Body on the Bayou (4 page)

Maggie crept away from the bayou as quietly as possible, although she doubted any noise she made would disturb the illicit lovers.

“Did you find Ginger?” Ninette asked when Maggie returned to the manor house.

“Uh . . . no,” Maggie lied, not wishing to delve into what she’d witnessed. “Let’s not worry about that now. We have guests coming in a few hours.”

Maggie debated waiting until after the party to let Vanessa know that Ginger refused to budge on her due bill but decided that it was better to pull off the Band-Aid, so she texted the bad news. Then she, Ninette, and Gran’ set the tables under the tent with the purple-and-gold colors of Louisiana State University that Vanessa had requested, although the only time she’d ever stepped foot on the campus was to crash a frat party. Belles Fleurs, the town florist shop, had cut the Crozats a great deal on fleur-de-lis, and Maggie arranged the beautiful, purple bearded irises in glass
vases as centerpieces on each table. Lia, Gaynell, and Ione showed up early to help set a table with cheeses and hors d’oeuvres. Per Vanessa’s request, the future bridesmaids were dressed in violet, as was Maggie, who wore a silk slip dress and matching shrug sweater. “You look gorgeous,” Lia told her.

“But not too gorgeous, right?” Maggie asked. “Bride’s orders—no one outshines her.”

“God knows I don’t,” Ione muttered as she tugged at her ill-fitting pencil skirt. She motioned to Gaynell. “But you look like an angel. Violet is definitely your color, honey.”

“Stop,” Gaynell said as she blushed. “Let me help you, Ione.” She straightened the older woman’s skirt, which had wrinkled and bunched up on the car ride over. “There. Much better.”

Maggie’s cell rang. She looked down. “I need to take this,” she told her friends, then walked to a quiet spot in the tent. “Hey,” she said into her cell, keeping her voice soft. “Can’t wait till you get here.”

“Bad news,” said Bo. “Acting Chief Perske put me on desk duty.”

“What?! Why? Doesn’t he know you’re Ru’s best man?”

“He sure does,” Bo said, his tone terse. “It’s part of the mayor’s payback campaign against Rufus. Not helped by the fact that Perske and I do
not
get along.”

“It’s going to be a long night without you,” Maggie said. She was bitterly disappointed. Although she and Bo had to keep their relationship a secret, they found ways to connect
at most social events—a gentle touch here, a moment alone there.

“I’m sorry. Have fun tonight,” Bo said.

“Given what’s gone on the last few days, I’m not sure that’s possible.”

But much to Maggie’s relief, the party got off to a festive start. Guests streamed in, gifts in hand, as Cajun and zydeco favorites thumped cheerfully from speakers. Rufus arrived with an entourage of fellow officers, all of whom immediately hit the bar. Little Earlie Waddell showed up, his reporter’s notebook sticking out of his jacket pocket.

“If you see Ginger Fleer-Starke, lemme know,” he told Maggie. “She asked me to put together an advertorial for her company’s relocation, so I been working like a dog on it.”

Little Earlie pulled out a mock-up of a two-page ad designed to look like a newspaper. It trumpeted Starke Homes’ move to Baton Rouge and featured a stunning portrait of Ginger.

“What do you think?” Earlie asked, clearly proud of his work.

“It looks great, Earlie,” Maggie said. “She’ll love it.”

Lee Bertrand came into the tent with his great-nephew, Chret, who was quite handsome when cleaned up and out from under a car. His hair shone from the pomade that held it in place, and there was more life in his grey-green eyes than she’d seen before. “Chret’s my date tonight,” Lee said. “I’m a lucky man.” Lee winked at Maggie and slapped Chret on the back. But the ex-soldier didn’t notice. He was staring at Gaynell, who gave him a shy smile in return. Maggie
couldn’t resist a bit of matchmaking and motioned for Gaynell to come over. “Gay, Chret is new in town. Why don’t you tell him about some of Pelican’s best bets, like Bon Bon and Fais Dough Dough and Junie’s Oyster Bar and Dance Hall?”

“Sure,” Gaynell said. “But I hope I don’t bore him silly.”

“I don’t see how that could happen, Miss,” Chret said, and followed Gaynell to a quiet table. Maggie noticed him trying to hide his limp.

Lia nudged Maggie in the ribs. “All hail the queen,” she said, pointing to where Vanessa had entered with her mother, Tookie Fleer. The bride-to-be had timed her appearance so that she made a grand entrance. She was heavily made up and clothed in a bright purple, green, and gold caftan, accented with a raft of matching beaded jewelry.

“She looks like a Mardi Gras float,” Maggie muttered.

“Shhh,” Ione admonished. “Be nice.”

“You’re just jealous because you didn’t say it first,” Maggie retorted.

“A little,” Ione admitted.

“Hello, everyone. Hey, y’all.” Vanessa knocked a knife against a glass to get everyone’s attention. It didn’t work.

“Hey!” Tookie roared. That silenced the crowd. “My baby and I wanna thank y’all for coming.”

“Thanks from me too,” Rufus called out.

Tookie and Vanessa ignored him. “I can’t help but think,” Vanessa said, taking over from her mother, “that as I journey toward this big moment in my life, I—”

“Vanessa!” a woman’s voice called out. All eyes turned toward the tent entrance. Ginger floated in, flanked by a smirking Trent and an unhappy-looking Bibi. The partygoers stared at Ginger, captivated. She wore a flowing lace dress—off-white, of course—and a tiara of baby’s breath. Diamond studs sparkled in her ears. She looked like an angel—or a bride.

Ginger glided toward Vanessa and gave her cousin an air kiss. “I’m so happy for you.”

Tookie, a momma bear if there ever was one, literally pushed Ginger aside. “We’re in the middle of something here.”

But it was too late. Vanessa couldn’t recover from Ginger’s showstopper of an entrance.

“I think maybe we should all eat,” she said in a monotone as she looked down at the ground, too mortified to make eye contact with anyone. Maggie felt terrible for her.

“You heard the lady,” Rufus echoed. “Chow call!”

He took Vanessa’s hand and led her to the buffet tables. The rest of the guests lined up behind them. Maggie felt someone grab her arm. It was Tookie, who was hopping mad. A tiny, peppery woman, Tookie was in her early fifties but looked much older thanks to years of smoking and a failure to use sun block on her job as a swamp airboat pilot.

“Can you believe that woman?” Tookie barked. “She’s nothing but a—” Tookie released a stream of cuss words that burned Maggie’s ears. “She don’t deserve to live,” Tookie said, finishing her rant.

“I don’t blame you one bit for being so upset, Mrs. Fleer,” Maggie said in her most soothing voice. “Let’s get you a
drink. Lia’s boyfriend, Kyle, volunteered to work the bar, and he’s using my dad’s Ramos Gin Fizz recipe.” She guided Tookie to the bar and deposited her with Kyle. “Make her a stiff one,” she whispered to him. He nodded and poured a double shot of gin into a glass. Maggie saw Vanessa sitting by herself, picking at her food, which was unusual for the robust woman. Rufus was preoccupied with entertaining a group of his police department buddies as he wolfed down a plate of shrimp étouffée. Maggie looked for her fellow bridesmaids. Gaynell and Chret were busy blushing and smiling at each other, and not wanting to disturb the blossoming romance, she left them alone. She spotted Ione and Lia in line for food and marched over. “I need you,” she said as she pulled them out of line. Before they could protest, she pointed to Vanessa. “One duty I’m proud to fulfill as maid of honor is making sure the bride-to-be isn’t miserable at her own party.” Maggie herded Ione and Lia over to Vanessa’s table. “Okay if we join you?” she asked. Vanessa’s relieved grin told her it was, and the three women sat down.

“Great party,” Vanessa said as she dug into her plate of food, appetite restored. “Thanks, Maggie.”

Maggie faked shock. “Did you just actually thank me for something I did?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Lace up your ice skates, ladies, because hell just froze over.”

All four women burst out laughing. They didn’t hear Ginger approach. “Vanessa,” she said, in her soft, smooth
voice. Vanessa started, then tensed. “I wanted to tell you how lovely you look.”

“Oh.” Vanessa relaxed slightly. “Thanks, Ginger.”

Ginger shook her head sadly. “You would have made a beautiful bride, except for . . . you know.” Ginger made a wan gesture toward Vanessa’s bulging belly and then shrugged in a way meant to convey sympathy. “But what can you do? You’re a Pelican Fleer.”

Having thrown that verbal harpoon, Ginger glided off, leaving the others in stunned silence. Ione finally spoke. “Did she just insult our entire town?”

Lia pursed her lips. “I believe she did.”

Vanessa pushed away her food, appetite gone once again. “Does she think I
wanted
to walk down the aisle like this? Of course I didn’t. No dang bride does. But stuff happens even when you don’t want it to, if you know what I mean.”

“We do,” Maggie replied before Vanessa could deliver a more graphic explanation. “Ignore Ginger. She’s a horrible human being.”

“A horrible human being that I owe lots of money to.” Vanessa got up and stomped away, ignoring the chair that she knocked over. The others, not knowing what to say, watched her go.

The drama continued after Ginger’s nasty barb. Little Earlie was furious when she proclaimed his advertorial “garbage” and refused to pay him. Then Rufus blew up when Trent dropped a bill in his lap for Starke Homes’ “detailed designs regarding Maison La Plus Belle.”

“I swear, I’ve put out so many fires tonight, I feel like I should have a hose and a ladder,” Maggie told Gran’ after managing to calm down both Little Earlie and Rufus.

Gran’ smiled and sipped her gin fizz. “I know this has been a nightmare for you, chère. But take comfort from the fact that it’s been very entertaining for the rest of us.”

A man Maggie had never seen before approached her. He was in his early forties and wearing an expensive-looking suit and silk tie, but with his thinning hair and sagging skin, his good looks had turned a corner. “Hello,” he said, his tone polite but tentative. “I was told you’re the party’s hostess. I’m looking for Ginger Fleer-Starke.”

Just then Bibi rushed by, eyes blazing with fury. “Uh-oh,” Gran’ said to Maggie. “Better get your hose and ladder.”

“Excuse me for a minute,” Maggie told the stranger, and took off after Bibi. The intern was screaming at Ginger, who seemed unfazed by the display of anger. “Trent just told me the news. You swore to me that I would get a promotion. How can you lie like that, Ginger? And how can you make
him
a partner?”

“I reward talent,” Ginger said calmly.

“No, you don’t,” Bibi shot back. “He’s a useless buffoon. You rewarded him for sleeping with you!”

“I thought so but didn’t want it to be true,” the stranger said. He stepped between the two women and faced Ginger. “Is it?” he asked. Maggie saw that his face was red mutating into purple. “I want to hear it from you, Ginger. Is what Bibi’s saying true?”

Ginger didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and strode off, out of the tent. The man followed. “Glad you could make it to the party, Fox,” Tookie Fleer called after him. She was smiling for the first time all evening.

“Is that . . .” Maggie asked Bibi, who seemed glued to her spot on the floor.

“Yes,” Bibi said almost inaudibly. “That’s Ginger’s husband, Fox Starke.”

There was a brief pause in the action after the scene between the Starkes, but then the festivities resumed. “You’d think something like that would shut down this shindig,” Kyle commented as he worked himself into a sweat, mixing and pouring drinks for a long line of thirsty celebrants.

“Not in Pelican,” Maggie said. “It takes more than a marriage breaking up in front of everybody to put the brakes on a party in this town. But I better go see if the Starkes are okay.”

Before leaving the tent, she scanned the crowd for Trent, the stick of human dynamite that had exploded the Starkes’ relationship. She didn’t see him and assumed that, motivated by self-preservation, he’d made himself scarce.

As soon as Maggie stepped outside, she heard the couple. “You want a divorce? Huh? Is that what you want?” Fox yelled. Ginger’s response was low and unintelligible. “Of course not, because that would mean the gravy train pulled
outta the station,” Fox continued. “That’s all I am to you anymore, a credit card with no limit. A checkbook filled with blank checks.” There were more murmurs from Ginger. “I don’t care. I’m done,” Fox responded. “I’m going back to Houston. But you better tell your boyfriend to keep on hiding, because if I see him, I swear to you—I will kill him.”

Fox stormed off to his car and tore out of the parking lot. Ginger watched him drive away, her face a mask. Then she sauntered off toward the bayou, where Maggie was sure the designer would find Trent waiting at their trysting spot.
That is one ice-cold woman,
she thought as her eyes followed Ginger, appalled yet fascinated.

Vanessa peered out of the tent entrance. “Did they leave?” she asked hopefully.

“Fox did. Ginger went for a walk by the bayou.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone’ll push her in.”

Vanessa’s barb made Maggie nervous. “I should check on her,” she said.

The party guests erupted into a drunken chant of “Cake, cake, cake!” It grew louder. “Forget about my stupid cousin,” Vanessa ordered. “This is my party. And Ru’s. Now, let’s go. This baby,” Vanessa said, pointing to her face, “and
this
baby,” she continued, pointing at her stomach, “need us some Caramel Dobash Cake.”

“I could use a big slab of Dobash, too,” Maggie said, then followed Vanessa back into the tent, attributing her nerves to prior events at Crozat that made her sensitive to even a callous semijoke about murder.

*

The festivities continued deep into the night. Even Gran’ made it onto the dance floor, unable to resist Lee Bertrand when he bowed and presented his arm as an escort. The couple wound up surrounded by cheering guests as they performed some old-fashioned, intricate dance steps to traditional Cajun tunes.

Maggie booted out the last revelers around four in the morning. She caught a few hours’ sleep and then staggered down to the kitchen to fortify herself with chicory coffee and a hearty breakfast of biscuits and scrambled eggs before tackling cleanup. She found Gran’ sitting at the kitchen table, chuckling as she read a copy of the
Pelican Penny Clipper
. “Is that a new issue?” Maggie asked.

Gran’ held up the paper. A banner headline screamed, “SPECIAL EDITION! MARRIAGE MAYHEM AT BRIDAL SHOWER BASH.”

“Let me see that.” Maggie grabbed the paper from her grandmother. She skimmed the article to see if Little Earlie had said anything disparaging about her family or the B and B. But he’d spared them, choosing to heap his vitriol on Ginger. If anything, the Crozats came off as suffering at her expense, as did Vanessa and Rufus. Little Earlie had even managed to snap a cell phone shot of the moment Ginger began to rain on Van’s parade. There she was, with a smile so devious that Maggie wondered if Earlie had done a bit of photoshopping. “I had no idea Earlie could be so brutal,” she said. “I’m kind of impressed. Yet also terrified.”

“Yes, you do want to stay on his good side,” Gran’ said. “I’ll need the paper back. There’s a coupon for my favorite shampoo on page ten.” A bell tinkled. “Our guests have made their way to the dining room. I’m surprised they still have appetites after last night’s kerfuffle. Oh, I almost forgot. This was under the paper.”

Gran’ handed Maggie a manila envelope addressed to Ginger. Maggie put it under her arm, picked up a coffee carafe, and left the kitchen for the dining room. She found Ginger and Trent sitting at the antique black oak table, chatting with each other. They seemed so relaxed that it was as if the night before had never happened.

“’Morning. We’ll just take coffee,” Ginger said.

“We’re still a little iffy about the food here,” Trent added as he did his variation on Ginger’s helpless shrug.

“No problem—less work for me,” Maggie said. After she filled their cups, she dropped the manila envelope in front of Ginger, who opened it and pulled out a copy of the
Pelican Penny Clipper
. Her eyes widened.

“Agh!” she shrieked.

Trent pulled the paper away from her. His mouth dropped open as he scanned the front page. “What the . . .”

Ginger waved the
Clipper
in front of Maggie. “What’s the circulation of this rag? Do they get it in Baton Rouge?” Maggie nodded. She couldn’t help but get some pleasure from watching the unflappable Ginger lose it. “He can’t do this. He mentioned Starke Homes and the relocation. It’ll kill our business.” Ginger whirled around to Trent. “Get this Earlie idiot on the phone,” she demanded.

“I’m on it.” Trent was already punching in a telephone number he’d found on the Clipper. Ginger stood up and paced while the phone rang. “It went to voicemail,” Trent said.

Ginger let loose with language so foul it would have made swamp boat pilot Tookie Fleer blush. “Then we’ll flush the rat out of his nest and make him destroy every copy of this piece of garbage. And get Les Robbins on the line. I want him to sue this SOB for character defamation.” She grabbed the expensive designer purse that she’d slung over the back of her chair and marched down the hall and out the back door. Trent sprinted behind her, punching numbers into his phone as he ran.

“Good luck,” Maggie called after them. She picked up the paper that Trent had thrown down and made a note to buy Little Earlie a box of his favorite Coconut Haystacks from Bon Bon.

*

The
Pelican Penny Clipper
cover story was the hot topic of conversation among the tour guides at Doucet. Vanessa lapped up the attention and pity she received from her coworkers. Maggie grew tired of rehashing every moment of the Ginger-Fox debacle and was glad when the workday ended.

She drove home, enjoying the bright pink, purple, and orange sunset that painted the sky over the Mississippi. When she got out of her car, she noticed a pile of carpet samples next to the plantation dumpster. She recognized
them as the ones Bibi had been loading into her car. Then she saw Bibi walking toward her with another armful of samples. She was struck by how relaxed and almost happy the intern looked.

“Do you mind if I dump these here?” Bibi asked as she threw the load she was carrying on top of the pile.

“No, it’s fine. But don’t you need them?”

“Ginger might, but I don’t. I quit.”

“Really?” Despite recent events, Maggie was surprised that the put-upon intern had shown such initiative.

“Yep, and get this. I called the Labor Board, and nothing I’ve been doing classifies as an internship. I’ve done the work of an employee and should be compensated for it. So for a change, someone will be suing Ginger instead of the other way around. FYI, you might want to make sure all your stairs are in good shape. Nothing like a ‘fall’ to bring up a lawsuit.”

“Yes, I’ve been warned about that.”

“It was seeing Fox so hurt that made me do it,” Bibi said, her voice emotional. “He’s such a good person. He deserves way, way better than that horrible woman.”

It became clear to Maggie why Bibi had suffered through a year as Ginger’s lackey. Also clear was why she hadn’t quit even sooner. She was in love with Fox.

“I’m packing up my stuff,” Bibi continued. “I’m leaving in the morning. Oh, that Vanessa person is here. She’s been looking for Ginger, who’s probably going at it with Trent in the woods somewhere.”

Maggie was distracted by a strange sound. “Do you hear that?” she asked Bibi.

“Yes. It almost sounds like a baby crying.”

Gopher began barking furiously. “Excuse me, I need to make sure our dog’s okay,” Maggie told Bibi. “It sounds like he’s down by the bayou.”

Maggie trudged through the woods calling the hound’s name. Finally, he came bounding up to her. “There you are, buddy,” she said, bending down to rub his ears. But the dog, which usually collapsed at her feet and begged for more ear love, wouldn’t stay still. He ran a few circles around her and then took off, looking back now and then to make sure she followed. They reached a clearing near Ginger and Trent’s rendezvous locale, and Maggie heard the thin cry again. Gopher nudged her leg with his nose, and Maggie looked down. She was stunned by what she saw. “Oh my gosh.” Nestled on a bed of leaves was a beautiful but thin calico cat. Three kittens were nestled between her legs.

As were three Chihuahua-mix puppies.

“Sweet, sweet babies,” Maggie murmured as she dropped to her knees and petted the mama cat and tiny creatures. “We’ve got to get you to the house. But where’s Momma Doggy?”

Maggie looked around but saw no sign of another dog. “Come on, Gopher, she must be here somewhere.” Gopher barked and wagged his tail, then headed toward the swampy stream. “You found her?”

Gopher stopped at the edge of the bayou and barked furiously. “I hope you didn’t find that poor little doggy lying in the water,” Maggie said as she made her way to the basset hound. She looked to where the basset hound was standing and screamed. Gopher hadn’t found the puppies’ mother. But he had located another body . . .

The lifeless body of Ginger Fleer-Starke.