by Ellen Byron
“Oh, I meant the guy behind you,” the woman said, “It’s so realistic. But I like yours too.”
Maggie turned to see Pelican PD officer Cal Vichet emerge from the manor house. “Cal, hi. What’s going on?”
Ninette appeared in the back doorway. She smiled at the guests, who sauntered off to their accommodations in the carriage house, then dropped the smile and waved Maggie over. “Bonnie never came back. No one has any idea where she is. She isn’t responding to texts or calls.”
“We’re putting together a search team,” Cal explained.
“I’ll help,” Maggie said. Her mother seconded this. “How’s Johnnie?” Maggie asked Ninette.
“When he woke up, he insisted he felt better and disappeared on one of his Zen walks, if you can believe it. Seems like a real odd time for it.”
The news sent a frisson through Maggie. She wondered if this verified her instinct about the MacDowell twin faking his drugging and relapse. Then again, the Zen walks seemed to give the unhappy man his only sense of peace. Was Johnnie dangerous? Or in danger?
“Since we can’t reach Bonnie,” Ninette continued, “I texted Emma to update her about Johnnie’s condition, but she hasn’t gotten back to me.”
“Artie’s on his way, along with Rufus,” Cal said. “And Bo. He’s gonna drop off Xander and head back. Thanks for the offer of help, Mrs. Crozat, but we don’t want to alarm your guests by getting you involved. Plus, if the young lady’s disappearance is the result of a crime, we don’t wanna send an alert to whoever’s responsible. They could cut and run. But Maggie, you got that good artist’s eye where you sometimes spot stuff we miss, so you’re welcome to join us. Find yourself a flashlight.”
“I keep one in my glove compartment,” Maggie said. She started toward her car.
“And you might wanna change outa that costume.”
“Right,” Maggie said, embarrassed.
She detoured to the cottage, where she stripped off her Bride of Frankenstein garb, washed off the monster makeup, and slipped on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She grabbed a hoodie, then hurried to her car, where she opened the glove compartment and retrieved a flashlight. She was closing the glove compartment when the glint of something on the passenger’s side floor mat caught her eye. Maggie pressed a button on her flashlight, illuminating the object, which turned out to be a pen she didn’t recognize. She stooped down to pick up the pen, and an orange berry about an inch in diameter rolled out from under the car seat. Maggie caught her breath. The pen might not look familiar, but given the events of the last few weeks, she knew a strychnine berry when she saw one. Only one person had been in the passenger seat since Maggie had gotten the Falcon washed: Emma Fine. Whose purse had fallen and emptied onto the car floor.
Leaving behind a pen … and strychnine.
Chapter 22
Maggie stared at the berry, so nondescript and yet so lethal. As a stage manager, Emma was the conduit between Walter Breem and the Resurrection of the Spirit production. Had Walter warned her to watch out for the poisonous plant? Had this put her in a mind to murder? Maggie recalled Doug’s guilty admission after Susannah death’s that he’d done things he felt bad about. She aligned the comment with Emma’s extreme reaction to his own death and came to a conclusion: the unlikely duo had been having an affair. Emma’s a damaged soul who’s fighting her inner demons twenty-four/seven, Maggie thought to herself. She must have seen Doug as a lifeline to a sense of security, both emotional and financial, once Susannah was gone and a sale of the MacDowell property was on the horizon.
Maggie straightened up. She pulled her cell from her back pocket and placed a call. “Hey,” Vanessa said through a mouthful of what Maggie assumed was Charli’s candy. “What’s up?”
“Did Emma ever come by for her check?”
“No.” Vanessa sounded aggravated. “She’s also supposed to pick up a bunch of props we brought back to the house. She hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts. She’s not at your place?”
“She doesn’t seem to be. I’ll double check.”
Maggie ended the call and raced to the main house, where she found her mother in the kitchen. “I don’t know what to do with myself, so I’m baking cookies for the police officers,” Ninette said. “Have they found anything?”
“Not that I know of. When was the last time you saw Emma?”
Ninette wrinkled her brow. “This morning. Early. I saw her go off into the woods. I figured she was doing one of Johnnie’s Zen walks on her own. Why?” she asked, alarmed.
Maggie, not wanting to share her discovery of the strychnine berry with anyone before she told Pelican PD, said, “I only want to make sure she’s okay since we haven’t seen her in a while either. I’m going to check her room.”
She left the kitchen for the back-parlor office, where she grabbed the spare key to Emma’s room. Maggie took the stairs to the second floor two at her time. Heart racing, she knocked on the room’s door. No one responded. She inserted an old skeleton key into the keyhole. Unsure what she’d find in the room, she opened the door slowly and waited. Again, there was no response, so she stepped inside. The room looked like the room of any guest who was out for the day and expected to return. A laptop sat on the desk, surrounded by papers; clothes hung over a wingback chair; the bed was unmade. Maggie looked out the window to the guests’ parking area below. She saw Emma’s nondescript sedan parked in its usual spot. Emma Fine, where are you? Maggie, filled with anxiety, wondered.
Her cell rang. She saw the caller was Bo and accepted the call. “I’m on my way,” he said, “but the River Road’s closed at Pass Pierre and I gotta take the back way. Some jokers set off smoke bombs that started a brush fire. I checked in with Cal. They haven’t found anything yet.”
“I have.” Maggie filled Bo in on finding the strychnine berry and her theory about Emma’s illicit relationship with Doug. “I’m in her room right now. It looks perfectly normal. But no one has any idea where she is.”
“So we have two missing women, not one.” Bo’s tone was terse. “I’ll have Rufus put together a second search team. I’ll keep you posted.”
“What should I do with the strychnine berry?”
“Leave it and the pen where you found them. Just make sure your car is locked up.”
Bo signed off. Maggie took another look around Emma’s room, then closed and locked the door. She hurried out of the house to the family’s parking area, where she confirmed the Falcon’s doors were locked. Maggie’s cell phone rang, distracting her. She eyed the screen. “More spam,” she muttered, annoyed. Then she suddenly felt something push against her back.
“Drop the cell,” a woman’s voice commanded her. “I have a gun.” Maggie dropped her phone. “Don’t turn around.”
“I don’t need to,” Maggie said. “I recognize your voice, Bonnie.”
“Whatevs,” the blogger said, impatient. “Now get in the car. On the driver’s side. And don’t think about running away. I know how to shoot. My dad loved to hunt.”
Maggie followed her captor’s instructions and got behind the wheel of the car. Bonnie, keeping the gun trained on Maggie, jumped into the passenger’s seat. She deposited a sack at her feet, and the strychnine berry from Emma’s purse rolled under the seat. “The police are looking for you,” Maggie said.
“I ride-shared back here after phoning in an anonymous tip that Bonnie MacDowell’s rental car was spotted in the Bayou Oaks neighborhood at one of Gavin Grody’s Rent My Digs properties.” She held up her hand, exposing an ugly slash on her palm. “There’s evidence of blood all over the car.”
“Making Grody a suspect in your disappearance. Payback for cheating on you with Patria.”
“You know it.” Bonnie gestured to her with the gun. “Start driving.”
Maggie started the engine. “In what direction?”
“Toward the Dupois creep show.”
Maggie pulled out of the parking area. She made a right onto the plantation’s side roa
d, then another right onto the River Road. “We may have a problem,” she said as she drove. “I heard the road’s cut off by a brush fire.”
“From the north,” Bonnie said with an impish grin. “The direction your sad little police force has to take and can’t now, thanks to a couple of smoke bombs and some matches and lighter fluid. But we’ll be okay getting to the Dupois place. To be sure, though”—Bonnie held the gun to Maggie’s ribs—“floor it.”
Maggie reluctantly gunned the Falcon’s engine, and the women drove down the empty road. “You know,” Maggie said, “if your plan is to steal my car and use it to get away, it won’t work. Everyone around here knows me and knows it’s my car. They’ll see I’m not the one driving.”
“Or are you?” Bonnie reached into the sack at her feet and pulled out Maggie’s Bride of Frankenstein wig. “Thanks for leaving this right on your couch. It’s almost touching how people in Pelican think they don’t have to lock their front doors because they live in a cutesy small town.” She put on the wig. “Since everyone around here knows you, they’ll know what costume you wore tonight. It’s nighttime and there’s a storm blowing in, so there’s no light coming from the moon or stars. Anyone I drive by will see this car, see the wig, and think, ‘Hey look, it’s Maggie. Hi, Maggie!’” Bonnie mimed a wave, then took off the wig and stuffed it back in the sack.
They reached the edge of the abandoned Dupois gardens. “Pull over,” Bonnie ordered. Maggie pulled to the side of the road. Bonnie got out first, making sure to keep her gun trained on Maggie. “Now you.”
Maggie exited the car. Usually she loved the silence of a sleepy Pelican evening. Tonight, she longed for any sound that would indicate the chance of being rescued. But aside from the chirp of crickets and croak of frogs, the night was maddeningly quiet. “Now what?” Tired of her own fear, the question came out as an angry bark.
“Whoa, somebody needs an attitude adjustment.” Bonnie faked shock, then dropped it. “Move. That way.”
The women hiked through the jungle of weeds and out-of-control plants for what felt like forever to Maggie. They passed the crumbled stone bridge, then the ruin of the folly. “Stop,” Bonnie ordered.
They were at the edge of an old cistern, around six feet wide and six feet deep, that once doubled as a pond in the garden. “Help!” someone cried out from inside, the word muffled by the cistern’s mossy stone walls. Maggie looked down and saw Emma at the bottom. “Help!” Emma screamed again. “Get me out of here!”
“Yeah, she won’t be doing that,” Bonnie called down to Emma. “She’s gonna be joining you instead.” She pointed her gun at Maggie. “Jump in.” Maggie hesitated. Bonnie cocked the gun. “Now.”
Maggie jumped, landing in a heap next to Emma. “Agh,” Maggie grimaced. “My ankle. I think I sprained it.”
“Okay you two, I gotta bounce,” Bonnie said. “I have a car to junk and a plane to catch. FYI, Maggie, I made a deal with Harbor Chemical for our land. They wanted it so bad they didn’t question me when I said my brother was mentally unfit and I was in charge of the family finances. I got a nice advance from them. Enough to book a private plane out of New Orleans. I’m looking forward to making a habit out of traveling that way.”
“We were supposed to split that money, you …” Emma spewed a stream of invectives at Bonnie.
“What can I say?” Bonnie shrugged. “I came up with an idea I liked better.” Growing thoughtful, she tapped her gun against her chin. “It’s interesting. Everyone always thought I was some shallow lightweight. My dad, my stupid stepmom, my brother. That snake Gavin. I guess I proved that old saying right. You know, the one about still waters running deep.” She started off, then turned back. “Oh, and speaking of still waters, there’s a storm coming, and probably more to follow. There’s a chance you’ll drown before you starve to death, which might be a better way to go. Bye-yee.”
Bonnie disappeared into the woods. Maggie pulled herself to standing, ignoring her throbbing ankle. Emma began shaking and whimpering. “I need gum. I need cigarettes. I need a drink.”
“Shut up,” Maggie said sharply. She’d entered survival mode and refused to let Emma drag her down. She scrutinized their prison from top to bottom and formulated a plan. “I have an idea that could get us out of here.”
“Oh, thank God.” Tears streamed down Emma’s face.
Maggie crossed her arms in front of her chest. “But I’m not sharing it until you tell me exactly what went down with you and Bonnie. Leave out a detail and you and I die here together. No joke. I’m that serious.”
“Okay, fine, whatever.” Emma began blabbering. “Bonnie hated Susannah. Like, hated her. She didn’t think Susannah loved her father and just wanted someone she could control, plus Susannah didn’t like her or Johnnie. I mean, the whole situation was beyond toxic. It was like a superfund site.”
Emma paused to catch her breath. “I’m waiting for you to tell me something I don’t know,” Maggie said.
Emma sniffled. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Gavin Grody hired some of the actors from our stupid show to dress up as rougarous and scare off tourists at the B and Bs. He figured that would get his Rent My Digs more business. Susannah decided that if she pretended to be a rougarou, she could pick up some extra money and make trouble for your B and B by freaking out guests and messing up the Spooky Past weekends.”
“And the more trouble we were in,” Maggie, furious, said through gritted teeth, “the more we’d be inclined to sell our land along with hers to a chemical or oil company, which would make for a bigger package and more money. That’s what Susannah wanted all along.”
“Exactly. Gavin hired her and she did the rougarou thing at your place, then brought her act to Belle Vista. That’s why she was there the night she died.”
“You mean the night you killed her because you were having an affair with Doug and you wanted her out of the way.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Emma protested. “I only gave Bonnie the berries. The caretaker guy told me the seeds could kill someone if they were crushed and inhaled and said I should warn the cast to be careful around them.”
“Which you never did because you were coming up with a plot to get rid of your competition.”
“It was Bonnie’s idea to put the stuff in Susannah’s mask,” was Emma’s lame defense. “All I did was tell her about it.”
“You do know that makes you an accessory to murder?”
Emma opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. A loud clap of thunder startled both women. The skies opened and rain poured down on them. “Bonnie’s right, we’re going to drown here. Agh, something’s crawling on me!” She screamed and jumped up and down, shaking her whole body. “Get us out of here, please.” She wept and pointed to the top of the cistern. “I’ll tell you anything else you want to know up there.”
“All right.” Maggie, soaked by the storm, neglected to mention she was also more than ready to get out of the dank, claustrophobic space. “Bonnie thought she was trapping both of us, but what she missed is that we can help each other out of here. You’re what, five eight or nine? I’m five four. Between us, we’re taller than the cistern. I’m going to get on your shoulders and latch on to the top of it to pull myself over. Then I’ll pull you up. The stones of the walls are uneven. You can use them like the rocks on a climbing wall.”
“It’s a great plan, but you hurt your ankle,” Emma pointed out. “Maybe we should reverse this. I’ll climb on your shoulders, then help you out.”
Emma’s offer was so ludicrous Maggie burst out laughing. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna trust you to help me. That won’t be happening. It’s the original plan or none.”
“Fine, fine,” Emma said. “Let’s do it already.” She sneezed. “If I don’t drown or starve to death, I’m gonna die of pneumonia.”
Emma crouched down, and Maggie climbed on her shoulders. Ignoring the excruciating pain in her ankle, she grabbed onto stones to bring herself to a standin
g position and found herself at waist height with the top of the cistern. She grabbed onto the edge. “Let go and push me,” she told Emma, who did so. Maggie tried to propel herself over the old well’s edge and failed. She tried again.
“It’s not going to work,” Emma said, close to hysteria.
“Yes. It. Is.”
Maggie grunted, summoned all her energy, and hurled herself over the edge and onto the ground. Emma screamed with joy and applauded. “My turn, my turn!”
Maggie shoved her sopping-wet hair out of her face and bent down into the cistern. She extended her hands to Emma, who grabbed them. “Be careful, the rocks are slippery,” Maggie warned. “Focus and don’t rush.”
Emma’s feet slipped several times, but she managed to find enough stone outcroppings to climb three-quarters of the way up the wall. When she was waist-high with the edge, Maggie reached down, grabbed Emma’s hands, and helped pull her over it. “We did it,” Emma gasped as she lay flat on her stomach.
She staggered to her feet. Then Emma threw a sucker punch at Maggie. But Maggie was prepared for this and fought her off with a large broken branch. Emma grabbed a rock and threw it at Maggie, who swatted it away with the branch. “Nice way to repay me for saving your life,” Maggie spit at the treacherous woman.
“You can fight me, but good luck trying to catch up to me.” Emma threw another rock that Maggie batted away. Then she made a run for it. “No way am I going to jail,” she yelled, her voice fading with each step of distance she put between them. “Trick-or-treat, loser!”
A couple of stitches from the gash on Maggie’s forehead broke open and blood dripped down her face. She used her shirt sleeve to wipe it off, then leaned against a tree and sucked in a deep breath to summon up her last ounce of energy. Drenched by the relentless rain and catching herself as she slipped on wet leaves carpeting the ground, Maggie half hopped and half dragged her injured body toward the River Road.
“Happy damn Halloween,” she muttered.
