hands felt a flat, rectangular object. The shape and weight felt right, so Maggie carefully extricated it from the bag. She’d found her phone, reeking of old jambalaya, its screen shattered and body smashed.

  “Well, that’s not a pretty sight,” JJ said, peering over her shoulder. He wrinkled his nose. “Or smell. If you’re done, I best throw out the bag.”

  “I’m done.” Maggie held up her phone. A chunk of glass fell off the front, clattering to the floor. “And apparently, so’s my phone.”

  * * *

  When Maggie got home after giving Artie and Cal a written account of what she’d witnessed, her parents were waiting with a bourbon on the rocks, which Maggie gratefully accepted at the door. “We were worried about you,” her father said. “We called Junie’s, and JJ told us about your phone. But he said you seemed extra upset, like something else was going on.”

  “It’s been … a night.” Maggie downed the drink. “Gerard Damboise is dead.”

  Tug and Ninette exchanged a shocked look. She held up a hand to prevent them from asking questions, and strode down the hall to the B and B’s parlor office. “I need to call the other judges. I know the police are with Constance, but I don’t want Robbie or Mo to find out from gossip.”

  “What a terrible loss,” Ninette murmured. “Well, to be honest, Gerard wasn’t a very nice man. But it’s a loss to Constance. I assume. Although I never picked up on her being passionately in love with him. I’m going to stop talking now.”

  Ninette freshened Maggie’s glass from a bottle she held, and then she and Tug retreated. After another belt of bourbon, Maggie called Mo, whose voicemail sang a jingle raving about the anti-aging benefits of Veevay Beauty products. Maggie left a carefully worded message and then moved on to Robbie. Sounds of a hectic family life with four kids accompanied the call.

  “Dead? Holy—Jonathan, get to bed—you were supposed to be asleep an hour ago! What do we do now?”

  “That’s up to Constance. I think she’s our main concern at the moment.”

  “Right, sure.” Robbie, ever the Chamber of Commerce president, slipped into businessman mode. “We need to honor him. Maybe rename the pageant for him. Or add another scholarship—you know, the Gerard Damboise Memorial Award. Jonathan, I told you, get to bed! I gotta go.”

  Maggie hung up the landline phone. She picked up her purse and dragged herself to the kitchen, where she washed out her drink glass. There was a light knock, and Maggie looked up to see Bo standing in the doorway. “I heard about Gerard Damboise. Xander’s asleep and Rufus is keeping an eye on him so I could come over and check on you.”

  “Words I never thought I’d say: Rufus is my hero.”

  Bo took her in his arms. “Did Artie and Cal tell you they think Gerard was murdered?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It was awful. He was trying to tell me something. He said, ‘Lies. Secrets.’ And then he was gone. I feel terrible. I thought of him as some pretentious bore, but when he was holding on to me, begging for help…”

  Maggie couldn’t finish the sentence. Bo held her tighter. “I hate you had to go through that. I tried calling you as soon as Artie and Cal told me what happened, but your cell went straight to voicemail.”

  “There’s no way you could have reached me. My cell’s gone to phone heaven.”

  Maggie reluctantly left the comfort of Bo’s arms and pulled the damaged phone out of her purse. She and Bo sat down at the kitchen table. “I can get the screen replaced, but it’s so shattered that I think the phone’s a total loss. It must have fallen out of my purse or something. But I have a screen protector on it. I’m surprised there was this much damage.”

  Bo studied the cell, his face grim. “That’s because this wasn’t an accident, Maggie. Someone purposely destroyed your cell phone. On the same night Gerard Damboise was killed.”

  Chapter 7

  Maggie tried to wrap her mind around Bo’s statement. “Why would someone destroy my phone? And how could it have anything to do with Gerard? I just met him.”

  “I have to believe there’s a connection.” Bo pointed to the screen. “If this was accidentally damaged, there’d most likely be one central break with a few smaller breaks jutting out from it. And the body of the phone would be okay, maybe wonky. But this thing is trashed. The way the screen shattered tells me someone took a heel to it.”

  “Stiletto or loafer?”

  “That’s for the crime scene investigators to figure out. Sorry, but this is now evidence. You got a napkin and a bag?”

  Maggie retrieved both for Bo. He carefully wrapped the phone in the napkin and then dropped it in the plastic bag. “I’ll have to send it to Baton Rouge PD; they’ve got the techs for the job. Pelican PD’s rudimentary at best in that area. We’re understaffed to begin with, and the flood really knocked us out. Now, take a minute and think about anything you have on here connecting to Gerard. It’ll help the Boca Raton PD if I can steer them in a direction.”

  Maggie concentrated. “There are the photos Gerard made me take of all the judges … emails between us … texts too.” Maggie opened her eyes. “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “It’s a good start. I’ll tell them to focus on those areas. I’ll also give JJ a call in the morning and ask him to come up with a list of everyone who was at Junie’s last night around the time you were there.”

  “Bo … do you think Gerard’s death has anything to do with our victim?”

  “Maybe. And a strong maybe if someone found out Pelican PD was looking for a link between the two men. Which is impossible to establish when you don’t know who one of the guys is.” Bo stood up. “Much as I hate to leave you for a bunch of reasons—the main one being concern for your safety—I need to get back home to Xander.” He leaned down and kissed Maggie. “Be careful, chére. I got a bad feeling about what all’s going on around here.”

>   “Me too,” Maggie said. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.

  * * *

  First thing in the morning, Maggie called Constance Damboise. Bo advised her not to share Gerard’s last words with anyone outside law enforcement, so she kept the conversation purposefully vague. “I’m deeply sorry about your loss,” she told the newly minted widow.

  “Oh yes, it’s terribly sad. It’s sweet of you to call.”

  “Of course. And I’m sure I speak for all of us judges when I say we’re here for you in any way you need us.”

  “Thank you, that’s so kind. I was actually hoping you and the other judges could stop by this morning. I have some thoughts about how we should proceed with the pageant.”

  The pageant?! Maggie was taken aback by Constance’s matter-of-fact response. Must be shock. “Please don’t worry about the pageant. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours since Gerard … passed away. I’m sure you need time to process what happened.”

  “I’ve always found focusing on work to be a useful distraction. See you at six, say? I’ll confirm with the others. Bring a notepad.”

  Constance ended the call. “Well, that couldn’t have been weirder,” Maggie said to Gopher and Jolie, both of whom lay snoring at her feet. Maggie sat back in her chair and folded her arms, thinking. Then she sprung to her feet and left the shotgun cottage for the manor house. She fixed Gran’ a tray of croissants and tea, and delivered it to her in the Rose Room.

  “I’m blessed to have such a thoughtful grandchild,” Gran’ said. Her cloud of white hair fluffed up against the stack of pillows supporting her, and her cheeks showed a blush of color for the first time since she’d taken ill.

  “I also wanted to talk to you about Constance Damboise.”

  “Ah, an ulterior motive to breakfast in bed. Somewhat less thoughtful. But much more intriguing.”

  Maggie recounted her conversation with Constance. “She may not know yet that Gerard was probably murdered. Still, her tone was pretty light for a woman who suffered a shocking loss.”