Mystic Mischief

by Sally J. Smith

  I turned to look Quincy Boudreaux square in his big brown peepers. "To be honest, I don't know what to think."

  Quincy stood by me, his arms crossed over his chest, his cap pulled low on his brow. "It's a sight," he said.

  I had to ask. "Are all these people really here to look for that letter?"

  He shrugged. "I guess. It's been all over the papers and TV. It's really somethin', it is."

  "And you don't think with all this hullaballoo that somebody might have wanted it badly enough to have fought with Elroy Villars to find out where it was hidden and killed him in the process?"

  He clicked his teeth, his eyes on the pond where it looked like Odeo was trying to shoo a few enthusiastic treasure hunters away from the boathouse.

  "The coroner still thinks dat man, he die accidental from hitting his poor head on Harry's nice big clawfoot tub in la petite maison." I always loved it when Quincy spoke French in his Cajun accent. It was just so cool. "Until the coroner tell me different, Elroy Villars died from being a klutz."

  "But, Q, don't you want to know what happened to Jean Lafitte's letter?" Seemed to me that a true detective wouldn't be able to resist a mystery this juicy.

  Again, that lazy shrug that didn't match the shrewd look in his eye. "Nah, it don't matter to me. Nobody said yet it truly belonged to them. Nobody asked the Sheriff to find out who took it."

  "I think if we find the letter, we might find out more about who or what killed Elroy Villars."

  He took his index finger and pushed his cap back on his head. Amusement was in the crinkle of his eyes. "It sound to me like maybe you don't put much in store by what our good coroner has to say 'bout dis."

  What could I say? He was right. What Percy had told me about how the journal was all but sacrosanct to his brother as well as the fact that Elroy had broken into Harry's house when the letter wasn't even supposed to be there, well, it just made me skeptical about Quincy and the parish coroner's version of the events that led to Elroy's death.

  "If there's no official investigation, what are you doing here on Sunday morning?" I asked.

  "Things are so busy hereabouts, they asked my Kitty Cat to come on in and work. She got a break round eleven, so I'm gonna buy her some coffee and a coupla beignets before I check in at the office. You wanna come too?"

  "No thanks. You two lovebirds need your alone time." I made a couple of kissy sounds. "And besides, I'm pretty sure Fabrizio needs to talk to me."

  Fabrizio had come up behind Quincy while we were talking and stood there making hand gestures, indicating he really wanted to see me. When Quincy turned around and walked away, Fabrizio hotfooted it right on over, put his arm around my shoulders, and steered me to the far end of the veranda.

  "Good morning, Fabrizio," I said.

  He stood beside me, his gaze slightly alarmed as he took in the constant activity going on around us.

  "Harry tells me this"—his hand lifted to indicate all the rushing around everyone was doing—"all this is a dichotomy for The Mansion. On the one hand, all these treasure hunters will probably be patronizing our bars and cafés, maybe dropping by the gift shops—an economic boon. On the other hand, the disruption is upsetting the actual resort guests who are trying to book appointments with the cast, have a quiet hour or two in the spa"—he pointed at a middle-aged couple sitting down a ways from us on the veranda in the process of picking up their coffee and moving inside—"those two for instance. It won't take long for the basic amenities to be somewhat neglected because staff is being pulled away from assigned duties."

  I thought of Odeo trying to shoo a small group away from the boathouse only moments ago and the three couples who'd just left on the shuttle.

  He went on. "Harry and your Jack"—my breath caught at the mention of Jack's name, my Jack—"have sent word to the sheriff's office, asking if perhaps some of their off-duty personnel could come 'round to help out with this influx of humanity."

  I smiled. "Influx of humanity. That's what it is all right." When he didn't respond, I asked, "You acted like you needed to talk to me. So what's up?" Since obviously something was.

  "I'm afraid I've become quite nervous regarding this matter of Percy and Nancy Villars." He shook his head, and I could see he truly was bothered.

  "Nervous? How?" I laid my hand on his arm.

  "I cherish Harry," he began, and I smiled. "I would never want to see him hurt or taken unfair advantage of, not by anyone."

  "Of course not," I said.

  "I find myself wondering if perhaps these Villars people aren't somehow trying to…" He paused and seemed to be searching for just the right word. "Scam—that's it—scam him. I've been doubting their veracity and worrying they might be trying to somehow scam Harry into believing they're related to him."

  "But they're not related, not by blood," I said. "Their ancestor was a slave who went by the family name. Surely Harry knows that. It seemed very clear to me."

  "Oh, he knows it. But you know how my Harry is, generous to a fault. I just don't want him to make a connection to these people only to somehow be hurt by them. I don't suppose you'd be amenable to checking into their background a bit, would you? Just to be sure they are who they claim to be?"

  So that's what he was about.

  Well, why not? I had already said I'd help Harry find out what really went down the night Elroy died. It would be a simple matter to check out the history of Percy's branch of the Villars family while I was at it. "I can do that," I said. "No problem."

  And with that, the forlorn expression on Fabrizio's face disappeared, and he hugged me before setting me back at arms' length. "Thank you, my dear. You're one of the best friends I've ever had."

  The Great Fabrizio, one of The Mansion at Mystic Isle's most popular cast members, conducted séances by appointment in a special room that had been perfectly designed for that purpose. That day he was dressed for work in monochromatic steel blue from the turban with the enormous fake diamond to his boots and everything in between.

  "Did you get called in for work too?" I asked. "Quincy said Cat had been asked to come in."

  Fabrizio nodded. "It seems the Powells have booked a séance for the purpose of asking those beyond the veil to locate this infamous missing letter. They're going to have it recorded by those movie people." He said the word movie like it was the nauseating castor oil my Grandmamma Ida used to force on me when I'd overindulged on Pixy Stix and made myself sick.

  "So looks like you're going to be a movie star," I teased him. "Are you still going to talk to us peons when you're rich and famous?"

  He pulled a skeptical expression. "This old thespian? My dear, I don't believe that's likely to be an issue."

  With that, he turned and walked away, tossing back over his shoulder. "Ta-ta for now." Always the consummate actor, he spun, threw back his head, and gave me an awesome Gloria Swanson. "Mr. Hollywood, I'm ready for my close-up."

  * * *

  Back in the lobby, I managed to flag down Lucy from dealing with the mob. Jack was nowhere to be seen at that point, probably called away to some other part of the resort.

  Poor Lucy looked so hassled. My heart went out to her.

  "When does your shift end?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "Not soon enough."

  "Miss? Miss?" The call came from a tall woman standing at the front desk banging on Harry's old-fashioned counter bell. Between that, the general roar of people talking and moving about, and the funeral dirge playing whenever someone came through the front doors, it was bedlam.

  Lucy put her hands over her ears. "Keep going, lady. Maybe you'll break the stupid bell." She looked at me. "That would be one good thing we get out of all this, wouldn't it?"

  I nodded my agreement even though I'd always thought the bell was sort of charming. Of course it wasn't my job to hang out at the front desk and listen to it through every shift. "Have you seen Nancy Villars this morning? I'd like to talk to her."

  Lucy's whole demeanor changed. "
Oh, the poor thing." Both her tone and expression were suddenly sympathetic. "She came by here asking if there was someplace quiet where she could meditate. I sent her to Harry's Garden, you know out back of the resort where they're building the water feature?" Her head swiveled as the clamor over by her station rose again. "But the way things are going around here this morning, I'm betting it's not even quiet there."

  The clamor behind us rose again.

  "I gotta go," she said apologetically then laughed. "My public wants me."

  I laughed too. "Thanks, Lucy. I'll go have a look in the garden."

  Harry's Garden was the one place at the resort where the paranormal was banned. The center of it was quite formal with walkways of brick pavers and grass so well-manicured if even one single blade was a millimeter longer than any of the others, it'd be noticeable. That area was lined with formal beds planted with palmettos and low shrubbery in some areas and flowering plants in others. Ornate French-style wrought iron benches with colorful cushions sat in strategic spots with good views of the garden, the surrounding grounds and buildings, and the wild areas of the bayou beyond. Harry's beautiful roses took up almost one entire side of the area. A Japanese-style wooden bridge crossed over a koi pond, while a white gingerbread-trimmed gazebo graced the center area.

  The perimeter of the garden was more informal where Spanish moss hung from live oak trees and purple, white, blue, and yellow wildflowers had been left to flourish. Odeo took an enormous amount of pride in Harry's Garden and kept it in immaculate shape. He'd been dismayed when an area of it had been dug up to begin construction on the water feature Harry was having built at one end of the garden. The barricades, temporary fencing, and screening would be in place until the project was finished. It was scheduled to be done in time for Cat and Quincy to be married in front of it.

  It was going to be a beautiful wedding.

  As I maneuvered my way through the garden, I spotted Nancy Villars seated on one of the benches. She was slumped forward, her head in her hands.

  It was crummy to impose on her, and I had started to turn around when she looked up and saw me.

  "Hello," she said quietly.

  I stopped and turned toward her. "Hi, Nancy."

  "Hello."

  "May I join you?" I asked.

  She nodded, so I went and sat beside her, taking the time to push one of the patio pillows behind the small of my back.

  We sat at least a full minute or two without speaking before she said, "It's so lovely out here."

  "You must miss your brother very much."

  She looked up at me with tired eyes. "I do. Of course I wasn't as close to Elroy as Percy. I'm sure he's even more devastated than I am by all this. You can't understand the way the twins related to each other unless you've lived with them, watched them together. It was eerie. It was a bond like no other. No matter what came between them, no matter how angry they might have been with one another, there was always the bond"—her voice took on a slightly harsher tone—"the twins thing."

  "Percy told me about their book deal, about how it all hinged on their coming up with proof of their lineage and validation of the journal by coming up with Lafitte's letter."

  "It was why we came here. I'm thinking Percy probably wishes he'd never heard of Jean Lafitte. I'm thinking he's probably going to get in touch with the publisher and call the whole thing off after"—she faltered—"after what's happened."

  It was the opening I'd been waiting for. "I don't think so. I saw Percy this morning, and he said he planned on going through with the book deal and that he hoped you'd help him with it. Said he planned to pay you if you would."

  A look of surprise came over her. "He said that?"

  "Yes. You aren't interested in helping him?"

  "Oh my God, yes. I've wanted to help them ever since the beginning of this whole thing—ever since our mother gave them the journal—ever since they embarked on this great adventure." She looked away, a tad bit starry-eyed.

  "Wow," I said.

  "What do you mean, 'Wow?'"

  I shrugged. "I don't know, you just seem really excited about something that sounds more like a lot of work than a 'great adventure.' Guess I'm just surprised."

  She stood and crossed her arms over her chest. Defensive. "A girl like me looks at something such as this as a great adventure."

  "A girl like you?"

  "My life's been pretty bland. If there was something my adoptive parents needed done, I was the one they looked to for help. Not the boys. Never the boys."

  Oh, right. Cinderella complex. Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo. "Really?" I prodded.

  "Don't get me wrong. They loved me, and I loved them, and I really loved the boys. I sheltered them every bit as much as Mom and Dad did. I mean, how adorable are they anyway?" She kind of laughed before sobering. "Were, I guess. How adorable were they…I mean." She shook it off. "Besides, if he plans on paying me, I have a great use for some extra cash."

  "Yeah?" When she didn't answer right away, I added in a teasing voice, "I could probably conjure up a pretty special tattoo for any extra cash you come up with."

  She laughed. It was small, but it was still a laugh. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I have something different in mind. Someone different in mind. A certain someone."

  Ah-ha. A man. When a woman says a certain someone with that kind of look in her eye, she's talking about a man. "You have a boyfriend?"

  She frowned and looked irritated that I'd asked her. "Well, why not? Not every man is looking for Jennifer Lopez."

  Oops. "No, that's not what I meant at all. I was just making conversation."

  She snorted and walked a few paces away, her jaw set, her chin in the air.

  A soft breeze rattled the palm fronds and swayed the Spanish moss. "Harry and Odeo have done a beautiful job out here. Don't you think?"

  She seemed quieter, calmer. "It's beautiful. I wouldn't mind staying here."

  I thought back to what Fabrizio had said about them trying to move in on Harry. "Stay here?"

  "I was only speaking figuratively, of course. My life's back in Chicago. I'm a big-city girl."

  Another moment passed when neither of us spoke, and then I ventured. "Something's been bothering me about Elroy's—about what happened."

  She looked at me, waiting.

  "If Elroy had the journal and knew where the document was supposedly hidden, why would he go there alone to get it? I mean, I had the impression the twins were practically inseparable and were in this"—I coined her term—"adventure together all the way. Why wouldn't he have taken Percy with him?"

  She didn't even pause to take a breath. "He wouldn't have. You're right. Elroy would never have gone near the place without Percy in tow. When it came to the journal, the letter, this whole thing, they might as well have been Siamese twins—they were that joined at the hip. Elroy just wouldn't have gone to look for the letter without…"

  I waited a long beat before asking, "So are you saying you think the two were together at la petite maison, at Harry's? If they were, that would mean Percy was with Elroy when…" I let it hang, not anxious to say the word murder.

  Nancy picked up on what I said right away, a look of horror taking over her face. "Oh, no. Oh my God, no. I didn't think about… I didn't mean he"—then finally—"Just plain no. He wouldn't."

  She stared at me.

  I didn't know exactly what to say. All I had to offer was a lame, "Of course not." But something had obviously drawn Elroy to la petite maison. Was that something his brother?

  She was breathing hard, and her cheeks had gone awfully pink. She pushed her limp hair back off her forehead and looked around, probably for the quickest path leading away from me.

  "Well, I have to go," she said. "Have to…uh…" She stopped and seemed to be searching her repertoire for a good excuse to leave but finally just shrugged and said, "Good-bye."

  I watched her obvious state of distress and confusion, and I almost felt bad about what I'd encouraged her to s
ay.

  Nancy's voice quivered. "Pretend I never said anything. Please. I'm just, well, upset. I'm sure you understand."

  She turned and walked away.

  Percy had seemed like a pretty nice guy, one who cared about his family. And now he had a connection to Harry, whom I cared about. I didn't want Percy to be the one. But now I had to wonder. Did Nancy know something that had led her to think the twins had been together at la petite maison?

  Pretend I never said anything? I almost wished I could, but it wasn't going to happen. No way she could take it back or that I could unhear what she'd already said.

  The cat was out of the bag. It was an ugly one at that, and I was pretty sure all the catnip in the world wouldn't entice that kitty back in the sack.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Her timing couldn't have been more perfect. Her exit was nearly simultaneous to an almost military-style assault on the garden by a small group of treasure hunters, checking their maps of the resort against the newspaper.

  They flew by me, chattering among themselves.

  Close on their heels came Odeo and two of his groundskeepers. Lord have mercy, as Grandmamma Ida would say. God help the fortune hunters if they so much as even bruised one poppy or flattened one blade of grass. Odeo's posture and the look in his eye as he rushed past me reminded me of a mother bear with a cub in peril. Be careful, people.

  Back in the lobby things had actually calmed down some. It was getting close to lunchtime, and if my guess was correct, the Presto-Change-o Room and outdoor venues where Sunday brunch and early lunch were being served were probably standing room only.

  Coming through the front entrance to the tune of the funeral dirge was Chief Deputy Quincy Boudreaux accompanied by a half dozen—no, there were eight—other deputies. Quincy stopped beside me, but the others moved on, fanning out in different directions.

  "Hey," he said.

  "What's all this?" I asked.

  "I was just leaving here when I got a call that Elroy Villars' cause of death wasn't accidental. Bludgeoned to death." He shook his head, eyes squinted, mouth twisted. "Eww. Bad way to buy dat farm."