Fatal Cajun Festival

by Ellen Byron

  “I thought Sara was your new manager.” Maggie couldn’t resist throwing this in, earning a glare from Tammy.

  “She’s handling the day-to-day stuff—”

  “Meaning grunt work,” Valeria muttered under her breath.

  “But I’m making the big decisions. We’ll be giving the fans some new favorites, and I’m gonna make the album I wanna make.” Tammy grabbed her cell phone from the café table and tromped off.

  “Any chance one of the secrets in your book is that Tammy murdered Pony and could be put away for life?” Maggie asked.

  Valeria pursed her lips and shook her head. “I wish.”

  * * *

  As she drove to the festival, Maggie replayed her talk with Valeria as well as East’s comment that Pony gave second chances to many musicians. Did all his hires see it that way? Or did some see it as strong-arm tactics bordering on blackmail? Take the lowball deal or really be out of the business? Bo once told her that humiliation was the main motivation behind most murders. A musician practically having to beg for a job was certainly humiliating. Was that enough to drive someone to kill?

  Trombone Shorty sang out from her cell phone. She smiled when she saw the caller was Bo and pressed the receive button on her Bluetooth earbud. “We’re broken up, remember?”

  “I know, but it turns out I’m the codependent one in our relationship, so I had to touch base.”

  “I’m glad you did. Aside from missing your voice, I have some updates.” She filled him in on her conversations with East and Valeria, as well as on Tammy’s newfound freedom to run her own career. “If Pelican PD found any contracts among Pony’s belongings, it might be a good idea to see if one of the musicians was being paid way less than the others. Did you find out anything about that prescription I sent you? And I know that this is Murder Investigation 101, but did Pony have a will? I’m just curious.”

  “You and me both. Get this. His lawyer is in rehab and can’t be reached for a week. He’s a one-man operation, so it’s not like a firm where we can hit up a different lawyer in the practice for the info. Pony’s LA assistant won’t talk to us without a lawyer, but she can’t afford one because she’s out of work thanks to his murder, so she won’t talk to us at all. LAPD got a warrant to search Pickner’s work computer, but the one thing Sunrise—yes, that’s her actual name—did tell us is that he kept all his personal documents on his own laptop, which I’m guessing is gator feed by now, along with his phone and tablet.”

  “Obstacle after obstacle.”

  “Yup.” There was a pause in the conversation. “So …”

  “So …”

  “I don’t want to hang up,” Bo said.

  “Me neither. But …”

  “I know. I do have to get to the festival.”

  “I’ll be there for a little while,” Maggie said. If we run into each other, make sure you act all awkward. And I’ll be cold.”

  “Wait, so you’re implying I’m the one who called us off? No fair.”

  “We have to. No one will believe that I’m the one who broke up with the town hunk-a-doodle-do.”

  “Chère, you’re selling yourself short. You could do way better than me. Not that I want to give you any ideas.”

  “If there’s one thing I know in this world, it’s that I could never, ever do better than you, Beauregard Durand.”

  “Right back at ya, Magnolia Marie Crozat.”

  After a few more affectionate exchanges, the couple ended the call. Maggie parked in the festival vendors’ lot and carried her praline stash to the Crozats’ booth. Brianna Poche applauded as Maggie approached. “Yay, I can get me some pralines that aren’t sweet potato.” She cast a baleful glance at her brother.

  “I’ve been experimenting with my recipe,” Clinton explained. “I want it to be perfect so’s I get repeat customers. And they do that thing where they tell other people how good my pralines are.”

  “Word of mouth.”

  “Yeah, that.” Clinton stood up, He twerked and gyrated in an energetic dance move. “From my mouth to your mouth to everyone’s mouth, oh yeah!”

  Brianna groaned. “Why couldn’t I be an only child?”

  “You’re not, and someday you’ll be thankful for that,” Maggie said. “I have to leave in an hour. When my friends get off work, we’re shopping for a baby shower we’re throwing. If you have any problems, call me, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “We be more than fine, we be so fine.”

  Clinton accentuated this with a few more dance moves, earning a chuckle from Maggie and a desperate plea from his sister to stop embarrassing her. The three then focused on preparing to open the booth for festivalgoers, who were beginning to straggle in. Maggie saw Uffen and The Sound browsing a few of the other stalls. Uffen waved to her, but she pretended not to see him. She sensed that if the bassist got the smallest whiff of a chance to score, his pursuit would be relentless.

  “Hey, Maggie. Y’all open?” The booth’s first customer of the day was Pixie, the Gator Girls’ drummer.

  “Sure, what can I get you?”

  “Two pecans and a coconut.”

  Maggie exchanged the pralines for Pixie’s cash. “I thought y’all canceled your set.”

  “Gaynell did, but Tammy said she’d sing with us, so we didn’t have to. It’s the most awesome opportunity.”

  Maggie felt hot with anger. “Auditioning for Jazz Fest with Gaynell would have been equally awesome,” she said, fighting to keep her tone even.

  “Oh, this is way better. Tammy may even take us on tour with her.” Pixie waved at a cluster of girls Maggie recognized as her other bandmates. “Gotta go. ’Bye.”

  Maggie hadn’t noticed Uffen hovering on the periphery. He sauntered over and rested his elbows on the booth’s counter. “Ah, the unbridled enthusiasm of the amateur. Adorable.”

  Loath as she was to defend Gaynell’s self-involved bandmates, Maggie found Uffen’s superior attitude too annoying to ignore. “The Gator Girls are talented, and audiences love them. Sounds like someone’s threatened by the competition.”

  “Hardly. Tammy’s over country music. She wants to cross over to pop.”

  “I doubt her country fans will cross over with her.”

  “That’s always the catch, isn’t it? Lucky for me, I won’t be around to find out. Once I’m done with this gig, I’ve got sessions and tours lined up for the next two years.”

  Uffen rattled off a list of the world’s biggest rock and pop stars. Maggie had to admit it was impressive. “Would any of those jobs come up if Pony hadn’t hired you for Tammy’s tour?”

  Uffen helped himself to a handful of praline pieces from the samples bowl. “Pony liked to take all the credit for my rebirth. But when a singer or a band needs a great guitarist, they have very short memories. Plus, there’s the whole ‘he without sin’ angle. We’re a motley crew, we musicians. Why, that would make a great band name.”

  He smirked at his own joke and strolled off, checking out every pretty teenager he passed. Maggie watched, repulsed. “I need a little air,” she told Brianna and Clinton. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She left from the back of the booth, walking away from the crowds perusing the stalls to a less populated area by the parking lot. Maggie leaned against a brand-new, tricked-out black pickup truck with gold spinners. She enjoyed a brief moment of quiet, then noticed The Sound making his way through tall grass toward the lot. He was holding a bag of groceries. “Hello.” His tone was polite yet measured, as always. He pulled car keys out of his pants pocket. “Are you waiting for me?”

  “No.” Maggie pulled away from the truck. “Is this yours?”

  “My rental.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “I see you discovered our local organic farmer,” she said, referencing the keyboardist’s bag. “They have excellent produce.”

  “We’ll see.” The Sound studied her. Maggie felt acutely uncomfortabl
e. “Do you know the definition of a third eye?”

  “Not the literal definition. I know it’s spiritual.”

  “It’s a speculative invisible eye that provides perception beyond ordinary sight.”

  “Interesting.” Where, oh where, is this conversation going?

  The keyboardist continued to stare at her. Maggie could have sworn he didn’t blink. “I’ve been in this business for twenty years. Since I was sixteen. I know what groupies look like. How they act. What they want. I know enough to know that you’re no groupie. So the question is—what do you want?”

  Maggie didn’t respond. She stepped back. The Sound walked past her and got into the truck. He powered up the engine and drove off, leaving Maggie feeling unnerved.

  Chapter 13

  When Maggie returned to the Crozats’ booth, she saw her friend Ione waiting to meet her for their baby shower shopping excursion. “What’s wrong?” Ione asked. “You look like my mama did after my late uncle Claude showed up in a dream to tell her that she forgot to put shoes on him when he was buried, and she should send a pair up to him in the coffin of the next kin who passed.”

  “That makes no sense,” Brianna said, wrinkling her nose. “Why would you need shoes if you’re walking on clouds? They’re soft.”

  “Okay, before this conversation gets any more surreal,” Maggie said, “I’ll tell you why I look the way I do, which has nothing to do with shoes or kin or clouds.” She pulled Ione away from the curious teens and relayed her conversation with The Sound. “It left me with this uncomfortable feeling.”

  “His name alone is enough to make a person uncomfortable. I think you’re spending way too much time around these musicians. There’s something not right about their world.”

  “I know. But it gets my mind off my breakup with Bo. It’s been so hard.” Maggie grabbed a fistful of praline samples. “Look at me, I’m stress-eating.”

  Ione gave her a doubtful look. “Right. We better get going. Vanessa and Sandy are waiting on us in the parking lot.”

  Maggie followed Ione to the older woman’s van. Vanessa and Sandy were already there. The friends all greeted each other warmly, but Maggie made sure to sit between Vanessa and Sandy as insurance against any leftover ill will from their men running against each other for mayor.

  “We’re picking up a surprise guest along the way,” Ione told them.

  She made a right off the River Road onto a street Maggie was happy to recognize. “You talked Gaynell into coming with us? That’s fantastic.”

  “I promised her a Tammy-free zone and she caved.”

  Ione pulled up in front of a small creole cottage and honked the van horn. There was a brief pause, and then Gaynell emerged. Maggie’s heart sank when she saw her. Only a few days had passed since Pony’s murder, but Gaynell looked like she’d lost ten pounds. Her face was drawn, her eyes tired and hooded. The musician’s bouncy blonde curls were hidden under a head kerchief.

  “I almost don’t recognize her,” Vanessa whispered.

  Maggie felt the same way but didn’t articulate it. Instead, she waved to her wan friend. “Hey, Gay! We missed you.”

  Gaynell reached for the door. She hesitated. “Are you sure it’s okay if I come?”

  Ione crossed her arms and give her a look. “Seriously? You have to ask? Get in.”

  Gaynell jumped into the front seat and the friends cheered. As they traveled I-10 to the local party store, located in a mall on the outskirts of Baton Rouge, they kept the conversation generic, careful to avoid the topic of Pony’s murder. Maggie did some sighing and staring out the window to reinforce her status as a heartbroken ex-fiancée. Ione parked in the party store’s lot, and the women disembarked. Maggie noticed a text from Bo. “It’s from one of the kids managing our booth,” she lied. “You go ahead; I’ll catch up.”

  The women entered the store and Maggie rang Bo back. “I walked by Pelican Pralines acting like I was ignoring you,” he said, “and then I realized you weren’t there to ignore.”

  “We’re at Party Hearty picking up supplies for Lia’s baby shower. I’ve been acting up a storm myself. I hope my friends don’t kill me when I tell them the truth. Ouch, poor choice of words.”

  “I’ll let you get back to your performance in a minute. I wanted to let you know that I checked out the hard copies of Pony’s contracts with the musicians and didn’t pick up any big discrepancies. The salaries sure seem high to a small-town detective, but not exorbitant, except for Tammy’s. Man, is she making bank. Too bad I can’t carry a tune. Bottom line, nobody’s pulling down much more than anyone else, including Valeria who’s only getting a couple of hundred bucks a week over the others. I’m going to do a little research into the usual rate for musicians on tour to see if Pony was really lowballing these guys. If he was, maybe they all got together and offed him.”

  “Do you think that could have happened?” said Maggie, hopeful for any scenario that might shift Pelican PD’s attention to a different suspect.

  “To be honest, I’m reaching.”

  “Oh,” she said, disappointed. “I better get inside. They’re going to wonder why I’m spending so much time talking about candy.”

  “I love you.”

  Maggie turned her back to the store in case one of her friends happened to glance out the store window. “I love you more.”

  Bo’s voice was low and sexy. “Impossible.”

  He hung up before she could disagree.

  * * *

  Baby shower decorations and paraphernalia took up an entire aisle of Party Hearty, making the selection process laborious. Since Lia and Kyle had opted not to learn the sex of their triplets, Maggie chose yellow as the party’s color scheme. Vanessa pouted as they loaded up a cart. “This makes me sad I never got a shower for Charli.”

  “Sorry, but we didn’t like you then,” was Ione’s blunt response. This elicited a smile from Gaynell, who’d seemed distracted during the shopping expedition.

  “Well, you better like me enough to do it when the next one comes along.”

  Ione raised an eyebrow. “Somethin’ you’re telling us?”

  Van waved her hands in the air. “Oh, no. No, no, no. No babies until MacIlhoney puts a ring on it.”

  “You’re living with him and a baby you had with another man. Little late for putting a ring on it to be an issue.”

  “I’m trying to make up for past mistakes.” Vanessa swiped a candy from the ten-cent candy bin. “I think if Quentin hadn’t come along, I still would’ve bailed on Rufus at the altar. It wasn’t meant to be. A gal’s better off being a single mom than being in the wrong relationship. The kid’s better off, too. Oh Maggie, I’m so sorry.” She flung an arm around Maggie’s shoulder. “All this relationship and baby talk must be hard on you with the breakup and all. Especially at your age.”

  “I’m thirty-two, not eighty-two,” Maggie felt compelled to point out.

  “It’s all my fault.” Gaynell said this so quietly Maggie wouldn’t have heard it if she wasn’t standing right next to her.

  “My breakup? Gaynell, no. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “You two were getting along fine until you started arguing about whether or not I was a suspect.”

  Gaynell’s self-flagellation upset Maggie. She hugged her friend. “Bo and I broke up because we were on different pages about having kids. I want them. He’s got Xander and thinks that’s enough.” This was a half-lie. The issue had almost broken up the couple, but they’d resolved it and were now looking forward to eventually giving Xander a sibling. “You have to believe me when I say if there’s one thing that still binds Bo and me, it’s believing you’re totally innocent. The fact anyone would think otherwise is insane.”

  The other women seconded Maggie’s comments. “Thank you,” Gaynell said with a catch in her voice. “I wish I could do something to prove it to everyone else.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re working on it.” Maggie caught herself. “Separately. Bo’s workin
g on it. And I’m working on it. Boy, does shower shopping make me tired. I’m ready to check out.”

  Ione shot Maggie another skeptical glance but wheeled one of the two carts the women had filled toward the checkout line. Maggie followed. Vanessa spotted a bin of tiny American flags at the checkout counter. “How cute are these? Too bad Quenty dropped out of the mayor race. I could’ve tied them to our VOTE FOR MAC pencils and handed ’em out at the festival.”

  Sandy pursed her lips. “Rufus and I had decided not to spend any more money on swag.”

  “Meaning you didn’t have any more money to spend,” Vanessa retorted.

  “Unlike you, I didn’t need to bribe people into voting for my boyfriend. His record spoke for itself.”

  Vanessa guffawed. “Oh chère, you do not want to look under the rock of Rufus’s record. He’s like to wind up arresting himself.”

  “Balloons. We need a balloon bouquet,” Maggie said, interrupting the tart exchange before it devolved into a catfight.

  “Ooh, me, me!” Van waved her hand in the air. “I love putting together balloon bouquets. Should we do ten or twenty? Never mind, I’ll figure it out.” The other women hid their smiles as Vanessa ran off to pick out balloons.

  “Nice save,” Ione said to Maggie.

  “If there are two things Vanessa’s an expert on,” Maggie said, watching Vanessa toss a pile of uninflated balloons at a beleaguered sales clerk, “it’s hair dye and balloon bouquets.”

  * * *

  The balloon bouquet proved so massive that it took up the whole back of the van, leaving no room for Sandy, Maggie, and Gaynell, who called for a ride share. The car dropped Gaynell off first. “Thank you for this afternoon,” she told her friends. “It was a nice break from worrying. I think I may have come up with an idea for my next step.”

  A feeling of apprehension overcame Maggie. “Be careful, Gay. You’re better off doing nothing than something that might get you into trouble.”

  Gaynell nodded but said nothing. She disappeared into her house.

  The ride share dropped Sandy off at DanceBod, her dance studio in the center of Pelican, and then brought Maggie back to the festival. It was nine PM, an hour before closing. The crowd, packed with local college students, was raucous. Maggie sent the Poche siblings home and ran the booth by herself until closing. She tallied the sales results, then packed up unsold pralines and carted them back to her car. She was about to drive home when her cell rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but she recognized the Los Angeles area code and answered the call. “Hello?”