by Ellen Byron
“Oh yes. I think it’s a marvelous idea. Did you see the article in the Penny Clipper? I’m so glad Constance is going through with it. I could never understand why Gerard suddenly turned against it. His new attitude seemed rather elitist, if you ask me.”
“Gran … did you ever get a letter threatening trouble if the exhibit went through?”
“Yes, but Gerard said to give him the letter, he’d take care of it, and I never heard another word about the blessed thing. What’s going on? Why are you asking about this now?”
Maggie debated whether or not to lie. Then, knowing she’d never be able to pull it off with her grandmother, she said, “Someone tried to kill Constance Damboise. The police think it’s related to the exhibit and the anonymous letters.”
“Oh dear. How’s Constance?”
“They had to pump her stomach, but she should be okay.”
“Good. She’s a trooper, that one.”
“Um … Can you put Dad on?”
“No, I cannot.” Gran’s voice was stern. “Whatever you were going to tell him, tell me.”
“Fine. Have him lock every door and window in the house.” There was a catch in Maggie’s throat. “You may be in danger, Gran.”
“Noted. I’ll make sure we take all precautions. But I’m counting on you to be careful too, chére. There’s an ugly energy in Pelican these days.”
“I know. I love you, Gran.”
“Je t’aime aussi, belle bébé. I love you too.”
Maggie ended the call. Someone rapped on the door, then Rufus stuck his head in. “Mrs. Damboise’s ready to talk to us, coz.”
Bo nodded. “I could hear what your Gran’ was saying. She’s right. You need to be careful. There’s definitely some evil out there.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Rufus said. “I took a call today from Helene Brevelle, who said she could sense the bad mojo in Pelican all the way from her cruise ship. When the town voodoo priestess is getting vibes in the middle of the ocean, you know something’s up.” Helene Brevelle, the town’s esteemed conjurer, was on an extended cruise paid for by Louisiana State University sorority girls seeking her love-and-romance gris gris bags.
“I’ll never stop being amused by the fact people in Pelican put as much stock in the village priestess as the village priest,” Bo said.
“Looking back at my life, the times I went off the rails were the times I ignored Helene’s premonitions,” Rufus said. “But I’ll contemplate my navel later. We should talk to Constance before she drifts off again.”
Bo and Rufus took off to interview Constance. Maggie stayed put, deep in thought as she evaluated her next move. She tapped a number into her cell phone.
“Pelican Penny Clipper, tomorrow’s news today.” Proud of the slogan he’d come up with, Little Earlie never passed up a chance to use it. Once Maggie had greeted him, he said, “Hey, Maggie, what’s up?”
“I need your help.” Maggie could swear she heard Earlie pant with anticipation.
“I’m listening. Real hard.”
“I need you to run a front-page story saying the Historical Society’s plans for an exhibit on the Pelican orphan train have been put on hold. Probably forever.”
“Whaaa?! I just ran a front-page story saying the exhibit’s happening.”
“I know, I know. But we need to cancel that story out. Lives depend on it.” Maggie tossed in the last statement, hoping it would appeal to the newsman’s penchant for drama.
“Hmm. Well, hard to argue with that. Is it true?”
“Pretty much.”
“These days, that’s good enough for me. I’ll do it, but I want something in return.”
“Of course you do.”
“This is obviously tied to Gerard’s murder and the attack on Constance—yes, I know all about that. It’ll be the lead story tomorrow—”
“Second lead; my story goes first.”
Little Earlie gave a disgruntled sigh. “Fine. I’ll find a way to work it all in together. In exchange, I get the story when the murder’s solved.”
“Done. Thanks, Earlie.”
“Right back at ya. All these murders lately may be bad for local real estate, but they’re great for my paper.”
Earlie ended the call. Maggie felt a sense of relief. By the morning, whoever was targeting proponents of the orphan train exhibit would be waylaid by the Pelican Penny Clipper article announcing the exhibit’s demise, which would buy Pelican PD more time to apprehend the murderer.
Maggie hopped off the bed and went searching for the ICU waiting room. She found Robbie Metz there, scrolling through his cell and tapping a foot impatiently. He put away the phone when he saw her. “Mo took off for a sales meeting. Can you believe what all’s going on? I blame that idiot Gerard.”
“Robbie, it looks like the murders are tied to the orphan train exhibit, not the pageant,” Maggie said. “I’ve talked to Little Earlie, and tomorrow he’s going to run a story saying the exhibit is dead. But until then, anyone who supported it could be in danger. So do whatever you can to be safe. Be aware of your surroundings, and check your locks. Just be careful.”
“Great. Just great.” Robbie kicked a chair and then dropped into it.
Maggie sat down next to the businessman. “I have to be honest. You seem a little overwhelmed with your life. And I can understand why.” Best to go with the vaguest reference to Stacy’s problem. “I was wondering how you came to volunteer as a pageant judge in the first place. It seems a burden you didn’t really need to take on.”
Robbie sat straight up. “It’s my civic duty, Maggie. I’m an established businessman in this town.” Maggie didn’t respond. She found silence on her part often motivated others to continue talking. Robbie slumped back in his seat. “And as long as we’re being honest, it’s hard being a different religion from everyone else in Pelican. Yeah, I can go up or down the river to Baton Rouge or New Orleans, and we do that when we go to synagogue. But Pelican’s our home. It’s where our hearts are. I love everyone here. But sometimes I feel I need to work a little harder to be accepted.”
Maggie noticed Robbie’s face was drawn, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced. The poor man seemed to be aging in front of her eyes. “Well, as your basic Catholic woman, I can’t pretend to feel what you feel. But I can tell you it’s not easy being the local ‘artsy-fartsy girl.’”
“I’m sure it’s not. Welcome to the misfits club.”
Maggie shook her head. “No. We’re not misfits. We’re different. Let’s call it the Celebrate Differences Club.”
Robbie managed a grin. “I like that.”
Bo appeared in the doorway. “We finished interviewing Constance. She’s asking to speak with both of you.”
Robbie and Maggie followed Bo to the judge’s hospital room. “Only two at a time are allowed in, so I’ll wait outside,” he told them. “But I’ll be listening to the conversation.”
Bo stepped back so Robbie and Maggie could enter the room. They found Constance looking pale, but she seemed alert and was sitting up in bed. “Thank you both so much for being here.”
“Of course,” Maggie said. “How do you feel?”
“Like I had the worst flu in the world and then took a punch in the gut. I’ll be out of commission for a day or two, but I don’t want that to affect the pageant judging.”
Maggie was blunt. “Constance, your husband was murdered. Someone tried to kill you. I think the pageant is the least of everyone’s concerns right now.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be,” Constance shot back. “I refuse to give whatever psychopath did these awful things the satisfaction of seeing our lives up-ended by their despicable behavior.”
“If you’re going to be stubborn about this, the pageant can continue, but for everyone’s safety, the orphan train exhibit is on hold.” Maggie shared her conversation with Little Earlie Waddell. “Based on the anonymous letters, that seems to be the more dangerous event.”
“‘Dangerous event
,’” Robbie parroted. He gave a mirthless laugh. “We’re talking about a pageant and a historical exhibit. The only dangers should be inhaling hairspray or getting eyestrain from reading too many nineteenth-century letters. It’s demented.”
“Be that as it may, we now know what precautions to take,” Constance said. “We’ll focus all our attention on the pageant. March on, my friends. And despite the circumstances, let’s try and stay as positive as we can. As the Pelican High School cheer squad says, ‘Pom-poms up!’ I’ll check in with at least one of you tomorrow.”
Robbie and Maggie said their goodbyes and left Constance. “Pom-poms up,” Robbie muttered. “Is it me, or is that a strange thing for a recent widow who was almost killed to say?”
“Oh, it’s so not you,” Maggie said, relieved she wasn’t the only one who found Constance’s upbeat spirit bizarre. “I can’t make sense of anything that’s happening these days. All I know is if a suspect isn’t caught soon, it’s pom-poms down for Pelican.”
Chapter 16
By the time Maggie got home, it was late evening. She checked the manor house and saw Gran’ had followed orders. The house was secured, and the rarely used security system activated. Although overwhelmed with exhaustion, Maggie somehow managed to go through her nightly ablutions, which now included applying a thick layer of Veevay Age-Away Night Crème. She’d put a lot of faith in Louisiana’s humidity keeping her skin dewy, but with her thirty-third birthday approaching, it was time to seek anti-aging help from someone other than Mother Nature. She fell asleep with an arm around Gopher, and Jolie snuggled up tight against her side. As she drifted off, Maggie wondered if she was destined to spend her life sharing a bed with nothing but furry companions.
When she woke up, she could smell her mother’s Holiday Brandy Pain Perdu from the shotgun cottage. She sauntered over to the manor house for French toast and black coffee. Ninette was loading the dishwasher while Tug glumly rubbed oil into a new cast iron pot. “Nice pot, Dad.”
“I bought it for him to try and make up for ruining the other one,” Ninette said.
“Which I appreciate, chére, but it’ll take generations past mine to season it proper.” Tug put the pot down and massaged his seasoning hand. “The gumbo prize’ll be someone else’s this year.”
Maggie filled a plate with pain perdu, adding a dollop of sugar cane syrup. She poured a cup of coffee and sat down next to Ninette. She saw a copy of the Pelican Penny Clipper lying on the kitchen’s trestle table and picked it up. Little Earlie had come through. A banner headline announced the orphan train exhibit was canceled.
“We didn’t see you last night,” Ninette said. “How is Constance?”
“Weak, but getting better. We’ll be judging without her for a couple of days.”
“The pageant’s still happening? I thought for sure it’d be canceled.”
“No. Turns out it’s not the pageant that’s motivating murder—it’s the orphan train exhibit.”
“Really? That seems such a harmless thing.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you? Anyway, it’s important to Constance that the pageant goes on. Oddly important, frankly.”
“Well, they should cancel something out of respect for Gerard,” Tug said. “If not the pageant, then the gumbo contest.”
Ninette groaned, and Maggie burst out laughing. “Dad, you are such a sore loser.” Tug grumbled something unintelligible and went back to seasoning his pot. “Anyway, I’m hijacking the front parlor for an hour or two. Robbie and Mo are on their way over. We have to read the finalists’ essays and decide who wins the Gerard Damboise Memorial Award. It’s no cancellation of the gumbo contest, but it does show respect for Gerard.”
Maggie finished her breakfast, then poured a carafe of coffee and arranged a plate of breakfast pastries on a platter. She carried both to the front parlor. Moments later, Robbie and Mo arrived. “I touched base with Constance this morning,” Robbie said as he settled into a club chair. “She got a good night’s rest and is feeling way better, so she’s hoping they’ll release her today, or at least tomorrow. In the meantime, she asked me to make copies of the Historical Society key in case any of us needs to get in there for any reason.”
Robbie handed keys to Maggie and Mo. Mo refused hers. “Until that place honors the history of my people in some way, I am NI—not interested.”
Maggie sympathized with Mo. “I’ll help you work on Constance to get that going once she recovers from the trauma she’s experienced. Has she gotten any updates from the police? Any clues about who might have done this to her?”
Robbie shook his head. Mo poured a cup of coffee. She handed the cup to Robbie, then poured herself one and picked up a croissant before taking a seat on the sofa. “It’s hard to focus on anything but murder and attempted murder right now.”
“I know,” Maggie said. “I was thinking that hearing the finalists’ essays read aloud would help us concentrate and come to a unified decision.”
“I’m a fan of that idea. But would you mind doing the honors? I wouldn’t be much good with my mouth full of croissant,” Mo said through a mouth full of croissant.
“No problem.” Maggie pulled an essay from a folder. “This is Belle Tremblay’s.” She took a sip of coffee, and then began to read. “‘When a family has roots in a community, going back hundreds of years, like Pelican’s venerated Crozat family, it creates a fervent commitment to a community that cannot be challenged.’” She continued with the essay, which Belle somehow managed to turn into a pages-long humble brag about her own family’s history. “I am proud to be a Tremblay, Savoy, Favrot, and Boudreau, and to carry on a legacy I hope I will pass on to my children, as the Crozats will pass on to theirs.”
Maggie put down the page. Robbie was the first to comment. “It’s technically proficient.”
“That’s my general feeling about Belle,” Maggie said.
“You’re not being fair to her,” Mo protested. “She’s a Pelican superstar. And her complexion is flawless. Still … I don’t think this was her best category.”
“Okay then, on to Kaity.” Maggie picked up another essay and began reading. “‘Hidden in the depths of Grove Hall Plantation is a secret room. What part in Pelican’s history did it play? Was it used for passionate affairs of the heart and an adulterous rendezvous?’” Maggie continued to read as Kaity painted a lustful portrait of a couple sneaking off for an illicit assignation. There was silence when she finished.
“Mercy,” Mo said, fanning herself.
“Yeah, I think I need a cigarette,” Robbie joked.
“Whether or not she wins the contest, Kaity has a great future career as a romance writer,” Maggie said. She put down Kaity’s essay and picked up Allie’s. “‘How the Past Informs the Present, by Allie Randall. Teenagers tend to live in the moment. We may look forward, but we rarely look back. History is something that happened to our parents and grandparents. It has no effect on our lives—or so we think. But history is how we learn not to make mistakes. The legendary American playwright Eugene O’Neill once wrote, “There is no present or future, only the past happening over and over again.” But in Pelican, we’ve learned that doesn’t have to be true…’” Instead of writing an essay about Doucet, Allie had broadened the topic into an examination of Pelican itself, citing specific historical events that created change in the little village, from the ugly days of slavery to a recent spate of offensive graffiti. As Maggie neared the end, she found herself choking up and cleared her throat. “‘We should never ignore the past. We should never rewrite the past. We should study it and use what we learn to build a better future.’”
Robbie and Mo burst into spontaneous applause. Mo wiped tears from her eyes. Maggie decided that if titles were bestowed upon the judges, the Veevay saleswoman was a lock for Most Emotional. “That piece of writing made me fall in love with this crazy ol’ town all over again,” Mo said.
Robbie nodded. “What she said,” he concurred, choked up.
M
aggie smiled. “Agreed. We have a winner,” she said, holding up Allie’s essay.
* * *
Maggie was awarded the task of notifying Belle and Kaity that Allie had won the essay contest. In return, Belle texted back, “Happy for her,” and Kaity sent a series of confetti emojis. Allie responded with a simple “Thank you,” but it was accompanied by a smiley face. Her mother, Denise, called Maggie and blubbered her happiness. “I’m so proud of my baby,” she sobbed. Then she added, “And I’m sure this counts for a lot toward the title of queen.” Maggie responded with a polite “We wish her the best of luck,” and prided herself on coming up with such an innocuous response.
After finishing the call with Denise, Maggie hopped into her convertible for the short trip across the river to Doucet. When she got to the plantation, Maggie pulled into a parking space next to a HomeNHearth truck. On the walk to her workroom, she noticed workmen seemed to outnumber guests at the historic site. She detoured to Gaynell’s workspace. After exchanging hugs, she asked her friend, “What’s going on? What’s with all the workmen from HomeNHearth?”
“Neighbors reported seeing flashlights around here at night. Ione’s upgrading our security system. Anyway, I’m glad you stopped here—I’ve got a surprise for you.” Gaynell retrieved what looked like a pair of baggy pajamas from her dress rack. They were fire-engine red and trimmed with rows of fringe in a riotously colored pattern. A matching hat that looked a dunce cap dangled from the hanger; its bright red base was barely visible under rows of colored fringe. “It’s your Courir de Mardi Gras costume,” Gaynell said. “It’ll be done in a day or two. We’re gonna have so much fun on the Run!”
“Laissez le Courir de Mardi Gras rouler,” Maggie said, laughing.
Gaynell pumped her arms in the air and did a little dance. “Amen! Let the Run roll!”
Maggie left for her own workspace, where she readied supplies for the day. She’d arranged for Whitney to drop off Xander after being forced to cut their last session short because of the attempt on Constance Damboise’s life. A few minutes later, Whitney showed up with Xander in tow. Bo’s ex looked as willowy and beautiful as ever, but Maggie saw sadness in her eyes. Maggie ushered Xander to the mask-making area of the space. “Here you go, buddy. Your mama and I need to talk a minute.” Whitney followed Maggie into the hallway. “Bo told me about what happened. I’m so sorry.”
