Body on the Bayou (16 page)

Maggie debated her response to Johnny’s bold move. Instinct told her that the good-looking detective was what Gran’ would call “a bad bet” and what her own friends would label “a playa.” Guys like him were great for a fling, something Maggie might have gone for in her twenties. But she was in her early thirties now, and flings were like cheap candy—briefly delicious, but with an unpleasant, lingering aftertaste. “Thanks for the invitation, Johnny,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“It’s just a meal,” Johnny persisted. “Only a three-hour drive to Pelican from here.”

“It’s three and a half hours.”

“Not the way I drive, baby.”

Maggie had to laugh. “Sorry, but I don’t consider excessive speed a turn-on.”

“I can do slow. Think about it, okay? But I’ll tell you one thing. Don’t let whatever’s going on between you and Bo get in the way of anything. Between us, I don’t know if he’s ever truly gotten Whitney out of his system.”

All Maggie wanted to do was end the call before Johnny realized what a punch to her gut he had just delivered. “Okay, I’ll think about it. But now I have to get back to work.”

“Bye, Cajun girl. Talk to you soon.”

The call over, Maggie tucked her phone into her dress décolletage. She felt a bit guilty, knowing it was a bad habit that upset her mother, who’d read an alarmist online article about how too close contact with a cell phone might have a detrimental effect on a woman’s fertility. But at this point, worrying about her ability to bear a child seemed a moot point. She leaned on the picnic table and dropped her head onto her crossed arms. Then she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Gaynell. She was the only tour guide whose natural ringlets negated the need for a wig. With her pale-pink ball gown and blonde curls that formed a cloud around her face, she seemed like an angelic apparition.

“Did I startle you?” Gaynell asked.

“No. But for a minute, I almost thought you were a ghost.”

“Sometimes I wish I were.” Gaynell sat sidesaddle next to Maggie on the bench. “Ghosts don’t have feelings.”

“I think they do. Otherwise they wouldn’t have to come back.”

“Good point.” Gaynell scrunched her nose. “I believe in them. Do you think that’s silly?”

“No. I don’t believe in actual ghosts, although there are nights when I’m in charge of closing up here that I swear I feel Magnolia Marie Doucet’s presence—like she’s almost haunting me. I’m sure that’s just my overactive imagination, but I do think there’s a lot in this world and beyond it that we don’t know anything about.” Gaynell sighed, and Maggie put an arm around her shoulder. “Is it Chret?”

Her friend nodded. “We were starting to have something between us, but now he’s pushing me away. Between the murders and finding out Ginger is his mother, he’s gone to a dark place, and I don’t know how to help him.”

Maggie felt for her. “I’m so sorry. I think if anyone’s haunted around here, it’s poor Chret. All you can do is be patient and let him know that you’re there if he needs you. The murders have created a bad energy in Pelican, and I think that’s affecting everyone in different ways. But eventually the killer—or killers—will be caught, and that will restore the town’s equilibrium.”

“I sure hope you’re right.” Gaynell stood up and patted a wrinkle out of her gown. “I’ve got a school group in five. Fourth graders doing state history, so they actually have to listen to me. You coming?”

“In a few. I have to make a call first.”

Gaynell hugged Maggie. “Thank you. I feel much better.” Then she took off for the main house.

Maggie pulled her phone out of her décolletage and called Lia. The call went to voicemail, so Maggie left a message. “Hi, it’s me. Are you free in a couple of hours? I want to pay Bibi a visit.”

*

“So what’s your plan?” Lia asked her cousin as they zipped up I-10 toward Baton Rouge.

“I want Bibi to think we’re there on business and then make sure the conversation segues toward Trent’s death. I’m hoping if I ask the right questions in the right way, I can pick up what’s going on between her and Fox.”

“Do you think they might have planned the murders together?”

“It’s possible.” Maggie had filled Lia in on her conversation with Johnny, leaving out his dinner invitation, which she decided to ignore. “Anyway, I whipped up a couple of fabric sketches to show Bibi, and I figured you could say that you were so excited about her initial ideas for Grove Hall that you insisted on coming with me to see if she’d come up with any new designs.”

“All of which could have been done over the phone or online, so we look like a couple of impulsive airheads,” Lia commented as she examined Maggie’s sketches.

“Exactly. We don’t want her to get suspicious.”

“Uh-huh. Mags, these sketches are wonderful.” Lia held up a drawing that Maggie had created. It was a muted green-and-dark-blue pattern of the evening moon framed by tree branches dripping with Spanish moss. “I would totally buy this fabric. I can see it covering dining room chairs, or even a room’s walls.”

“I was inspired by some of the patterns of Newcomb Pottery,” Maggie explained. “Remember the pictures of the bowls and vases Great-Great-Aunt Sylvie made when she was
an art student there? I found the photo album and let my imagination go.”

“She’d be very impressed.”

“Thanks. I wish we still had at least one of her pieces. Nobody took the pottery seriously back then. They’d give it away. People even sold it at garage sales. I check online auctions sometimes, but the prices are too high for a tour-guide-slash-B-and-B-employee-slash-struggling-artist. Oh, here’s our exit.”

Maggie got off the interstate and followed her phone’s GPS directions to Socher-Starke Design. She parked, but both women hesitated before getting out of the car.

“I’m a little nervous,” Lia confessed.

“Me too. But let’s remember. My suspicion that she and Fox might be involved in the murders could be something . . . or nothing.”

Maggie took a deep breath and then opened her car door. Lia did the same. They walked up the front path onto the bungalow’s porch, and Maggie rang the doorbell. They waited, but Bibi didn’t answer. After a minute, Maggie rang the bell again. Lia looked through one of the home’s large front windows.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“Maybe she’s in the back and doesn’t hear the bell. I’ll see if one of the side gates is open.”

Maggie scampered off the front porch and checked the wooden gate on the left side of the house. It was locked, and there was no way to climb over it. She crossed the front lawn and went to the gate on the right side of the bungalow.
This one was loose enough to create a small space where Maggie could fit her hand. She endured a few scratches as she maneuvered her fingers behind the gate and lifted the latch. The gate creaked open, and Maggie walked down the narrow side path. She stepped on a decorative rock in the flowerbed next to the house, placed her hands on the windowsill, and pulled herself up to look through the window. There was no sign of life.

“Hey! What’d you think you’re doing?” an angry voice yelled.

“Ah!” Maggie lost her balance and tumbled into the flowerbed. She looked up and saw the top half of the face of an older man; the rest was hidden by the high fence separating the properties. She also noticed what appeared to be the tip of a gun.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” she stammered. “I’m just trying to see if my friend is home.”

“Ever hear of a doorbell?”

“We tried, but there was no answer.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as he evaluated Maggie. She stayed frozen in the bushes, afraid that any sudden movement might reveal the rest of his gun. “Come to the front yard,” he instructed her.

She pulled herself to her feet and followed the man’s instructions. When she got to the front lawn, she found herself face to face with a beefy man in his late sixties wearing a security guard uniform. He was holding a rifle. Lia saw what was happening and called from the porch, “It’s okay, sir. We’re together.”

“So were Bonnie and Clyde,” he responded. “ID.”

“I’ve got our purses,” Lia said. She literally tiptoed down the front steps to where Maggie stood with the surly stranger. Lia handed Maggie her purse, and the women pulled out their driver’s licenses to show the man. He studied the licenses carefully, handed them back, and leaned his rifle against his leg.

“Crozat, huh?” he said, addressing Maggie. “This have anything to do with the murder at that B and B?”

“I’m Maggie Crozat and this is my cousin, Lia Tienne. Crozat Plantation B and B is my family’s home and business. And we don’t know if this is related to the murder. Maybe.”

“I’m Don Wertz,” he said without extending his hand for a shake. “Retired Baton Rouge PD. And you don’t have to sneak around to find out where your friend is. I can tell you. She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Maggie repeated. “Bibi’s gone?”

“That’s what I said. I was closing up late last night when I heard a car screech up here. I looked out and saw your friend run into the house. I could tell something was up, so I maintained surveillance. Not ten minutes later, she came running out with a big suitcase. She threw it in the back of the car and took off. Last I seen of her.”

Don picked up his rifle and motioned toward his house with it. “Let’s finish this conversation sitting down. In just a bit, I’m gonna be on my feet for hours working security at the mall.”

Maggie and Lia followed Don into his home, which was a dustier, bachelor pad version of Socher-Starke Design’s bungalow. Don nodded at a couch, and the women sat down,
or rather sank into the lumpy mass. Maggie grimaced as a broken coil stuck her in the rump.

“You want coffee?” Don asked. Both women shook their heads, and Don, looking relieved, sat on a worn club chair across from them. He leaned his ever-present rifle against the arm of the chair. “I’m sure your friend was a nice girl,” Don said, “but I got a bad feeling about what might be going on over there. Heard a lot of phone conversations filled with yelling, followed by cursing. She was polite enough and had a hello when I saw her but always seemed nervous. I picked up pretty clearly that something was wrong. At first I thought maybe she was a victim of domestic abuse who’d made a run for it. But she didn’t have that haunted quality so many of those poor women and kids have. She just seemed . . . jittery.”

“Those are really valuable observations,” Maggie said. “Thank you.”

“You can retire from the force, but you never retire your instincts. If the mall paid me for every shoplifter I sussed out, I’d be selling this dump and moving to Vegas.” Don noticed Maggie glance at a faded family photo of a much younger Don with a smiling woman and two sulking adolescents. The woman’s poufy hair and mauve outfit placed the photo somewhere in the 1980s. “My kids and my ex. I worked Vice. Job takes a toll on a marriage. All law enforcement jobs do, if you’re not careful.”

“Yes,” Maggie said. “I have a . . . friend who’s a detective.”

“If he’s homicide, watch out. Those guys can go dark.”

Maggie didn’t need to hear this on top of her other concerns about her relationship with Bo. She stood up and the others followed suit. “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Wertz,” she said, extending her hand. Don shook it, his grip firm and slightly painful. “If you hear anything next door, or if Bibi comes back, would you call me?” She rummaged through her purse and finally dug up an old business card from her years running an art gallery in New York with her ex-boyfriend. She drew a line through the outdated information and wrote her cell number, plus the phone number at Crozat, then handed it to him.

“Yes, ma’am,” Don said, and raised his hand to his forehead in a salute. “Hope things work out with you and that ‘friend’ of yours.”

Don winked and opened the front door for the two women. Not sure what else to do, Maggie winked back and then she and Lia headed out to her car. “I have to call Bo right away and let him know Bibi’s gone,” Maggie told Lia as they got into the Falcon. She put on her Bluetooth and pressed a button, then began driving. After a couple of rings, Bo answered.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked.

Maggie shared what she’d learned from Don Wertz. “Interesting,” Bo responded in his laconic way. “We’ll put out an APB for her here, and Johnny can do the same in Texas. He found a cell call between Bibi and Fox, right after Trent’s murder.”

“A call between Bibi and Fox?” Maggie repeated, feigning ignorance. “It sounds like they’re in collusion. I almost feel sorry
for Trent. To be so hated and have people conspire against you, and then end up dead and lying in a morgue, unwanted.”

“His wife claimed his body.”

“His wife?!” Maggie squawked, almost losing control of the car. “He had a wife?”

“Yes, and his catting around with Ginger was news to her.”

“Or was it? She could be another suspect.”

“That was my first thought, but she was so furious when she learned about Ginger that it made it pretty clear she knew nothing about her hubby’s extracurricular activities. I was with her when she claimed the body, and let me tell you, I have never seen anyone go ballistic on a corpse like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a call saying someone found old Trent dumped in a ditch on the side of the interstate.”

“I wouldn’t blame her one bit.”

“Me neither. Anyway, thanks for the intel. Call me when you get back to town.”

The call over, Maggie turned off her Bluetooth. She could feel Lia staring at her. “What?”

“You pretended you didn’t know about the call between Bibi and Fox. You didn’t tell Bo that Johnny already called you with that information.”

“It didn’t seem relevant to the conversation,” Maggie said. She caught her cousin’s skeptical look from the corner of her eye. “Okay, fine. When Johnny called, he asked me out. I didn’t know what Bo’s reaction would be if I told him. And if he had no reaction . . . that would have been worse. So I took the coward’s way out and didn’t even mention the call.”

“Got it.” Lia gave Maggie a sympathetic smile.

“I hate when relationships get complicated. And why does every law enforcement official assume Bo and I have something going just because I mention him? They’re like middle school teens.”

“They react that way because when you mention him, you make a face like you have digestive issues.” Lia made a facial expression that was half weak smile and half grimace.

“What? No,” Maggie protested. Then she sheepishly added, “I do?”

Lia nodded. “You don’t have to be a detective to pick up on that clue.”

Maggie took one hand off the wheel to smack herself on the forehead. “Ugh, I am such an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. You just have more questions than answers right now, and that’s always disconcerting in a relationship.”

Maggie’s cell phone lit up and blared a few notes of a Trombone Shorty song, signaling an incoming call. She pressed a button on her Bluetooth to answer it.

“Tookie here. Just a reminder that you and the bridesmaids need to pick up your gowns by three
PM
today.”

“We know,” lied Maggie. She’d blocked the purple-and-gold monstrosity from her mind, but now its image returned like a recovered memory.

“And my Van had a supergreat idea. Y’all are gonna wear LSU bows in your hair and carry pom-poms instead of flowers! How adorable is that?”

“It isn’t, it’s awful,” Maggie exploded. “This is where I draw the line, Tookie. If this wedding even takes place—”

“Oh, it’s gonna take place.”

“If it does and you insist on this insanity, you’ll have to find another bridal party because neither I nor any of the bridesmaids are marching down the aisle carrying pom-poms and wearing LSU bows in our hair.”

Lia’s eyes widened. “What she said!” she yelled into Maggie’s ear and Bluetooth.

“Oh yes, you will. What my baby wants, my baby gets, so it’s bows and pom-poms. Go, Tigers!” Tookie disconnected the call, ending the argument.

“
Nooooo,
” Lia said, a look of horror on her face.

“Yes,” Maggie replied. She let out a loud groan. “I hate my life.”

*

Fifteen minutes later, Maggie pulled up in front of Lia’s shops and the women hopped out of the car. “I need chocolate,” Maggie said as they made a beeline for Bon Bon.

“You and me both,” Lia responded. She held the door open for her cousin and then followed her inside. Kyle was manning the shop, and as the women helped themselves to restorative sweets, they shared the details of their adventure—from Bibi’s mysterious disappearance to Tookie’s terrible sartorial news. The latter had Kyle laughing until tears streamed down his face.

“Stop that,” Lia ordered her fiancé. She gave him a light punch in the arm.

“Sorry, it’s just . . .” Kyle was so consumed by laughter that he couldn’t finish his sentence.

Maggie held up her cell phone. “I just got a text from Ione. I’m guessing she heard about the bows and pom-poms.”

“What does her text say?”

“‘Stop the madness,’ all caps, followed by a ton of exclamation marks and frownie faces.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Lia said with a sigh. “I just pray I don’t log on to the Internet postwedding and see a picture of us above the caption, ‘World’s Most Embarrassing Wedding Photos.’”

“Oh, honey, I can’t see that
not
happening,” Kyle said as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

“You won’t be laughing so hard when you find out what Rufus has planned for you ushers,” Maggie said, a vengeful glint in her eye. “You’re supposed to match us in some way. LSU bowties, anyone?”

Kyle immediately stopped laughing. “Maybe we could make people check their phones and cameras at the door, like celebrities do.”

“You know, when you think about it, it’s kind of sweet,” Lia mused. “Vanessa never went to college, so in a weird way, this is making up for something she missed in her life.”

“Maybe,” Maggie said. “But I think she also just likes the colors.” She spread her fingers and circled her hands in a jazzy move like a Broadway dancer. “Purple! Gold! They’re flashy. You don’t see her picking Tulane’s boring colors, olive green and blue.”

“True,” Lia said. “Anyway, I know you’ve got a lot going on, so I’ll pick up our gowns and . . . accessories.”

“That would be great,” Maggie said. “Thank you.”

She put a few more chocolates into her bag and returned to her car. As she drove, Maggie pondered where Bibi might have gone. Was she calling Fox to say good-bye? Was she making plans to rendezvous with him so they could escape together? Maggie noticed her folder of fabric sketches lying on the floor in front of the passenger seat. She may have thrown them together as part of a ruse, but they were good and deserved a home. But it didn’t look like it would be at Socher-Starke Whatever-Bibi-Would-Have-Renamed-It Design Group.

Maggie pulled into the graveled family parking area and was surprised to see Bo there standing next to his car. She parked the Falcon and got out. “Hi,” she greeted him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I have a huge favor to ask, and I didn’t want to call or text it.”

“Okay,” she replied, a little wary.

“Johnny Tucker found Bibi at Fox’s house. According to her, she was terrified that one of Ginger’s disgruntled former customers had taken to killing off Starke Design employees, so she ran to Fox.”

“Ah. That’s actually not so farfetched, considering that two of the three members of the company have been murdered.”

“I know. Anyway, Chief Perske wants me to go to Houston to interview both of them. It’s my day with Xander, and
Whitney went up to Shreveport to visit her mom. Is there any way you could keep Xander for the night? I know he loves you, which is why I’m even asking. I’d tell Perske I can’t take the assignment, but my relationship with him is so dicey that I’m sure he’d find a way to punish me for saying no.”

“Of course,” Maggie said. “I’ll make it an adventure for him. We can paint and spend some time with the kittens and puppies. I’ll let him choose where he wants to sleep and keep him company, even if it’s under a fort made from sheets.”

Bo flashed a smile of relief, a smile so wide that dimples appeared under his chiseled cheekbones. “Thank you. I’m aiming for a fast turnaround. I’ll be back in the morning as early as possible. I better let Xander know what’s going on. He’s in the kitchen with your parents.”

Bo pulled Maggie into his arms and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “I can always count on you.”

“That’s me,” Maggie said with a tight smile. “Old Reliable.”

*

After Bo said good-bye to his son and took off for Houston, Maggie and Xander enjoyed leftovers of Ninette’s oyster soup—always as good and sometimes even better on day two—and then retreated to Maggie’s studio, where they painted side by side in happy silence. She was close to finishing her portrait of Rufus and Vanessa. All she had left to do was remove the laugh lines around Vanessa’s eyes. They might be authentic and charming, but the tour guide would rather have a “Real Housewives of Pelican” look than have anything she considered a flaw represented.

Maggie snuck a peek at her young companion’s painting. He had returned to his rendering of the Crozat chickens, which somehow managed to look both two- and three-dimensional. She marveled at the detail Xander tendered on each feather and counted at least five shades of yellow in the birds’ bodies. The boy yawned, snapping Maggie out of her artistic reverie. She checked her phone. “Oooh, it’s almost nine. We need to get you to bed, buddy. We’ll go back to the house, and you can pick any room you want.”

Xander nodded. He helped Maggie clean up, handing her one paintbrush at a time and then thoroughly examining each to make sure it was completely clean before being put away. When they were done, Maggie led them out of the studio and to the manor house, carefully negotiating the dirt path in the dark. She saw her parents waiting at the back door of the house.

“We were about to come get you,” Tug said. “We’re a little concerned about Jasmine.”

Maggie hurried into the house with Xander right behind her. They found Gran’ in the office with a lethargic Jasmine on her lap. The pup gave a tiny sneeze. Maggie felt its nose. “It’s dry,” she said. “She’s got something for sure.”

“We talked to Dr. Waguespack, and she said it sounded like a mild upper respiratory infection,” Ninette shared. “She told us it doesn’t sound like an emergency but messengered over some antibiotics. We have to make sure Jasmine stays hydrated and isolate her from the other animals. Doctor Wags said to let her know the instant there’s any change
in the pup’s condition and if there isn’t, to bring her in first thing in the morning.”

“Her breathing is a bit raspy, but not terribly so,” Gran’ said.

“Still, one of us should stay with her to make sure she’s okay,” Maggie said. “I’ll do it. Let me just get Xander to bed.”

She reached for the boy’s hand, but he pulled away. “No,” he said.