by Ellen Byron
Maggie saw Chief Perske marshalling the Belle Vista guests and employees into small, orderly groups. The Pelican PD mobile evidence van lumbered into the driveway. Why would they need the van for a suicide? she wondered. Rufus rounded a corner of the manor house, deep in conversation with Artie Belloise, and Maggie went to him, making sure to avoid the unpleasant Perske. “I heard about Bea. What happened?”
“There was an incident,” Rufus said stiffly, motioning ever so slightly with his head toward Artie.
Artie snorted. “You don’t have to put on some dumb-cluck show of protocol for me, Ru. Maggie’s pretty much Pelican PD family. You can tell her.”
Rufus glanced at Perske, saw the chief had his back to him, and relaxed. “All righty. This Bea Boxler woman apparently committed suicide. I say apparently because if this was a suicide, I’ll swallow a hot pepper whole.”
“I did that once on a dare at the police academy,” Artie said. “Fair near burned a hole in my stomach lining.”
“Wait.” Maggie held up her hand as she tried to process the latest turn of events. “Ru, are you saying Bea didn’t kill herself? She was murdered?”
“Without going into details—mostly because it’s late, I’m tired, and this whole thing’s putting a cramp in my plans to see if Sandy’s up for a nightcap—it’s looking that way.”
Maggie grimaced. Her head was starting to pound. “So whoever killed Steve Harmon probably killed Bea too. I’m embarrassed by how way off I was. I really thought Bea might have killed Harmon because he drove her mother to suicide.”
“Score one for Maggie,” Artie exclaimed.
“Huh?”
“She is—was?—a suspect,” Rufus said. “We found binders of articles about him in her bedroom and a shrine to her late mother in her closet. It fits the pattern of a revenge killing by someone unbalanced. And the knife Boxler used to ‘stab herself’ has the same kind of thin blade that sent Harmon to the hereafter.”
“Ru, you didn’t think I could drag Harmon’s body into Doucet. What makes you think Bea could? Unless . . .”
“She had help.” Rufus finished Maggie’s sentence. “It’s as much a possibility as anything else in this crazy case.”
“Did you find a suicide note?”
“No. Which is also suspicious. If you’re carrying a grudge that long, seems like you’d want to take credit for the kill. Plus, stabbing yourself to death is tricky. You’d think she’d take an easier way out.”
“Juliet did it.”
“Juliet who?” Rufus asked, scowling. “We got another murder now? I’ll never get home tonight.”
“No, Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. ‘This is thy sheath; there rest and let me die.’”
“Now that would have made a good suicide note. Pretty and right on point.”
It occurred to Maggie that Bo wasn’t at the crime scene. “Where’s Bo? I know he’s not off tonight.”
“On desk duty. You forget that he’s still a ‘suspect.’” Rufus glared at Perske, who appeared to be barking an order at a glum Cal Vichet.
“If you prove Bea murdered Steve Harmon and the timeline shows Bo was on duty when Bea was murdered—assuming she was murdered—then Bo won’t be a suspect anymore.” Knowing these were big hurdles to jump, Maggie tried to quell her excitement. But for the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of optimism, despite the unsettling circumstances.
“All that is true,” Rufus acknowledged. “And it still leaves us with a murderer out there.”
“Then there are people who might still be in danger. I’ll see y’all later. I need to find someone.”
Maggie rushed across Belle Vista’s front lawn, stumbling on the occasional rut that the grass disguised. She found Harrison sitting on the front steps of the mansion by himself. “You heard?” he asked Maggie.
“Yes.”
“The police interviewed me. It’s like they don’t believe Bea offed herself.” Maggie saw the boy was shaking. She sat down next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. “This may be mean to say, but she wasn’t a very nice person,” Harrison continued. “I mean, her dying sucks and all, but she was kind of mean to me. She’d shoot down all my ideas and treat me like I was only here because of Uncle Steve. I don’t know why the police think she didn’t commit suicide. She probably had all this guilt from killing my uncle.”
“Harrison, you’ve experienced a lot of trauma in the last couple of days. Are you sure you should stay at Belle Vista?”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. The police are making us move everyone to one of our other properties so they can investigate. What a mess.”
“Are you going with them? Do you want to come back to Crozat with me?”
“I called Emme and my dad. They’re on their way to help out. Uncle Steve owned a boutique hotel in Lafayette, so we’re moving people there for the night. But thank you.” Harrison stood up and took a minute to calm down. “I better go see if the police need me.”
Harrison gave her a wan smile. As he trudged toward Chief Perske, Maggie realized she’d never heard him call Dan Levy “Dad” before.
*
After a final check-in with Rufus, Maggie remembered the errand that had brought her to Belle Vista in the first place and went hunting for Philip Charbonnet. She found him nursing a scotch in the resort’s dark, empty café. “Well, hello there,” he said. “Forgive me if I don’t get up. I’m grieving the loss of a lover.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Few did . . . if anyone. The irony is, my sister thought her husband was the one having an affair with Bea. It was the rare time that she was wrong about his misadventures.”
“You have my sympathies. And I have your credit card.” Maggie placed it on the table in front of Philip.
“Ah, much thanks. I wouldn’t get too far without it.”
You won’t get too far with it, Maggie thought. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Of course, it appears my inamorata is the one who put a knife to my brother-in-law,” Philip said. “So there’s that. Anyway, job number one now is finding a new general manager. Young Turk Harrison thinks he’s the heir apparent, but at this point in his stunted development, that’s laughable. If you’d like a step up from your little establishment, feel free to apply for the position. For the right inducement, I’d be happy to provide a recommendation.”
Charbonnet, restored to his former smarminess, leered at her. “Pass,” Maggie said, disgusted by the man. “And you owe JJ for your drink.” She pointed to the credit card. “That thing’s useless.”
Maggie stalked out of the café to her car. She couldn’t get away from the morbid scene and the offensive Philip Charbonnet fast enough. But instead of going home, she drove to Pelican police headquarters. She walked into the lobby, where Bo was behind the reception desk looking miserable. He came to life the minute he saw Maggie. “Hey,” he said, then got up and came to her. He pulled Maggie into a corner of the room and kissed her. She lingered in his arms until he reluctantly pulled away. “I know Perske checks the security camera when I’m on duty.”
“Which doesn’t cover this corner of the room, I’m guessing.”
“Nope.” Bo grinned. “That’s why we call it the Kissin’ Corner.”
“Cute.”
Bo returned to his position behind the desk. Mindful of the security camera, Maggie stayed on the opposite side of it. “I was up at Belle Vista. Rufus thinks Bea Boxler killed Steve Harmon, but he doesn’t think she took her own life. He’s convinced someone killed her and then arranged the scene to make it look like she committed suicide. I also found out that she was having an affair with Philip Charbonnet, which would personally drive me to suicide.”
“You know more than I do,” Bo said, his tone tinged with bitterness.
“But if she’s proven to be Harmon’s killer, you’re not a suspect anymore. Perske will have to reinstate you as a detective.”
“That would be nice,” Bo said, “but I trust him l
ess than a tin nickel. I wonder what Bea Boxler got out of a relationship with Philip Charbonnet.”
“The latest gossip on her target, Steve Harmon. Information that could have aided her plans for revenge. She certainly didn’t get any financial benefit from it. Charbonnet shanghaied me into having a drink with him, and when JJ ran his credit card, it was declined. Not a great way to impress a girl you basically proposed to.”
“Proposed?”
“Relax. It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with my ridiculous family lineage. Charbonnet’s very old-world New Orleans that way, thinking the more ‘names’ he can throw out to business associates, the more doors he’ll open. He’s not wrong. It may be the only city left in the country where that can make a difference.”
“Sorry, I’m still on the ‘proposed’ thing. There’s been a lot of interest in my girl on the part of other guys lately. You can’t blame me for being a little sensitive.”
My girl. The two simple words from Bo sent a flush throughout her body. “If it makes you feel more secure, you’re the only one of my beaus who’s currently earning a steady living.”
Bo burst out laughing. “Oh, chère, if you’re dating me for my money, you are going to be very unhappy when you see my sad little Pelican PD paycheck.” Bo turned his attention to the reception desk computer. “I want to take a closer look at this Charbonnet guy. Ru’s been meaning to, but he keeps getting pulled away because we’re understaffed. As long as I’m sitting around with my thumb up my you-know-what, I might as well make myself useful.” Bo typed for a few minutes and then stared at the screen.
“Did you find something already?”
“Yes. A restraining order. Filed last year by an Alicia Guidry Charbonnet. Apparently your suitor has a nasty temper as well as an obsession with social pedigree.”
“Well, he’s an all-around catch, isn’t he?” Maggie noticed the time on the old clock hanging on the wall behind Bo. “I better go. I’ve got an early shift at our bake stand in the morning. We’re only a hundred dollars away from funding two porta-potties.”
“Go, Team Crozat. I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll come by in the morning to help finish your bonfire. But before you leave . . .”
Bo took Maggie’s hand and led her out from behind the reception desk. “One last visit to the Kissin’ Corner.”
*
Maggie replayed Bo’s kiss as she fell asleep and woke up to the same delicious memory. Her dreamy demeanor engendered amused looks between her mother and Gran’ as the three women stocked her cooler with coffee and homemade breakfast pastries the next morning. When Bo showed up at the Crozat bonfire to help finish the log edifice, he noticed that Maggie was shivering because she’d left her hoodie at the house and lent her his worn leather jacket. She thought of the Christmas present that awaited him and smiled to herself. An hour later, Bo, Tug, Chret Bertrand, and the O’Days stacked the final logs on the bonfire. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Maggie told Lindy and Tom as the small group celebrated completion with Maggie’s coffee and crullers.
“We’re the ones who should be thanking you for not booting us out on our keisters after we sabotaged you on Trippee,” Tom said. “This is the least we can do.”
“I owe you all,” Tug said. “I truly thought this would be the first year Crozat didn’t have a bonfire to light.”
“Happy to do it,” Chret said. “I’d best get to work now. We got a bunch of tune-ups scheduled for people getting ready to make the holiday drive to the relatives.”
“And I’d better check in with the missus,” Tug said. “I’m sure she’s got a big old list of pre-Christmas errands for me to run.”
Chret took off for his car, and Tug headed back to the manor house, leaving Maggie and Bo alone. Bo stared at the bonfire. “Did that thing have a lean to it yesterday?”
Maggie followed his gaze. “No. I don’t think so. That’s strange. I wonder—”
Before she could finish her thought, there was an ominous rumble. The bonfire suddenly collapsed, and Maggie’s scream was drowned out by the roar of logs hurtling down the levee toward her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
This must be what an earthquake sounds like, Maggie thought as she ran from the torrent of lumber. She fell to her knees and began to crawl, but Bo yanked her up and shoved her out of the logs’ path. She fell to the ground again and then staggered to her feet. She saw the O’Days doing the same. The last log crashed into the pile that had accumulated at the foot of the levee. “Bo!” she cried out. She stumbled to the pile of battered timber. Bo lay splayed out across it, unconscious.
Maggie desperately searched for a water bottle. The avalanche had destroyed the stand and buried its products, but she managed to extricate one that hadn’t been crushed and ran back to Bo. She heard voices calling from across the road and saw Tug, Ninette, and Gran’ racing from Crozat across the road to the levee. Bo’s eyelids fluttered just as the others reached him.
“What happened?” Tug asked, short of breath from his quick dash to the levee.
“The bonfire collapsed. Don’t ask me how. Call an ambulance; Bo might have a concussion.”
“Already done,” Ninette said. “I called the police too.”
“And check on the O’Days.”
“We’re fine,” Tom said. He and his wife had joined the group. “A few scrapes from falling as we tried to get out of the way, but we’re more shaken up than anything.”
“That was terrifying.” Lindy clutched her heart. “We all could have been killed.”
*
Sirens, at first faint, grew louder, confirming Ninette’s statement that help was on the way. First to arrive was a Pelican PD squad car. Rufus and Chief Perske jumped out and climbed over logs to reach Maggie and Bo, who had regained consciousness but was groggy and incoherent. “These bonfires were an accident waiting to happen,” Perske declared.
“Families have been building them for generations,” Maggie shot back. “We know how to do them right. But I don’t care about that now, I care about Bo.”
Rufus, who had reached his cousin, carefully felt around Bo’s head, causing him to wince. “Ooo, that ain’t pretty,” Rufus said, pointing to a contusion forming on Bo’s temple. “But I’m more concerned about the bump in the back.”
Bo pushed Rufus away. “I’m okay,” he muttered.
“You’re pretty much the opposite of okay, buddy,” Rufus said.
The Pelican ambulance pulled up and parked by the side of the road. EMTs Cody Pugh and Regine Armitage unloaded a gurney and pushed it toward where Bo lay. “Head injury,” Rufus told them. “Don’t know what all else is going on.”
Regine checked Bo’s legs and arms while Cody examined Maggie. “I’m fine,” she said. “A few cuts and scrapes.”
“I can clean up your wounds.”
“I can do that myself. Don’t worry about me. Check on our guests, and then focus on Bo.”
Cody strode over to the O’Days while Regine finished evaluating Bo’s injuries. “Doesn’t look like anything’s broken,” Regine said. “Some head trauma for sure. They can do a CT brain scan at the hospital.”
Cody returned to them. “Your guests just need some ice for their bruises and probably a couple of stiff drinks. They’re heading back to their room. Now let’s tend to your boyfriend.”
Bo fought Rufus and the EMTs as they tried lifting him onto the gurney. “I can do it myself,” he insisted.
“Knock it off, you idiot,” Rufus barked at him.
Maggie took her boyfriend’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “You’ve already been a hero once today, chère. You saved my life. Let us take care of you now.”
Bo gave a slight nod and didn’t struggle when Cody and Regine snapped the gurney’s safety restraints in place. They wheeled him to the ambulance. “I’m going with them,” Maggie said.
“That’ll have to wait,” Chief Perske said. “I want to hear what happened while it’s fresh on your mind.”
“Your mother and I will go to the hospital,” Gran’ said.
“Yes,” Ninette said. “I’ll drive.”
“If we want to get there tomorrow, you can drive,” Gran’ said. “If we want to get there today, I’ll drive.”
The women took off. Perske headed to the top of the levee, where the base of the bonfire still stood intact. The others followed as he circled the base. A native of the state’s northern half, the chief had no experience with bonfires, but he harrumphed and examined the base as if he did.
“There,” Rufus and Tug said simultaneously, pointing to the bottom row of the bonfire, which faced the street. Both men bent down to get a closer look.
“Someone moved this one log just enough to make the whole thing unsteady,” Tug said, pointing to a log sitting at an odd angle.
“Or maybe you or one of your helpers isn’t the bonfire-building genius they claim to be,” Perske rebutted.
Tug was about to reply, but Rufus jumped in. “There are three things every man in this town pretty much learns from birth. How to build a bonfire, boil crawfish, and jump-start a car. It’s easier than looking for your keys sometimes. Anyways, I can speak to the Crozats’ expertise. And I can assure you the first thing Tug here would’ve done is make sure the bonfire base is sturdy as a German hausfrau.”
A Durand defending a Crozat? I should check the sky for flying pigs, Maggie thought. She was surprised and grateful for Ru’s show of support. If there was solace to be found in the week’s disasters and tragedies, it was the rapprochement between two families whose feud predated the Civil War.
Her father was on his hands and knees examining the bonfire’s base. “Whoever did this had no way of knowing when it would fall. It could have killed or injured someone or just been destroyed.”
