Fatal Cajun Festival

by Ellen Byron

  “No. And you’re only the third person today to ask me that question.”

  “It’s a natural question to ask. You’re not getting any younger.”

  “I’m only thirty-two! Would you like a praline? On the house?” Maggie hoped this deflection would end the conversation, but no such luck.

  “Thank you, chère.” Eula took the praline. “By the time I was thirty-two, my oldest was thirteen. I was a grandma seven years later. I’m just saying, ticktock.” She eyed the stacks of pralines. “Wouldn’t mind one to grow on. Maybe rum?”

  “Of course,” Maggie said through gritted teeth, handing over the second praline. Eula thanked her and sauntered off. After this festival’s over, Bo and I are locking down a wedding date so I can avoid these annoying conversations, Maggie thought to herself.

  “I’d like three pecan pralines, ma’am.”

  She looked up and saw her fiancé grinning at her. It was the rare time he was in his police officer uniform, and the sight made her heart flip-flop. He held his seven-year-old son Xander’s hand. Maggie handed Bo two pralines. “I’m giving you the friends-and-family discount. You owe me zero dollars.”

  “Considering my Pelican PD salary, I’ll take that discount.”

  Xander’s eyes caught sight of something, and he wiggled free of Bo. “Friends.” He grabbed his praline and took off. The adults watched with affection.

  “He has friends, Maggie,” his father said, a catch in his voice. Xander had been friendless and lonely before moving to Pelican, bringing about a case of selective mutism he’d only recently conquered. “A ‘posse.’ That’s what he calls them. My son has a posse.”

  Bo said this with such pride that Maggie felt herself choke up. She glanced over at Xander, who was listening intently to something a young girl was telling him. She was tiny and whisper-thin. Her pale, almost-white hair was held in place by a headband made of glittery pink butterflies. Xander never took his eyes off the girl, and when she finished talking, he smiled. Maggie was struck by this, since he rarely made eye contact or smiled. “I think Xander’s got more than a posse. I think he’s got a crush.”

  Bo followed Maggie’s gaze. He broke into a grin. “That’s Esme. She’s new to his school. And yup. Looks like my kid’s got his first case of puppy love. Speaking of love …” Bo leaned in through the booth opening and kissed Maggie.

  “Hey, you two, what you got going there, a kissing booth?” This came from Vanessa Fleer, over in the Fais Dough Dough booth. Vanessa, once a candidate for Doucet Slacker Tour Guide of the Year, had found her métier helping to run Lia’s businesses while the mom-to-be was laid up.

  Before Maggie could respond to Vanessa, a loud screech came over the PA system. She and Bo covered their ears. Although the sun was still high in the sky, floodlights meant to illuminate the festival at night flickered on and off. “They’ve been having some problems with the electrical system,” Bo said. “I better get to work. Cal, Artie, and I are doing security tonight.”

  He leaned in for another kiss.

  “Maggie, you gotta start charging for those smooches,” Vanessa called to her. “I bet you’d make more money than selling pralines.”

  Maggie’s retort was drowned out by more ear-piercing squeals from the PA system. This was followed by an equally ear-piercing squeal, but this one was from a “giggle” of girls who ran past her booth. Maggie leaned out and saw the cause of the teen stampede.

  Tammy Barker and her entourage had arrived.

  Chapter 5

  Gigi, Tammy’s cousin, and Sara, the singer’s manager, jostled each other as they competed to push back the crowd. Tammy sauntered down a row of booths, oohing and aahing at each one, taking the occasional sample but passing on anything seafood related, which ruled out an entire subgroup. “If it comes from the sea, I don’t eat it,” Maggie heard her tell a vendor. “I’m super allergic. Makes my throat close up, which is not exactly prime for a singer.”

  Tammy chuckled as if she’d made a joke, eliciting an obsequious guffaw from Little Earlie Waddell, who was recording her every move on his phone. Little Earlie, the editor and publisher of the Pelican Penny Clipper, was determined to turn his freebie handout into the town’s paper of note. He was equally determined to nudge it into the digital age and had recently started an online channel. Tammy’s story was his biggest to date, beating out the sow who gave birth to a record-setting twenty-seven piglets.

  Maggie noticed the Gator Girls were mixed in with Tammy’s band of man buns, but she didn’t see her friend. “Where’s Gaynell?” she asked Pixie, the Gator Girls’ drummer.

  “Tammy wanted to come to the festival early but told us not to bother Gaynell. Said she needed her rest or something. She’ll be by later, I guess.”

  Maggie’s bad mood returned as Pixie scurried away to catch up with the singing star. Tammy had opted to isolate Gaynell—it was right out of Stealth Bullying 101.

  * * *

  After Mayor Eula Banks cut a large ribbon and declared Cajun Country Live! up and running, Maggie became too busy to brood about Gaynell’s mistreatment. After several hours of selling pralines and souvenirs, she took Kyle up on his offer of help. The Poche siblings manned the booth while she made a porta-potty run. She passed the backstage area, where Pony Pickner was barking out instructions to the roadies. “We don’t need a music tech. The band does its own thing. I’ll be the sound tech. And nobody touches Tammy’s mic but me. Got it? Nobody, no-body.”

  The roadies, imported from New Orleans and used to working for the biggest acts at Jazz Fest, didn’t bother hiding their annoyance at being addressed like amateurs. “We know the drill,” a guy with a big gut and long white ponytail said. “Nobody touches the kid’s mic. No-body.” His mimicry brought a few snickers from the other roadies, as well as Maggie.

  She held her nose and hopped into a porta-potty, hopping out as quickly as possible. She washed up, then returned to the Crozat booth. She saw Rufus sauntering down the grass midway, scanning the crowd for potential troublemakers. He wore a tight, ill-fitting Pelican PD uniform she’d never seen before. “Hey, Ru. Is that a new uniform?”

  “Nah, it’s our dress uniform. Haven’t worn it in years but figured I should fancy things up for the Hollywood crowd. I’ll take a traditional.” He plunked down a dollar in change.

  “On the house,” Maggie said, handing over the praline and his change. “I heard about the mayor campaign. Sorry you had to drop out.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Ru said, his expression wry. “If you know anyone who needs a hundred pennants that say I’M ROOTING FOR RUFUS FOR MAYOR, lemme know.” He dropped the wax paper bag holding his praline and bent from the knees to pick it up.

  “I hear a lot of creaking and groaning,” Maggie said. “You might want to bend from the waist.”

  “Can’t. Ain’t worn this thing in years. My pants’ll split.” The festival floodlights blazed on, sputtered, blazed off, and then blazed on again. “Electrical problems. I better see what’s up.”

  Rufus headed off. Maggie used the lull in customers to check out the crowd. Night had fallen; families with younger children headed home, replaced by hordes of teenagers and young adults just getting off work and ready to party. Uffen, Tammy’s handsome British bass player, walked by, examining the license of the besotted young girl who clung to his arm. “You’re way prettier than your license photo.” She giggled, and Maggie rolled her eyes.

  “You got any rum pralines left?”

  “Gaynell, there you are.” Maggie reached through the booth opening to hug her friend and hand her a praline. “Tonight’s almost over. Why’d you come so late?”

  “Pixie told me she and the others wouldn’t be here until late, so I didn’t hurry.”

  Maggie gritted her teeth to keep herself from revealing that Gaynell’s bandmate lied to her. “Tammy’s about to close the night,” Gaynell continued. “I should go look for the others.”

  She joined the festivalgoers heading for the stage. Gran
wandered over to the Crozat booth and plopped down on a folding chair. “Lee started dozing off on his feet, so I sent him home.” Gran and Lee Bertrand had been “courting,” as she liked to call it, for months. The town doyenne and service station owner made an odd match that somehow worked. “I can cover the booth if you want to go watch the prodigal daughter of Pelican strut her stuff.”

  “I’m fine listening from here.”

  “You’re ‘not a fan,’ as they say?”

  Maggie made a face. “If you want to put it politely.”

  The Crozats’ booth gave Maggie a well-angled view of the performance area. She watched as Eula Banks made her way back onto the stage. “Oh dear, my age is showing,” the pushing-seventy civil servant said between deep breaths. “All righty, Pelican, it’s time for the big event. Join me in welcoming our li’l town’s very own TV and recording star … Tammy Barker!”

  Tammy and her band took the stage to wild cheers. Tammy clutched the mic Pony had so vehemently insisted on handling. “Hello, Pelican! I can’t tell you how good it is to be home. Let me sing it to you …”

  Tammy pulled the mic from its stand and launched into her biggest hit, a song unimaginatively titled “Home.” It was a crowd-pleaser, though. She followed it with several more songs off her debut album. Maggie grudgingly got what Pony meant when he told Gaynell that performers needed sex appeal. Tammy rocked the stage in her Daisy Dukes, tight tee, and high-heeled, sparkly cowboy boots. She wore her hair in a loose braid that swung back and forth as she shimmied and body-rolled. To Maggie’s ears, the songs all sounded alike, bland country songs designed to appeal to the most common denominator with lyrics either moaning about heartbreak or celebrating pickup trucks. The material lacked the exuberance of the Cajun and zydeco tunes Maggie loved, and her attention drifted. Why exactly did Tammy have Gaynell meet with Pony? Was it a setup to damage Gaynell’s self-confidence? Was it to humiliate her? If I lost five pounds, could I get back into my Daisy Dukes?

  Tammy’s introduction to the final song of the evening shook Maggie out of her fog. “This is a new song. We’re playing it for the first time ever right here, and I really hope you like it. It’s called ‘Forget the Past.’ ”

  Maggie gasped as Tammy’s band began an up-tempo version of Gaynell’s lovely song. “Forget the past, just clear your mind, forget the past, let me be kind.” Tammy did a double dose of stage gyrations as she belted out the words, ending the song with a jump in the air.

  “That was awfully peppy for a sad song,” Gran yelled to be heard over the cheers and foot stomping.

  “It’s not supposed to be peppy; it’s supposed to be a ballad,” Maggie yelled back. “Watch the booth for me; I have to find Gaynell.”

  Maggie rocketed away from the booth and elbowed her way through the crowd. She found Gaynell standing near the stage’s edge. The young musician started when Maggie touched her shoulder. “Why did you let Tammy sing your song? And in that way? I thought you were saving it for your Jazz Fest set.”

  “I didn’t. I was.” Gaynell looked like she was in shock.

  Maggie put her hands to her head, trying to comprehend what had happened. “Are you saying she just did the song without asking? She stole it?”

  Gaynell nodded. Her face flushed red and her eyes flamed. She pushed past autograph seekers to a cordoned-off area. A sign reading PASSES ONLY hung above it. Maggie followed her. Narcisse put out a hand to stop them and pointed to the sign. “You see the sign. It says passes only. That means you need a pass.”

  “It’s me, Narcisse,” Maggie said. “I’m hosting your cousin-in-law, remember?”

  This threw the bodyguard, who seemed slow on the uptake in general. “Oh. Then I guess it’s okay.”

  Gaynell and Maggie maneuvered through well-wishers. The floodlights flickered on and off again. Tammy was just coming off the stage, followed by her band and the Gator Girls. “Hey, what’s the deal with the electrical system at this thing?” she demanded from a crew technician. “It’s freaky dangerous. If they don’t fix it by closing night, I ain’t going on.” She saw Gaynell and Maggie and plastered on a big smile. “Heeeey. Did you like your song? I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Oh, you surprised me all right.” Gaynell was furious. “You stole my song.”

  Tammy’s mouth gaped open. “What? You think I stole it?”

  “It ain’t what I think, it’s what I know. You’ve had it in for me ever since high school. Lord knows why, since I’m here”—Gaynell held a hand low to the ground—“and you’re here.” Gaynell stood on her tippy-toes and held a hand as high as she could.

  Tammy shook her head in disbelief. “Okay, this is nuts. I was trying to do something good, I swear.”

  “You didn’t even give Gaynell credit for writing the song,” Maggie jumped in.

  Gaynell turned to Maggie. “Please, let me.” She turned back to Tammy. “What Maggie said.”

  The country star affected a sheepish look. “Oh no, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry.”

  Pony approached his client. He put an arm around Tammy’s waist and gave her a squeeze. “The new song sounded great.”

  “That was Gaynell’s song.” Maggie couldn’t keep herself from standing up for her friend. “It’s supposed to be a ballad. It was supposed to be her big audition song for Jazz Fest.”

  The manager shook his head. “Not a great idea. Tammy sang the hell out of it. She made it her own.” He faced Gaynell. “You’re going to suffer by comparison, trust me. People who heard Tammy sing it will talk. And what they say won’t be nice.”

  Tammy bit on the knuckle of her index finger. “I feel so bad about this. I wish there was a way to make it up to you. Maybe I can put the song on my next album or something. At least you’d make some money off it.”

  Pony grunted, annoyed. “Seriously? Tammy, you know that’s not gonna happen. The album list is set. You’ve got tracks by …” He rattled off names of some of the most famous names in country music. “You want me to call one of them and say we’re cutting their song for some neophyte?”

  The blank look on Tammy’s face told Maggie she had no idea what the word neophyte meant. But the singer faced Gaynell and said, “I’m sorry. He’s right. I can’t tick off all those big stars. I have to think about my future.”

  “While you’re busy ruining mine.”

  Gaynell’s tone was biting. Pony stepped between the women. “Whoa, let’s all take a breath. Gay, remember our conversation this afternoon. You’ve got a long way to go before you can think about a future in this business. And if you need help, my offer still stands.” He winked at her.

  Maggie was appalled. “If that’s your way of lightening things up, it’s disgusting.”

  Gaynell took a step toward Pony. Maggie had never seen her friend so angry. “Nobody but my family and friends get to call me Gay.” She poked the manager in his chest with her finger. “And if you ever flutter an eyelid at me again, the next thing you’ll be winking at is a gator at the bottom of the bayou.”

  Gaynell stormed off. Maggie followed her. “Gaynell—”

  Her friend stopped. She was in tears. “I need to be alone for a bit.”

  “Okay. If you need me, I’ll be at our booth packing things up.”

  Gaynell nodded and walked away from Maggie, who marched back to Pelican Pralines. Kyle looked up as she stormed past. “Whoa, you look madder than a box of hornets.”

  “There are horrible people in this world. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

  Maggie pulled out a box and slammed a praline inside. It shattered into crumbs, and she gave an exasperated groan. “Angry packing’s just gonna make more work for you,” Vanessa called over from the Fais Dough Dough booth. “You’ll feel better if you talk to someone.”

  “I know you, Vanessa,” Maggie called back to her often-annoying frenemy. “You’re just looking for gossip.”

  “You get something off your chest and I get the 411. It’s win-win.”

  Maggie ignored V
anessa but forced herself to calm down and pack away the sweets more carefully. There was an electrical sputter and the floodlights blinked on and off and stayed off. “Just what I need,” Maggie muttered to the darkness. She was distracted by shouting coming from the performance area just as the lights blinked on again. She saw Pony yelling at a stagehand.

  “What did I tell you? Nobody touches Tammy’s mic but me.”

  The stagehand held up his hands. “Dude, relax. All I did was bump the stand.”

  Maggie couldn’t hear Pony’s response. He strode over to the stand and grabbed the mic. It was stuck. He put one foot on the stand and both hands on the mic to dislodge it. There was a buzz and then a crackle loud as lightning. Maggie started and shuddered. Suddenly there was an explosive, sizzling sound. Pony Pickner let out a scream. His body vibrated, then flew into the back wall. He fell to the ground, where he lay still as death as the floodlights went off, plunging the festival grounds into total darkness.

  Chapter 6

  The festival grounds were silent for a moment. Then the floodlights blinked on and stayed on, bathing Pony’s body in bright light. The silence turned to screams. People ran for the exits. Gran watched in dismay. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  Maggie placed a comforting hand on Gran’s shoulder. “There was an accident. You head home; I’ll check and see what’s going on.”

  Gran, still upset, nodded. The two women looked toward the stage, where Bo and his Pelican PD officers raced to clear the area as an ambulance pulled onto the field. EMTs jumped out and ran to Pony. Within minutes, they were treating the prostrate manager with defibrillator paddles. “That poor man,” Gran said. “My poor festival.”