by Ellen Byron
On the ride home, a rumbling stomach reminded her it was lunchtime. She had an idea. She’d stop at Abel’s Home Cookin’ and put in an order for catfish po’ boys with a side of hush puppies and gossip.
Shortly after, she arrived in the café’s parking lot to a symphony of oyster shells crunching under the weight of her vintage Falcon convertible. Abel’s was housed in an old, tin-roofed Creole cottage. Aged tables and chairs filled the building’s front porch and cozy interior, which was decorated with luscious shots of local seafood that were the culinary equivalent of boudoir photography. Abel’s offered counter service only. Maggie got in line behind a group of men still dressed in their uniforms from a nearby chemical plant. The restaurant’s menu was written on large chalkboards hanging on the wall above the kitchen pass-through, next to a poster proclaiming the four seasons of Louisiana were crab, shrimp, oysters, and crawfish. The men finished placing their orders, and Maggie stepped up to the register, which was being manned by Abel’s son and Maggie’s brief former flame, Ash. The old friends exchanged warm greetings. “It’s good to have you back in town, Ash.”
“Thanks. A little less fun for me to be back, now that you’re taken,” he teased. “Couldn’t see yourself with a ginger, could you?”
“What? No,” Maggie protested. “I mean, not no, I couldn’t see myself with a ginger—no, you’re wrong. If anything, this boring brunette was jealous of your gorgeous red hair.” Ash pretended to whip his short hair back and forth, and Maggie laughed. “I heard you were living up north. Boston. Is this a permanent move back home?”
Ash grew serious. “I don’t know yet. My dad’s arthritis is getting bad and his blood pressure isn’t much better. He needed help here, so I’m doing that right now. I’m an accountant by trade, which is a pretty reliable job. I can always go back to it full-time or even do it on the side if I have to run this place.”
Maggie steered the conversation in the direction of Phillippe Chanson. “I saw your dad get hauled away after confronting that chef who got killed about stealing his recipe. Same thing happened to my mother.”
Anger colored Ash’s face. “I heard. The last thing Dad needs is that kind of stress. I’d be lying if I said I was sorry about what happened to that man. I mean, I wouldn’t wish murder on anyone, but …”
“I hear you.” Maggie lowered her voice. “Did Abel get interviewed by one of the law enforcement agencies? Mom did. Luckily, she has an alibi for the time period of the boat tampering.”
“Yeah, they interviewed us.” Ash looked over Maggie’s shoulder. “Another ferry must’ve docked. I better get your order.”
“Right, sorry. We can catch up another time.”
Maggie placed her order, paid, and moved out of the way. She thought about Ash’s response to her question. His answer had been vague and his change of topic cagey. And what was with “they interviewed us”? Abel and Ash? What had given law enforcement cause to consider Ash a suspect as well as his father?
“Maggie,” someone called to her.
She glanced around the eating area and saw Delano Poche, Clinton and Brianna’s father, sitting at a table with coworkers. All wore light-blue coveralls featuring the logo for Worldwide Chemical Corporation. Delano waved her over. “Hey, Delano. How’s Clinton doing? I’ve been meaning to check in with him.”
“Great, thanks to you,” the man said. He rested his po’ boy on its butcher paper and flashed two thumbs-ups. “He don’t wanna talk about what happened in New Orleans, but whatever it was, he’s all over his college apps now. He’s gonna be the first Poche in our family to attend college. Even says he wants to go law school, if you can believe that.” Delano beamed with pride. “Hey, take a seat with us while you’re waiting on your order.”
Maggie did so. She checked out Delano’s order. “You got what I got. Catfish and hush puppies.”
“Best of both in the parish, except for Junie’s. But even Junie’s can’t match Abel’s catfish. Can’t blame the man for getting all up in the business of that chef who stole the recipe. It’s Abel’s signature dish, man.”
“Heard you talkin’ to Ash ’bout it,” said a grizzled older man whose coveralls were embroidered with the name FRANK. “I eat here pretty regular, and the police been here a coupla times. Only makes sense, when you recall Garavant got arrested once for assault.”
“He did?” This was news to Maggie. “I never heard that. Who did Abel assault?”
“Not Abel,” Frank said. “Ash.”
Chapter 16
This proved even bigger news to Maggie. “Ash?” she repeated. She glanced at her ex, who was busy retrieving orders from the pass-through and delivering them to customers. “I’ve known him since high school. I can’t imagine him being violent.”
“Frank, don’t go bringing up old news,” Delano reproached the other man. “It was a long time ago,” he explained to Maggie. “Maybe ten, fifteen years or something.”
“Oh, no wonder I don’t know anything about this. I was living in New York. What happened?”
Frank, who apparently enjoyed gossiping as much as a tween, leaned forward. “Road rage. Some guy driving too close bumped his truck and then passed him over a double yellow line. Ash chased him down, they got into it, Ash clocked him, guy clocked him back. Both got arrested but the judge tossed the case, saying they canceled each other out.”
Delano sat back and looked askance at Frank. “How you remember all this? Man, you got way too much time on your hands.”
“I do,” Frank said, sounding a little sad. “I need a hobby.”
“Maggie, your order’s up,” Ash called.
Maggie stood up. “Nice seeing you, Delano, and meeting y’all. Delano, tell Clinton if he needs a recommendation for any of his college apps, I would love to provide one.”
Delano mimed a salute. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks again for everything you’ve done for my boy.”
Maggie picked up her order and thanked Ash. She mulled over what Frank had shared. Abel possessed a large, almost overwhelming personality, but Ash, despite his intimidating height, always struck Maggie as a passive introvert—a yin and yang not uncommon in relationships where one family member dominated the way Abel did. Knowing Ash possessed a dark side unsettled her. Past murders in Pelican had proved that when a soft-spoken person released their bottled-up rage, it could be lethal. She could see why law enforcement might view Ash as a suspect.
By the time Maggie reached home, the po’ boys were lukewarm. That didn’t stop Bo and Xander from devouring the delicious sandwiches as soon as she set them down on the table, where the two were working on a project. They’d hurried to hide red paper and doilies from her when she walked into the apartment. It was obvious they were making homemade valentines, but Maggie didn’t reveal she was onto them.
The family followed their early dinner with a game of fetch. Lazy basset Gopher watched as Jolie gleefully chased a gator-shaped dog toy up and down the hallway. Jolie eventually traded chasing the toy for chewing on it, and Maggie took her laptop into the bedroom so Bo and Xander could complete their “secret” task. She returned emails and organized the files she’d need for future Doucet exhibits, which reminded her to finish the graphic for the gala invitation and program. Maggie sent the completed design to the committee members and received raves in return.
After a large chunk of time passed, she poked her head into the spacious living area. Noticing her, Bo swept detritus from the dining room table, making sure it was devoid of all telltale Valentine scraps. Xander had relocated to the room’s club chair, where he was focused on drawing in a sketch pad Maggie had bought him, along with a slew of other art supplies, for his eighth birthday. “Okay if I see what you’re working on, buddy?” she asked.
Xander nodded. He held up the sketch pad, revealing a beautifully yet uniquely rendered illustration of a cat. Maggie contemplated the irony that this preternaturally talented child had instinctually connected with his “it” while she still searched for hers. “For
Esme,” the boy said. “Her cat. It’s a Valentine’s Day present.”
“She’ll love it.”
Xander yawned. “Bedtime, son,” Bo said. “Tomorrow’s a school day.”
Once Bo and Maggie had tucked Xander in, they returned to the living area. Bo stretched out on the couch, his head in Maggie’s lap. “Did you know Ash Garavant was once arrested for assault?” she asked.
“The sheriff’s department interviewed the Garavants,” Bo replied, “so I don’t know much about them besides the fact they make the best catfish po’ boy in town.”
“I was just surprised to hear it,” Maggie said. “Ash has always been the quiet sort. Thinking about it, I knew him more through the restaurant than anywhere else. He went to St. Francis High in Ville Platte, but it wasn’t our brother school, so I didn’t see him that much. We only dated a few times.”
Bo raised an eyebrow. “You dated? I don’t remember you mentioning that.”
“It was, what? Sixteen years ago? A mere blip in my romantic life. Not that it was loaded with blips, but you get the idea. I think we both realized pretty quick that we didn’t have much chemistry. The only reason I’m even talking about Ash is I’m worried for JJ.”
“With good reason. To anyone who doesn’t know him, he’s the most likely suspect.”
“Any leads on who tried to put him out of business?”
Bo, frustrated, shook his head. “This town really needs to step up its security game, if only to make my job easier. I do have some updates on the stalker investigation, which is taking a distant second to Chanson’s murder for everyone except me.”
“I appreciate that, husband.”
“You’re welcome, wife. I brought the doughnuts you got over to Daily Donuts in Ville Platte. The owner took a good look at them and is fairly sure they were fresh when they were delivered, but not straight from the oven. His guess is they were ordered the night before delivery. The amateur sleuth team of Crozat, Crozat, and Bertrand—”
“Mom, Dad, and Lee—”
“—did come up with some useful intel. They were able to determine that the last guest staying here returned at one AM. Tug found the doughnuts at five AM. I checked a database, and there’s no doughnut shop in the state opened past nine, which gives our suspect an eight-hour window to purchase and deliver.”
“So whoever did this could have bought the doughnuts eight hours from here and driven straight through to deliver them. That’s a wide net from Dallas to Atlanta to Memphis.”
“I’m drafting Rufus onto the team, and we’re starting locally. Not that I can’t see you generating the kind of obsession that would make someone drive to Dallas to buy doughnuts, then drive back here to deliver them, but it’s a reach.”
“I should be insulted, but I’m not. I don’t see me generating that kind of obsession either. What’s going on is bad enough as it is.”
Bo furrowed his brow. “Hold on. Let’s go back to this Ash guy. You said you two dated.”
“Barely. It fizzled before it ignited.”
“For you.”
“No, it was mutual.” What Bo was inferring dawned on Maggie. “Wait. You don’t think he’s my stalker, do you?”
“It’s a possibility. Think about it. Guy you used to date comes back to town. Flowers and doughnuts suddenly arrive on your doorstep. Could be a coincidence. But my job is to be very suspicious of coincidences. You just saw him at Abel’s. You’ve got the instincts of a seer. Did you pick up anything from your interaction with the guy?”
Maggie closed her eyes and relived the conversation with Ash. He had flirted with her, for sure. But try as she might, she couldn’t mine anything from the moment except a harmless interaction between old friends. She was about to dismiss the whole thing when she flashed on something. “I did pick up a vibe. Not about me. It was when I mentioned the police interviewed Mom about her alibi and then asked if they interviewed Abel. Ash became uncomfortable and changed the subject.”
“I’ll tell Rufus to take a closer look at him. On both counts.” Bo reached up and caressed Maggie’s cheek. “Whatcha thinking?”
“The truth?” Maggie sounded sheepish. “That I really, really want a doughnut.”
Bo laughed and sat up. “Then you shall have one, milady,” he said with a grand flourish, to Maggie’s amusement. “Is your mom still awake? Would she be up for a few hours of babysitting?”
“I’m sure. But you said all the shops close at nine.”
“The shops do. But that’s when the baking begins.”
Maggie fake-swooned. “Doughnuts straight from the oven? Have I told you much I love you?”
“Not in the last five minutes,” Bo said with a grin.
Ninette was happy to look after her beloved step-grandson and showed up within minutes of receiving Maggie’s text. Maggie hopped into the passenger seat of Bo’s SUV, excited about the impulsive errand, which offered welcome relief from the stress of Chanson’s murder, Doucet’s precarious financial situation, and her unidentified stalker. Bo thumbed through a screen on his phone. “Not to play into the cops-and-doughnuts stereotype, but Rufus created a spreadsheet of shop baking hours for when he works the night shift, complete with a rating system. Here’s one that sounds great. Ru gave it his highest rating—five sprinkle doughnuts. It’s right near LSU.”
“Well placed on their part.”
“Very.”
“I have a feeling we won’t be the only ones there scrounging for late-night treats. You might want to wear your badge so the college stoners know to hide their weed,” Maggie advised.
Bo chuckled, and the couple took off for Baton Rouge. He called up his favorite Zachary Richard playlist, and he and Maggie sang along to the legendary Cajun musician’s songs. Bo’s phone pinged a text from Rufus, letting them know he’d called ahead to a baker friend at Voodoolicious Donuts and he was expecting them. They exited I-10, driving past storefronts and strip malls. “There.” Maggie pointed to the left. A large sign read Do-not Pass Us By! The name VOODOOLICIOUS DONUTS was painted on the window of the storefront below the sign, along with the shop’s logo of a voodoo doll whose body comprised a variety of colorfully decorated doughnuts.
“I’ll go around the back,” Bo said. “That’s where the baking action is right now.”
In the back of the mall, all was quiet except for the doughnut shop. Bo parked. He took Maggie’s hand and led her to the shop’s service entrance. A young Asian man with a shaved head opened the door. A butcher’s apron covered his jeans and T-shirt. He greeted them with a wide smile. “Rufus’s friends, right? Hi, I’m Tan. Come on in.”
The work area was a hive of activity. Bakers pulled doughnuts out of ovens and off conveyor belts, passing them to employees to decorate with frostings, jams, and other designer doughnut accoutrements. Maggie inhaled a smell so delicious it made her weak-kneed. “How can you work here? I’d never stop eating the merchandise.”
“After a few weeks, you get used to it,” Tan said. “In fact, it kind of becomes a turnoff. My girlfriend is like, uh, can you come home one night not smelling like doughnuts?” He handed each of them a round confection topped with crumbles. “I packed you a variety box to take home. These’ll tide you over until then. Baked Saigon Cinnamon Crumble.”
Maggie bit into hers. It was as melt-in-our-mouth as a baked doughnut could be, with the cinnamon adding an aromatic sweetness. “Oh, wow. If this were the last thing I ever ate on earth, I would die happy.”
“I may paint that quote under our logo,” Tan joked.
She took another large bite. “I’m surprised you don’t have students lined up in back at night, begging to buy these for a midnight study break.”
“We don’t sell at night, or we’d have nothing to sell in the morning. Although I did get an offer last night I couldn’t pass up.” He held a bakery box out to Bo, who reached for his wallet. “Put the wallet away. It’s on me.”
Bo shook his head. “Very generous of you, but I can’t accept gi
fts. It’s a departmental thing.”
“Your captain doesn’t have that problem,” Tan said with a grin.
Bo sighed. “My cousin and I are very different people.”
“Then I’ll give them to her.”
Tan handed the box to Maggie. “Thank you,” she said. “We’ll leave the price of the doughnuts as a tip.”
“That’s super nice, but you don’t have to. The tip the guy from last night left us filled the jar for the week.”
Maggie, about to take another bite of her doughnut, stopped. She exchanged a look with Bo. “How much of a tip?” Bo kept his tone even, but Maggie knew they were thinking the same thing.
“A hundred bucks. For only four of our heart-shaped Valentine’s doughnuts. He said he’d been to every shop in the city and we were the only ones who were offering that shape.”
“Did he happen to say why he wanted them?” Bo asked in the same even tone, but now his jaw twitched.
“Yeah. He said he wanted to send a message to a girl.”
Chapter 17
The minute Tan revealed that Maggie’s stalker had visited the shop, Bo dropped the casual act and morphed into a detective. Discerning that the situation was serious, Tan moved them all into his office, out of earshot from his curious coworkers. Bo extricated the pad and pencil he was never without from the inside pocket of his windbreaker. “Tell me everything you remember about this guy. You’re sure it was a guy?”
“Yes. I think.” Tan squirmed in the utilitarian metal chair behind his desk. “I’ve never been questioned by the police before. It makes you second-guess a lot. Okay. Settle, Tan.” The hip young shop owner drew in a breath. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and placed his hands on his thighs as if meditating. “He—or she—” Maggie couldn’t help muttering a small groan, triggered by her fear that Tan’s second-guessing would render his memories useless. Bo shot her a warning glance. “I’ll go with they. It’s more politically correct anyway. They were definitely white, that I can say for sure. They wore a black hoodie. No markings, plain. They wore a mask, but that’s not unusual these days. They also wore thick black glasses that made it hard to see their eyes, so I have no idea what color their eyes were. I guess that was intentional, huh?”
