by Ellen Byron
She texted Ione to say she was on her way. Her explanation of what caused the delay precipitated a string of horror and scream emojis. Next, Maggie made a pit stop in the kitchen to grab a piece of Ninette’s Gooey Pineapple Pecan Cake. She found Artie Belloise already there, along with Quentin. “This guy’s not half bad once you get to know him.” Artie spoke of his defense attorney adversary through a mouthful of dessert.
“Remember that the next time you wanna throttle me for demolishing your testimony against one of my clients.” Quentin took a dainty bite of his own piece of cake. “While we’re on the subject of clients, I figured I’d dawdle and see if my services might be needed here.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Maggie said. “But the police will probably be interviewing the Chanson staff at the restaurant. You might want to do your dawdling there.”
“Au revoir, my friends.” Quentin helped himself to a piece of cake for the road and took off.
* * *
There was a damp chill in the air, so Maggie stayed in her car during the ferry ride across the river. She shivered when the ferry passed a phalanx of police boats—not from the cold but from the assumption that the search was on for Dyer Gossmer’s body. Maggie’s cell sang out a few notes of Trombone Shorty’s “Buckjump.” The caller was JJ. Please don’t be bad news, Maggie prayed. “Hey,” she said in the cheeriest voice she could muster. “I’m so glad to hear from you.”
“I’m calling with good news for a change. The health inspector signed off on Junie’s repairs, so I figure, long as I’m not in jail yet, I might as well reopen tomorrow. If you got nothing better going on tonight, I thought maybe you could stop by for some moral support. Maybe wipe down a table or two. I know you been real busy with all that’s going on at Doucet—”
“Don’t worry about that one bit. I’d love to come by, and I’ll see about rounding up a couple of others. Junie’s is back. Yay!”
Maggie felt upbeat after JJ’s news, choosing to see it as a sign that life in Pelican would eventually return to normal. After the ferry docked, Maggie made the short drive to Doucet and hurried inside. The interview with Detective Holahan had set her back an hour. She found tour guide and Little Earlie inamorata Ginny Parvenue lounging in the break room with a couple of interns. To Maggie’s annoyance, her entry into the space set off a spate of whispers and giggles. “All right, what’s the deal?” Her nerves frayed by the day’s events, the question came out clipped. Maggie didn’t have the patience for office intrigue.
“Somebody got a present,” Ginny said, her tone knowing. “A big one.”
Maggie noticed a large, heart-shaped box of chocolates on the break room table and her stomach lurched. “Where did this come from?”
“I don’t know. It was here when we opened this morning.”
Aileen, one of the interns, scrunched her face. “I forgot to lock the door last night,” she said. “Oops.”
Maggie made a mental note to let Ione know she needed to keep an eye on slacker Aileen. “Have any of you touched the box?”
The three girls, faces now solemn, shook their heads. Maggie opened a cabinet and hunted for a box of disposable gloves. It took a search through all the old room’s worn cabinets, but she finally located a half-empty box. She pulled on a pair, then slowly and carefully lifted the chocolate-box lid. The girls peered over her shoulder. A single chocolate rested inside the box. “That,” Ginny said, “is a really crummy present.”
“I need you to tell me the truth.” Maggie knew the answer to the question she was about to ask but put it to the girls anyway. “Did any of you sneak a chocolate from this box? I promise you won’t get in trouble, but I have to know.” She received a vociferous chorus of nos in response. “What about the rest of the staff?”
“We’re it today, thanks to the whole Doucet having-no-money thing,” Ginny said. Her cell phone buzzed. “That’s Ione. We got customers. Allons-y.”
The interns decamped, but Ginny lingered. “I’m kinda dating Little Earlie …” she began.
“Yes, he told me,” Maggie said with a smile. “He likes you a lot.”
“He said that?” Ginny’s sweet face lit up. “Well, I like him back. Anyways, he told me about your stalker, and then I read the piece in the Penny Clipper. You think this is from them?”
“I do.”
A troubled expression replaced Ginny’s glow. “I’m so sorry. If I can do anything, lemme know. I took karate when I was a kid. I don’t remember much, but if this person shows up—yah!” Ginny showed off a few karate moves. She grimaced. “Ouch. That’s hard to do in a hoop skirt.”
“I’m impressed,” Maggie said. “And appreciate the offer. But hopefully you won’t have to go jujitsu on anyone.”
Ginny left to lead a tour group. Maggie shot a few photos of the chocolate box and sent them to Bo, who texted back that he’d send a Pelican PD officer to retrieve the evidence. Having done everything she could about the latest disturbing dispatch from her stalker, Maggie made her way to the exhibit space next to the gift shop. She found Ione waiting for her. “I heard about the chocolate box,” her friend and boss said. “We can talk about it or focus on the show.”
“Column B,” Maggie replied.
“Noted,” Ione said. “I’m gonna put on some cheerful music to work by. I downloaded Gaynell and the Gator Girls’ new album.”
She pressed play on her phone, and the room filled with one of Gaynell’s up-tempo tunes. The women hummed along as they mounted and posted descriptions under each painting of a Doucet antecedent posing in the resplendent wedding gown. Maggie placed protective velvet rope stanchions around the gown itself, which sparkled and glimmered under a soft light. Finally, she positioned a retractable banner with the exhibit’s title at the entrance: Say Yes to This Dress: The History of an Iconic Wedding Gown. Maggie wiped perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand. “Could we actually be done?”
Ione did a walk-through of the space. She used a rag to dust the tops of a few frames and said, “I believe we are.” The two women high-fived. “All that’s left to do is set up the souvenir display, but I can do that with the interns. You, my friend, have had a day. Why don’t you go home?”
“I’ll take you up on the early release. JJ got the all-clear to open up Junie’s tomorrow. If you’re free after work, we’ll be getting the place back on its feet tonight.”
Ione clasped her hands together and gazed upward. “Lord, thank you for some good news. If I’m not worn out from making sure Aileen doesn’t break anything or spend all her time sexting her boyfriend, I’ll be there.”
Anticipating a fun evening helping a close friend, Maggie went to her car in good spirits. Maybe JJ will reward my good deed with some popcorn crawfish, she thought as she headed down the road leading from Doucet to the West River Road. She drove past a dirt road that wove through the sugarcane field next to the old plantation. A nondescript sedan pulled out behind her. Maggie glanced in her rearview mirror. The car was on her tail. I’m not going slow, she thought, annoyed, but fine, I’ll speed up. She accelerated. The sedan followed suit. Maggie’s heart began to thump. She slowed down and waved for the sedan to pass. Instead, it slowed down. She sped up again. The sedan matched her speed. Fear coursed through Maggie. This wasn’t a case of a car being piloted by an aggressive driver.
She was being followed.
Chapter 20
Maggie inhaled and exhaled to calm herself. She kept her eyes on the road and maintained a steady speed. She pressed a button on her phone to call Bo. It went straight to voice mail. Rather than leaving a message, she hung up and called back several times, knowing the frequency of calls would sound an alarm for her husband. She was about to try for a fifth time when he called her. “What’s wrong?” he said as soon as she took the call.
“I’m being followed.”
Bo cursed. “Where are you?”
“Almost at the ferry landing.” Maggie glanced at the river, and her heart sank. She saw the fe
rry idling on the other side of the Mississippi. “It’s on the east bank and doesn’t look like it’s coming west any time soon.”
“Pull a U-turn,” Bo instructed. “I’m gonna get you to the nearest police station.”
Maggie checked for oncoming traffic. Seeing none, she swung the wheel. Her tires screeched as she did a one-eighty and drove north. She heard a screech behind her as the sedan followed her move.
The next fifteen minutes felt like fifteen hours. There were street closures in the nearest town due to a funeral second line, so Bo directed her to Beausoleil, a historic town upriver from Doucet. She and her pursuer fell into a bizarre, almost hypnotic ballet of speeding up and slowing down. Finally, a painted wooden sign welcomed her to Beausoleil. Maggie released the breath she’d been holding, then cried out when the sedan suddenly bumped her rear fender. She clutched the wheel so hard her knuckles whitened. The sedan bumped her again with more force. Maggie gritted her teeth and concentrated on maintaining control of the Falcon. A road sign indicating a drop in the speed limit filled her with relief. It meant they were about to enter a populated area. The sedan bumped her one more time, then made a sharp turn to the west and roared off, the sound of its engine fading with distance.
Maggie pulled over to the side of the road. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the steering wheel. Her body buzzed with an adrenaline rush of fear. She opened her eyes and raised her head. Then, hands shaking, she drove to the Beausoleil police station.
The most welcome sight in the world waited for her on the steps of the century-old red-brick building housing Beausoleil PD. Maggie fell into her husband’s arms. “Thank you for being here.”
Bo held her tight. “Like I wouldn’t be.”
Maggie rested her head against the crisp white cotton button-down shirt Bo wore under his sport jacket. “I have to admit, it was terrifying. Which was the goal. Not to kill me. To scare me.”
“Let’s go inside and file a report.”
Bo put a protective arm around Maggie’s waist and led her inside the station, where the couple was met by Beausoleil PD captain Kevin McCaffrey. He was a trim fiftysomething with a taciturn demeanor, but his pale-blue eyes radiated warmth. McCaffrey ushered the couple into his office, motioning for a patrol officer to join them. “Luneville, take notes,” he instructed the officer. “Okay, Mrs. Durand, walk me through what happened.”
Maggie’s lower lip quivered. She pressed her palms against her eyelids to hold back tears. “I’m sorry. I get like that whenever anyone calls me Mrs. Durand.” She composed herself and managed an apologetic smile. “I’ve been a ball of emotions lately.”
“Sounds like you got good reason for that. So …”
Prompted by the captain, Maggie recounted her frightening experience in detail while Officer Luneville took notes. “I got everything I need,” Luneville said when she was done. “There’s gotta be a security camera along the route that caught this SOB’s license plate number. I’ll take a patrol car and hunt them down.”
Captain McCaffrey stood up. The others followed suit. “Someone using local roadways as a bullying demolition derby ticks me off. We’re all over this. I’ll be in touch, Durand.” He shook hands with Bo and then showed them out of the building.
Maggie and Bo were far enough north to take the bridge over the river. Once home, Maggie fixed an early-bird dinner. While they ate, the couple debated who might have given chase to her, maybe the stalker or a killer who’d picked up on the fact that Maggie was nosing around Chanson’s murder. “I’d bet money on the stalker,” she said. “I haven’t sensed any of the Chansonniers—”
“Chansonniers. I like that.”
“Thanks. I haven’t sensed any of them being suspicious of me. Between the waitressing and sketching, I’ve wormed my way into the inner circle.”
Bo frowned. “Sounding a skosh cocky, chère. Don’t go there. It’s a breeding ground for mistakes.”
“You’re right,” Maggie said, chastised. “The goal is to save Junie’s. We’re taking a big step toward that tonight.” She explained the evening’s plan. “I’d love for you to come with me.”
“I’m picking Xander up from soccer practice, but I’ll try and stop by after if he doesn’t need help with his homework.”
Bo left to get Xander. Maggie trudged over to the manor house with the goal of recruiting family members for the Junie’s cleanup project. Her parents were out, but she found Gran in the front parlor mixing a drink for Kate. The restaurateur wore a stylish navy jumpsuit and expensive-looking black suede pumps. She’d pulled her sleek brown hair into a low ponytail that showed off trendy large silver hoop earrings. Gran handed her the cocktail. “A Sazerac. The recipe’s been in our family for generations. I hope you enjoy it. And don’t steal it.”
Kate released an exasperated grunt. “Like I’ve said over and over again, stealing recipes was on Phillippe, not me, and it’s not illegal. But it pushes buttons, especially for guy chefs, who can be a lethal combo of egotistical and insecure. I told Phillippe his recipe kleptomania would get him into trouble. I never thought it would get him killed.” She tasted the drink and expelled a breath. “Yikes. This is strong.”
“You’re welcome,” Gran said. She held up a bottle of rye whiskey. “Maggie?”
Maggie shook her head. “Pass. I’m due at Junie’s. We’re setting it up to reopen tomorrow. Are you up for lending a hand?”
“Absolutely,” Gran said. She gestured to her peach-patterned silk top and ivory slacks. “I’d best change into something a little more worker bee. I’ll meet you back here.”
Gran went off to change. Maggie parked herself on a barstool. “Do you really think Phillippe was killed over a recipe?”
Kate shrugged. Maggie noticed shadows under her dark-brown eyes. She’d also dropped weight, her slim frame now bony. “It’s as good a reason as any in this psycho situation. I know your mom’s off the hook. But there’s that Abel guy. And probably a bunch of other angry chefs I don’t even know about.” She took a sip of the Sazerac. “But now I’m somehow the number-one suspect in Dyer’s disappearance. My lovely staff, who apparently never heard of the word loyalty, told the police they heard me say I wanted to kill Dyer.” Maggie, feeling guilty, chose not to mention she’d also ratted out Kate. “I’d fire everyone, but we’d have to shut down. It’s bad enough that idiot Scooter’s almost useless. He’s like an exposed nerve lately. I swear, I sometimes wonder if he’s back on meth.”
This got Maggie’s full attention. “Back on? Huh.” She recalled Scooter’s edgy behavior. Her instinct that drugs were involved had been right.
“He was up front with us about it. You know, the whole twelve-step thing about being in recovery. He did time for robbery and trained for the kitchen through a prison antirecidivism program. We’d never have hired him if we thought he’d gone back to selling, but being a recovering addict isn’t a job killer in our business. You can’t swing a roast duck without hitting someone in a restaurant kitchen who either has or had a drug problem.”
“I wonder where he went to high school.”
Kate shook her head, amused. “That’s such a funny tradition in Louisiana, asking where people went to high school. Like, that’s what defines them for their entire life.”
“It’s because so many of us go to Catholic school,” Maggie said. “And the schools all have different atmospheres and reputations. So yes, at least in this parish, you do get a sense of someone from knowing where they went to high school.”
“Well, I’m from Darien, Connecticut, and went to Darien High School, which is like a hundred other upscale Connecticut high schools that breed high-strung overachievers like me,” Kate said. “Okay, that was an overshare. I blame the drink.”
Maggie chuckled. “Maybe I should have told you our nickname for Gran’s Sazeracs—Truth Serum.”
Kate put down the glass. “I better not drink any more of this or I’ll tell you my real age.”
She got off the sto
ol and patted the wrinkles from her jumpsuit. “Great outfit,” Maggie said.
“Trick and I are going to New Orleans to meet with potential investors.” Kate ran her hands up and down the jumpsuit with a wry smile. “Dress for the job you want. And the job I want is CEO of the most successful restaurant group in the country.”
Kate left, and Maggie brought her almost-empty glass into the kitchen, placing it in the dishwasher. She returned to the front parlor and pondered Scooter’s behavior. Was it drug induced, or the by-product of keeping a deadly secret? He was a talented bad boy who had done time in prison. But was he a murderer? She tried to recall any conversations about Phillippe they’d had and any interaction she’d witnessed between the two men. The shucker hadn’t seemed particularly fond of the chef, but he hadn’t seemed to hate him or carry some kind of grudge either. Maggie’s cell alerted her to a text from Gran: On my way. Junie’s, here we come!
Sabotaging Junie’s, Maggie thought. That I can see Scooter doing. But … why? She sighed, discouraged by the lack of motives for the recent spate of crimes, from Phillippe’s murder to Junie’s to her stalker.
Gran appeared in the doorway dressed in overalls, her hair hidden under a bandanna. Maggie did a double take. “Are you wearing your Rosé the Riveter costume?”
“You betcha. It’s perfect for the task at hand.” Gran made a muscle, copying the iconic Rosie the Riveter poster. “‘We can do it,’” she said, quoting from the poster. She flashed an impish grin and added the town motto. “Yes, we Peli-can!”
* * *
Maggie and her friends lived up to the Pelican motto at Junie’s. By the time they finished scrubbing, dusting, and polishing, the charming but shabby old place looked like it had received an extreme makeover. Every surface gleamed, even the embossed tin ceiling. JJ rewarded the volunteer work crew with pots of gumbo and crawfish fricassee, and Lia and Kyle Bruner donated an array of desserts from Fais Dough Dough and Bon Bon. Gaynell jumped up on the restaurant’s small stage, where she and her bandmates had stashed their instruments. “Time to make sure the sound system’s working. Who’s up for some music?”
