Body on the Bayou (13 page)

Maggie could hardly focus on the road as she drove to JJ’s. Her party mood had evaporated the minute she opened the door to Whitney. Now she was in a quandary. Should she alert Bo to Whitney’s dream of reviving their relationship? Was it even her place to share a conversation that Whitney considered confidential? If so, how could she do it without sounding catty or like a jealous girlfriend? And when
would
she officially be Bo’s girlfriend—if ever, given the current complications?

Maggie found a parking spot in front of Junie’s and entered the restaurant. The minute she walked in, she was overwhelmed by the scent of a rich blend of oregano, pepper, tomatoes, chicken, and Andouille sausage. And bread—freshly baked and buttered. She saw that JJ had set up a buffet table whose centerpiece was a giant, steaming pot
of jambalaya. “JJ, the smell in here gives me a reason to live,” she told her friend. “But how much is it going to set me back?”

“Nothing, darlin’.” JJ embraced her with his meaty arms. He’d decided to take Vanessa’s purple-and-gold color theme to a comedic level. He’d sprayed his hair gold and was attired in gold lamé harem pants and a purple silk blouse that he’d inherited from his mother. “This feast isn’t for Vanessa. It’s my present to you. I got the sense that somebody needed a little Cajun comfort food.”

“Oh, JJ, you have no idea.” Maggie buried her face in her friend’s chest and forced herself not to cry, knowing the tears and mascara would stain his blouse. She kissed him on the cheek, then looked up and scanned the room. Party prep fairies in the shape of Lia, Gaynell, and Ione had arrived early. The ceiling was already covered with purple and gold balloons. Crepe paper in the same colors decorated the bar and, just as at Vanessa and Ru’s shower, vases filled with irises adorned each table. Maggie hurried over to her friends. “Sorry I’m late. Thanks for getting started without me.”

“We’re pretty much done,” Ione said. “Did you see the theme of the photo booth?”

“No.”

Ione turned to the other women. “She hasn’t seen it yet. I get to show her.”

“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to have all the fun,” Gaynell retorted. “We’ll all go.”

“Oh dear,” Maggie said. “This can’t be good.”

Ione, Gaynell, and Lia led Maggie to the photo booth. A large box of hats, glasses, boas, and other props stood ready for use. Maggie looked at the booth and gasped. There, displayed in all its tasteless glory, was a mug shot backdrop. “And you get to hold this when you pose,” Lia said. She picked up an ID slate that read, “Perp at Vanessa’s Bachelorette Party, Property of Fleer-Durand PD.” “Or this,” she continued, pulling out a frame that read, “You’ve been framed!”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Maggie sputtered. She gasped again. “Oh no! What if people think this was
my
idea?”

“You can relax on that score,” Ione said. She pointed to a large bow attached to a corner of the booth. Under it was an equally large card that read, “You’re about to get ‘mugged’ courtesy of Rufus Durand.”

“He insisted the card stay on the booth during the party,” Lia said. “It’s in the paperwork.”

“Amen to that for me,” Maggie said. She collapsed onto a chair. “If one of the guests tonight proves to be Ginger’s murderer, it’ll save the PPD some trouble. They’ll already have the mug shot.”

“Considering some of the crowd Van invited, I think a lot of those mug shots are already on file.” Ione motioned for the others to follow her to the bar. “I’ll buy the first round. We can’t start soon enough tonight.”

“Kyle’s at Ru’s bachelor party,” Lia said as she lifted herself onto a barstool. “I know I’ll need a lot of liquor in me to listen to God-knows-what stories he brings home.”

As Old Shari was depositing drinks in front of the women, the front door flew open and Tookie strode in, followed by the guestess-of-honor, Vanessa. She wore a floor-length rayon caftan in a variety of pastel ombré colors. Stick-thin Tookie wore a hot-pink shift and looked like the swizzle stick to Vanessa’s Tequila Sunrise.

Tookie did a quick check of the room. “Not bad,” she said.

“High praise indeed,” Maggie responded dryly.

Vanessa threw her purse on the bar. “I’m so mad at Rufus I’d like to knock him hard enough to see tomorrow today.”

“What did he do now, Vanessa?” Ione accompanied her question with an eye roll.

“I thought before our parties would be a good time to exchange wedding presents. I found this supernice leather wallet for Ru, and they gave me a real good price on it at the St. Gabriel pawn shop. I figured it would remind him of me when he pulls out those dollar bills to tip the lap dancers tonight. Anyhoo, he loved it, of course. And then it’s his turn. And you know what he gives me? This.”

Vanessa reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny silver pistol. The other women instinctively stepped back. “Relax, it ain’t loaded. At least I don’t think it is. But can you believe that? A lady pistol. I swear, he’s taking this whole police theme way too far. He wanted to start his vows with ‘Vanessa, you’re under arrest for stealing my heart.’”

Vanessa tossed the gun back in her purse and hailed Old Shari. “Whiskey, neat.”

Old Shari shook her head no and pointed to Vanessa’s protruding stomach. “Near beer or nuthin’.”

Vanessa gave an exasperated groan. “What
ever
, you old witch.”

“It’s not the worst gift in the world,” Gaynell said, looking for a way to justify the odd present. “It shows Rufus worries about your safety. That’s . . . kind of romantic.”

“Oh, puh-leeze.” Vanessa knocked back her near beer. “You know what would be romantic? A bracelet with diamonds, or rubies, or any kinda stone. There’s gotta be some jewelry hanging around the PPD evidence room. Which of course he couldn’t get near anyway, what with his suspension. Hey, Shari, I’ll take another.” She looked at her empty beer bottle. “Maybe if I drink enough of these suckers, I’ll get some kinda buzz.”

Tookie patted her daughter on the shoulder. “Never you worry, dear girl. I got a surprise coming that’ll make your night.”

Tookie flashed a broad wink at the others. “Cue male strippers,” Maggie muttered to Lia.

Vanessa noticed the buffet spread and instantly cheered up. “Yay, food! I’m starving. I better get to it before the guests do. Come on, Mama. Time to tie on the feedbag.”

The bride-to-be hopped off her stool with surprising agility for a woman due in weeks and pulled her mother toward the buffet. Maggie watched both women make a dent in the jambalaya. “Shari, can you get us another round?” she asked the bartender. “And this one’s on me.”

*

The guests came—first in a trickle, then in a flood. The room soon filled with the white noise of a hundred conversations. Maggie and her friends were kept busy replenishing the buffet and bussing dirty plates and cups off the tables. Bibi brought a mini tablet with her and pulled Lia aside to show her a few new sketches that, judging from Lia jumping up and down as she clapped her hands, the candy and patisserie proprietress loved. Lee Bertrand brought Chret, who stayed by his great-uncle’s side even as his eyes followed Gaynell longingly wherever she went. Tug and Ninette came by to drop off a large bowl of crawfish dip along with loaves of French bread and then stayed to help out. Stevens brought Gran’, and Maggie found them a table that first required relocating the couple that had claimed it as their make-out station. “Thank goodness this is as far away from Vanessa as we can get,” Gran’ said as Stevens pulled out a chair for her. “The instant we walked in, all she did was gripe about Rufus’s present. If I had to listen for another minute, I was going to borrow that pistol and use it on myself.”

Father Prit arrived and was greeted warmly by all. The eager, ingenuous priest was beloved in the community despite the fact that few parishioners could navigate his thick Indian accent. Maggie, whose ear had been trained by having to communicate with many a New York cab driver, had no problem conversing with the good father. She waved to him, and he immediately came to her side. “What a lovely event,” he told her as he flashed a large, happy grin. “I am so pleased to be included.”

“Of course, Father.” Maggie smiled back at the kindhearted, friendly man. “I wanted to tell you how grateful we all are that you’re allowing Rufus and Vanessa to marry in the church.” In keeping with Vanessa’s philosophy that more is more, she had tried to worm her way into being wed at one of the more grandiose churches in the area but was instantly dismissed due to her “condition.” She’d slunk back to Father Prit, who said a prayer for her, then agreed to perform the ceremony.

“Thank you, Magnolia Marie,” Father Prit said. “In a situation like Rufus and Vanessa’s, I ask myself, ‘WWPFD?’ What would Pope Francis do?” The priest was a besotted fanboy of the pontiff. “I believe he would say that with so many people today abandoning their faith, Vanessa’s desire to be wed in a house of worship under the eyes of God should be embraced. It is not ours to judge. It is ours to show mercy.” JJ walked by carrying a fresh pot of jambalaya, and Father Prit’s eyes followed its path to the buffet table. “Now there’s a heavenly scent,” he said, inhaling the aroma left in the jambalaya’s wake.

“Please, go enjoy the buffet,” Maggie said.

“Thank you, I believe I will,” Father Prit replied, then hurried over to the food.

Maggie did a circle around the room, bumping into a variety of friends and townspeople—literally. The dozens of balloons that covered the ceiling and lighting made the room, never bright to begin with, even darker. “It’s like bumper cars with people,” Gaynell told Maggie after colliding with the same woman for the third time.

“I know.” Maggie deposited an armful of dirty paper goods in the trash and then glanced up at the TV that JJ always kept on over the bar. She was annoyed to see Little Earlie looking smug as a reporter interviewed him. A caption below the two read, ‘Little Earlie Waddell, journalist and expert on Fleer Case.’ The goodwill Maggie felt toward the overeager reporter vanished. “I do not want to know what that twerp is blathering on about.” She picked up a remote and switched to Pelican’s public access channel, where a city council meeting appeared to be in progress. “Now if anyone gets bored, they can drunk-dial the city council.”

Gaynell directed Maggie’s attention toward the front door. “There’s someone I didn’t expect to see.” Trent Socher had sauntered in, checking his phone as he walked. He bumped into a partygoer but didn’t look up to see the dirty look that the guest cast his way.

“Do you think he’s here by accident or by
design
?” JJ, who had put an apron over his ensemble so he could wash glasses, chuckled at his pun.

“Okay, I’ll let you get away with that because of all the free jambalaya,” Maggie responded.

Trent approached the bar and tore himself away from his mobile long enough to order a drink. “Gin and tonic,” he ordered Old Shari, neglecting to add a “please.”

Maggie sidled up to the interior designer. “Hi, Trent. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Trent looked around the room with distaste. “I’m not sure why I’m here myself. But Vanessa and her mother pretty much insisted I come.”

His eyes connected with Tookie, who waved and darted over. “Hey there,” she cooed as she threw an arm over his shoulder. “We are
so
honored you made it. Lemme introduce you to some of Pelican’s
playas.
” Tookie made a rapper move, which was disconcerting coming from a white woman with an AARP card. But Trent obliged and let her lead him into the crowd. “Be extra nice to that guy,” Tookie whispered to Maggie as she went by. “We want him to forget that bill Ginger sent us for her crappy decorating ideas.”

Tookie took off after Trent. JJ grinned. “So . . . he is here by
design.
”

Maggie wagged a finger at him. “No! Free food only bought you one round of that joke.”

There was the faint sound of a spoon rapping against a glass. The sound grew louder as guests echoed it by tapping spoons against their own glasses, and the party quieted down. Vanessa helped her mother stand on a chair, which made Tookie only slightly taller than her daughter. “Thank you all so much for coming tonight,” Tookie told the crowd. “I’m sure you heard that we lost our dear cousin Ginger this week. I would like to ask you all to observe a moment of silence in her memory.” People barely had time to drop their heads down before Tookie piped up again. “Now, let’s party the way Ginger would have wanted us to—hard!”

“Whoo-hoo!” Vanessa called out as she fist-pumped the air.

Gaynell and the Gator Girls took the stage and launched into an infectious zydeco number. Dancers filled the floor. Maggie was less than thrilled to see Little Earlie wander in
and try to ape the casual attitude of an invited guest. She stopped helping JJ put away clean glasses and strode over to the newsman. “Junie’s is closed tonight for a private party,” she told him.

“Yes, and I received an invitation, which I don’t have at the moment. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta interact with some guests if I’m gonna write this up for our social column.” Little Earlie zipped away from Maggie before she could ask, “What social column?”

Maggie was about to follow the journalist when she heard a loud argument erupt. She looked around, saw Bibi yelling at Trent, and hurried over to the warring duo. “You can’t take rent out of my salary when we’re running the business together!” Bibi screamed at her partner.

“Technically, I’m still your boss,” Trent replied, unfazed by her anger.

“That’s not what you said when you were desperate to keep me,” Bibi shot back at him.

“Hey, guys, maybe tonight’s not the time to—” Maggie tried to interject, but Bibi ignored her.

“What changed?” Bibi challenged Trent. “Did you find a new sugar mama in Houston?” Trent’s lack of response affirmed the answer. “You did, didn’t you? You’re such a liar and a jerk, and since I’m doing all the work in Baton Rouge, I think I’m just going to spin off my own design firm.”

This inflamed Trent. He got so close to Bibi that she flinched as if afraid he might hit her. Maggie tried pulling him back, but he shook her off. “You even think of doing that,” Trent hissed at Bibi, “and I will put you out of business
so fast that the only thing you’ll be decorating is the box you live in under a bridge.”