by Ellen Byron
Maggie couldn’t hide her reaction to this nasty piece of gossip. “Ew,” she said, crinkling her nose. She surveyed the group and noticed The Sound had left his lounge chair. He’d pulled off his jeans, revealing bicycle shorts underneath, and was doing yoga on the resort’s verdant lawn. “What about The Sound? What’s he like? And why does he have a such a weird name? What’s his real one?”
“If anyone knows, they don’t remember,” Valeria said. “This is the first time I’ve toured with him. So far, he’s pretty chill. I tease him sometimes and call him Mr. Namaste. He owns a piece of this yoga chain, Piloga. It’s a mash-up of Pilates and yoga. A big thing with the LA celebrities right now, and I think he wants to expand to other cities. Not a big talker, kind of keeps to himself. Like, he rented his own car while he’s here. He’s a pot smoker, but who isn’t?”
Me, Maggie thought. Or anyone I know.
Valeria gave the musicians a once-over to determine whom she’d missed. “I don’t know much about Toulouse. Pony hired him out of Nashville, not LA. He’s kinda weird. I mean, he’s real enthusiastic and super into God. But there’s something off about him. Like he’s faking it or something. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“He’s younger than the other musicians. Maybe he’s got a different energy because he’s new to your world.”
“Maybe.”
Maggie eyed the last musician, Bokie, who’d resumed listening to music. He drummed on his knees, eyes closed, occasionally singing a snippet of whatever song he was listening to, loudly and off-key. “What about him? He seems nice.”
Valeria looked toward where Maggie was pointing. “Who, Bokie? He is. Real nice guy. He’s on the deaf side because he got stubborn about wearing earplugs when he played. Said only wimps wear them. He eventually got on board, but not before some damage was done. He was heavy into drugs for a long time, but now he’s in recovery. He’s got a solid good heart, that I can tell you.”
“I’m getting the impression you wouldn’t say the same about Pony Pickner.”
A look of disgust crossed Valeria’s face. “If they opened him up and looked inside, they’d probably find a hole where his heart should be. He took advantage of people. You wanna hear something wild?”
Oh boy, do I, Maggie thought, her adrenaline racing at the thought of a possible clue to the manager’s murder. But she chose to play it casual with Valeria, tossing out an offhand, “Okay.”
The singer looked around and then whispered, “I heard Pony hired a PI, who was trolling for his old flames so he could pay them off before they sued him. That’s a big thing right now. It’s taken down a lot of guys like him.”
“I’ve read about that.”
This salacious bit of dirt was followed by a lull in the conversation. Valeria looked down at her laptop and Maggie took the hint. “This has been so cool,” she said, sounding as starstruck as she could. “But I better go. See you later.”
Valeria had started typing and didn’t look up. “Uh-huh, later.”
Maggie stood and stretched, a subterfuge move that allowed her to evaluate the musicians a final time before leaving. Toulouse was reading the Bible; Maggie figured that alone made his jaded bandmates mark him as a weirdo. East, looking lost in dark thoughts, lit yet another cigarette, while Uffen hit on yet another young girl. The Sound had twisted himself into a yoga position that only a contortionist could copy; Bokie was sound asleep under his headphones. With nothing more to be learned from the group, Maggie left them to their various forms of relaxation.
She wanted to say goodbye to Kaity on her way out, but the young desk clerk was on her lunch break, so Maggie returned to her car. She tried to call Bo and report the possible connection between Pony and a private investigator, but her Bluetooth wouldn’t behave. Instead, she texted him to meet at Crozat in half an hour.
Parched, Maggie made a pit stop at Park ’n Shop. Her grumbling stomach alerted her that it was also lunchtime. She picked up a container of prepackaged California roll. Then, hearing Ninette’s voice in her head cry out, Convenience-store sushi? What are you thinking? She put it back. Maggie saw Kaity, who was in the midst of a conversation with her grandmother, Gin Bertrand. Kaity and Gin stopped talking the minute they saw Maggie. “Hey, you two.” She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator case and brought it to the checkout stand. Gin made no move to help her. “Gin? Could you ring me up?”
Gin and Kaity exchanged a look, then Gin came to the register. She scanned Maggie’s bottle. “One dollar and twelve cents.”
Gin’s cold tone puzzled Maggie. “I have exact change.” She counted it out. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Absolutely fine.” Gin’s frosty tone belied her words, but Maggie didn’t have time to find out what was bothering the older woman. She took her water and left the store. She was about to get in her car when Kaity came out of the store and ran up to her. “Hi, sorry about that. Grammy’s so old-fashioned about some things.”
“No problem,” Maggie said, still wondering what was going on.
“I don’t care what anyone says, I think dating a musician would be awesome.” Kaity’s strawberry-blonde ponytail bounced back and forth as the animated girl spoke. “I mean, Mr. Durand is hot and all, but still. Any chance you can get me VIP tickets for Tammy’s closing set at the festival?”
“What?” Maggie said, stunned. “No, no, no. I’m not dating one of those musicians. I’m engaged.” As proof, she held up her left hand, where a bejeweled gumbo pot decorated her ring finger. This was Bo’s idea of an engagement ring, and Maggie loved him for it.
But Kaity wasn’t to be swayed. “I read about this girl who was married for about six weeks, met a guy at the gym, and dumped her new husband for him. I’m just sayin’, stuff happens.”
Kaity winked at her, then scurried back into the store. Maggie started to follow the girl to set her and her judgy grandmother straight, but she stopped.
The misunderstanding had given her an idea.
Chapter 9
Bo arrived at Crozat moments after Maggie. She waited for him on the manor house’s wide, airy veranda. “I hear you’ve been stepping out on me,” he said with a grin as he came up the centuries-old cypress steps.
“You heard the rumor already? Wow, that must set a record in this town. But I think I know a way to make it work for your investigation.” Maggie sat on the porch swing and motioned for Bo to join her, which he did. “Before I get to that, Valeria, Tammy’s backup singer who’s my new BFF, told me Pony had a PI hunting down women he was inappropriate with. The goal was to pay them off so that they never went public with sexual misconduct accusations.”
Bo frowned. “That’s good, but she might have mentioned it when we interviewed her. It would help if people shared intel like that with those of us who can actually do something about it.”
“I know. Honestly, if I hadn’t played dumb and pushed her to gossip, she probably wouldn’t have told me either. And speaking of gossip, here’s my idea. I think we should pretend we broke up.” Bo raised an eyebrow. “Or pretend we’re taking a break. Basically, we act like there are problems in our relationship. That way I can spend more time with the musicians under the cover of being the heartbroken ex-fiancée looking to soothe my wounds with a rebound romance, and I can pick up possible clues from them.” She stopped to take a breath.
Bo made a face. “Oh, boy. I don’t know, chère.”
“It’s a good plan.”
“You know I’ve never been one to wag a finger and say don’t get involved. You’re smart and have great instincts. You dig up valuable stuff—case in point, what the backup singer told you. But it’s one thing when you’re using your connections and status in town to get info from locals. These are Hollywood people.”
“What makes them more dangerous? Our guests are always from out of town, and once one of them was a murderer.”
Bo rubbed his forehead. “I’m thinking maybe we should go a little more by the book here.”
> “It’s Louisiana. When do we ever go ‘by the book’?”
Bo had to laugh at this. “True dat. And we are shorthanded at the station, as usual.”
“With Tammy and Sara staying here, plus Gigi and Narcisse now glomming on as guests on Tammy’s dime, I have great access to those four. Our little white lie would let me cover the whole crew. The only thing is, I don’t want to lie to my parents or Gran. They’ll have to know the truth. Xander, too.”
“Xander absolutely. He can’t be lying to his mom and stepdad, which means Whitney and Zach will have to know. That’s a lot of people who’ll know the truth.”
“And we can trust every one of them. They may not love the plan, but they know we’re doing it for Gaynell.” Maggie threaded her fingers through Bo’s. She gave him an impish smile. “Sounds like you’re on board.”
“Reluctantly. And I’m putting a clock on it. Three days. Seventy-two hours. I’m not thrilled about being broken up even that long.”
“I promise I’ll make it up to you when we get back together.”
Bo raised an eyebrow. “Now that I like the sound of.”
The two rocked back and forth for a moment, hands still entwined. “Us having relationship problems may not seem too farfetched to people,” Maggie said. “I keep getting asked why we haven’t set a wedding date. The ‘we’re not in any hurry and haven’t had time’ excuse is getting old. I think they’ll buy the ‘we got cold feet so we’re taking a break’ excuse. That may be why the rumor traveled so fast. People were already wondering what’s going on.” Maggie shook her head, bemused. “Only in a town this small could the relationship between an artist and a cop be the lead local story.”
“You do know Ru will be onto us in a heartbeat.”
“Doesn’t worry me at all. Remember his favorite saying …”
“In Louisiana, we only follow the rules we like,” the couple said simultaneously.
Bo’s coal-black eyes flashed concern. “Just be careful.”
“I will be. Frankly, the musicians all have such big egos that I don’t think it would occur to them I’m there for any other reason than being a groupie. Except for Toulouse. He’s got a thing for Gaynell. Not in a bad way, in a sweet way.”
An alarm on Bo’s smart watch dinged and he checked it. “I gotta get ready for my shift at the festival. But before I go, I’m giving you three days’ worth of kisses.”
And he did.
* * *
After Bo left, Maggie retreated to the shotgun cottage to research Tammy’s band members. She sat down at the antique desk that served as her mini-office, turned on her laptop, and typed in Uffen’s name. His sketchy sexual proclivities made him number one on her list. Although there were no indications that private-eye-hiring Pony’s tastes in women skewed as young as the bassist’s, it was a link worth searching for.
Maggie scanned the list of references to Uffen that popped up on her screen. Most related to various tours he’d signed on for. But a couple sparked interest. Posts on two music blogs shared the story of a threatened lawsuit in a case where Uffen had been dating both a mother and her seventeen-year-old daughter. Quotes from the aggrieved mother indicated she was more concerned about Uffen two-timing her than about him dating her underage daughter. The charges against the musician were dropped when the girl recanted her story about their affair. The post concluded with the catty observation that the teenager and her mother were later seen driving brand-new, matching candy-apple-red Corvettes. Maggie leaned back in her chair and considered this. Uffen obviously paid off the duo. Did Pony have anything to do with this? Had the manager used his own experiences and legal counsel to get Uffen off the hook? If so, did Uffen owe him? And resent it?
Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. Maggie rose and went to answer it. Gigi, looking tired and harried, stood there, her arms filled with clothing and folders she struggled not to drop. Perspiration dripped off her forehead onto the bundles she carried. “You need some help?” Maggie asked.
Gigi shook her head. “Not with this. But I need the key for Mr. Pickner’s room. I looked for your parents and can’t find them.”
“They’re probably resting. It’s exhausting making individual special meal orders for four different people.”
The hint of admonishment sailed over Gigi’s head. “I just need the key. The crime people are done looking for whatever it was they were looking for and Tammy needs anything related to the tour that they didn’t take, like her backup mic. She’s never gonna use the one that killed Pony again, that’s for sure. Pee-yew.”
Maggie saw an opportunity. “Gigi, you look like you have a lot to do. Why don’t I go through Mr. Pickner’s room?”
Gigi hesitated. “Well … you do have experience going through murdered people’s rooms. Crozat must have the highest death rate of any B and B in the state. Maybe in the world.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Maggie said, bristling.
“It would be a help. I could do the”—Gigi glanced at a sticky note attached to one of the folders in her arms—“nine other things Tammy wants me to do now that I’m her assistant on top of being her fan club president.” Gigi shared the news of her promotion with pride.
“Congratulations on the new job. But what about Sara?”
“She got promoted to Tammy’s manager for the rest of the tour and maybe after that. She’s the one who’s been handling most of the day-to-day stuff for Pony. At least, according to her.”
Gigi didn’t bother to hide the bitterness she felt toward her rival for Tammy’s attention and affection. Maggie didn’t care. Where Gigi saw an enemy, Maggie now saw Sara as someone whose step up the music business career ladder was a potential motive for murder. She motioned to Gigi’s list. “You go take care of those nine other things. I’ll clean out Pony’s room and organize everything for Tammy.”
“That would be great. Except …” Gigi’s brow creased with worry. “Could we kinda keep it between us? I don’t want Tammy to feel like I can’t do the job. I’m thinking if it goes well, she’ll take us to California with her. I’m so over Pelican. Pee-yew.” In Gigi’s vernacular, “pee-yew” covered everything from murder to small-town living.
“No worries,” Maggie said, quelling her annoyance at the Pelican diss. “I won’t tell anyone.” A thought occurred to her. “Sad as Pony’s death is, I guess it makes things a little easier for you and Narcisse.”
Maggie’s hope that guileless Gigi might respond in a way that incriminated her was dashed by the woman’s wary response. “How so?”
“I got the impression he’d try to fire Narcisse as soon as he could, and maybe even keep you away from Tammy.”
“Tammy’s the star,” Gigi said, her tone even. “Pony worked for her, not the other way around. Thank you for your help; I truly appreciate it.” Gigi took off, her exit bumpy as she dropped and picked up various items from her load. Maggie closed her computer and stole a couple of Gran’s empty death-cleaning boxes. Then she headed over to the manor house, where she pulled a key for Pony’s room from the B and B’s box of spares. She walked over to the carriage house, which was located behind the beautifully manicured bushes of Crozat’s parterre garden. Maggie opened the carriage house’s main door and walked into a small hallway. She used the key she’d retrieved to enter a room on the left.
The carriage house lodgings were suites. A small living room decorated with Crozat family antiques abutted a bedroom with a king-size bed and more lovely furniture. The suite, sans an occupant, smelled musty. Maggie opened the large front window, and the scent of almond verbena wafted in. Then she circled the room, hoping to find a clue among the former music manager’s belongings.
But either the crime scene technicians had removed anything that might provide insight into Pony’s murder, or he lived a sparse life. Aside from a small stack of papers on the suite’s antique walnut desk, there was no sign of the late guest. Maggie picked up the stack, which proved to be handouts from the Cajun C
ountry Live! planning committee. She thumbed through the pages to see if Pony had annotated them. He hadn’t, so she placed the stack in a box. She lapped the room, getting on her hands and knees to look in every nook and cranny, then picked up the sofa pillows. There wasn’t even loose change to be found, thanks to the efforts of the B and B’s part-time housekeeper.
Coming up empty from the living room search, Maggie moved on to the bedroom. There she saw more signs of life. Pony’s carry-on sat on the suitcase stand. She looked through it but found nothing. Next, she examined every pants and jacket pocket. She recognized the names of several high-end clothing lines, which only proved the late manager had pricey tastes. In addition to clues, Tammy’s backup mic was nowhere to be found. She texted the news to Gigi, who responded, NVM THAT. POLICE HAVE IT. WILL GET IT FROM THEM.
“Would have been nice to know that sooner,” Maggie griped to the empty room. She stepped into the bathroom, which was empty of sundries. She assumed they were currently the property of Pelican PD, along with the errant mic. About to give up, Maggie picked up the bathroom trash can, just for the comfort of knowing she’d looked everywhere. She noticed a piece of paper stuck to the bottom of the can and peeled it off. It was a prescription for something called abiraterone. Maggie returned to the bedroom, pulled out her phone, and typed the drug’s name into a search engine. She read the results, which showed abiraterone was a hormone therapy used to treat prostate cancer.
The prescription was made out to Pony Pickner.
Chapter 10
Maggie packed Pony’s belongings into his suitcase and one of the boxes she’d brought with her but kept the prescription to give to Bo. Then she remembered they’d “broken up.” She took a photo of it and texted it to him. He texted back a thumbs-up emoji, followed by a broken heart and a wink.
Her phone showed that she was due at the festival in fifteen minutes. Maggie loaded pralines into her car and then returned to the shotgun cottage, where she retrieved a small box from the far edge of her lingerie drawer. She took off her engagement ring, placed it in the box’s satin cushion, and made her way to the large old black safe in the manor house. “It’s not forever, my friend,” she said as she put the ring inside the safe next to family heirlooms like jewelry, deeds, and a gumbo recipe handed down through generations of Crozats. Then she left for the festival.
