Body on the Bayou (6 page)

Stevens looked stricken. “My God, that’s awful. What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Maggie said and then described how she’d found Ginger by the bayou. “I assume the police will have more questions. Unfortunately for us, we’re on their list of suspects.”

Stevens grimaced. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick around. Just in case you need a lawyer at some point. You know, to at least run interference.”

“That’s both reassuring and terrifying,” Maggie said. “Thank you, but here’s hoping the only reason we need you is to help nurse animal babies.”

“I just heard a car pull into the back parking area,” Tug said. “I’ll see what’s going on.”

“I’ll put on another pot of coffee,” Ninette said. “Thank goodness I made a Bananas Foster coffee cake this morning. Food earns a lot of goodwill with at least some of the PPD officers.”

Maggie followed her father outside, where Cal Vichet and Artie Belloise had parked their patrol car. “Sorry, Crozats,” Cal said. “I’ve got some bad news. According to the coroner’s report, the cause of death for Mrs. Fleer-Starke was blunt force trauma. Translation—she was murdered.”

Before Tug could respond, Maggie jumped in. She didn’t want to give away that Bo had already shared the news. “Oh, no!” she cried out, hoping the officers wouldn’t question her overly dramatic tone. “What a tragedy! We had no idea.” Tug gave her a confused look but didn’t say anything.

“We’re sorry to put you through this again,” Artie said, “but we got stuff to do. I’m gonna examine what’s now officially a crime scene. And Cal’s gonna take statements. He’ll need to talk to everyone here—guests, you guys. You know the drill.”

“Sadly, we do.” Maggie’s heart pumped. She had a question—an important one. “Was the coroner able to determine a time of death?”

“Yeah, we got lucky,” Cal said, hastening to add, “Begging your pardon regarding the circumstances. The victim was wearing one of those fitness watches. It must have cracked on a rock when she fell. Anyway, it stopped working, and the time on the watch corresponded with the coroner’s estimation.”

“Which is . . . ?” Maggie prompted.

“3:07
PM
. On the watch. Coroner estimated between two and four
PM
.”

Maggie let out the breath that she’d been holding. “I have an alibi. I was still at work.”

“And your mother, grandmother, and I were at the grocery store picking up ingredients for dinner,” Tug said. He hesitated a moment before saying, “Wait, that’s not completely true.”

“It’s not?” Maggie asked, nervous again.

“No. Your grandmother was at Junie’s having a late afternoon cocktail.”

Maggie controlled the urge to burst into highly inappropriate giggles. “That counts as an alibi. Three o’clock at a bar in Pelican? I’m sure there are loads of witnesses.”

“I’m one of ’em,” Artie declared. The others looked at him. “It’s all good. I was off duty. And I remember saying hi to your Gran’.”

“Y’all can relax,” Cal assured Maggie and Tug. “We never would have suspected you.”

Maggie noticed that he emphasized the “we,” indicating that others did—the others being Hank Perske, she assumed. “So,” Cal continued. “If you don’t mind, we best get started. If you could round up whatever guests are staying here, that’d be great.”

“Of course,” Maggie said. “With Ginger gone, it’s just her employees Bibi and Trent. You can talk to them in the front parlor. Mama has coffee and dessert waiting for you, Cal.”

His face lit up as Artie’s dropped. “Artie, why don’t you come too? You should probably fuel up before you start the search.”

Artie brightened. “Amen to that. Wouldn’t want to do a murder investigation on an empty stomach.” He patted his
rotund belly. In Artie’s case, empty stomach was purely a figure of speech.

As the four walked toward the main house, Maggie realized something was bothering her about the scenario. “Where’s Bo?” she asked. “I thought it was his job to get statements.”

Cal shrugged. “You know small-town departments. We all do whatever’s asked for.”

Maggie nodded, but she wasn’t satisfied with Cal’s evasive response. Bo had clearly landed on the wrong side of Chief Perske, and she feared that could have serious ramifications. It might even endanger his job.

Maggie texted Bo to ask what was going on. His response was “I’m on filing duty,” confirming her fears. She then went looking for Bibi and Trent and found them in the living area of Ginger’s carriage suite, side by side in front of a laptop computer. They snapped the computer closed as soon as Maggie entered. “I assume you know about Ginger’s death,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Bibi uttered a couple of perfunctory comments about Ginger being taken too young, blah blah blah—an expected response considering she wasn’t on the payroll and was in love with her boss’s husband. But Trent’s reaction to the loss of his lover-slash-paycheck bothered Maggie. There was no grief or even panic. “Circle of life,” he said with a shrug and a headshake. Perhaps realizing how cold he came across, he quickly added, “I believe in the Buddhist tenet that death isn’t the end of life but the end of the body inhabited in that life.” Maggie, who had a feeling Trent would have trouble
spelling “Buddhist,” no less following the religion, found his callousness suspicious.

“The police are here,” she told the two. “They’ve confirmed that Ginger’s death wasn’t an accident.”

“Are you saying she was murdered?” Bibi asked. She seemed genuinely shocked.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Oh no. I don’t believe it.” Bibi put her hand on her heart and looked at Trent, who closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

“Namaste,” he said.

“That’s more a sign-off at the end of a yoga class than a send-off to the next world,” Maggie couldn’t stop herself from pointing out. “Anyway, the police need to interview all of us.”

“Why?” Bibi looked panicked. “Are we suspects?”

“Not if we have alibis,” Trent jumped in. “Did the police happen to say when this horrible event took place?”

Oh no you don’t,
Maggie thought.
I’m not buying you time to come up with some manufactured alibi.
“Officer Vichet will tell you everything you need to know,” she said. “I’ll walk you over to him.”

The three left the carriage house and made their way in silence to the main house’s front parlor. Maggie pulled Cal aside before depositing Bibi and Trent with him. “I have some information for you,” she said. She revealed how she’d discovered Ginger and Trent’s romantic rendezvous and the subsequent blow-up with Ginger’s husband, Fox. She also shared Trent’s low-key response to the news of his
inamorata’s demise. “And even though Bibi and Trent seem to hate each other, I just found them together doing something on the computer that they couldn’t hide from me fast enough.”

“Good stuff,” Cal said. “Thanks.” He motioned for Bibi and Trent to precede him into the room. Bibi nervously clenched and unclenched her fists; Trent was preternaturally calm.

“Good luck,” Maggie told Bibi. “Namaste,” she couldn’t resist calling over her shoulder to Trent as she walked away.

*

The officers didn’t leave the B and B until midnight. Maggie fell into bed after they left but woke up wide-awake at three
AM
. After trying and failing to fall back asleep, she gave up and decided to distract herself from the murder by working on Vanessa and Ru’s portrait. Dawn broke and the sky streaked pink as Maggie trudged to her studio, crunching on fallen spruce pine needles and releasing their pungent scent. She printed out the photos she’d taken of the couple and pinned them to a bulletin board, the goal being to incorporate the best elements of each picture into the painting. But concentration was hard to come by. Maggie’s thoughts ricocheted between feeling badly about Ginger’s death and realistic concerns about how news of a homicide might affect Crozat B and B. The venerable old place had survived everything from the Civil War to the Great Depression, but another murder might do in the family business.

After working on the portrait for a couple of hours, Maggie closed up her studio and returned to the shotgun to get ready for work. After sending Bo a quick text to check in, she changed into the jean shorts and T-shirt that she wore under her hoopskirt. Then she pulled her chestnut hair into a tight bun, put on a tinted moisturizer that allowed the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose to shine through, and circled her hazel eyes with brown eyeliner. Maggie locked the door of the shotgun behind her and headed for the Falcon convertible. She was startled to see Cal standing next to the car.

“Hey there. Us again,” he said apologetically. “Artie’s at the crime scene, but I need to get your statement. I know you gave one to Perske, but he wants me to go over it again.”

Maggie fumed. The chief was clearly looking to catch her in inconsistencies. But she politely responded, “Of course,” and motioned to a picnic bench under an oak tree. The two sat down, and she shared every detail she could think of about Ginger, from her scams to her death. She also gave him Ione’s number so her boss could corroborate Maggie’s alibi.

“Alright, I think I got what I need from you,” Cal said, putting away his notepad.

“I’m curious—how did the interviews with Trent and Bibi go last night?” she asked.

“Interesting. They alibied each other.”

“Really? I got the impression they can’t stand each other.”

“That may be,” Cal said. “Or . . . maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe Trent was catting around with Bibi too, and they were putting out that negative vibe to throw everyone off.”

“But that would mean Trent was having an affair with both his boss and his competition. It doesn’t make sense.”

“You can’t make sense of a horndog.”

“True,” Maggie acknowledged. “But I get the impression that Trent is more of an opportunist than a horndog.”

Cal was about to reply when he and Maggie heard Artie Belloise shouting, “I got someone!” They ran toward the bayou and met the officer just as he emerged from the brush. He was dragging a handcuffed Little Earlie by the arm.

“I swear, I didn’t do anything,” Little Earlie protested. He looked terrified. “I was just trying to get a story.”

“You been on your police scanner again, Earlie?”

“Finding stuff to write about’s my job. And this is a big story.”

Maggie knew it was true but hated hearing it. The last thing Crozat B and B needed was for Little Earlie to use the tragedy as a way of bumping up the
Pelican Penny Clipper
’s visibility. “I think it would be disrespectful to turn this into some salacious tabloid feature,” Maggie said. She searched for another angle that might put the brakes on Earlie’s editorial enthusiasm. “Plus, you need to be very careful about what you publish. Releasing any information about the . . . incident . . . could hamper PPD’s efforts to ID the suspect.”

“Well put, Maggie,” Cal complimented. “I see you’ve picked up some lingo from being around so many murders.”

Little Earlie jumped on this. “Considering how your bookings took a downturn after the last ‘incident,’ are you worried about the negative effect this one will have on your business?”

“Of course she is, you idiot,” Artie barked. “Who wouldn’t be? Now you get to take a ride with me to the station where you can explain to the captain what you were doing contaminating possible evidence.” Artie stuffed Little Earlie into the back of the PPD patrol car and got in the front passenger seat. The patrol car took off with Cal at the wheel.

Maggie returned to the Crozat office, where Tug was paying bills. Gran’ was tending to the animal babies with Stevens at her side. “Morning, chère,” Gran’ greeted her. “Look who volunteered his services.” She addressed her helpmate. “You are quite the gentleman, sir.”

Stevens smiled bashfully as he replaced the soiled paper at the bottom of the playpen. “It’s my pleasure. This is all new to me. Wynette and I never had kids, and she had respiratory problems, so we couldn’t even have pets. I’m telling you, I had no idea how exhausting it is to be a parent.”

“Yes, but so worth it. Especially if they tend to your every need when you’re in your dotage. Right, dearest son?” Gran’ winked at Tug, who shook his head affectionately. “Maggie, what was going on out there? I could swear I heard Little Earlie.”

“You did.” Maggie filled the others in on the aggressive young journalist’s antics.

“That’s all we need,” Tug said. “Little Earlie Waddell turning this into ‘the story of the century’!” Tug finished the sentence with a dead-on impression of an old-time newsreel reporter’s stentorian tones.

“Did Cal interview y’all?” Maggie asked.

“Yes,” her father said. “But once he realized we weren’t around the house during the time of the murder and our alibis would check out, he kept the interviews brief.”

“Since I was here, I also told the officer that I knew Ginger from Houston and shared a bit about her reputation there,” Stevens said.

“Good. It sounds like H-Town is teeming with potential suspects.”

“Just ask any lawyer whose client got hit with one of her nuisance suits,” Stevens agreed.

“I should let Bo know about that angle.” Maggie pulled out her phone and tapped out a text. “I texted him already this morning, but he hasn’t gotten back to me. I hope he’s okay.”

“I’m sure he is, chère,” Gran’ said. “He’ll get back to you when he can. Stevens, you have a bit of puppy spit-up on your shoulder. Let me get that.”

Gran’ pulled a tissue out of a box and wet it in a nearby glass of water. She patted the small stain while Stevens smiled appreciatively. Maggie and her father exchanged glances, hers amused, his bemused.

Maggie left the others and got in her convertible to make the drive to work. The day was once again unseasonably warm, and she put the top down, reveling in a moist breeze
as she drove. She sailed along the river road until about a mile from Doucet, where she hit stop-and-start traffic. Maggie put on her Bluetooth and called Ione to warn her that she was running late.

“No worries,” Ione said. “I heard something was going on out there.”

Ione signed off the call. As Maggie inched toward the stoplight, she began losing patience with the traffic tie-up. She motioned to a driver coming toward her from the opposite direction, and he slowed down.