Body on the Bayou (14 page)

“Hey, that’s—” Maggie began, but Trent disappeared back into the crowd before she could complete her sentence. Bibi burst into tears and ran in the opposite direction.

Maggie gave up her attempts at mediation and went to check on her grandmother, who was still parked at the same table with Stevens. “I’m trying to get this one to dance, but he won’t oblige,” Gran’ said as she gave her date a playful poke in the ribs.

Maggie noticed that Stevens had taken off his jacket; beads of perspiration inched down his face. “I’m not much of a dancer,” he confessed with a weak smile.

“I keep telling him we should go out and get some air, but he’s too stubborn to admit he’s uncomfortable,” Gran’ said. She picked up a purple paper napkin and gently swabbed the sweat from his face. Lee Bertrand, who was bouncing in rhythm to music, caught Gran’s attention and waved for her to join him on the dance floor.

“Go,” Stevens said, smiling at her. “I’ll be fine.”

Gran’ hesitated, but Maggie said, “Yes, go, Gran’. I’ll get Stevens some water and make sure he’s okay.”

“Alrighty then, I’ll put on my dancin’ shoes. But only for one number. Or maybe two.” Gran’ got up, straightened her skirt, and went to join Lee, who swept her onto the dance floor.

Maggie was on her way to get Stevens some water when she heard someone yelling. She saw a cluster of
Vanessa’s cousins pointing and giggling. “What’s happening?” she asked.

One of the girls pointed, and Maggie saw Vanessa tearing into Trent, backed up by her mother. “You are the worst person on this planet,” Vanessa yelled at him. “You don’t deserve to live.”

“What she said!” Tookie chorused. “You tell him, baby girl.”

Maggie started toward the three to intervene in their argument, but suddenly there was a loud popping sound. People screamed and ducked. “What the—?!” she cried out. There was another pop, and then another. Something light fell on Maggie from the ceiling. She reached down and picked up the remnants of a balloon. “It’s okay!” she yelled to the crowd. “It’s just the balloons; they’re getting too hot and exploding.”

Gaynell realized what was going on and stopped her band. “Hey, everyone,” she announced into her mic. “I guess the balloons are getting a little overexcited and popping themselves. No worries. Just keep dancing.”

The band picked up where they left off, and the crowd relaxed. Maggie looked for the fighting threesome, but Trent, Vanessa, and Tookie seemed to have gone their separate ways. Ione approached her and held out a balloon shred. “We can’t get them down because Van wouldn’t let us put strings on them—‘it wouldn’t be
pretty.
’ This is gonna go on all night.”

“Maybe we should borrow her gun and shoot them out,” Maggie said wryly. She noticed Chret by the bar; his arms
were wrapped around his upper body. Maggie could see that he was trying to keep himself from shaking. Concerned, she went to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He gave her a pleading look. “It’s the popping. The sound. It reminds me of . . . you know . . .”

“Afghanistan?”

Chret nodded. Maggie’s heart broke for him. “It’s just these stupid balloons. Now, if they’d been in Tulane colors instead of LSU, this wouldn’t be happening.” Chret forced a smile at Maggie’s attempt at a joke. “Maybe you should go outside for a bit. Get some fresh air and get away from the sound.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s a good idea. I’ll do that.”

Chret started for the door, and Maggie followed to make sure he was alright. They passed Trent, who was holding court with a group of besotted single friends of Vanessa’s. “Hey, Chret,” he called to him. “Just an FYI that I’ll be contesting that will. No way is Ginger’s money going to some bastard.”

Without warning, Chret threw a punch that sent the designer flying. Maggie grabbed the former soldier and pulled him toward the door as Trent staggered to his feet. “Assault!” he screamed at Trent. “I’m gonna get you arrested, then sue you!”

Maggie pushed Chret outside and stomped back to Trent. “Shut up, you big wuss,” she snapped. “And you leave Chret alone or you’re gonna be assaulted again, this time by me.”

Trent glared at her, but then backed down. “I’ve got to tend to my wound.”

“The only thing wounded was your pride, and it was about time that got knocked down a peg,” Maggie said, walking away before he could come up with a rejoinder. She reached the bar, where Vanessa was guzzling another near beer. “Maggie, did you see that?” she said, her tone vicious. “Did you see how Chret took down that SOB?”

“I saw you and Trent going at it before. I’m guessing he’s not going to forgive your design bill.”

“Oh, it’s way, way worse,” Vanessa said. “He’s tacking on a late payment fee. I wish he’d hit his head on his way down from that punch and never got up again. And I wish I was the one what done it.”

Maggie went behind the bar and pulled out another near beer. She handed it to Vanessa. “Nessa, this is your party. How about you forget about Trent and go enjoy yourself?”

Vanessa made a face. “I guess.” She got off her barstool and wandered off into the crowd clutching her beer.

Maggie poured Stevens a tall glass of water but was waylaid by guests clamoring for drink refills. It took a good ten minutes, but she finally extricated herself from the bar and went to deliver the water. While Stevens’s jacket was draped over the back of his chair, he wasn’t at the table. Maggie glanced around the room and didn’t see Stevens anywhere, so she left the water at his place and headed toward the back door, accompanied by a loud chorus of balloon pops. Her head pounded, as did her heart; the stress of the chaotic evening had gotten to her. “I’m taking a break,” she called to JJ.

“No problem, chère,” he called back. “You earned one.”

Maggie stepped outside. She leaned against one of the restaurant’s century-old brick walls and allowed herself to enjoy the crisp, cool air. She breathed in the fragrance of a late-blooming sweet olive tree, but the delicate scent was overwhelmed by the smell of rotting refuse coming from the restaurant’s dumpster. Maggie grimaced and went to close the dumpster. She glanced inside and reeled backward. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

On top of the garbage lay Trent Socher. A small bloodstain grew as the red liquid leaked through a small, perfect hole in his shirt.

The interior designer had been shot.

Maggie stood for a moment, trying to quell her panic. Then she reached into the dumpster, gently lifted Trent’s wrist, and felt for a pulse. After the deaths at the B and B, Maggie had taken an intensive CPR and first aid class so that she would be prepared if any guests ever needed emergency medical attention. But there would be no opportunity to apply that training to Trent. The designer had no pulse. He was dead. Maggie pulled out her cell phone.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” an operator asked.

“I need to be connected directly to Pelican PD,” Maggie said.

“Maggie Crozat, is that you
again
?” Delphine Arnaud, the recipient of Maggie’s 9-1-1 call after she found Ginger’s
body, happened to be the operator on duty. “Oh, dear. I’ll put you right through.”

There was a brief pause, and then Maggie heard Artie Belloise’s voice say, “Pelican Police Department.” She could tell by the sound of his voice that he was, per usual, eating.

“Artie, it’s Maggie Crozat. I’m at Junie’s, and we have a situation.” She explained about Trent. As soon as she was done, she heard Artie swallow.

“We’ll be over fast as we can. In the meantime, keep this on the down low. We don’t want the guests to go all crazy and run outta there before we can talk to them. And do not let anyone into that alley. Block it off as safely as possible.”

“Will do. Thanks, Artie.”

Maggie ended the call and hurried back into the restaurant. The air felt sticky and smelled like a combination of sweat, beer, and jambalaya. She leaned against the end of the bar to stave off a wave of dizziness that she feared might end in a faint. JJ saw her and hurried over.

“You okay, darlin’?” he asked, reaching out to steady her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, which around here wouldn’t surprise me at all. I can name a few right off the top of my head.”

She shook her head. “No ghost. More like a ghost-to-be.” She let out a hysterical giggle that turned into a sob.

“I’m getting your parents.”

JJ started to go, but Maggie grabbed his arm. “No!” She told him about finding Trent’s body and then relayed Artie’s instructions. “Lord have mercy,” JJ muttered as he crossed himself. “I can’t lock the door because it’s a fire exit, but I’ll
hang by it and make sure people don’t go out there for a smoke,” he said. He took off his apron, hung it on a hook, and strode toward the back door. Maggie then punched in Bo’s cell number on her phone. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey. What’s up?” He had to shout to be heard over the background noise of music and catcalls at the strip club.

“I found Trent Socher dead in the dumpster. It looks like he’s been shot.”

“What?! Sonuva—”

“Can you tell Rufus? He should probably be here for Vanessa. She’s going to have a breakdown when she hears about this. PPD is on its way.”

“We’ll get there as fast as we can . . . no, thank you. Seriously, no, I’m good.”

“What?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Bo Durand, are you getting a lap dance?”

“No! I’m trying
not
to get one. Be there soon.”

Bo ended the call, and Maggie was about to go wait for Pelican PD in the alley when Gran’ approached her. “Dearest, have you seen Stevens?” she asked. She pulled a monogrammed handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed at the slight sheen on her forehead. “Lee and I were dancing, but when we came back to the table, Stevens was gone. I thought he might be visiting the men’s room, but Lee checked and he’s not there.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Gran’. I’m sure he just stepped outside for some air.”

“I looked out front and he’s not there. I’ll check the back.”

Gran’ started for the back door, but Maggie grabbed her arm. “I’ll do it.” She gestured to Old Shari. “Shari, can you get my Gran’ a drink? Bill it to me.” Gran’s look of confusion over Maggie’s odd behavior transformed into one of anticipation, and Maggie took advantage of the moment to escape. She hurried to the back door, and JJ opened it just wide enough for her to slip through.

Since Junie’s was a mere blocks from the Pelican police and fire departments, the alley was already swarming with PPD’s finest. An officer was taping off the area while two EMTs, Cody Pugh and Regine Armitage, laid Trent Socher on a gurney. They covered him with a sheet and wheeled the gurney toward the street as a van from the coroner’s office pulled up. Acting Chief Perske saw Maggie and motioned to her with his index finger. She swallowed her resentment and joined him. “So,” he said, “another day, another body.”

“I don’t go looking for them, you know,” Maggie defended herself. “They seem to find me.”

“Yes, they do,” Perske said. Maggie couldn’t tell from his expression whether she was ruled out as a suspect or should extend her hands to be cuffed. “Walk me through what happened.”

Maggie recounted her discovery of Trent, making sure not to leave out a single detail.

“Did you notice anything unusual about the victim’s behavior prior to the discovery? Any altercations with other guests at the party?”

Maggie hesitated. She knew she should share Bibi’s fury at her business partner as well as the story of Chret’s clocking the man but hated putting either of them in Perske’s crosshairs. There was also Vanessa’s incensed reaction to Trent’s refusal to forgive her bill. Maggie was saved from having to implicate any of the three by Artie Belloise. “Chief, come here,” he yelled. “We may have another vic.”

Perske made his way to Artie, and Maggie followed. She cried out at what she saw; Stevens Troy lay on the ground, either dead or unconscious. She prayed it was the latter. The EMTs raced over and began triage. “He’s breathing,” Regine announced.

“Oh, thank God,” Maggie murmured.

“Pulse and heartbeat are weak,” Cody told his partner. They maneuvered Stevens onto a gurney, placed an oxygen mask over his face, and raced him to their ambulance.

“I need to tell my grandmother what’s happened,” Maggie said to the police officers. “He was her date tonight.”

“It’ll have to wait until we alert the guests to the situation,” Perske said. “I don’t want rumors to start flying around and cause a panic.”

“My grandmother isn’t some low-rent gossip,” Maggie said defensively. “If you’re going to be our acting chief, you might want to get to know the locals a little better so you don’t insult them.”

Perske ignored her and turned to Artie. “Track down every officer you can and get them over here. We’ve got a party full of potential witnesses to interview.”

Artie went back to his squad car to put out the word, and Perske followed Maggie back into Junie’s. Perske nimbly climbed onto the stage and indicated to a perplexed Gaynell that she should stop playing.

“If that’s the male stripper, Tookie should ask for her money back,” Maggie overheard one guest mutter to another, who nodded in agreement.

Perske explained to the partygoers that there had been an “incident,” as he euphemistically described it, and then gave orders that no one was to leave until everyone’s statements had been taken. A few other officers appeared and began dividing up the crowd. Pelican being the kind of small town where gossip traveled fast, news of Trent’s murder somehow leaked out and rapidly spread through the room. Annoyance at being inconvenienced turned to fear that some kind of madman had set up shop in the town. Meanwhile, Maggie pulled Gran’ and her parents aside and revealed Stevens’ crisis.

“Oh, no,” Gran’ said, holding a hand to her heart. “Was he attacked by whoever murdered Trent? Is he going to be alright?”

“I don’t know anything else,” Maggie said. “I’ll talk to Artie and make sure the police take your statements next. Then you can go to the hospital.”

Artie, who’d been tasked with handling a distraught Vanessa, grabbed the opportunity to interview the Crozats and led them to a private corner of the dance hall. A weeping Vanessa clung to Maggie. “How could this happen
again
?” she cried. Maggie didn’t know what to say. The Internet was
rife with stories of bridal catastrophes. There were brides whose weddings were disrupted by a natural disaster and brides whose nuptials were thrown into disarray when their reception location was shuttered due to a business’s bankruptcy. But Maggie had yet to hear of a bride whose impending marriage went off the rails because of not one, but two murders.

As she searched for platitudes that Vanessa might buy, she was relieved to hear a familiar voice calling to her. “Over here, Bo,” she called back, waving to him. He wended his way toward her, with Rufus right behind him. “Rufus, I am so glad you’re here.” Maggie pushed him toward his fiancée, who fell into his arms.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby,” Rufus comforted Vanessa. “Let’s get you some air.”

Bo’s phone pinged, and he read the new text message. “Interesting. Perske wants me back on duty. He’s out in the alley.”

Bo headed for the alley, and the others followed him out the back door. As soon as Perske saw Bo, he motioned him over. Rufus tended to Vanessa while trying to eavesdrop on Bo and Perske’s conversation. Maggie scanned the scene and noticed that Cal Vichet, clad in crime scene investigation gear, had been tasked with searching the dumpster for clues. She walked over to the edge of the police tape and then recoiled from the dumpster’s putrid bouquet. “It stinks in here,” Cal grumbled. “I better get overtime for this.”

Bo finished his tête-à-tête with Perske and found Maggie. “Chief needs me to analyze whatever forensics digs up.
Artie’ll take your statement and then you can go. I’ll give you a call later. Or in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Anyone who isn’t with PPD needs to leave the area,” Chief Perske declared. He glared at Rufus. “That means you, Durand.”

Rufus sucked in his gut and stood up tall. “I
am
with PPD.”

“Not right now you’re not,” Perske shot back. “So move it on out.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happenin’.”

Perske took a step toward Rufus. “You and your fiancée need to leave or—”

“I found something!” Cal Vichet called out from the dumpster. The officer stood up and shook off some vegetable parings that clung to his protective covering. A tiny pistol dangled from the pinky of his gloved hand. A pistol that Maggie recognized as Rufus Durand’s wedding present to his bride.