Body on the Bayou (10 page)

“I appreciate you covering for me,” Fox said. “With what all was going on, I just couldn’t get home.”

Maggie stopped short, causing a Fleer relative on the line to bump into her. “Sorry,” she apologized. She went through the motions of refilling her plate, but her mind wasn’t on tortillas. When Fox had confronted Ginger in the parking lot during Van and Rufus’s shower, she clearly remembered him telling his wife that he was going back to Houston. And after the fight with Trent, he’d mentioned that he’d only come back to Pelican to get Ginger’s things. Yet he had just told his coworker that he never made it home.
Why did he change his plans?
Maggie wondered.
And if he didn’t drive back to Houston . . . where was he?

Maggie scanned the crowd and found Bo surrounded by a quartet of Texas belles, all of whom looked like they’d recently freshened their makeup. She motioned to him.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” he told her. “Those gals would not take a hint. I had to go to my fallback position and put this on.” Bo held up his left hand, which now sported a thick gold wedding band. Maggie understood that the ring came in handy when he needed to tamp down any unwanted flirtations. Still, she winced at the sight of it.

“Maybe you could palm them off on Johnny. He seems in the market for whatever they’re selling.”

“That horndog doesn’t need any help from me. So, did you get any leads?”

“Maybe.” Maggie shared what she’d learned about Fox’s mysterious whereabouts during the period before and after his wife’s murder.

“Interesting,” Bo said. “That would fit the case profile. On average, more than three women in this country are murdered by their husbands or boyfriends every day.”

“Ugh, what a horrible statistic.”

“I’ll pass this lead on to Johnny. There could be a logical explanation. It’s a long drive between Houston and Pelican, especially if it’s late and you’re angry because you just found out your wife’s cheating on you. He may have spent the night somewhere. Johnny can check his credit card activity.”

“Sounds good.” Maggie hesitated, not sure which way the conversation should go next. After a long pause, she finally said, “Well . . . see you in Pelican.”

It seemed the safest choice.

*

The first thing Maggie did when she got home was check on the pups and kittens. She found her mother and Gran’ already tending to them. “Their mamas are nursing, but we’ve worked out a system where someone checks on them every couple of hours,” Ninette explained. “And a certain someone has been showing up on a regular basis to help out your Gran’.”

Ninette flashed an impish grin at Gran’, who rolled her eyes. “That’s your mother’s cutesy way of saying that Stevens has come by a few times. And she believes it’s not solely out of concern for the well-being of our charges.”

“Gran’, he’s obviously courting you,” Maggie said, with a wink at her mother.

“You don’t have to use some nineteenth-century term just because I’m a few years older than you,” Gran’ said. “And I saw that wink. This would be the ideal time to tell you that as much as I like Stevens, I am very much on the fence about a relationship at my age. I’ve seen what happens with my friends. If you’re lucky, you get a few good months with your new significant other, then one of you goes south physically or mentally, and the rest of the time is spent calling around to find a decent nursing home. Besides, I could never have again what I had with your grandfather. Some people like the drama of saying ‘he was the love of my life.’ For me, that sentiment is real.”

“Of course, Charlotte,” Ninette said, her voice gentle. “Still, wouldn’t it be nice to have some companionship with a peer?”

“That’s a nice way of saying ‘an old fart.’ You know, there’s someone here who’s yet to go around the horn once.” Gran’ pointed at Maggie. “I wouldn’t mind having a great-grandchild pop out while I still have the mental acuity to know what it is. Let’s turn the focus on her.”

“Oh please, let’s not.”

Maggie darted out of the room and almost collided with Trent in the hallway. She was startled to see him. “Hello,” he greeted her cheerfully. “You made it back in good time.”

“As did you,” Maggie said. “Although I’m a little confused as to why you’re back. I assumed you’d be staying in Houston to tend to business.”

“Doing some eavesdropping at the funeral, huh?”

Maggie had read people described as “sneering” in books, but she’d never been sure what a sneer looked like. Thanks to the expression on Trent’s face, now she knew. “Bibi mentioned your new business arrangement to me,” she said, covering the fact that she had actually picked up the specifics of Trent’s plan through snooping. “Basically, she gets Baton Rouge, you get Houston.”

“True. Bibi’s already setting up the office in Baton Rouge. But there’s still a lot to do to get it going, and it makes sense for me to be closer to BR than Houston for a little while. It also makes sense to stay here since it’s convenient to both cities, as well as New Orleans, another market ready for some tapping by Starke-Socher.” Trent pulled a credit card out of the back pocket of his navy designer slacks. “I don’t know if Ginger’s bill is still outstanding, but you can put our stays on the business credit card. Ginger had the good sense to make us both signatories.”

Trent followed Maggie into the B and B office. She swiped his credit card and handed it back to him. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but Ginger seemed a bit self-involved. It’s hard to imagine her doing something as magnanimous as sharing her credit card, even if it was for business.”

“That’s a pretty snide thing to say about someone you didn’t know very well. It happens to have been her idea. Maybe I should take
my
business elsewhere.”

While Maggie found it obvious that Trent was lying, she didn’t want to risk chasing off the possible suspect. “You’re right,” she said. “That was nasty, and I’m sorry. I’m going to take ten percent off your stay as an apology.”

This instantly assuaged Trent’s animosity. “I appreciate that. It’s very generous.”

“Anything to dodge a bad online review,” Maggie said, and they both faked laughter at her limp joke.

*

Maggie had to lead several school tours at Doucet the next morning, so she didn’t have a chance to catch up with Gaynell and Ione until late afternoon. It was Vanessa’s day off, which gave Maggie a brief respite from being badgered about maid of honor duties. She filled her two friends in on what she’d learned about Fox as they all changed into their street clothes after work.

“I hope it’s not Fox,” Gaynell said as she pulled on a Gator Girls T-shirt. She’d taken to wearing them as often as possible to spread the word about her band. “I feel sorry for him.”

“My money’s on that snake, Trent,” Ione declared.

“He’s so slimy that he’s almost too obvious a choice,” Maggie said.

The three women stepped outside, where the early evening air had picked up a chill. Maggie’s phone pinged and she checked it. “Aww. My mother texted me a picture of the puppies and kittens sleeping together. Look.” She showed the photo to the other women, who echoed her “aww.”

“So no one’s claimed them yet?” Ione asked.

Maggie shook her head. “I’m kind of glad. I’m really enjoying having them around. It’s a nice distraction from the hell that is being Vanessa’s maid of honor.”

“I’d love one of those kittens,” Gaynell said. Seeing Maggie hesitate, she asked, “What? Is there a problem?”

“It’s just . . . I mean, I know that you’re saving up so that you can quit Doucet and focus on your music. And when it happens—
it will
happen, Gay, because you are so talented—I’m sure you’ll be touring a lot and . . . I just wonder if you’ll be home enough for a pet.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence in my music, but that kind of tour is far in my future,” Gaynell said, slightly insulted. She sensed that for whatever reason, Maggie was giving her the runaround. “I certainly think I’m home enough for a cat.”

“I have my eye on one of those pups,” Ione said. “My grandkids would love it.”

“I forgot,” Maggie said. “How old are your grandkids again?”

Ione gave her a stern look. “Old enough for me to be offended that you think they can’t handle a puppy. That is what you’re implying, isn’t it?”

Maggie was spared having to answer Ione by the unexpected arrival of Chret Bertrand. The young mechanic looked distraught; his skin was pale, and shadows under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” he said after they had all exchanged greetings. “It’s just . . . something’s happened. I needed to talk and I don’t have too many friends and y’all seem so nice, so I drove over and . . .”

Chret trailed off. Gaynell, concerned, went to his side. “Chret, are you okay? You don’t look good.”

“I quit early today,” he said, balling up his hands and sticking them deep into his pockets. “Uncle Lee understands.” The women, confused, waited for him to continue. He looked down at the ground. “I got a call from a man named Lester Robbins. He’s a lawyer in Texas.”

He paused, a pained look crossing his face. Gaynell took his hand. “Chret, talk to us, please. Whatever’s going on, don’t worry about it. We’re here for you.”

Chret lifted his head. “The lawyer called to tell me something. Ginger Starke left me two hundred thousand dollars in her will.”

All three women gasped. “Two hundred thousand dollars?!” Ione said. “That is some tip for service. I’m gonna start bringing my car around to you.”

“It’s not that,” Chret said.

A memory came flooding back to Maggie: Ginger and Trent pointing at Chret and whispering when they brought her car in for repair. Maggie having to tear Ginger away from staring at the ex-Marine. It dawned on her that Ginger using the vehicle to scam the Crozats was a side trip from her real agenda. She had wanted to see Chretien Bertrand. To meet him.

Maggie focused on Chret’s face, drawing the line of his jaw in her mind, adding a shading of subtle cheekbones. And the similarity to another face became obvious to her artist’s eye. “I know why Ginger left you the money,” she said. “You’re her son.”

Maggie’s revelation elicited a gasp from Gaynell and a skeptical look from Ione, followed by a “Girl, that is crazy talk.” But Chret confirmed it with a slight nod.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Gaynell said, then guided him to a seat on the bench. Ione offered him her water bottle and he took it gratefully. “Thank you, ma’am.” Chret gulped down the water.

“So . . .” Maggie said after a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Chret gave another slight nod. “Y’all know I was adopted. I was born at Frances Xavier Medical Center, and my parents—the people who raised me—brought me home a few days later. I never knew my adoptive dad. He died about a year after I was born. But Mom was totally cool, and
she encouraged me to register with an adoption reunion registry in case my birth parents ever looked for me or I wanted to look for them. I registered, but I never did anything about it cuz I didn’t care. I loved my mama. She was the best.”

Chret grimaced and covered his face with his hands, but not before Maggie noticed a tear stranded in his lower lashes. “I guess Ginger checked the registration and found me. She never said anything. I only saw her that one time, and all I thought was,
What a rhymes-with-witch
. And now I know I was thinking that about my own mother.”

Gaynell couldn’t control herself. She threw her arms around Chret and hugged him tightly. He resisted briefly, then put both arms around the young musician and held her. They clung to each a moment before Chret pulled away. He reached into the front pocket of his mechanic’s jumpsuit and took out a high-quality piece of ecru stationery. He unfolded it, unleashing the scent of a citrusy perfume. “The lawyer forwarded me this letter. From her. Ginger.” Chret cleared his throat and read, “‘Dear Chretien: Some people are born to be a parent. I wasn’t. I’m sorry.’”

The women waited, but Chret folded up the note and put it back in his pocket. “That’s it?” Ione said. “She didn’t even sign it? Wow. Cold.”

“No, she was trying,” Maggie said somberly. “But that’s all she was able to give of herself. I’d written Ginger off as pure evil. But maybe she was just a deeply disturbed and emotionally tortured woman. I think that note is heartbreaking.”

“Whatever it is,” Chret said, “inheriting a bunch of money pretty much makes me suspect number one. Pelican
PD ‘asked’ me to come down for an interview. Uncle Lee says they probably think that I found out I was in the will.” He gave a desperate laugh. “Which is crazy. I didn’t know anything about anything until that lawyer called, I swear. Anyway, I’m on my way to the police station.” Chret looked straight at Gaynell. “I just needed to talk,” he repeated.

“Well, you’re obviously innocent,” she declared.

Maggie agreed that the shy, vulnerable ex-soldier seemed an unlikely murderer. It was hard to imagine him being devious enough to uncover his true parentage, access his birth mother’s will, and then kill her for his inheritance. But the situation required more than faith in Chret’s noble character. “Do you have an alibi?” she asked as gently as possible.

Chret shrugged. “I was having a late lunch at the shop. Lee knows I was there, but he was working a big job on a seafood delivery truck that needed a new transmission. He can’t swear he saw me there the whole time.”

“Then I’ll just say I was with you,” Gaynell said.

“No way,” Chret said, shaking his head vigorously. “I am not letting you lie for me.”

“It’s good that Lee can verify a good portion of the time you were there,” Maggie said. “He can also testify to your mood, that you seemed like your normal self. That’s important because if you were behaving any differently, the police might jump on it.”

Chret looked down at the ground again to avoid eye contact. “I wasn’t totally myself. I’d had the nightmares I get sometimes the night before. So I was, I don’t know, fidgety. Cranky.”

That wasn’t good, so Maggie searched for a way around it. “But were you the same as you usually are after you have the nightmares? Could Lee say that it was your usual behavior, given the circumstances?”

Chret looked up. For the first time, Maggie saw hope in his eyes. “Yeah. I think he could.”

“There you go,” Maggie said.

“Did Ginger leave anyone else money in her will?” Ione asked. “If she did, it could be one of them.”

“Good point,” Maggie said. “Do you know about any other beneficiaries?” she asked Chret.

“No. I didn’t hear much after the lawyer said I was Ginger’s son.”

“Did he say anything about who your father might be?”

“No. I’ve got zero information on him. Either he doesn’t know about me or he doesn’t want to know. Anyway, I gotta get to the police station.”

“I’m going too,” Gaynell announced. “If they wanna give you any grief, they’re gonna have to go through me. I’ll follow in my car.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chret said. And for the first time since he’d shown up at Doucet, Chret smiled.

*

As soon as Maggie was done for the day, she got in her car and called Bo to report this new development. “Wow, that’s huge,” he responded. “I want to know more about this will. I’ll get in touch with Johnny. He should be able to get a copy.”

Maggie heard a loud cheer in the background. “Where are you?”

“Pelican High football game,” Bo said. “I’m on security detail.” Bo’s voice bristled with resentment.

“Oh. I guess it beats traffic control.”

“Not by much. We suck. Our team’s down by thirty and we’re not even at halftime.” Maggie heard muffled voices in the background. “Hey, thanks. Sorry, Maggie, that wasn’t to you.”

“Is someone working with you?”

“No. Whitney brought Xander here, and they just bought me a hot dog. Okay, I’ll see you guys after the game. They’re gone now. Whit’s trying to get him interested in sports, but he’s way more into mixing colors with you.”

“That’s nice.” Why did Maggie feel like Bo had just thrown her a pity compliment? “Let me know what you find out about the will.”

She ended the call and felt a sudden need for sugary comfort. It was time for a pit stop at Bon Bon. As she drove toward town, she took in the late-fall scene around her. Some trees had shed all their leaves, others still bore brown ones, and some would never lose their rich green. If she was still in New York, the world would have gone gray by now, a gray that cast a pall on the city except when it was rendered invisible by a fresh, white snowfall. But not Cajun Country. The weather, like the people, refused to completely surrender its optimism.

It was dark by the time she parked in front of Bon Bon, but a warm light emanated from the store. Maggie stepped
into the shop and, after saying hello to Lia behind the counter, sniffed the dense air. “Popcorn and sugar,” she guessed. “Are you making kettle corn?”

“I’m putting it on sticks so it’s like cake pops.” Lia showed Maggie a row of what looked like snowball lollipops. “Then I dip them in rainbow jimmies for the kids. Want to help?”

“Sure.” Maggie went behind the counter, took the apron Lia offered, and began dipping the pops into a big container of colorful sprinkles. It was an easy, relaxing task and allowed her the freedom to glance around the store. She saw that her artwork still made its home on Bon Bon’s walls. “I wonder if I’ll ever sell a painting,” she sighed as she dipped. “Maybe I should fake my own death. That would make me way more desirable as an artist.”

“Stop that,” Lia admonished her. “Your art is fantastic. Customers rave about it. But honestly, I’m not sure this is the right place to sell paintings—yours or anyone’s. People come in here for a sweet or a souvenir. That’s why your mugs and mousepads and other small items do well. When I price anything over twenty or twenty-five dollars, I see customers almost recoil. You need a better venue for your work.”

“I’ll add ‘find a gallery’ to the list of things I need to do. It’ll go right after ‘find a murderer’ and ‘find an actual boyfriend.’” Lia looked at her quizzically. She was the one person Maggie felt she could confide in about her nebulous relationship with Bo, so she shared her fear that Whitney was manipulating her way back into his romantic life.

“You have pretty accurate instincts about people, so you might be right,” Lia said. “But are you picking up on whether
or not Bo is interested in rekindling whatever he had with Whitney? That’s what’s important here.”

“That’s very muddy. And I can’t talk to him about it. It’s just intuition, so how do I bring that up without looking kind of psychotic? And our relationship is so amorphous anyway. Ugh, it’s incredibly frustrating.” Maggie shoved a pop into the sprinkles and it fell apart. “Oops. I’ll have to eat this one.”

“Just keep an eye out for any overt action on Whitney’s part. Then you’d be within your rights to talk to Bo.” Maggie, whose mouth was too full of kettle corn to voice a response, nodded to acknowledge her cousin’s advice. “On a completely different topic, Kyle and I were talking and we’d love to take a puppy and a kitten when they’re ready to go.”

“That’s great. I’m just a little concerned about the timing,” Maggie said. “You’re in the middle of a remodel. And even when it’s done, there are leftover fumes and sawdust in the air.”

“You mean all the stuff that Kyle and I are breathing in, which has never seemed to bother you? And it shouldn’t. Our remodel is totally green.”

“I know. But it’s different with animals. They’re more vulnerable.”

Lia burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh. You’re a helicopter pet parent.”

“What?!”

“You know, one of those parents who worries too much about their kids and hovers over them. That’s exactly what
you’re doing with those pups and kitties. Honey, you need a boyfriend
and
a baby.”

“No! At least not for a while. A good long while.”

The bell alerting Lia to customers chimed, and Bibi came into the store. She was dressed in a bright tie-dyed top and loose black jersey pants; once again, Maggie marveled at the change in the designer. She seemed to be aging backward; it was as if Ginger’s death was the equivalent of Dorian Gray’s portrait for Bibi. The women all greeted each other. “I thought you were in Baton Rouge,” Maggie said.

“I am, but you’ll be seeing a lot of me as long as Trent is staying here. We have tons to do before we open the BR location. I was craving some chocolate and saw you were open.” Bibi looked around. “This place is wonderful. I haven’t been in before.” She stopped in front of a painting. It was one of Maggie’s personal favorites. She was proud of how she’d captured the twilight colors of a river sunset. “I
love
this,” said Bibi.

“It’s for sale,” Maggie replied, ever hopeful. “They all are.”

“Really?” Bibi studied the painting, scrunching her eyes to read Maggie’s signature in the lower right-hand corner. “Oh, they’re yours. Even better. Would you be interested in having me display them in our Baton Rouge studio? I’m sure I could sell some to clients.”

Maggie was ecstatic. Not only was this a chance to showcase her work; it gave her a legitimate reason to further insinuate herself into Bibi and Trent’s world. “I would love
that, Bibi. I can consign these paintings to you, and you’re welcome to anything in my studio.”

“Perfect.” Bibi switched her attention to Lia’s display of handmade candies and ordered a half-pound assortment.

“When you have the time, I wonder if you could take a look at some design drawings my boyfriend and I have been working on for our new home,” Lia said as she rang up Bibi’s order. “I’d love your input.”

“Absolutely,” Bibi said. She and Lia landed on a time for Bibi to pick up Maggie’s artwork, and then Bibi left with her chocolate, a free six-pack of kettle corn pops, and Lia’s renderings under her arm.

Lia and Maggie were silent for a minute. Then Lia said sheepishly, “I kind of hope she’s not the murderer.”

“Oh, I totally hope she’s not,” Maggie quickly agreed. She hugged her cousin good-bye and then stepped into Fais Dough Dough, where she picked up some croissants for the family’s morning breakfast. She left the store and was about to get in her car when she was accosted by Little Earlie Waddell. He seemed unfazed by his previous run-in with Maggie and Bo’s subsequent fist to his stomach. “What now?” she asked, exasperated.

“I heard how Chret Bertrand is really Ginger Fleer’s son, and I’m all over the story.”

“You heard that already?”

“Seriously? It’s Pelican. We’ve barely got anything to do
except
gossip.”

“Right. Anyway . . .” Maggie opened her car door and slid into the driver’s seat. “No comment.”

Little Earlie, per usual, ignored her. “You have to agree that this moves him to the front of the line as a suspect in Ginger’s murder.”

Furious, Maggie jumped back out of her car. She’d had it with the intrusive reporter. “No, I do not ‘have to’ agree. Chret Bertrand is a kind man and a hero who fought for our country. You’re always looking for quotes, Little Earlie, so I’m going to give you one. You can put in that stupid paper of yours that if PPD even thinks of charging Chret with Ginger’s murder, I’ll do whatever I can to prove them wrong and find the real killer.”

Earlie took a small step back. “I’m not gonna quote you on that, Maggie.” His voice was low, his tone serious. “If you’re right and it’s not Chret, then whoever it is probably wouldn’t be too happy about someone announcing to the world that they were gonna do whatever it took to expose them. In fact, there’s a real good chance it would create another murder target—you.”