by Ellen Byron
Maggie had to laugh at this. “I miss New York cops.”
“I hope you miss a New Orleans one too.” Bo’s voice sounded hesitant.
The Crozat doorbell rang. “Someone’s here—I need to go,” Maggie said, grabbing an excuse to end the conversation. Yes, she missed Bo terribly, but with the future of their relationship a big question mark, there was no point in admitting that. Better to fight off vulnerability than give in to it. “Safe flight home.” She ended the call before Bo could respond.
The doorbell rang again, and Maggie hurried down Crozat’s front hall. She opened the door to find Belle and Allie standing there. “Hello,” Belle said, polite as always.
“Hello,” Maggie responded. “Allie, I’m so sorry about what happened with your dad. How is he? How are you?”
Allie, who had looked tense, relaxed. “We’re both okay, thank you for asking. It was awful, but in a way, things are better now. It’s hard to explain.”
“I get it. A traumatic experience can be a wake-up call that reminds you of what’s really important in life.” The girl nodded in the way teens did when they weren’t interested in what an adult was saying but were trying to be respectful, and Maggie suddenly felt her age. There was an awkward moment of silence. “Can I help you with something?”
“We’re here to find out who won the pageant and gets to be the new Miss Pelican Mardi Gras Gumbo Queen,” Belle said.
Maggie gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh wow, I’ve been so caught up with what all’s been going on, I totally blanked on the contest. Come in.” She ushered Belle and Allie through the doorway and into the front parlor. “The judges should be here any minute. It won’t take long to make our decision. And whatever happens, remember, you’re both winners.” Allie couldn’t contain an eye roll, but Maggie, knowing how fatuous the comment sounded, forgave her.
The doorbell rang again. Maggie hurried down the hallway and let in Constance, Mo, and Robbie. “I don’t have snacks or coffee today. To be honest, I forgot about the contest. I got distracted by the drama with Mike Randall.”
“Yes, we need to talk about that,” Constance said sotto voce as Maggie steered the group past the teens in the front parlor to the back parlor office. The judges took their seats. “This meeting should fly by. It’s obvious we should disqualify Allouette due to the controversy with her family. We certainly don’t want to seem like we’re rewarding criminal behavior.”
Maggie wasn’t surprised by Constance’s reasoning, but it infuriated her. “A child shouldn’t suffer because of a parent’s misguided actions,” she said, steaming. “Our choice should be based solely on the merits of the contestants. The sins of the father should not be visited on the daughter.”
“That was both poetic and dramatic, but inconsequential. Let’s poll Mo and Robbie and see what they think.”
Constance focused on the two judges, who both looked acutely uncomfortable. They exchanged a glance, and then Mo spoke. “I agree with Maggie that we should base our decision on what the girls brought to the table. And given that criteria, I have to go with Belle. She’s pageant worthy. Allie’s a wonderful kid, but still a work in progress. I don’t think being a pageant queen is a fit for her quite yet.”
“I agree,” Robbie said hastily.
“Let’s take a vote,” Constance said. “All in favor of bestowing the honor of Miss Pelican Mardi Gras Gumbo Queen on Belle Madeleine Tremblay, raise your hands.” All hands went up except for Maggie’s. “We have this year’s winner. Based on merit, not scandal.”
Maggie decided to be gracious in defeat, although she was still angry with Constance. She had to admit Mo made valid points about whether Allie was ready or even wanted to assume the crown. “I’ve been out-voted, so I bow to democracy. And Allie did win the essay contest. I think she knows how important the title is to her cousin and will be okay with the result. Let’s go tell them.”
Maggie led the judges into the front parlor. Neither girl was there.
“They probably went to the restroom,” Maggie said. “I’ll go look for them. Why don’t you go back to the office and wait for us?”
Constance, Robbie, and Mo trooped off while Maggie checked the first-floor restroom reserved for day-trippers. No one was there. She went upstairs to see if Belle had utilized the bathroom in the one yet-to-be-occupied guest room. She heard two voices coming from behind the bathroom’s closed door. One of the girls was crying, but Maggie couldn’t tell whether it was Belle or Allie. She put an ear to the door.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’ve taken a million tests.”
“You didn’t use the ones from the dollar store, did you? Because Miranda Phelps did, and it was wrong. She was, like, hysterical, and it was a total false alarm.”
“Well, this isn’t. What am I going to do?” This plaintive question was followed by a fresh burst of sobs.
“It’s okay. I’ll help you.”
“You can’t. You need to go away to college. I want to go too, but now…”
Maggie had heard enough. She knocked on the door, eliciting a gasp and whispers from inside. After a moment, the door opened and Allie peeked her head out. “Um, hi. Belle and I were just talking. We’ll be downstairs in a minute.”
Maggie gave the door a gentle push and entered the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and locked it. Belle, who was crouched on a small vanity stool, looked up. Maggie could tell the girl had been crying for a while. Instead of being her preternaturally composed self, Belle was a wreck. Her face was blotchy and streaked with tears. Her hair hung in strands. “I’m not feeling well,” she said. “Allie was keeping me company.”
“I heard some of your conversation,” Maggie said. “This isn’t about you not feeling well, is it?”
Belle and Allie exchanged a look. Then Belle scrunched her face and shook her head. “No.” She burst into tears. “I’m pregnant.”
Chapter 23
While Belle had a good cry, Maggie put together the pieces of how she wound up in her “situation,” as Gran’ would delicately call it. Because Belle’s mother Pauline was Lia and Kyle’s interior decorator, the teen must have found out about Grove Hall’s secret room. Maggie recalled the post-party mess she’d found there. The culprit wasn’t Kaity or Jayden or some transient. It was Belle. Perfect, pageant-queen-ready Belle. “I heard you say you took some tests. You’re absolutely sure about the results?”
Belle nodded.
“Who’s the…”
“His name is Brandon. He was the friend of a friend from another parish. We got a bottle of cinnamon whiskey and brought it to that room my mom and Mr. Bruner found in his new house. My friends and I went there a few times over the last couple of months to party. Sometimes Brandon and I just went. Anyway, one time … stuff happened.”
Did it ever, Maggie thought. Belle let loose with more tears. Maggie put her arms around the teen and comforted her. “You need to tell your parents, honey.”
Belle pulled away, a horrified look on her face. “No way. We’re Tremblays. Nothing can ever, ever mess up our family name.”
“I can be with you if that would help. But you have to tell them as soon as possible.”
“She can tell them after Mardi Gras,” Allie said. “It’ll be easier once this whole stupid pageant is over. It only means waiting a couple more days.”
More secrets. But Allie did have a point. “Fine. But she has to do it first thing Wednesday morning.”
Belle dropped her face into her hands. “Okay,” she said, her voice muffled. “Can you both be with me? Please?”
“Of course,” Maggie and Allie chorused.
Belle lifted her head. “But I have to drop out of the pageant. You’re not allowed to be pregnant.”
“No way,” Allie declared. “If you drop out, I drop out.”
“Then no one will be the Miss Pelican Mardi Gras Gumbo Queen.”
“So? That’s their problem.”
Maggie grimaced and
massaged the bridge of her nose. Between the pageant and gumbo drama, she was starting to wish she’d left town for Mardi Gras. “Here’s a solution that will get us to Wednesday. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but given the circumstances, I think it’s okay if I break the rules. Belle, you won the contest. So accept the crown now and wear it tomorrow. Then on Wednesday, you’ll withdraw for personal reasons, and Allie will finish your reign. Which probably only means going to a few local events in the sash and crown.”
Allie made a face. “I tried on Pauline’s crown once. Those things are heavy. I hope I don’t have to wear it too much.”
“Oh, chére, how I wish that was the biggest problem here. Put on your game faces, girls. It’s time to face the other judges.”
Maggie extended a hand to Belle, but Allie was already helping her cousin up. She tenderly wiped the tears from Belle’s face with the sleeve of her plaid flannel shirt. “It’s okay, ma’am. I’ll take care of her.”
Allie took Belle’s hand and led her out of the bathroom. Maggie followed behind. As they walked down the stairs to the back parlor office, she thought of her own close relationship with her cousin Lia. If nothing else came out of this unexpected twist to the Miss Pelican Mardi Gras Gumbo Queen contest, it reinforced a lifelong bond between the teenage cousins.
* * *
Maggie endured the celebration of a new Miss Pelican Mardi Gras Gumbo Queen, knowing Belle’s reign would be brief and, despite all efforts to the contrary, scandalous. She decided to lay low for the evening, bowing out of a pre–Mardi Gras celebration at Junie’s. Instead, she helped her mother make a King Cake for their guests. Gran, a Sazerac in her hand, watched the women work. “I was never one for baking. Maggie, I’ve told your mother umpteen times she should follow my shortcut recipe using that crescent roll dough from the store or, better yet, those cinnamon rolls that come in a tube.”
“And I’ve told your grand-mère umpteen times, I like making my own dough,” Ninette said, rolling said dough into a large rectangle.
Maggie grinned as she spooned a rich filling onto the uncooked King Cake dough in big dollops. Her mother and grand-mère had this debate every year of her childhood and adolescence, and probably every year she was away in New York. “Both of your King Cakes are delicious,” she said. And she meant it.
Several hours later, the house was redolent with the delicious scent of butter, cinnamon, and brown sugar. Maggie sat in the kitchen, waiting for the King Cake to cool off so she could frost it and tuck a small plastic baby inside. Traditionally, whoever got the slice with the baby supplied the next year’s cake, but given the B and B’s itinerant clientele, this rarely happened. Still, every so often a guest who got the baby would instantly plan a return visit to honor the tradition. Usually, this bold offer came after the guests had washed down their pastry with a few rounds of Tug’s Banana Bon Temps cocktail.
As Maggie contemplated the tiny plastic baby, she thought about Belle. An idea came to her. Whitney Evans longed to be a mom again but couldn’t conceive. When the time was right, Maggie would bring up the possibility of adoption to both Whitney and Belle.
Her mind then wandered to the missing children from the orphan train. What was it like for them, coming to a world so different from the tenements of New York? Had they run away like Hans Herbig? Or did their new families wipe out their pasts, thinking the foundlings would benefit from a clean slate?
She checked the King Cake. It had cooled off. She pulled her mother’s homemade cream cheese frosting from the refrigerator and slathered it all over the top of the cake. Then she liberally sprinkled it with colored sugar, alternating purple, green, and gold. The colors of Mardi Gras: purple for justice, green for faith, and gold for power. “I have faith the power of law will see justice prevail in the murders of Ira Stein and Gerard Damboise.” Maggie said this out loud, as if verbalizing the sentiment would make it so.
She wrapped up the King Cake and refrigerated it. After cleaning the kitchen, she turned off the lights and headed for the shotgun cottage to see if Eula Banks had emailed the promised records from the New York Foundling Hospital. Horn honks, zydeco music, and whoops of pleasure came from cars on the River Road—revelers returning from the pre–Mardi Gras festivities in town.
Once inside the cottage, Maggie changed into a sleep tee and sweats. She checked her laptop and phone. Nothing from Eula and no updates from Bo. Frustrated and nerves on edge, she uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass. She heard an odd thumping sound, then saw it came from Gopher’s tail slapping against the old wood floor. She bent down to pet him. Jolie, wanting in on the petting action, used her muzzle to bump Gopher out of the way. “It’s okay, I can alternate,” Maggie told the pooches, and then did so. After a few minutes of petting and wine drinking, she stood up, yawned, and stretched. The wine had made her tired. “Okay, gang, time for bed. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, and I need my rest. So no hogging the bed tonight, Gopher.”
With that, she padded into the bedroom, the pups on her heels. And when Gopher did indeed hog the bed, she didn’t mind one bit. Instead, she snuggled with the basset, taking comfort from his unconditional love.
* * *
Maggie was awoken at dawn by a persistent rapping on her window. She roused herself and looked out to see Gaynell. Her friend was dressed entirely in black, from her sneakers to her fedora. The one pop of color came from her cape’s bright red lining. A capuchon hat and a smaller bag hung from the garment bag she held. Maggie jumped out of bed and ran to open the front door.
“Happy Mardi Gras!” Gaynell greeted her, and the two women hugged. Gaynell followed Maggie back into the house. “It’s early and I didn’t want to wake your Gran. But I finished your costume. Here.”
Maggie took the capuchon and placed it on a side table. She opened the small bag first and pulled out the mask Xander had made for her. She held it over her face, and Gaynell mimed fear like a silent movie star. Gaynell then opened the garment bag, revealing Maggie’s completed costume. “You’re gonna make a great Mardi Gras.”
“And you’re gonna make a great capitaine.” The women hugged again. “I’m really excited now.”
“I gotta go; I got so much to do,” Gaynell said. “I’ll see you at ten in front of the Hebert place. They agreed to be our first victims. Bhua ha ha.” Gaynell gave her impression of an evil laugh, which quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles. Then she dashed off to her car.
Maggie, singing the traditional “Chanson de Mardi Gras” to make sure she had it memorized, returned to her bedroom for a shower. She had plenty of time before the Courir, so she went to the kitchen and fixed herself breakfast. Her laptop pinged, alerting her to an incoming email. Maggie took her coffee over to the small antique desk that served as her office, and perused her mailbox. The long-awaited email from Eula had arrived. Attached were scans of the New York Foundling Hospital records for Bridget Colleary and Jacob Seideman. Maggie opened both documents and read them thoroughly. Neither were runaways. Both were adopted. And the names of the adoptive families were familiar to Maggie. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths to center herself and clear her mind. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes. She had the names. She had a possible motive.
Now all she needed was proof.
Chapter 24
Maggie saved the documents to a folder she titled “Orphan Train.” She was typing a thank-you to Eula when she noticed an email from Constance with the subject line “I Remembered.” Maggie finished her note to Eula and pressed “Send.” Then she opened the email from Constance and read:
Remember how you said the weather might remind me of when Gerard changed his attitude about the orphan train exhibit? Well, I thought about that, and it came to me that the change happened a day before the floods. Gerard was in a terrible mood, and I thought it was because of all the scary weather reports, but he said no. I brought up some business, including the exhibit, and out of the blue he flat-out shot it down. I was surprised he had soure
d on the idea, and was going to press him about why he had turned against it, but then the floods came. Hope this helps.
The floods. Which had delivered the body of Ira Stein to the grounds of Crozat. Maggie thought she knew why the old man was killed. But again, the death of Gerard stumped her. He’d delivered exactly what the murderer wanted—a veto of the orphan train exhibit. Then why was he killed? What “lies” and “secrets” did he know that doomed him? Maggie replayed their last few moments together. She knew she’d heard his last two words clearly. But what if she’d made assumptions about whatever else Gerard was trying to tell her?
Gran emerged from her bedroom. “Morning, chére,” she said with a yawn. She was clad in a purple satin peignoir set. “Happy Mardi Gras. As you can see, I’m in purple to mark the occasion.”
“Purple for justice,” Maggie murmured.
“Well, I wear it because it’s pretty. What are you doing at the computer? Shouldn’t you be off on the Courir, pranking some good-natured neighbors?”
“I don’t have to be there for a while. Gran, I need to run something by you.”
“Not without coffee.”
Gran exited to the kitchen, and Maggie followed. She waited at the café table while her grand-mère poured herself a cup of coffee, then added a splash of cognac. “A makeshift café brulot to celebrate the holiday.” She took a seat across from Maggie and sipped her drink. “Better. Now talk to me.”
“I think the murders of Ira Stein and Gerard Damboise are all about how the past affects the present. Both Ira and the orphan train exhibit would have revealed a secret the killer was determined to hide, a secret they were convinced could ruin their life. And I think when Gerard said ‘I’ to me, he wasn’t talking about himself. He was trying to name Ira Stein and explain their connection. My one bump is why was Gerard killed when he’d reversed his position on the exhibit? The obvious answer is blackmail. But what was the lure? The Damboises seem financially comfortable. Pelican PD hasn’t dug up anything that would show otherwise. He had an important, respected position in town, so a power grab is out. What was missing in his life that might drive him to make a dumb, dangerous move?”