by Ellen Byron
“When you see him, please tell the boy that Miss Zenephra sends all her love.”
“I will.”
Maggie left Petite General Grocery and hurried to her car. The rain had lightened to a fading drizzle, so she didn’t bother opening her umbrella. She got behind the steering wheel, but before she turned the key in the ignition, she placed the Bluetooth over her left ear and put a call in to Bo. He answered on the first ring. “Hey, how’d it go?”
“Interesting.” She filled him in on her conversation with Zenephra. “The Sound said Toulouse has a hero complex. Zenephra called him a protector. Given his background and current instability, he’s the perfect candidate for a psychotic break.”
“It all makes sense except for—”
Maggie’s Bluetooth cut out. She cursed it, then dialed Bo again. “Sorry, having mechanical problems. What were you saying?”
“It all makes sense except for the attack on Bokie.”
“True.” Maggie pulled out of the parking space and began driving toward Pelican. “Toulouse must’ve known Bokie had a thing for Valeria. Maybe he thought he was going to assault her. Bokie’s loud because of his hearing loss, and he hasn’t figured out how to modulate, or doesn’t care about it. I think Toulouse is sensitive to violence because of his abusive stepfathers. He could have heard Bokie yell to Valeria and snapped. But on the other hand, I feel like Toulouse is genuinely committed to God and to making up for his past, which would make him fight against any violent instincts he might have.”
Bo started laughing.
“What?”
“If we spent as much time planning our wedding as we do talking about murder scenarios, we’d probably be married with a kid on the way by now.”
Maggie had to laugh, too. “That is so true. I can promise you this is my last scenario for the next few hours. I have a shower to throw.”
* * *
Lia and Kyle’s living room, formerly the spacious front parlor of the Grove Hall manor house, was festooned with yellow decorations. Crepe paper with cheery ducklings dangling from it crisscrossed the room. The balloon bouquet created by Vanessa took up an entire corner of the room. A disco ball—also Vanessa’s idea—hung from the antique carved cypress ceiling medallion, shooting tiny reflective rainbows everywhere. Two large folding tables covered in bright-yellow tablecloths bowed under the weight of beverages and pot luck dishes brought by guests, a feast of gumbos, jambalayas, étouffées, dips, and desserts. The three-tiered cake—one tier for each incoming Baby Bruner—featured three flavors: vanilla, chocolate, and rum raisin, Ninette’s unique creation and usually the first tier to go at any party.
Lia had requested an all-girl shower, bucking the trend of co-ed celebrations. “I just want my tribe,” she’d said. And her tribe showed up in full force. Generations of Pelican were represented, from Gran down to Vanessa’s baby Charli, who cruised the party in her activity walker. All the action revolved around Lia, positioned in her hospital bed at the forty-five-degree angle approved by her obstetrician, Dr. Fran Vella, who was also at the party.
For the first hour, the thirty or so women played baby shower party games, which was Gran’s contribution to the event. First up was her adaptation of the game “Don’t Say Baby,” where instead of each player surrendering the diaper pin she was wearing on her blouse if she said the word, she had to take a drink. Within fifteen minutes, the women had polished off six bottles of wine. Next, the women took turns trying to guess the baby food inside unlabeled jars. Every time a player guessed wrong, she took a drink.
“I’m sensing a theme to these games,” Maggie said to her grandmother.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gran replied. “I found them all on the Internet. Then tweaked a few.”
After a few more “tweaked” games, the women broke for lunch. Their glasses full and plates piled high, they found places on either the pale-blue brocade couch and love seat or the various antique and rental chairs arranged to form a circle that started and ended with Lia. The self-effacing mom-to-be’s café au lait cheeks blushed pink from being the center of attention. “I feel so uncomfortable,” she whispered to Maggie after the seventh or eighth “A votre santé” toast.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Maggie whispered back. “All these toasts are just an excuse to drink more.”
Lia stifled a laugh. “Got it.” She raised her glass of sparkling water. “I want to propose another toast. To Gaynell. I can’t imagine this party without you.”
“I can’t find the words to say how happy I am to be here.” Gaynell, who looked rested and happy for the first time in days, clinked her glass with Lia’s.
“To Gaynell!”
The women toasted, drank, and then half the room got up to refill their glasses. They stopped when Vanessa held up her glass. “And to my beloved, Quentin MacIlhoney, whose brilliance makes him the best lawyer around and would’ve made him the best mayor this town ever saw.”
Sandy Sechrest narrowed her eyes at Vanessa, then held up her own glass. “To my beloved Rufus Durand, who couldn’t be here even if he wanted to because he’s busy fighting crime in Pelican with the same passion he would’ve brought to his role as mayor, which he’d be right now if he’d run.”
“With all this toasting, I think I better grab myself a bottle,” Gran said, and did so, helping herself to a half-full bottle of champagne.
“Sharesies,” Maggie said, holding out her empty glass. Gran filled it.
“Rufus has what Quentin doesn’t,” Sandy says. “Government experience.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.”
Van’s comeback elicited a few chuckles, but Sandy quickly responded, “It is when the experience is provided by a man who’s dedicated his life to public service.”
“Oh please, you know Quentin would’ve made a way better mayor,” Vanessa sniped.
“I don’t know anything of the kind,” Sandy sniped back. “What I do know is that he would’ve bailed on mayoral duties when the first high-paying criminal asked for representation.”
Vanessa gasped. “That is so not true; how dare—”
“Ladies, since I actually am the mayor, I’m going to ask that we put aside our differences and all talk of crime,” Eula Banks said. “But for anyone who’s counting, we’re behind three toasts.”
“Thanks, I lost track,” Dr. Vella said.
The women drank three toasts’ worth of beverages, refilled their glasses, and returned to their seats. “It’s time to open the gifts,” Ione said.
This brought squeals of delight from the women. “Presents, presents, presents,” they chanted.
“Dang, I just remembered I left ours in the car,” Gaynell said to Maggie. The two women had pooled their resources for Lia’s gift, a top-of-the-line stroller designed to hold three infants. Gaynell had offered to pick up the present, wrap it, and bring it to the shower. “Be right back.”
Gaynell got up and went out the front door. Vanessa plopped down in her place next to Maggie. “Move your meat and lose your seat. I got a better view of the presents from here. Hey, when can I tell people we’re having a double wedding?”
“Never, because it’s not happening,” Maggie said. “When it comes to a walk down the aisle, I’m going it alone. Well, except for my mom and dad. But no double wedding.”
“Keep thinking on it.”
“Vanessa—”
“Oooh, Lia’s starting with my gift.” Charli had dozed off in her walker, so Vanessa grabbed the edge of it and pulled the baby to her. “If Charli was awake, she’d think all these prezzies were for her, and there would be one ugly scene when she found out they weren’t, let me tell you. It’s a good thing she passed out.”
“I’m surprised she’s the only one here who has,” Maggie said, glancing around the room at the celebrants, who were in various states of inebriation.
For the next half hour, Lia opened present after present to the oohs and aahs of her guests. Gifts ranged
from the practical, like a Diaper Genie, which allowed for easy disposal of dirty diapers, to three sets of hand-knit booties in the Mardi Gras colors of purple, green, and gold. “These are so beautiful I could cry,” Lia told Yvonne Rousseau, the elderly resident of Camellia Park Senior Village, whose gnarled hands had somehow created the exquisite items. “Thank you so much.”
“Food, booze, and Ninette Crozat’s rum raisin cake,” Yvonne said with a cackle. “I should be thanking you.” She held up her champagne glass. “Another toast to Lia!”
“To Lia!” the women responded, and then drank.
“There better be some designated drivers in this crowd,” Ione muttered to Maggie.
Lia gestured to the piles of wrapping paper and stacks of presents that surrounded her on three sides. “I think that’s everything.”
“Wait,” Maggie said. “You never opened our present. Gaynell went out to get it. Gay?” She looked around the room but didn’t see her friend. “She went out to her car a while ago. Has anyone seen her?” The women shook their heads and murmured no. Maggie’s heart began to pound, her intuition setting off an alarm bell indicating something was wrong. “I’ll look outside. Maybe she got to talking to someone.”
Trying to hide her concern, Maggie took a calm walk to the door. Once outside, she ran to Gaynell’s car. The trunk of the car was open. Inside lay a large box wrapped in cheery wrapping paper of bears holding balloons.
“Your gift’s still in there,” said Ione, who’d followed Maggie outside, along with Vanessa, Sandy, Ninette, and Gran.
“I know.”
“Where’s Gaynell?”
“I don’t know.”
A wave of anxiety passed through all five women. They called to Gaynell and got no response. “This is bad,” Vanessa said, wringing her hands. Sandy nodded emphatically, the competition between the two women forgotten.
“I don’t like it,” Ione said. “I don’t like it at all.”
“Neither do I.” Maggie got a sudden, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I’m calling Pelican PD. I hope I’m wrong, but I have a terrible feeling that Gaynell’s been kidnapped.”
Chapter 21
Two Pelican PD squad cars showed up at what seemed like warp speed. Per Maggie’s request, neither flashed lights or sounded sirens, an attempt to shield pregnant Lia from the drama. Officers Cal and Artie searched the area while Rufus interviewed the women, who shared what little they knew. “Have you talked to Toulouse?” Maggie asked Rufus. Fear made her stutter as she put the question to him.
“Bo’s up at Belle Vista looking for him right now.”
“Gaynell and I follow each other on the app Locate Me. I checked and it says LOCATION NOT AVAILABLE. That’s never happened before.”
“Whoever she’s with—if she’s with someone, and it’s sure looking like it—must have turned off her phone.” Rufus’s two-way radio crackled. Maggie heard Bo’s garbled voice. “I need to take this, Maggie.”
Rufus stepped away. Maggie took a deep breath and scurried up the front steps into the house, where she was met with a sea of concerned faces and peppered with questions.
“Where’s Gaynell? What happened?”
“Is everything all right? Why are the police here?”
“Has she been kidnapped? I heard she’s been kidnapped.”
“Did they steal your present? I saw it in Gay’s trunk; it was a big’un.”
Ninette spoke up before Maggie could respond. “Whatever’s going on, I’m sure the police are handling it. Rather than worry ourselves and our guest of honor, why don’t we focus on cleaning up and getting Lia some rest?”
“Good idea, Mom,” Maggie said, giving Ninette a grateful look. She pointed to different women as she assigned tasks, distracting them from Gaynell’s mysterious disappearance. “Gin, can you make a list of all the gifts? Eula, how about you put plastic wrap over the leftovers? Ione, why don’t you take charge of cleaning up wrapping paper?”
“Happy to,” Ione said, grabbing a large black trash bag. “My cousin’s girl is expecting, so we can reuse a lot of this.”
She and a few friends sorted and bagged bows and wrapping paper while Eula supervised the leftovers. One crew of guests cleaned up the living room; someone else took charge of the kitchen. Maggie presented a calm front that belied her text to Kyle: GET HOME NOW! She’d feel better knowing he was there keeping an eye on his expectant wife.
“Maggie,” Lia called to her.
“Hey,” Maggie said, forcing a smile. She went to her cousin and took her hand. “What a party, huh?”
“Go.” Lia squeezed Maggie’s hand. “You can do more out there than here.”
“Everything’s okay, Lia. Really.”
“No. It’s not. I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, chère. But what would really give me some peace of mind is knowing you’re using whatever it is you’ve learned about Tammy and her crew to help find Gaynell.”
“You sure?”
“So sure. Now go. I’ll tell your mama and grand-mère what all’s up.”
Maggie gave her cousin a fierce hug, then dashed out of the house to her car. Not trusting her mercurial Bluetooth, she called Bo before starting the engine. “Hey. Are you in a position to tell me what’s going on?”
“More than that. We need you. Tammy and Toulouse had a blowout. He accused her of trying to send Gaynell to jail, so she fired him. He took off with one of the band’s rental cars. We put out an APB and got a hit on a similar sedan spotted on Larue Road. Artie’s running the plates now.”
“Larue. Those houses took the worst of the flood last year. Some are still abandoned.”
“Exactly. Perfect place to hide out. Wait, what? It’s Artie.” Maggie heard static on Bo’s end; then it stopped. “Plates checked out. It’s the rental.”
“What can I do?”
“You spoke to that woman in Petite. I’m trained in hostage negotiation, but you have more of a connection to Caresmeatrand’s background than any of us. I wouldn’t mind having you there in case we need someone who can reach him on a personal level.”
“On my way. But send someone to get Miss Zenephra in Petite. She runs the general store.”
Maggie stepped on the accelerator, barely heeding stop signs as she raced to Larue Road. She doubted Pelican PD would be worried about speed traps in the midst of a kidnapping. By the time she reached Larue Road ten minutes later, a half-dozen police cars were already lined up outside a decrepit, flood-damaged shack covered with asbestos shingles. One car stood out among the others—a purple rental sedan. Officers, some in SWAT gear, surrounded Bo. He was dressed in his standard investigation attire of jeans, white button-down shirt, and navy sport coat. Maggie guessed this was an intentional choice to disarm Toulouse. She parked and went to Bo.
“He’s in there,” Bo said. He gestured to Artie Belloise, who held a bullhorn. “We let him know we’re here. I’ve been talking to him. No idea if we’re making progress. That Zenephra woman can’t get here soon enough.”
“Does he have Gaynell?”
Bo nodded.
“I’d like to talk to him.”
“Okay. But from a distance.” Bo walked over to Artie, took the bullhorn, and brought it back to Maggie. “Press that button to speak.”
Maggie did so. “Toulouse? Hey. It’s me, Maggie Crozat.” Her ears rang from the bullhorn’s reverberation.
There was an agonizing moment of silence. Then Toulouse spoke. “Hey, Maggie. I heard you and Bo were back together. That’s good news.”
Maggie and Bo’s eyes widened at this incongruous statement. Artie twirled his fingers around his ears and mouthed the word cuckoo.
“Yes, we did get back together, thank you,” Maggie said. “I’m worried about Gaynell.”
“No need to. She’s fine with me. Someone’s finally taking care of her.”
“That’s real kind, Toulouse. But I think it’s time the police took over for you.”
“No way. They were
doing the opposite of caring for her.”
“That’s on me,” Bo called out to the musician. “I was too upset about Maggie breaking my heart to do my job right.” Maggie shot him a look, and he whispered to her, “I’m going for sympathy.”
Maggie pursed her lips and shook her head, then spoke into the bullhorn. “But that’s over now. You can trust Bo. You can trust me. We love Gaynell and would do anything for her.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry,” Toulouse said. “I’m just not comfortable with the current situation.”
“You’re not comfortable,” Artie muttered.
Maggie closed her eyes and tried to steady her nerves. Bo watched, concerned, but she motioned to him that she was alright. “Toulouse, I’d feel so much better if I could hear from Gaynell. Would that be all right?”
Another pause, then, “Don’t see why not.”
“Hey, Maggie,” came Gaynell’s welcome voice.
“Gay,” Maggie responded with relief. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Her friend’s voice was calm, but Maggie picked up an undercurrent of fear. “Toulouse is taking real good care of me.”
“Way better than the police,” Toulouse jumped in. “I don’t care how broke up Bo was about you. Okay, so now you heard Gaynell. We’re done.”
Bo cursed and reached for the bullhorn. Maggie held on to it. “Wait.” She aimed the bullhorn at the shack. “Toulouse, I saw Miss Zenephra today.” Maggie had no idea how the disturbed musician would react to this reveal. Her heart pounded.
“Miss Z?” Toulouse’s voice wavered.
“Yes. She sends her love.”
“She remembers me?”
Bo put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve engaged him. Keep going.”
Maggie nodded, then spoke through the bullhorn. “She more than remembers you. She cares about you.”
“Care is a buzzword for him,” Bo said under his breath. “Good choice.”
“She was almost a mama to me,” Toulouse said. “I’d like to see her again sometime.”
Maggie’s heart beat faster. “And she wants to see you. Very, very much. Matter of fact, she’s on her way here.”
