A Cajun Christmas Killing

by Ellen Byron

  “When he signed credit card receipts for baked goods, I also happened to notice he was a lefty. I usually pick up on that because I’m a lefty too.”

  “Magnolia Marie Crozat, we finally have something in common,” Rufus said. “Lefty fist bump.”

  He made a fist with his left hand that Maggie bumped with hers. “The coroner determined Bea was stabbed by a lefty, so there was that. And when I was with him at Belle Vista the night Bea died, he somehow knew that she was the prime suspect in Harmon’s murder. I asked Ru if there was any chance this information leaked out from Pelican PD—”

  “No way, no how,” Rufus interrupted. “We might only follow the rules we like in Louisiana, but that don’t mean we’d blab about a suspect before we had proof. Harrison drugged Boxler before he stabbed her. We’re assuming he probably drugged her more than once so he could do some snooping in her room, which is how he figured out what she was up to. Saw her hate shrine to his uncle and the knife and put things together.”

  “Harrison knew Harmon would never reinstate him in his New York financial operations,” Maggie said. “But he thought that with his uncle and eventually Bea out of the way, he’d at least be able to claim Belle Vista for himself.”

  “But who ran him off the road?” Gaynell asked. “Or, wait—did he do that to himself to make it look he was being targeted by the murderer?”

  “Oh, man, don’t tell me we got another amateur detective,” Rufus grumbled. “But yeah, that’s exactly what happened. There was no evidence of another car on the patch of road when he was there. Plus if he had truly been run off the road, his injuries would have been a whole lot worse. I’ve seen some accidents when people lost control on that curve, and all I’ll say is that the results ain’t pretty.”

  “Well, I’m glad y’all nailed him before the holidays,” Gaynell said. “Knowing we don’t have to run around in a panic because a murderer is on the loose is a nice Christmas present.”

  “Speaking of presents,” Ione nudged Maggie, “your handsome man is here.”

  Maggie looked toward the tent opening to see Bo. He had the sheen of a fresh shower, and his still-damp ebony hair was slicked back, which seemed to articulate the angles of his high cheekbones. He wore a crisp white shirt and black sport coat over jeans, along with the cowboy boots Maggie remembered from their recent trip to Texas to investigate a previous murder. Gran’ was right about the male model thing, Maggie thought. She could sense the eyes of every unmarried woman—and a few who sported wedding rings—in the room gravitate toward him and was suddenly overwhelmed with insecurity.

  Bo spotted Maggie. His face lit up. She went to him, and he gave her a kiss that made all self-doubt evaporate. “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “A little woozy, but aside from that, pretty good. Especially right now.”

  His hand caressed Maggie’s back. “Wow, my knees are actually buckling,” she said. “I’m this close to passing out from desire right here in the middle of this tent.”

  Bo released her with a chuckle. She led him to her table, where hugs and holiday greetings were exchanged. “Maggie, chère, come here,” Gran’ called to her. “Wait until you see this.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Maggie told Bo, then hurried to her grandmother. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, darlin’, it’s better than okay. Look.” Gran’ handed Maggie her tablet, which was opened to the Trippee.com website. “All our negative reviews are finally gone. They’ve been replaced by raves from Marco, everyone in his group, and each individual member of the O’Day family.”

  “It’s a Christmas miracle, Gran’.”

  “Indeed it is, chère.”

  “I’ll thank our guests. They’re all here, except for Marco. But he must be somewhere around.”

  “Isn’t that him by the entrance to the tent? Oh. Oh . . .” Gran’ put her hand on her heart.

  “Gran’, what?” Maggie asked, worried.

  Gran’ ignored her. Instead she ran to the tent entrance as quickly as her winter-white patent leather pumps would carry her. She threw herself into the arms of a tall, redheaded man who was a reflection of his identical twin, Tug Crozat.

  “Uncle Tig,” Maggie cried out and dashed to him. Her parents were already there, and all the Crozats vied for hugs from the effervescent man.

  Marco stood proudly by Tig’s side. “A little holiday gift for you Crozats.” He smiled affectionately at Tig. “And for me too.”

  “Marco let me know what y’all have been through,” Tig said. “I had to come.”

  “Brother, my brother,” Tug said, his voice husky. “I have missed that thick head of yours.”

  “I think you mean thick head of hair, brother,” Tig teased, tousling his twin’s thinning locks. “Where’s my gorgeous niece?”

  “Not sure who that might be, but I’m right here, Uncle Tig.”

  Maggie let her Tig bury her in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you in New York, chère,” he said, squeezing her tightly. “You need to know that the way you fought back against Steve Harmon’s take-over really impressed my general managers. If you ever want to move up in the organization, let me know. I’ll make sure there’s an art studio wherever you go.”

  “Hey, no poaching my kid,” Tug said, faking a glare at his brother.

  “Whoa, both of you,” Maggie said. “My New Year’s resolution is to make art my top priority again. Much as I love Crozat—and all of you—that’s what fills my soul. But for now, I think we need to put business aside and focus on the holiday.”

  “Yes, there’s so much catching up to do,” Gran’ said. “I’ll make you a plate, Tig.” She bit her lip, overcome with emotion. “Oh, sweet boy. You here . . . tonight. It could bring a tear to a glass eye.”

  Tig gave his mother a hug that lifted her off her feet. “Crying is no way to celebrate Christmas Eve.”

  “Oh, man, I almost forgot.” Tug hastened over to the giant screen and whistled to get everyone’s attention. “It’s minutes to midnight, y’all,” he announced. “They’re about to rebroadcast the Vatican Midnight Mass.” He pushed a button on a remote, bringing the screen to life and with it, St. Peter’s Basilica.

  The crowd in the Crozats’ tent, like the one in the Basilica, was hushed. “The screen is so big, I feel like I could walk right into that mass,” Gaynell whispered.

  A camera panned the papal audience. Everyone in the tent watched for a glimpse of Pelican’s own Father Prit. “There!” Lee Bertrand shouted.

  The camera caught the priest in profile, but he turned around as if he heard Lee call out. The Pelicaners whooped and cheered as the procession of cardinals, bishops, and prelates marched solemnly down the Basilica’s aisle, followed by the pope himself. Tears rolled down Father Prit’s cheeks. “He’s so moved, he’s crying,” Ione said, wiping tears from her own eyes. Father Prit then surreptitiously held out his cell phone and took a picture of himself with the promenade of religious leaders in the background. “Did he just take a selfie? I sure hope the pope didn’t see that.”

  There was a chorus of text pings, including one from Maggie’s cell phone. “It’s from Vanessa,” she told her friends. “She’s asking us to come to the road.”

  “I know, we all got the same message,” Little Earlie said.

  Maggie’s crew trooped out of the tent to the road fronting Crozat, followed by most of the other partygoers. “Do I hear music?” she asked.

  “I know I do,” Bo said.

  The sound grew louder. Around the bend came a massive tractor trailer festooned with a blaze of Christmas decorations, pulling a float decorated like the North Pole. “It’s the Christmas Caroling Truck,” someone in the crowd yelled. The Peli-Carolers, dressed in their Dickensian garb, waved from the back of the float, and a half dozen Cajun musicians waved from the front. Vanessa and Quentin MacIlhoney, dressed as Mr. and Mrs. Claus, sat in two quasi thrones in front of Santa’s house. “Hey, Maggie,” Quentin called to her, “this is a little thank-you present
for landing me three clients in one day—Harrison Fenner, Tannis Greer, and Chris Harper. Merry Christmas, y’all!”

  “Merry Christmas!” the crowd yelled back.

  With that, the musicians broke into an up-tempo rendition of a Cajun classic, “Christmas on the Bayou,” inspiring the crowd to dance as they sang along. Bo took Maggie’s hand. “I’ve got something for you, and I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. Come.”

  Bo led Maggie to his car. He opened the passenger’s-side door and took out a flat, rectangular box tied with a red satin ribbon. “Merry Christmas, chère,” he said, handing her the box.

  Maggie undid the ribbon and opened the box. Resting on cotton was an assortment of the highest quality sable paintbrushes. “They’re perfect.” She stroked the brushes’ soft bristles. “I love them.”

  “Look under the cotton.”

  Maggie did as Bo told her and gasped. She pulled a gold chain from the bottom of the box. Dangling from it was a charm shaped like a painter’s palette, with each color of the palette a different gemstone. “Oh, Bo,” she said, a catch in her throat. “It’s the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen.”

  “I found it when we were in New Orleans. It’s like the universe sent me on that trip to find the necklace. Let me put it on you.”

  Maggie lifted her hair, and Bo fastened the clasp around her neck. She stooped down and admired the charm in the car’s sideview mirror. “I’m in love. With the necklace and you.” She stood up and kissed him. “Now it’s my turn.”

  She raced to the shotgun cottage and pulled the box holding Bo’s gift out from under her bed. She ran back to him, stumbling as she tried not to lose her grip on the bulky bundle. “Merry Christmas to you, chère,” she said, thrusting it into his arms. “The universe was speaking to both of us in New Orleans.”

  Bo opened the box and pulled out the black leather jacket. “Wow,” he said, gaping at it. He opened the trunk door of his SUV and tossed the box inside. Then he pulled off his sport coat and threw that in as well. He put on the new jacket and leaned against the car, striking a pose. “How do I look?”

  “Like a male model.”

  Bo chortled. “I don’t think so. But to quote someone I love very much, it’s ‘perfect.’” He relaxed his pose, reached for Maggie, and pulled her to him. They embraced as the partygoers segued into a boisterous rendition of “Jambalaya.”

  “That’s a whole lotta hootin’ and hollerin’.” Maggie laughed.

  “We’ll have a better view of all the fun from the levee,” he said.

  Bo and Maggie crossed to the levee and climbed to its crown. Maggie gazed down at the river, where a tugboat festooned with white lights nudged a barge down the Mississippi. Then she turned her attention to the festivities in front of Crozat. The carolers below began singing a French version of “The First Noel,” accompanied by the Cajun musicians. Gradually the party guests joined in. “Aujourd’hui le Roi des Cieux au milieu de la nuit voulut naître chez nous de la Vierge Marie,” they sang. Bo put his arms around Maggie’s waist. He bent down, and his lips brushed her neck. “Come home with me,” he whispered. “It’s time.”

  Maggie couldn’t find the breath to speak, so she simply nodded and rested her head on Bo’s shoulder. She closed her eyes and imagined where she might be in New York on Christmas Eve. An elegant cocktail party in Brooklyn perhaps, overlooking a glittering Manhattan skyline and the Empire State Building bathed in green and red lights. It would have been beautiful. And nowhere near as magical as Christmas Eve in Pelican, Louisiana. Her home. Where she belonged.

  And where on Christmas morning, she would wake up next to the man with whom she dreamed of spending the rest of her life.

  Shrimp Remoulade

  Shrimp remoulade is a popular New Orleans appetizer that is served cold. Some restaurants like the legendary Galatoire’s offer it on a bed of lettuce. Ninette Crozat likes to serve it to her guests atop a pitted avocado half. It’s a delicious and easy dish to make.

  Ingredients

  Note: It’s important to finely mince all ingredients that require it.

  3 minced hardboiled eggs

  3 minced scallions

  2 minced celery ribs

  ½ cup minced fresh parsley

  3 tbsp. minced dill pickle

  1¾ cups vegetable oil

  ⅔ cup stone ground mustard (or Creole mustard, if it’s available)

  2 tbsp. horseradish

  3 tbsp. lemon juice

  1 tbsp. paprika

  ½ tsp. salt

  ½ tsp. sugar

  2 lbs. cold shrimp, peeled and deveined

  Instructions

  Mix together all the ingredients, except for the shrimp. Chill for at least half an hour.

  When you’re ready to serve the dish, halve 4–5 avocados and remove the pits. Distribute the shrimp evenly over the avocados, and then top each serving with cold remoulade sauce. (Leftover sauce can be transferred to a jar and stored in the refrigerator for several weeks.)

  Serves 8–10.

  Muffaletta Frittata

  The muffaletta sandwich originated with New Orleans’s Italian immigrants. The sandwich consists of a variety of Italian cold cuts covered with olive salad on a round loaf of Sicilian sesame bread. Ninette’s dish is inspired by this unique sandwich. You can serve it for breakfast, but it also makes a great lunch meal when accompanied by a salad.

  Ingredients

  1 cup diced hard salami

  ¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese

  2 tbsp. chopped pepperoncini salad peppers

  1 (2.25 oz.) can sliced black olives, drained

  ¼ cup sliced green olives, drained

  4 oz. provolone cheese, diced

  1 celery rib, finely chopped

  ½ red bell pepper, finely chopped

  1 tbsp. olive oil

  2 tbsp. cooking sherry

  1 tbsp. red wine vinegar

  ¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

  6 eggs

  1½ cups egg whites

  ¼ tsp. salt

  ¼ tsp. pepper

  Instructions

  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

  Stir together the first twelve ingredients (everything except the eggs, salt, and pepper) in a medium mixing bowl. Cover and chill between one to twenty-four hours.

  When ready to prepare the dish, grease a 13″ × 9″ pan with olive oil. In a separate medium mixing bowl, beat the eggs, egg whites, salt, and pepper. Spoon the muffaletta mixture into the eggs, and stir them together. Pour this mixture into the greased pan, making sure the ingredients are evenly distributed.

  Bake for 15–20 minutes until the eggs are firm.

  Serves 8.

  Holiday Brandy Pain Perdu

  Pain perdu translates to “lost bread.” It’s the Louisiana equivalent of French toast. Ninette’s version of the dish is baked, not pan-fried. If you prefer your pain perdu alcohol-free, substitute another ½ cup of half-and-half cream for the brandy.

  Ingredients

  1 loaf French bread, cut diagonally in thick slices that can cover the bottom of a 10″ × 9″ pan

  8 eggs

  2 cups milk

  1 cup half-and-half cream

  ½ cup brandy

  2 tsp. vanilla extract

  ¼ tsp. ground cinnamon

  ¾ cup butter

  1⅓ cups dark brown sugar

  3 tbsp. light corn syrup

  Instructions

  Butter a 13″ × 9″ baking dish. Arrange the slices of bread in the bottom. In a large bowl, beat together the eggs, milk, cream, vanilla, brandy, and cinnamon. Pour over the bread slices, cover, and refrigerate overnight.

  When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a small saucepan, combine butter, brown sugar, and corn syrup; heat until bubbling. Pour over the bread and egg mixture.

  Bake uncovered for 40 minutes.

  Let cool slightly, and then dust with powdered sugar.

  Serves 12.

  Coconut
Pecan Bars

  Enjoy the Crozat family’s twist on a popular Southern dessert. It’s not as sweet as your typical pecan pie, which is a plus for a lot of people. If you’d like it sweeter, try adding ⅓ cup more corn syrup or a full cup of brown sugar. I’m a big fan of fiddling with recipes, as are the Crozats!

  Ingredients

  Crust

  1¾ cups all-purpose flour

  ¾ cup butter, softened (you can save a few calories by used reduced-calorie butter or margarine)

  ⅓ cup sugar

  ⅓ cup unsalted coarsely chopped pecans

  Filling

  4 large egg whites, lightly beaten

  ⅓ cup light corn syrup

  ⅔ cup dark brown sugar, firmly packed

  6 tbsp. butter (or reduced-calorie), melted

  1 tsp. rum or vanilla flavoring (baker’s choice)

  ⅛ tsp. salt

  ¾ cup unsalted coarsely chopped pecans

  1 cup shredded coconut

  Instructions

  Heat oven to 350 degrees.

  For the crust: Combine 1¾ cups flour, the butter, and the sugar in a mixing bowl. Beat at slow, then medium speed, scraping the sides often, until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in ⅓ cup pecans. Press the crust mixture evenly onto the bottom of an ungreased 13″ × 9″ baking pan. Bake for 18–22 minutes or until the edges are very light golden brown.

  For the filling: Mix together the egg whites, corn syrup, melted butter, brown sugar, salt, and rum or vanilla flavoring. Stir in the chopped pecans and shredded coconut. Pour the mixture over the baked crust, and return the bars to the oven. Bake for twenty minutes or until the filling is firm and no longer wobbles.

  Remove the pan from the oven, and let it cool completely before cutting. If there are any leftovers, I like to store them in the freezer. They get deliciously chewy.

  Makes 8, 16, or 24 bars, depending how you cut them.