by Ellen Byron
Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Simmer down, Blanche. Leave the acting to me and Bo. If anyone asks, go with a nice, simple ‘No comment.’ ”
“Fine,” Gran said with a pout. “But you’re wasting my talents. Did you know I was able to cry on cue? There are Oscar winners who’d kill for that skill.” She picked up a stack of faded letters tied together with a fraying pink ribbon. “Oh my. Love letters from your grandfather. I haven’t looked at these in years.”
“Aw. Those are a keep forever and ever.” Maggie stood up and stretched. “Time to go make yet more pralines. Kyle and Lia are having Grove Hall baby-proofed today, so I’m candy-making at Vanessa and Quentin’s. I’ll see you later.”
Gran, absorbed by a letter she’d removed from its envelope, didn’t respond.
“Gran?”
The octogenarian looked up. Her eyes glistened. “I’m sorry. This is bringing back so many memories.” Her lip quivered.
Moved, Maggie hugged her grandmother, who wiped tears from her eyes. Gran pulled away from her granddaughter and flashed an impish smile. “Told you I could cry on cue.”
Maggie, bemused, shook her head, and Gran returned to reading the letter.
* * *
Vanessa and Quentin lived in a McMansion subdivision midway between Pelican and the neighboring town of Ville Blanc. The large home was designed to look exactly like the manor home it wasn’t. As Vanessa so aptly put it, “This place is just like a plantation house but without all that icky old stuff.”
The Fleer-MacIlhoney kitchen was gigantic, equaled only by the size of the great room attached to it, which was indeed a “great” room with its 75-inch television screen, L-shaped taupe leather couch, and ornate pool table. Charli, Vanessa’s almost-one-year-old daughter by ex-fiancé Rufus, bounced up and down in a door jumper, cooing and occasionally throwing cereal at Vanessa’s miniature poodle, Princess Meghan.
Vanessa perched on a barstool, sneaking chocolate chips from Maggie’s stash of ingredients. She wore a “Mac” PELICAN GREAT AGAIN, VOTE FOR MACILHONEY T-shirt that was so tight her ample chest threatened to escape from it. “That shirt’s a little out of date,” Maggie pointed out.
“Yeah, it’s pretty much a collector’s item. But it was either wear it or cut it up for rags, and it fits too good for rags.” Vanessa emptied a handful of chocolate chips into her mouth. “I’m sorry about you and Bo breaking up, but I have to say, I am not at all surprised. Rufus and I never thought you two would make it to the altar.”
“Really.” Maggie gritted her teeth and gave the Chulane mixture bubbling on the top-of-the-line, six-burner stove a hard stir.
“Oh, yeah. We would’ve put money on it, but Ru was too cheap. You’re lucky you got out before you got married. The divorce attorney in Quenty’s practice is price-y. Hey, he just got out of his third marriage. I can set you up. If it don’t work out, at least the divorce’d be free.”
“I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now. I need to grieve the last one.”
Vanessa eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t look that sad.”
Oh boy, I’m a worse actress than Gran. “It’s what they call denial, I guess. I still can’t believe Bo and I are over.”
“Well, the sooner you do, the sooner you can move on. And the best way to get over one relationship is to jump into a new one.”
Maggie couldn’t have disagreed with Vanessa’s philosophy more, but she saw an opportunity to justify her socializing with Tammy’s musicians. “You have a point. A little rebound thing might help me get past the breakup. Not with anyone local who might get hurt, though. With someone passing through. Like someone in Tammy Barker’s band. They’re all pretty cute.” With that seed sown, Maggie steered the conversation in a different direction. “Van, you used to be a bully.” The future Mrs. MacIlhoney didn’t deny this. “I’m trying to get inside Tammy’s head to see why she’s still so mean to Gaynell. Where do you think that’s coming from?”
“Looking for an expert opinion, huh? Charli, darlin’, let go of Princess Meghan.” Vanessa pried her baby’s fingers off the stoic dog’s tail. “I’m thinking if I were Tammy, rolling in money and fans, pretty much nothing about some Podunk singer in a Podunk town would get to me.”
Maggie retrieved the bag of chocolate chips from Vanessa and dumped them in the praline mixture. “Not really loving that description of Gaynell or Pelican.”
“You want to get in that girl’s head, and that’s what I’m trying to do.” Vanessa closed her eyes and scrunched up her face as she concentrated. “If I were Tammy and high school was in the rearview mirror, why would I still be so mean to Gaynell? I guess if I was insecure and knew she was more talented than me.”
“Which Gaynell is.”
“But also, if she’d done something to me in the past that hurt so bad that no matter how much success I have, I won’t be happy until I get her back for it.” Vanessa’s eyes popped open and she folded her arms across her chest, her exploration into the psyche of a bully complete.
“That’s good,” Maggie acknowledged. “Very good. I’ll tell Gaynell to go deep into their high school history and see if there was some problem between her and Tammy that she’s forgotten about but Tammy hasn’t. Thanks for a little insight into the dark art of bullying.”
“You’re welcome.” Vanessa jumped off the barstool and pulled at her jeans, which, like her tops, she always wore a size too small. “I gotta go doll up my little dolly. They’re having a baby beauty contest over in Ville Blanc and Charli’s dying to enter.” Ignoring Maggie’s skeptical glance, Vanessa lifted Charli out of the door jumper, deftly dodging the baby’s attempts to grab on to her hair. “When you’re done, lock up after yourself. I’ll see you at the festival later.”
“I’ll be there eventually. I may stop by Belle Vista first.”
“Belle Vista.” Vanessa gave Maggie the knowing look she was fishing for. “Home to some hottie musicians. Rebound away, girlfriend.”
Vanessa held up her hand for a high-five that Maggie returned, albeit with discomfort. Much as she hated her new persona as a relationship loser trolling for a little somethin’ somethin’, the conversation with Van had been useful. Tammy Barker might offer only circumstantial evidence against Gaynell, but it was all Pelican PD had, and Maggie feared the department would contort themselves in an effort to nail a suspect. As soon as Vanessa and Charli departed, Maggie texted Gaynell to search her past for any dustup that could be fueling the star’s vendetta.
* * *
Maggie’s optimism about this new direction faded when Gaynell wrote back to her, STILL NO IDEA WHY TAMMY HATES ME. STAYED OUT OF HER WAY AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.
Maggie pulled into the Belle Vista parking lot around one PM, figuring the musicians would be up by then—which showed how little she knew about musicians. Only East was awake. She found him pacing the plantation’s English garden, his tattoos and body piercings making him an anomaly among the lavender and rose bushes.
The guitarist noted the box Maggie carried. “More pralines, huh? Those could be my next addiction,” he said with a dry smile.
“Maybe I better hide them from you.”
“No, I’ll take a couple. I haven’t eaten yet.”
Maggie, who occasionally made a meal of pralines herself, didn’t judge. She handed him two, then joined him on his walk, which was simultaneously aimless and tense. East scarfed down the first praline, then nibbled on the second, his attitude pensive. “I’m glad you came by. I wanted to say sorry about my rant yesterday. I always tell myself, Don’t let that idiot Uffen get to you. And then I let him get to me.”
“He seems like a button-pusher.”
East gave a mirthless chortle and used a few more colorful words to describe the bassist, then said, “I heard you and that detective guy broke up.”
Way to go, Pelican gossip hotline, Maggie thought to herself. Rather than speak, she responded with a sad nod.
“I saw Uffen checking you out. Whateve
r you do, don’t rebound with that man-whore. God knows what STDs he’s picked up.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Pee-yew, as Gigi would say.”
This earned a real smile from the guitarist. “She’s a major case. And that husband of hers. What’s the word for someone who’s a user?”
“Parasite.”
“Right, that’s it. And that’s what he is. Big time.” They passed through BV’s parterre garden, a sculpted wonderland of meticulously pruned bushes twice the size of Crozat’s humble parterre. “You’re good people, Maggie. Do yourself a favor and don’t get sucked into our world.”
Their stroll had brought them to the resort’s pool. Steam rose from the water, a result of a hot afternoon sun mixing it up with high humidity. East’s forehead was dotted with beads of sweat. He stopped at a poolside table and cranked open its umbrella, then dropped into a chair, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. Maggie instinctively waved the smoke away from her face. “Sorry,” East said. “My last vice. I’ll have to stop when the baby comes.”
Baby? This was an unexpected development. “Your wife is expecting? Congratulations.”
“Not wife yet. We’re waiting until after he comes and then we’re going to have a kick-ass wedding. And yeah, I know it’s a he. Look.” East reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, frayed photo. “Our ultrasound. That’s my boy.”
The pride in the weary man’s voice almost brought Maggie to tears. “East, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Took me years, but I finally got something right. Her.” East pulled another, equally frayed photo from his pocket. Maggie got the feeling he used both pictures as worry beads, talismans to calm himself or prevent a relapse. This photo showed a stunning young black woman resting her hands on her swollen belly, her smile beatific. “She’s beautiful.”
“Janeece. She’s a singer. Pony was gonna hire her for the tour, but we didn’t want her stressing anything in the last trimester. I miss her. A lot.”
The mention of Pony offered Maggie a segue to the late manager. She spoke in a tone that was curious yet sympathetic, which she hoped would draw East out. “It’s none of my business, but you seem to have had a complicated relationship with Mr. Pickner. I mean, he gave you a job, he was going to give your girlfriend a job …”
She let the sentence hang unfinished. East gave a slight nod. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke away from Maggie. “Pony gave me my first break. He managed Bright Sky, this band I was with. After Bright Sky broke up, I fell down the rabbit hole and lived in that space for a long time. And then he hired me again. The only one who would. Oh man, he made me pay for it. Drug tests, Breathalyzer tests, bottom-rung pay. I hated him for that. It was some major tough love, lemme tell you. But the thing is, love was part of it. I wouldn’t be here without him. He was kind of like a dad to me. If my own dad cared as much, maybe I wouldn’t have bottomed out in the first place.” East gave an embarrassed grin. “Pretty insightful for a high school dropout, huh? Janeece got me into therapy. Wouldn’t sign on to me without it. No fool, that girl.”
“I thought you hated Mr. Pickner—Pony. When you kicked over the chair yesterday, you looked so angry.”
“I was. I am. Pony’s gone. He’ll never meet my kid.”
East turned away from Maggie. He dropped his cigarette butt on the cement, tamping it out with the toe of his boot, then picked up the butt and tossed it in a nearby garbage can. The break in the conversation gave Maggie time to think. “Did Pony ever have children of his own?”
East shook his head. “None that he knew about.” He reached for another cigarette, then pushed away the pack. “In a way, we’re all his children. He gave second chances to a lot of us.” The guitarist stood up. “I didn’t mean to talk so much. But I appreciate you listening.”
“Sure. I’m glad I got to hear some nice things about Pony.”
“You were right when you said our relationship was complicated. Pony was a complicated guy.” East’s phone sang out the song “Not the One,” which Maggie recognized as Bright Sky’s only hit. “That’s Janeece. I need to take it.”
“Of course.”
East walked off to take the call. Maggie sat back in her chair, thinking. The conversation with East forced a recalibration of her attitude toward Pony Pickner. He wasn’t the cartoon villain she’d imagined. And while East’s hair-trigger temper was worrisome, his emotional attachment to the music manager made him an unlikely killer.
Unfortunately, this also meant there was one less suspect to take the heat off Gaynell.
Chapter 12
The combination of praline-making, clue-hunting, and a warm, moist afternoon left Maggie fighting to keep her eyes open. She decided to rest on a poolside chaise lounge for a few minutes before driving back to Crozat. Resting turned into dozing until a persistent tapping woke her up. She opened one eye and saw Valeria writing on a laptop. “Hey,” the backup singer said. “You were really out.”
Maggie yawned. “What time is it?”
“Two o’clock.”
Maggie bolted upright. “Seriously? I’ve been asleep for almost an hour.”
“Did you have to be somewhere?”
“No.” Maggie leaned back in the chaise. Bokie rested on a lounge chair on the other side of the pool, eyes closed and his ubiquitous headphones in place. Tammy sat at a café table, texting. She was clad in giant black sunglasses, a hot-pink string bikini, and platform sandals. Maggie realized her nap offered an unexpected opportunity to ferret information out of a few more band members, and she was determined to take advantage of it.
“How’re you doing?” Valeria asked this with a compassion that mystified Maggie. Then she remembered that the news of her breakup had traveled with warp speed.
“Okay, I guess.” Maggie sighed and gave a lifeless shoulder shrug.
“I’ve been there. Breakups suck. Especially when they’re with a piece of man candy like that detective of yours.”
Maggie managed not to succumb to the jealousy she felt hearing another woman call her fake ex-fiancé man candy. “I’m trying not to bottom out about the whole thing. It’s so hard. I need distractions. And I mean more than making buttloads of pralines.” Maggie gestured toward Bokie, who, still wearing his headphones, was singing a song Maggie recognized from Tammy’s set. “What’s his story? Is he seeing anyone?”
“Bokie?” Valeria chuckled. “No, he’s single. If you like your men hot and on the dim side, he’s your guy.”
The drummer opened his eyes and noticed the two women staring at him. His face lit up and he waved. “Hey, Val.”
“Hey, honey.”
Valeria blew him a kiss, and Maggie gave her a look. “He likes you.”
“I know. But it’s not like that. At least not for me. Too much baggage.”
Maggie studied Bokie. She thought of East’s past tailspin. “It seems like all these musicians come with baggage.”
“Now that being healthy’s a thing, it’s way better than it used to be. But when you’re on tour, not much to do when you’re not playing. Easy to get in trouble, especially if you’re young and good-looking.”
Maggie appraised Valeria, an attractive woman who exuded self-confidence and sexuality. She understood her appeal to Bokie—or any man. Yet the singer radiated a warmth and morality that made her likable to women as well. “How do you stay out of trouble?”
Valeria gave a sly smile and tapped her laptop with a red-lacquered fingernail. “I channel my energy into this baby. I’m writing a memoir. I have a lotta stories to tell and they’re all in here.” She then tapped her forehead. “And here. Just call me keeper of the secrets.”
A frisson of fear shot through Maggie. If there was one thing she’d learned from the spate of recent murders, it was that secrets could be deadly. However, she’d also learned they often held clues. “I’m curious about something East told me. He said he was being underpaid.”
“Oh honey, they a
ll are. I’m the only one who’s getting my quote. When East’s girlfriend Janeece decided not to do the tour, Pony needed someone quick, so he couldn’t lowball me.” Valeria leaned forward toward Maggie, her voice low. “I can trust you, right? I mean, who you gonna tell out here in wherever we are? Pony Pickner’s thing was to scrounge for talented guys who needed a break. He had a stable of them that he underpaid, which kept costs down on the tours but earned him big fat bonuses if none of the guys went south on him. And they almost never did because then their careers would be over forever.”
“I got exactly that impression from East.”
“But …” The singer moved closer. “There’s something extra weird about this tour. None of these guys are from his stable. He’d never worked with any of them before except East. I mean, they’re all effed up like the others. But I got no idea why he’d bring together a bunch of Pony Pickner first-timers.” Valeria sat back. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Does it ever, Maggie thought. Before she could respond, she was distracted by Tammy. The singer marched over to Bokie. She pulled up one side of his headphones, startling him. “Stop singing that flippin’ song,” she yelled into his ear. “We’re cutting it from the set.”
She released the headphone, which snapped back against Bokie’s ear. “Ow.” He removed the headphones and rubbed his ear. “Whaddya mean, we’re cutting it? Why?”
“Good question.” This came from Valeria, who was also surprised by Tammy’s announcement.
“I’m sick of singing it. Pony always made me because it’s a ‘fan favorite.’ ” Tammy made derisive air quotes. “Well, he’s gone, rest in peace”—again, this came across as an afterthought—“and I’m in charge of my own career now.”
