by Ellen Byron
Chapter 23
Maggie’s eyelids fluttered open. Groggy, she yawned and glanced around. She was on a massage table in Mo’ Better Beauty and Day Spa. A diffuser released the scent of orange blossoms into the air. The low, soothing sound of wind chimes came from a speaker. Mo stood in a corner of the small, darkened room, folding a large towel. “What happened?” Maggie asked, her voice thick. She hadn’t completely woken up. “Did I fall asleep during my massage?”
“You did indeed,” Mo said. “I told your masseuse, Nicole, not to wake you. I figured you needed sleep more than hot stones and deep tissue.”
“Thanks, Mo.” Maggie stretched, then sat up and swung her feet over the side of the table, keeping a sheet wrapped around her.
“How’s your foot feel?”
Maggie gave her left ankle, encased in a boot, a small flex. “Better. It’s a hairline fracture, so it’ll take at least a few weeks to heal completely. But I think resting my foot and taking a cat nap helped the pain.”
“I’m just glad you’re all in one piece. Get dressed, then come out to the lounge and tell me everything.”
Mo left the room, giving her friend a hug on the way out. Maggie hopped off the table onto her good leg. She pulled on a large T-shirt and a pair of drawstring cotton pants and joined Mo in the spa lounge.
“I’ve only heard bits and pieces about what happened out at the old Dupois place,” Mo said. She handed Maggie a glass of iced cucumber water. “Mostly gossip, and the story’s grown to where you had a sword fight with that Emma.”
Maggie laughed. “Hardly. I had a branch and she had rocks, so it was more like a violent game of stickball.” She sipped on the water. “Bonnie MacDowell was right about one thing. We all underestimated her. She saw a hearts-and-flowers text from Emma on her father’s phone, read the thread, and realized they were having an affair.”
Mo looked skeptical. “The man didn’t exactly look like a playboy.”
“Emma wasn’t looking for that. She wanted security and a way out of a place and life she’d come to hate. Financially, Doug’s income was average at best, but he was looking at a big payday if Susannah sold her property here. And he also represented a chance not just to get out of the state but out of the country.”
“If Susannah wasn’t around anymore.”
“Exactly. That’s what I put together when I found the strychnine berry that rolled out of Emma’s purse onto the floor of my car. It sealed her status as a prime suspect. But it turned out that was only half of the story. The other half was Bonnie.”
Mo shook her head ruefully. “I wrote her off as one of those annoying ‘influencers.’ And not a very good one.”
“We all did. I’m guessing that aggravated Bonnie until she got the idea to use it to her advantage. No one would suspect such a shallow whiner would be capable of killing someone.”
“Why, though?”
“Love and money. She was totally into Gavin Grody, but he was a hard guy to coax into a relationship. She let him use her as a front to buy a home here, but figured if she had her own money, he’d find her a lot more desirable. Doug was much looser with the debit card than her stepmother Susannah, who Bonnie couldn’t stand in any way, shape, or form. So, given an opportunity to get rid of her, she did.”
Mo shuddered. “Cold.”
Maggie took another sip of water. Her ankle started to throb, so she lifted her leg and placed it on an upholstered ottoman. “You want cold? When Bonnie found out Gavin Grody was having a thing with this actress Patria, it set her off. Her plan was to frame him for my and Emma’s deaths.”
Her friend raised an eyebrow. “She couldn’t have keyed his car like a normal person?”
“There’s nothing normal about her. She cut herself and dripped blood in Grody’s car so the police would assume they had a fight, he killed her, and then dumped her body in the bayou for the gators. Emma told the police that Bonnie thought once Grody was arrested for her murder, they’d assume he also killed us because we saw him unload her body. Not the most well-thought-out plan, but I think she was running out of nefarious ideas by then.”
Mo released a long sigh. “I don’t even know what to say except thank the Lord those two evil women were caught.”
Maggie gave a fervent nod. “Emma was never going to get away from Pelican PD on foot. And the storm that could have drowned us doomed Bonnie’s plan. The private plane she hired couldn’t take off. NOLA PD picked her up and took her in.” The thought of how Bonnie paid for the plane depressed Maggie. The Crozats had no idea whether her status as a murder suspect would negate the deal she had struck with Harbor Chemical. Their only hope lay with Johnnie, who was resting at the manor house but hadn’t fully recovered from the booze his sister admitted to doctoring—to incapacitate, not kill him, Bonnie had insisted to the NOLA detectives who interviewed her, according to Bo.
DruCilla came into the spa. “Lovie’s sleeping, so I thought I’d sneak in a facial before heading home,” she said. “If you have an opening.”
Mo stood up. “Your timing is perfect. I do have an opening, and it’s the last day of our special Halloween treatment, the Supernatural All-Natural Pumpkin Peel.” She held up a jar with an orange-and-black label. “And I have one last jar left if you like it enough to buy it.”
Maggie left Mo to her sales magic and returned to the cottage, hoping to finish the nap she’d started at the spa. She was waylaid by her grandmother. “I know we talked about taking a shopping trip to New Orleans,” Gran said. “But I was in Baton Rouge testing a few wedding cakes—”
“Again?” Maggie said, amused. “This cake testing is starting to sound like a scam. You better hope the local bakers don’t get together and compare notes.”
“When I was done with the tasting, I popped into Panache Boutique,” Gran continued, ignoring Maggie’s dig. “And I found my bridal outfit.”
Gran pulled out a garment bag adorned with the Panache Boutique logo from the front closet. She unzipped the bag and removed an elegant yet simple ivory silk shantung pantsuit. The fitted jacket tied at the waist and doubled as a top. A row of pearl buttons decorated each sleeve. “It’s stunning,” Maggie said. “But I thought you were going with a more traditional bridal look. You know, like a big dress.”
“I thought about that.” She zipped up the bag and hung it back in the closet. “It’s been fun playing bridezilla. But at the end of the day, this is my second rodeo. The focus should be on the stunning bride who is my granddaughter.”
“Oh, Gran,” Maggie said, touched. “You don’t have to give up being a bridezilla for me.”
“To be completely honest, I tried on a couple of those poufy Cinderella dresses, and I looked ridiculous in them. This suits me much better, no pun intended. Although I will have to cut back on the cake testing if I still want to fit into it by January.”
Maggie embraced her grandmother. “I love you. And we’ll still do a shopping trip to New Orleans, but for our honeymoon trips.”
“Agreed. Oh, there’s one more thing I want to show you.” Gran disappeared into her bedroom. She returned with a large box. “Open it.”
Maggie did so, and gasped. Inside, neatly folded, lay her wedding gown. “My dress,” she said, choking up. “You got it back from the police.”
“I did indeed retrieve it from our law enforcement friends,” Gran said. She gave her smooth silver hair a self-satisfied pat. “We’ll take it to the tailor tomorrow.”
“Definitely.” Maggie gently laid a hand on the soft satin fabric. “I’m putting it away. I don’t want to start crying and drip tears on it.”
“The box is rather large for your tiny room. Let’s bring it over to the manor house. We can store it there.”
Maggie’s phone pinged. “This better not be spam. I had to block one already today.” She checked it. “Oh, it’s a text from Bo. He’s in the kitchen. Mom saw him parking and lured him in for lunch. Dad and Johnnie are there, too.”
Grand-mère helped her
carry the large box to the manor house, where they placed it in the office parlor closet. Then they joined the others in the kitchen, which smelled like an intoxicating blend of onions, herbs, and broth. “Now that the Spooky Past weekends are over, I’m not trapped into making Halloween-themed meals anymore,” Ninette said. She distributed chicken from a large pot into bowls, then ladled a vegetable-and-broth mixture over them. “Holy Trinity Chicken.”
Her family chorused their delight. “Holy Trinity?” Johnnie said. His voice was shaky, and he hadn’t regained his color. “Is it religious?”
Ninette chuckled and favored him with a warm smile. “No, cher. I named it after the holy trinity of Cajun Cooking: onions, green pepper, and celery. They’re all in there, along with a lot else that’s good for you. You’re not getting on a plane for home until I see color back in those handsome cheeks of yours.”
Johnnie’s eyes misted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Maggie passed out the bowls, and they dug in. “I’ve got some updates,” Bo said. He hesitated. “Johnnie? You okay if I talk about it?”
Johnnie, who was inhaling his bowl of Holy Trinity Chicken, gave his free hand a wave. “Go ahead. If what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, I’m freaking Hercules by now.”
Bo, who’d emptied his bowl at warp speed, helped himself to seconds. “When it came to landing on who tried to take out Walter Breem, there was a lot of ‘She did it,’ ‘No, she did it’ between Bonnie and Emma. But Cal took another look-see around the old man’s place and found a footprint that matched a pair of Emma’s shoes. Our theory is that she became nervous Breem might tell the police how he warned her about the strychnine. This would have made her the prime suspect in Susannah’s death, especially if our investigation uncovered her and Doug’s affair. So, she tried to remove Breem from the equation.”
“Bonnie and Emma’s mini killing spree divides straight down the middle,” Bo continued. “We have Emma on attempted murder and accessory to murder. And one of the actors in the play witnessed Bonnie messing around with Susannah’s rougarou costume, so we have her on murder. The guy was earning a little money himself dressing up to scare visitors. He didn’t know the costume was Susannah’s and figured Bonnie was doing the same as him.”
“Do you know which one of the deadly duo killed my father? My loving sister or my Pelican bestie?”
Johnnie’s attempt at sarcasm didn’t disguise the hurt in his voice. Maggie felt for the fragile twentysomething. She could tell Bo did too. When he answered Johnnie’s question, his voice was laced with compassion. “Neither. Ballistics matched the bullet to your father’s gun, which the police found at Walter Breem’s house. He’s still in ICU, so we haven’t been able to interview him about a motive. But he’ll be charged with your dad’s murder, and if he makes it out of the hospital, I can pretty much guarantee he’ll go away for life.”
“I guess that’s something,” Johnnie said. His hand trembled as he lifted a spoonful of broth to his mouth.
“Knock, knock,” a voice sang out. Eula Banks appeared in the doorway. She used her cane to wave hello.
“Hey, Eula,” Tug greeted her. “We’re just having lunch. Come join us. It’s Ninette’s famous Holy Trinity Chicken.”
“You’re not gonna hear me say no to that.” The others made room for Eula at the large trestle table, and Maggie fixed her a bowl of the chicken dish. “Thanks, darlin’,” Eula said. “I dropped by because I have some interesting news for you.” She addressed Johnnie. “It’s about what I assume is now yours and your jailbird sister’s property, since your stepmother willed it to your father.”
Johnnie put down his spoon. “I’m listening.”
“These people are important to our town,” the mayor said, motioning to the Crozats. “Their ancestors helped found it. So, when it came to land being taken from them and their home and business being threatened, I wasn’t gonna let that happen without a fight. But it turns out we won’t need to go that far.”
“I’m confused,” Johnnie said.
“Me too,” Maggie said. Her family nodded agreement.
“I did a little digging into the Pelican real estate records. Years ago, what I’m gonna call Johnnie’s land was put into a trust. Then a big chunk was taken out of the trust—probably to borrow against for whatever reason.”
“Maybe gambling debts,” Tug surmised. “I remember my great-granddad saying how it was a problem with his side of the family.”
“That part of the land—and it’s a big part—never got put back in the trust. It’s like the family forgot all about it, and so did the past town accessors. Susannah’s family only paid taxes on the small spit of land still in the trust. Which means there’s a big old tax bill dating back more’n a hundred years on the rest of the land.”
“How big?” Johnnie asked. Eula named a figure that earned a gasp from the entire room. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then I’m afraid the town of Pelican will have to put a lien on the property. Of course, that means no one else will be able to buy it.”
“Including Harbor Chemical,” Tug murmured. Ninette clutched his hand.
“What about the land still in the trust?” Maggie asked. “Could that be sold?”
“Yes,” Eula said. “All one tiny acre of it.”
Maggie managed to refrain from shouting, “Woo-hoo!” She cast a surreptitious glance at her family members and saw they were restraining themselves as well.
“I might have the tax money if I sold Dad’s printing business,” Johnnie mused. Maggie couldn’t contain her anxiety. She bit on the knuckle of her index finger. “But I was thinking, since we’re already a printing company and I’m the only one left to run it, I might expand into publishing. Of poetry and underrepresented communities.”
The Crozats responded with a chorus of “Great idea!” “Go for it!” and “What a wonderful plan!”
Johnnie leaned back and gave them the side-eye. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to sell the property to the chemical company.”
“Yes,” Maggie admitted, then added, “But I genuinely think it’s a fantastic plan. You showed me poems you wrote on our Zen walks. They’re beautiful. I think you have a lot to say. And giving others a voice may be your calling.”
“Thank you,” Johnnie said. “It’s the first thing I’ve ever been excited about. As soon as I feel a hundred percent better, I’m going home. To Toronto.”
“You’ll always be welcome back here,” Ninette said. “You’re family.”
“Technically, I’m not. Susannah was your blood relative.”
“It’s not about that, cher.” Ninette put one hand on her heart and the other on Johnnie’s. “It’s about this. Now, finish every last drop of that broth so we can get you on a plane and off to your new life.”
Johnnie did as Ninette ordered, then excused himself to return to his room and rest. Ninette, her maternal instincts at work, had insisted he move from the schoolhouse into the manor house so she could nurse him back to health.
Eula lingered. “I’ve never had a Crozat meal that wasn’t followed by dessert.”
“And you won’t today.” Ninette took the lid off a cake plate and cut the mayor a large slice of Sugar High Pie.
“I was wondering,” Tug said. “If the town is taking possession of the MacDowell property, what’s the plan for it?”
“We’re gonna sell it.” Eula took a big forkful of pie. “To you.”
“We can’t afford that bill for back taxes any more than Johnnie can.”
“I’m making an executive decision to forgive that. But to make it official, who’s got a dollar bill?”
“Me!” Gran reached down into her shirt and pulled out a single. “I always keep a bit of mad money in my brassiere.”
Bo’s eyes widened. “TMI, ma’am.”
Gran handed the dollar bill to Eula, who pocketed it. “I’ll write up a receipt for payment when I get back to the office. I’ll also have Laurent Gu
idry, the town assessor, draw up a new deed. This has been an eye-opener for me. I’m gonna sic Laurent on all the recent sales to that Gavin Grody character. I mean to make him sorry he ever bought a house in our fair town.”
“Eula, we don’t know how to thank you,” Maggie said. “You saved our lives and our livelihood.”
The mayor lifted a corner of her mouth. “I can think of one way. Make your mama give me the recipe for this pie.”
“Done.” Ninette grabbed the pie and held it out to Eula. “You can have the rest of the pie, too.”
The conversation dissolved into a cacophony of happy chatter. Celebrating the unexpected turn of events almost caused them to miss the ring of the kitchen phone. “I’ll get it,” Maggie said. She picked up the handheld receiver. The others quieted. “Hello? … Yes, speaking.” Her expression turned serious as she listened to the person on the other end of the call. “Me? Did he say why? … All right. I’ll get there as fast as I can.” Maggie hung up the phone. “That was Walter Breem’s doctor. He regained consciousness.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Tug said, “but why did the doctor call you?”
Maggie stared at the phone, trying to process what the doctor had told her. “Because Mr. Breem insisted on talking to me. And no one else.”
Chapter 24
Maggie sat by Walter Breem’s side, waiting for him to find the strength to share why he had summoned her. Bo stood in the doorway, arms crossed, legs akimbo. The caretaker had agreed to let Maggie’s fiancé guard the room but refused to speak to anyone but her. A persistent low beep emanated from one of the machines hooked up to the old man. It was the only sound in the room.
Breem licked his lips and muttered something Maggie couldn’t make out. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear what you said.” She took a cup of water off his bedside table. “Do you need a drink?” He nodded, and Maggie held the cup to his dry, parched lips. The water brought a flicker of life to his pale, watery eyes.
“I killed him,” Breem said, his voice stronger. “Didn’t mean to, but I did.”
Maggie heard Bo shift position. She kept her voice calm. “What exactly happened?”
