Fatal Cajun Festival
Page 6
“So? I saw that, and it wasn’t anything.”
“But you didn’t see this.” Bo fast-forwarded.
The video showed a tearful Gaynell storming past. Little Earlie wasn’t on the screen, but his voice could be heard calling to her. “I heard there was an incident between you and Pony Pickner, Tammy’s manager. Can you tell us what happened?”
“Absolutely not.” Gaynell stopped and looked straight at Little Earlie’s phone. Fury had replaced the tears. “But I’ll tell you this. If that SOB ever bothers me again, he’ll be leaving Pelican in a pine box.”
Chapter 7
For a moment, Maggie was speechless. Then she recovered. “Oh, come on. Those are just words. It’s an expression. I’ve said it myself. You’ve said it. Remember how mad you were at Rufus when you were stuck living with him after the great flood? I heard all kinds of threats coming out of your mouth. Some of them were pretty creative. And a little scary.”
Bo put away the phone. “Look, this is all circumstantial. We don’t know if she left, if she stayed. And we haven’t uncovered any evidence linking her to Pony past that fight. I’m as fond of Gaynell as you are. But until there’s evidence pointing to someone else, she’s going to be in our crosshairs.”
“What about Pony’s phone and computer? The guy was a total sleaze. There has to incriminating stuff on all his electronics.”
“They’re gone. Tammy’s assistant Sara said he took everything with him to the festival. The crime unit searched there, searched his digs here … Nothing.”
Maggie leaned forward. “Sara. I could tell she couldn’t stand Pony. I bet they have a history. You need to look into that.”
Bo gave his fiancée a look of reproach. “Of course we will. We’ll look into every single potential clue, Magnolia. Now, can you find a way of defending our friend without insulting my intelligence or professionalism?”
“I’m sorry, cher.” Maggie said, abashed. She released an exasperated grunt. “I wish Chret was in town.” Chret Bertrand, Gaynell’s boyfriend and Lee’s great-nephew, was a Marine vet who’d started a successful construction business that employed fellow veterans. He’d been invited to share his experience at a career symposium in Washington, DC, sponsored by a veterans-affairs nonprofit organization. “Gaynell would’ve told him what Pony said to her, Chret would’ve decked him, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Tammy wouldn’t have had any ammunition against Gaynell.”
“You can’t just lay this on Tammy. She didn’t see what Little E recorded.”
Maggie scowled. “Figures Little Earlie would find his way to the middle of this.”
Tug, who was walking down the hallway with a newspaper under his arm and a juicy piece of steak on a plate, walked backward and came into the parlor. “Did you say Little Earlie? Take a look at this.”
He dropped the Pelican Penny Clipper on the parlor coffee table. Bo sniffed the air. “Man, does that smell good.”
“Tastes good, too. I could get used to this Paleo thing. Long as I didn’t have to give up sugar and bourbon.”
“I think that defeats the purpose, Dad.” Maggie picked up the paper. She read the headline and let loose enough epithets to make both Bo and Tug raise their eyebrows. She held up the Penny Clipper. The entire cover was one headline: SUSPICIOUS FEST DEATH. Maggie opened the paper and skimmed the story. “MUSIC MANAGER … TAMMY BARKER … ELECTROCUTION … SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES … blah blah—oh. Oh, here we go.” She read from the story. “COUNTRY AND TELEVISION SUPERSTAR TAMMY BARKER WITNESSED LOCAL RESIDENT GAYNELL BOURGEOIS EXCHANGE ANGRY WORDS WITH THE VICTIM. ‘I CAN’T IMAGINE ANYONE AS NICE AS GAYNELL DOING THIS,’ TAMMY SAID. ‘AT LEAST, WITHOUT A GOOD REASON. EVERYONE KNOWS PONY PICKNER HAD A REPUTATION FOR BEING WHAT MY GRAND-MÈRE WOULD CALL A “HANDSY GUY.” IF HIS BEHAVIOR PUSHED SOME POOR, INNOCENT GIRL LIKE GAYNELL TO TAKE DRASTIC ACTION, I WILL NOT ONLY PROVIDE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT, I WILL PAY ALL HER LEGAL COSTS. HASHTAG ME TOO!’”
Maggie threw down the paper. “She’s using a national movement to give Gaynell a motive for murder. That’s despicable.”
Bo picked up the paper and took a moment to read the article. “Good, Little E didn’t mention the video he sent to me. I told him not to; it’s evidence.”
Maggie stood up and glared at her fiancé. “Of what, Gaynell losing patience with a sexual predator?”
Tug cleared his throat. “Uh, I’ll leave you two be,” he said. He scurried away, holding tight to his steak.
Maggie paced the room. “My friend—our friend—is totally being set up. And if this guy was so ‘handsy,’ why was he even Tammy’s manager?”
“Because he’s a hitmaker and starmaker. I did a little research.” Bo opened an app on his phone and showed Maggie. “These are just a few of the acts he’s launched.”
Maggie glanced at the list, which included some of the most famous pop and country singers in the country. “Okay, impressive. But are any of them still his clients?”
“I haven’t gotten that far. But I did find out that he’s famous for putting up-and-comers on the map. Which is exactly what he did for our li’l country girl, Tammy. Whose big smile and aw-shucksin’ are clearly an act.”
Maggie heard the disgust in Bo’s voice and calmed down. “I’m sorry,” she said in a quiet tone. “I shouldn’t have overreacted like that. I’m just so mad and frustrated. But I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“It’s okay. You just had a bad case of shoot-the-messenger-itis.” Bo put an arm around Maggie’s waist and pulled her to him. “Any chance we can kiss it out?”
Maggie shook her head. “It doesn’t feel right.” “But I could really use a hug.”
Bo wrapped his arms around his bride-to-be. She responded in kind, and the two held on to each other.
* * *
As soon as Bo left, Maggie texted Gaynell. She received a quick response: RUFUS HERE. INTERVIEW. GETTING CALLS FROM MAGS AND WEBSITE FOR MY ‘STORY,’ SO LAYING LOW. LOVE U.
Maggie stuck her cell in her jeans pocket and left the parlor for the dining room. She bagged the pralines. The batch only half-filled a box. “Great,” Maggie muttered. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to her bedridden cousin Lia.
Half an hour later, Maggie was installed in Lia and Kyle’s spacious new kitchen at Grove Hall, the gracious plantation home they’d brought back from the brink of dereliction. Lia lay on a hospital bed that could be rolled around the home’s beautifully restored first floor. She watched as Maggie mixed together the ingredients for rum pralines, filling the room with the scent of butter, brown sugar, and the liquor. “How can Gaynell be the primary suspect?” she wondered. The cousins had exchanged updates. Lia was equally upset about the cloud of suspicion hanging over their mutual friend.
Maggie gave her copper pot an angry stir. “I don’t care what Bo says, I blame that Tammy chick. She’s a flat-out horror of a human being.”
“Is she ever. I’m deleting her album from my playlist.” Lia held up her phone, then hesitated. “After I listen to it one more time. It’s really good. I love that song ‘Home.’ Oof.”
Lia flinched. She put her hands on her large belly. Maggie dropped her wooden spoon into the pot. “What, is it the babies? Do we need to go to the hospital? Should I call Kyle? Should I boil water? Please, please, please, do not have those babies here!”
Lia laughed at the panic in her cousin’s voice. “Relax, I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. It’s just the critters duking it out in here. I hope they get along better once they’re released into the world.”
“Okay then. Phew.” Relieved, Maggie returned to her stirring.
Lia patted her stomach. “You’ll see what it’s like when it’s your turn.”
“I think with Bo and me, it’s going to be one and done.”
“We’ll see about that,” Lia said with a sly smile.
“Xander will have a new sibling in a few months, anyway. He’ll need some time to adjust to that.”
“It’s settled, and everyone couldn’t be more thrilled—including Xander.” When teenager Belle Tremblay, the town’s Miss Pelican Mardi Gras Gumbo Queen, revealed she was in the family way, Maggie introduced her to Bo’s ex-wife Whitney and her second husband Zach. The couple, who longed for a second child, were unable to conceive, and instantly agreed to adopt Belle’s baby when she gave birth.
“Happy to hear that. Now, what about you? What’s going on with wedding plans? Fill me in. Save me from dying of boredom.”
“Oooh, tough order. Especially since we haven’t figured out anything yet. We can’t even decide on a date. We do know it won’t be a summer wedding. I don’t want to be the first family bride to sweat through my ancestor’s gorgeous old dress. Consider yourself filled in. Now let’s talk about your baby—babies—shower.”
Maggie’s Trombone Shorty ringtone interrupted the conversation. She looked at her phone. “It’s Gaynell.” She lowered the flame on her pot and took the call. “Hey, I’m with Lia. We were just talking about you.” Concerned, Maggie mouthed the words She’s crying to Lia. “Gay, chère, what’s wrong?”
“It’s the folks from Jazz Fest.” A teary hiccup came from the singer. “They’re not coming to hear our set.”
“Oh, no. You know what, just forget them. Your set is going to be so great that they’ll hear about it in New Orleans and kick themselves for missing it.”
“I’m not going to do the set, Maggie. I can’t perform with the Gator Girls right now. It’s not fair to them. I don’t want the group associated with my problem. We’ll never come back from that.”
“Gaynell—” She said this to a dial tone. Her friend had ended the call. Maggie cursed and slapped her hands on the counter.
“That sounded bad,” Lia said, worried.
“It is.” Maggie relayed the conversation to her cousin. “I can’t just sit around making pralines while a friend’s looking at going to jail.” An expression of stony determination crossed Maggie’s face. “I think it’s time I get to know the musicians in Tammy’s band a whole lot better.”
Chapter 8
Belle Vista, the largest extant plantation home in St. Pierre Parish, had been turned into a luxe resort and Crozat Plantation B and B’s stiffest competition. The main house, a combination Greek Revival/Italianate confection built in the 1850s, held court in the middle of additional guest housing, tennis courts, gardens, and a pool. The place was a wedding location magnet. Even the story of its dual-lingual name was romantic. The plantation was originally called Belle Vue. When the owner fell madly in love with an Italian opera singer who became his second wife, he renamed it Belle Vista, changing the second word to the woman’s native language in her honor. She left him and the plantation for a riverboat captain, hence a local joke that, instead of Bella Vista or Belle Vue, the place should be called Rear View.
Maggie parked between a Tesla and a Bentley in the resort’s capacious lot. She stuffed down the pang of competitive jealousy she always felt when visiting Belle Vista and made her way to the front desk. Kaity Bertrand, Lee’s nineteen-year-old great-granddaughter, was manning it. The girl’s lightly freckled face lit up when she saw Maggie, and she came out from behind the desk to give her a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too, Kaity. How’s the job going?”
“So great. After I’m done at Coastal Community, I’m gonna transfer to LSU. I totally wanna work in the hospitality industry.”
Maggie grinned at the bubbly teen’s enthusiasm. “That’s one lucky industry. Hey, do you know where I can find Tammy’s musicians?” She held up a box. “I thought I’d bring them a few treats. I figure they can use some sugar comfort after what happened.”
Kaity grew serious. “I know. How awful was that? Poor man dying that way. Ugh. Not to be selfish, but I’m glad I wasn’t there to see it.” She brightened again. “I’m going to the fest when the Gator Girls play. I love them. Gaynell is awesome.”
Maggie forced a smile. Better not to mention Gaynell’s plan to cancel; hopefully, she’d change her mind. Or better yet, the real killer would be in custody by then. “The musicians?” she prompted.
“Right. Sorry. They’re by the pool. I saw them hanging out there a little while ago.”
Maggie thanked Kaity, eliciting a hug goodbye. She navigated the resort’s maze of paths, all lined with lush foliage and perfumed with the sweet scent of magnolias and gardenias. Even the air here smells expensive, Maggie thought as she trudged along. She located the pool, where the musicians were parked on chaise lounges shaded by large beige umbrellas on the pool’s far side.
Only Louisiana native Toulouse and backup singer Valeria wore bathing suits, hers an orange one-piece with sexy cutouts that accentuated her voluptuous figure. A laptop rested on her stomach. The Sound wore what appeared to be his uniform, a knee-length white cotton tunic over jeans. His feet were bare, his light-brown hair pulled into a tight man bun. The others, dressed in a variety of ripped jeans and tees, heavy boots, and piercings, looked completely incongruous. Maggie was struck by the fact that although each of them had so much presence onstage, several were slight in person. Bokie, the drummer, was the only band member with some height and heft. Maybe because he’s a drummer, Maggie thought. Pounding a drum kit is probably a great bicep workout. Maybe I should take it up.
A friendly greeting from Toulouse interrupted Maggie’s off-topic musings. “Hey there,” he said, waving to her. “Maggie, right?”
“Right.” Maggie walked past a nineteenth-century statue of a Greek goddess to where the band was hanging out. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your manager last night.”
“Wasn’t my manager,” Valeria said, not hiding her resentment.
“He was only Tammy’s,” Toulouse explained. “Rest of us were hired on for the tour.”
“Ah. I don’t know much about the music business.” Boy, is that an understatement.
“Is Gaynell okay?” Toulouse asked with genuine concern. “I saw her for a minute after the show, but she didn’t want to talk.”
Don’t reveal too much. “She’s upset about what happened, like everyone.”
“Well, tell her I’m thinking of her.”
“I will. I made more pralines for our booth and thought I’d bring some by for y’all. Thought you could use a treat.”
Toulouse brightened. “Homemade pralines? Talk about good.” He called to the other musicians, who were either playing with their phones or listening to music through headphones. “Y’all, ya gotta have a fresh, homemade praline. Best candy ever.”
The others separated themselves from their electronics and wandered over. “I’m so sorry about Mr. Pickner,” she repeated as she handed out the pralines. The musicians mumbled replies as they examined the pralines as if they’d been delivered from space. The Sound, Tammy’s keyboardist, took a wary bite. “Good stuff. Thanks.” Praline in hand, he headed back to his chaise lounge. The other musicians, minus Valeria, followed.
Maggie couldn’t tell if the band members were generally sanguine or not that broken up about Pickner’s sign-off. She noted that no one of them seemed curious about the suspicious nature of his death. “I have to say, I’m surprised y’all are still here. I figured Tammy might want to cancel her dates after Mr. Pickner’s death.”
Valeria responded with a snort. “Give up her first slot at Jazz Fest? Like that would ever happen. There’ll be some kind of memorial for Pony when we get back to LA, I guess. I won’t be there. I’m still waiting for the solo career he promised me.”
There’s one new suspect, Maggie thought. Valeria was bitter, to be sure. Whether she was bitter enough to kill was the question.
Maggie debated her next move. She noticed Uffen, the group playboy, checking out the license of a giggling, pretty young girl. “He’s got a type. And a go-to line.”
Valeria guffawed. “He’s not looking at their pictures. He’s checking their birth
dates to make sure they’re legal.”
“Oh,” Maggie said, embarrassed by her naïveté. But Valeria was proving to be a good source of information. Maybe coming off dim and starstruck will work for me, she thought. She sat down on the chaise next to the backup singer. “I’ve never been around professional musicians before. It’s so exciting.”
Valeria lifted the corner of her mouth in a half smile. “What’s the old expression … how ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm once they seen Paree? Paree here being some cool dudes that played with the biggest singers on the planet.”
“They seem really different offstage. I’m so curious about what they’re like, you know, in real life.” God help me, I sound like a total idiot.
Luckily, Valeria didn’t seem put off by Maggie’s guilelessness. The backup singer was the only woman on the tour besides Tammy, who treated her like a subordinate—the music business equivalent of a waitress or housekeeper. Maggie got the impression that Valeria welcomed the opportunity for a little girly gossip. Valeria leaned forward, and Maggie followed her lead. “Over there, that’s East MacLeod,” Valeria said in a low voice. “He played with a one-hit wonder group, Bright Sky.”
“ ‘Not the One,’ ” Maggie said, recalling the name of the group’s only big song.
“Yup. They broke up right after, your basic battle-of-the-bandmates ego trips. East got a chip on his shoulder and a drinking problem. No one would hire him for the longest time. I couldn’t believe it when I found out he was on this tour.”
Maggie subtly checked out East. He was probably close to her own age, but the deep lines and crevasses on his face spoke to some hard living. Sun glinted off sparks of silver in the tight curls of his brown hair. He’d replaced the phone in his hand with a cigarette that was almost out. He pulled a fresh cigarette out of a pack and used the dying embers of the first to light the second. Everything about the musician radiated tension.
“Then there’s Uffen.” Valeria was on a roll. “Talk about a dog. That man’s sown his seed worldwide. He’s the male version of open for business.” Maggie tried not to flinch at the singer’s coarse language. “And he likes ’em young as he can get ’em.”