Mardi Gras Murder

by Ellen Byron

  “I hope you’re not disappointed, chére, but I did warn you about my gumbo,” Ninette said to her husband.

  “At least the trophy stays in the family,” Tug replied, and embraced her.

  “Congratulations,” Artie said, slapping both Tug and Ninette on the back. “I got a confession to make. We didn’t really have a secret ingredient. We were just trying to throw you off your game.”

  “Well, it worked with me,” Tug said. He gazed affectionately at his wife. “But I don’t think anything would have thrown this champ.”

  “Ya got that right,” Ninette responded with a mischievous grin.

  The gumbo cook-off winners exited the stage, and Gaynell and the Gator Girls replaced them. They picked up their instruments, launching into a zydeco dance number that had partygoers spinning and two-stepping. “Second Mardi Gras is so successful, I think we need to make it a new holiday in Pelican,” Gran’ said, yelling to be heard over the music. “I already have ideas for Crozat B and B Second Mardi Gras getaway packages.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Maggie called after her as Lee swept Gran’ back onto the dance floor.

  Maggie roamed aimlessly for a few minutes and then decided to retreat to the shotgun cottage. She was greeted with doggy kisses from Gopher and Jolie. “Who wants a nap?” she asked. The pups responded with enthusiastic barks and followed her into the bedroom. She lifted both onto the bed and snuggled between them. “I do love my furbabies,” she murmured. Maggie yawned and then fell asleep.

  Epilogue

  Maggie awoke a few hours later to a quiet, pitch-dark world. “I guess Second Mardi Gras is over,” she said to her sleeping companions. “I might as well go back to sleep.”

  She was about to do exactly that when she heard a gentle tapping at the front door. She put on slippers, padded into the living room, and opened it. Bo stood in front of her, wearing the black leather bomber jacket she’d bought him for Christmas.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

  “No. Come in.”

  “Actually … I wondered if you were up for a walk.”

  “A walk?” Maggie was puzzled. “Okay. Let me put on some sneakers.”

  “You might want to put on boots. I thought we’d go up on the levee, and the grass is wet there.”

  Maggie did as Bo suggested, and the two left the cottage. They walked by the tents, which were still a mess from the party. Cleanup had obviously been postponed until the next day. Bo and Maggie crossed the River Road and hiked to the top of the levee, high above the Mississippi. “I kind of feel like this is our special place,” Bo said.

  “You do?” Maggie said, touched. “Me too.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. “We never finished our talk about babies,” Bo finally said.

  “No. We never did.” Maggie tried to tamp down the sick feeling in her stomach.

  “I’m afraid. I admit it. The thought of starting with kids again … anything could happen. Good, bad—I don’t know. I don’t want to be a coward…”

  Maggie closed her eyes and steeled herself for the ‘but’ she knew was coming.

  “So I decided I’m not giving in to that fear.”

  Maggie’s eyes popped open. “Wait. There’s a so? Not a but?”

  “No buts except for the pain-in-one I was being by dodging the whole issue. I’ve been thinking about my ancestors and how they took a chance and sacrificed everything for Etienne. And how I ended up in Pelican because I knew it would be better for Xander. What I didn’t know is how much better it would be for me. Look at my life now. I’ve got a happy, thriving kid. New friends and a great job. And a great, great love.”

  Bo took a small box out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something for weeks, but I had to wait until this was ready. And today it was. That’s why I wasn’t at Second Mardi Gras. I was down in the city, picking it up.”

  Bo began to bend down on one knee. Maggie, overcome, put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t, it’s wet—you’ll get grass stains.”

  Bo burst out laughing. “Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking right now?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” Maggie wiped tears from her face and waved her hands in the air helplessly.

  “Alright, I’ll do this standing up.” Bo opened the box. Inside, resting on a bed of satin, was a gold band, and perched on it, in chocolate diamonds and yellow topaz, was a tiny replica of the gumbo pot gracing the crowns Maggie had given each pageant contestant. “Your very own crown, chére. Magnolia Marie Crozat, artist, innkeeper, and light of my life … will you do me the honor of being my forever Miss Pelican Mardi Gras Gumbo Queen?”

  Maggie took a deep breath to regain control of her emotions. Then she gave a simple response. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

  Bo slipped the tiny gumbo pot on Maggie’s ring finger and kissed her. The embrace turned passionate. After a minute, they separated. “We’re going to need our own real gumbo pot,” Maggie said.

  Bo laughed. “Let’s make that the very first thing we buy together.”

  He pulled her close to him, and she stayed in his arms, her head resting on his heart, her breathing in rhythm with its soft beat. The wide river lay below them, empty of boats for a change. Behind them, the lights of Pelican’s village twinkled in the distance, a Cajun brigadoon nestled between bayous and sugarcane fields.

  Pelican … Their home. Their future.

  Lagniappe

  I knew of the orphan trains that brought children out West. But I had no idea there was an orphan train specific to Louisiana until a friend gave me a book about the subject. Between 1854 and 1929, the New York Foundling Hospital sent over two thousand children to the state. Many were orphans; others were homeless, illegitimate, or surrendered by poverty-stricken parents in the hope they’d find better lives away from the overcrowded, disease-ridden tenements of the city.

  My mother came to this country with her parents from Italy in 1930, only a year after the orphan train ceased its journey. Through her stories, I learned of the hardships immigrants to New York faced. Although the difference between city and rural life was extreme, most of the children who were adopted by Louisiana families adjusted and prospered. My story is fictional, of course. But you can learn more about the real orphans thanks to the Louisiana Orphan Train Museum in lovely Opelousas. A visit to the museum is now on my bucket list.

  * * *

  New Orleans’ Mardi Gras, with its over-the-top parades and festivities, is legendary. But small towns throughout Cajun Country celebrate Mardi Gras with a completely different tradition—Courir de Mardi Gras.

  Courir de Mardi Gras translates to “Fat Tuesday Run.” On Mardi Gras morning—or the prior weekend for some runs—people meet at a central location. Some walk, some ride horses. Others travel along the run on flatbed trucks. All are masked and dressed in vibrant costumes sewn together in patchwork style, sporting fringe and appliqués. Many of the Mardi Gras—yes, for the Courir, Mardi Gras also refers to the people who participate—wear capuchon, pointed hats resembling dunce caps. The face masks, usually created from wire mesh, are a study in folk art with their creative “found” decorations. Bottle caps become eyes. Look closely and you’ll see the hooked nose on a mask is a recycled milk jug handle—just like in Mardi Gras Murder.

  Led by a capitaine, who’s unmasked and uncostumed, the revelers party their way from house to house, pranking agreeable homeowners and begging them for ingredients to use in a communal gumbo. Musicians are an important addition to the runs, and Mardi Gras often break into a chorus of “La Chanson de Mardi Gras,” also known as “The Mardi Gras Song.” At some point in the courir, a homeowner may release a live chicken that the Mardi Gras trip over themselves trying to catch. Many runs are men only, due to the drinking and carousing. But over the last twenty years, male-and-female runs, all-women runs, and family runs have sprouted up, and their ranks grow every year.

  The courirs culminate in communal gumbo parties featuring more music, dancing,
and booze. Some Mardi Gras unmask; others don’t. These days, the gumbo is usually premade, and the ingredients gathered from the run are saved for the future. Being that this is Louisiana, the partying usually doesn’t end with the gumbo festivities. Many communities have fais do-dos—dances—in the evening, where the Mardi Gras continue their playful charades.

  * * *

  Louisiana may be the only state in the union where there are more festivals than days in the year. And each festival seems to have its pageant queen. The idea for Miss Pelican Mardi Gras Gumbo Queen came from meeting the lovely winner of the Teen Miss Festival of the Bonfires a couple of years ago when I was researching the tradition of building bonfires on the Mississippi levee up river from New Orleans, for the third book in this series, A Cajun Christmas Killing. I fell in love with the girl’s pageant crown, which featured the recreation of a bonfire and flames in rhinestones.

  An online search revealed more fantastic tiaras, and I made it my mission to write them into one of my Cajun Country Mysteries. And no, I didn’t make up the rule disqualifying a pregnant contestant. Here’s an example from an actual pageant application:

  A contestant cannot be married at the time of the contest and must never have been married. She must not have or ever have had a child. Nor may she reside with any male not of blood relation. Marriage, pregnancy, or cohabitation with a male of no blood relation during her reign will result in automatic revocation of her title and all prizes and privileges of the same.

  To me, this rule seems dated, and I hope one day it will be expunged from pageant applications.

  Oyster Soup

  Here’s the recipe for Ninette’s classic Oyster Soup—one of Maggie’s favorite dishes.

  Ingredients

  8 tsp. butter

  1 bunch scallions, chopped

  ½ cup finely chopped parsley

  2 celery ribs, chopped

  3 tsp. flour

  1 cup oyster liquid

  1 qt. milk

  3 dozen oysters, cut in thirds (you can buy them in jars at the grocery store and use the liquid for the recipe)

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Instructions

  Sauté scallions and celery in butter. Add parsley and cook for two minutes. Blend in flour, stirring constantly. Don’t let it brown!

  Add oyster liquid and milk, and stir, stir, stir. Cook slowly over low heat for 30 minutes, and again, stir! Before serving, add the oysters and cook for five more minutes.

  Serves 6–8.

  Banana Bon Temps Cocktail

  Here’s the recipe for what the Crozats would call a dessert cocktail.

  Ingredients

  2 oz. dark rum

  2 oz. banana liquor

  1 tsp. brown sugar

  1 cup milk

  1 cup ice

  1 ripe banana

  Directions

  Blend everything together except ½ tsp. brown sugar. Pour in (highball) glasses, and sprinkle each serving with the remaining brown sugar.

  Serves 2.

  Banana Pancakes with Brown Sugar Butter

  Here’s another recipe centered on what may be NOLA’s most popular fruit.

  The Butter

  Ingredients

  1 stick (8 T.) unsalted butter, softened

  ½ cup brown sugar

  2 T. milk

  1 tsp. vanilla (or rum, if you’re not serving kids)

  ¼ tsp. salt

  Instructions

  Combine ingredients in a mixing bowl and mix until thoroughly blended. Set aside.

  The Pancakes

  Ingredients

  2 cups Bisquick flour

  1½ cups milk

  1 ripe banana, cut up

  1 tsp. cinnamon

  2 egg whites

  Chopped raw pecans (optional)

  Instructions

  Combine all ingredients in a clean mixing bowl. Using a mixer, mix slowly at first to gently combine the ingredients, and then increase speed until the ingredients are well blended.

  Pour in ¼ cups onto a hot griddle. Flip when the pancakes start to bubble. Press down on them if you need to in order to make sure they cook through.

  To assemble, take one pancake and slather on the brown sugar butter. Top with another pancake and do the same. If you want a third pancake, follow the previous instructions. Sprinkle with chopped pecans.

  Serves 4–6.

  Note: You’ll have lots of brown sugar butter left over. It stores for a couple of weeks if you want to wait until your next batch of banana pancakes. Or here are a few bonus recipes:

  1. Spread on toast and sprinkle with pecan pieces.

  2. Mix a ½ cup brown sugar with a ¼ cup rum, and melt in a skillet or frying pan. Add a cut banana to the butter, and cook until the banana is soft. Serve over vanilla ice cream. Voila! Your very own Bananas Foster.

  3. Blend ¼ cup with a ¼–½ cup of light cream cheese, and serve as a dip with cinnamon pita chips.

  Easy-Peasy King (Bundt) Cake

  The Crozats generally leave the baking to Ninette or order delicious treats from Fais Dough Dough. But if Maggie’s called upon to make a King Cake, she follows Gran’s advice and takes a tasty shortcut, using cinnamon roll dough. Gran’s super-easy King Cake recipe will have all your friends thinking you made one from scratch. Tradition dictates whoever gets the baby in their slice of King Cake has to provide the cake for the following year’s Mardi Gras celebration.

  The Cake

  2 17.5-oz. cans jumbo cinnamon rolls (reserve icing packets)

  3 T. brown sugar

  ½ tsp. cinnamon

  Pinch of salt

  The Frosting

  3 oz. whipped cream cheese

  Both frosting packets from cinnamon cans

  ½ tsp. vanilla

  Purple-, green-, and yellow-colored sugar

  1 tiny plastic baby

  Instructions

  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

  Mix together the brown sugar, cinnamon, and pinch of salt.

  Layer the cinnamon rolls, one by one, in the bottom of a Bundt pan so they overlap. Sprinkle the brown sugar mixture over the top, pressing it into the uncooked buns gently with the back of a spoon or a spatula.

  Bake for 30–35 minutes, until cinnamon rolls are done. Let cool. When the cake is completely cooled, poke the plastic baby inside it, then flip the cake over onto a plate or cake plate.

  Note: Alert guests to the baby so that it doesn’t become a choking hazard!

  Blend the cream cheese, icing packets, vanilla, and milk together. Frost the cake.

  Once the cake is frosted, sprinkle it with alternating rows of purple-, green-, and gold-colored sugar.

  Serves 8–16, depending on how big you cut the slices.

  If you’re interested in an authentic King Cake, bakeries around Louisiana will ship them during the weeks prior to Mardi Gras.

  Gumbo Recipes

  Gumbo is possibly Louisiana’s most famous and popular dish. Open any Cajun or Creole cookbook, and you’ll find a great recipe for it. Given this easy access, I decided to try something new in Mardi Gras Murder. Rather than create my own gumbo recipes, I asked my dear friend, Gaynell Bourgeois Moore, to share hers. Gaynell is one hundred percent Cajun, and these recipes have been passed down through generations of her family. For Gaynell, making gumbo is an intuitive skill without precise measurements. To ensure the recipes are authentic, I’ve kept them in Gaynell’s own words.

  Gaynell’s Chicken and Sausage Gumbo

  First, make a roux in a big black iron pot. (You can use a stainless steel pot, but things tend to burn quicker in it.) Place a half cup oil and a half cup flour in the pot, and continue stirring until it’s about the color of peanut butter. If it burns just a little, you may as well throw it out because it will give the gumbo a bad taste.

  In another large pot, put in a cut-up fryer chicken and brown it. (An old hen is better for flavor.) In a separate pot, brown about a pound of cut-up sausage. I use andouill
e, a smoked sausage made with hunks of smoked meat.

  Remove the sausage and add it to the chicken. Add a little oil to the pot where the sausage was, and brown one large, cut-up onion. Be careful it doesn’t stick. Some people add tomatoes, celery, and bell peppers. I put those in my seafood gumbo.

  Add the chicken, sausage, and onion to the roux. Then add two quarts of water, Creole seasoning to taste—I use Tony Chachere’s—and simmer. How long you simmer depends on the chicken; an old hen takes longer. Make sure you have the heat on a low fire to prevent sticking, and stir often. I would simmer for about an hour and a half if it’s an older chicken.

  Some put filé powder directly in the pot. If you choose to do that, I’d put in a couple of tablespoons, but scatter it out over the gumbo at the end of cooking. Most of the time I put the filé powder out on the table and let people add it in on their own. Not everybody likes it.

  Serve the gumbo over rice.

  Note 1: You may substitute a quarter of a jar of Savoie’s Old-Fashioned Roux (dark) and a rotisserie chicken to save time, but it won’t have the flavor you get from a raw chicken.

  Note 2: Years ago, my grandparents fried okra and added it to the pot for a thicker gumbo. It was cooked down so much that you could hardly know okra was in it. I fry okra because if you put it in the gumbo without frying it first, it’s going to get slimy. So I fry it on a low fire and stir it a lot until it quits sliming. You can also bake it in the oven on a flat baking pan. Individuals may add it to their gumbo bowl if desired, but nowadays many people don’t like okra.

  Gaynell’s Seafood Gumbo

  First make a roux from scratch (see the recipe above), or substitute a quarter cup Savoie’s Old-Fashioned Roux (dark) that comes in a jar.

  Sauté two large onions and one bell pepper in the same pot. Some people add celery—that’s the holy trinity of Cajun cooking, onions, bell pepper, and celery—but I don’t because I have family members who don’t like it.