Body on the Bayou (7 page)

“Hey,” she asked. “Do you know what’s causing this mess?”

“Stoplight’s out at Bonneville, and they got some idiot traffic cop directing everyone,” the man responded before he drove on.

After another excruciating ten minutes, Maggie reached the light. She felt for the traffic officer, who had to contend with the honks and curses of irate drivers. “Thank you,” she called to him. Maggie was stunned when he turned around to acknowledge her.

The “idiot traffic cop” was Bo.

Maggie pulled over and parked on the side of the road. She made her way through the cars to Bo. She’d never seen him in a uniform. He looked uncomfortable . . . but still sexy.

“Bo?” she said. “What the heck is going on?”

“Perske, that’s what,” he replied as he directed three cars to make a left and then held up his hand to stop the annoyed driver of the fourth car. “He said my ‘friendship’ causes me to show favoritism to your family. I disagreed using a few choice words, so here I am.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. The guy’s a—hey!” A car snuck by Bo and zoomed off. “Dammit.”

“I’m behind in giving Xander his lessons,” Maggie said. “Do you want to come by tonight? I can get him started on a new painting, and you and I can talk through this whole Perske thing.”

“Sure.” Another car tried to ignore Bo. He banged on the hood and glared at the driver. “Yeah, I don’t think so,
buddy.” Intimidated, the driver waited for Bo’s signal to move forward. “I’m sorry, Maggie, I need to focus here,” Bo said as he directed the man on his way.

“Right. Sorry. I’ll go.”

Maggie wended her way through traffic back to the Falcon. She felt responsible for Bo’s demotion. And she wondered if, despite his words, Bo didn’t feel the same way. He had been curt with her, which made sense given the circumstances. But Maggie feared an underlying resentment in his attitude.

She continued the drive to Doucet in a funk that she knew she’d have to shake off before taking on the day’s tourists. Since part of her draw as a Doucet guide was the fact that she was a descendant of the original owners, she needed patience and a positive attitude—especially when asked for the millionth time if it bothered her to work as a guide at a home that the Doucets had owned until the mid-1950s, when the family agreed it would be better served as a historic landmark. The answer: it didn’t. Maggie was thrilled with its beautifully preserved manor house and outbuildings and deeply affected by the silent power of its restored slave cabins. She loved that Doucet offered visitors the full range of plantation experience, from brutal to beautiful. Still, the question grew tiresome, and there were days when she just didn’t feel like seeing the skepticism on visitors’ faces when she answered it. Today was one of them.

As soon as Maggie parked in the field that served as the employee lot, Gaynell and Ione ran over and interrupted her brooding. “Vanessa’s here and she’s in a state,” Ione said.

“I thought she was going to take a few days off.”

“The police let her know that Ginger didn’t die a natural death,” Gaynell said. “Somehow that set her and Rufus at each other even more than usual, and she said she had to get out of their trailer.”

“You have to talk her off the ledge. It’s your maid of honor duty,” Ione declared. She steered Maggie through the plantation’s kitchen garden into the overseer’s cottage, which housed the employee break room. Vanessa sat sobbing on a faded club chair.

“Why, Maggie?” she cried. “Why, why, why, why, why?”

“Okay, you need to calm down.” Maggie pulled a glass out of the drainer by the sink and filled it with water. She handed it to Vanessa. “Here. Drink this. Slowly.”

Vanessa obeyed the order, and as she drank, her hysteria morphed into fury. “That evil see-you-next-Tuesday. It figures that she’d find a way to make this wedding all about her.”

“I assume you’re talking about Ginger, and I don’t think that’s what she had in mind when she got herself murdered.”

Vanessa grabbed Maggie by her faded purple T-shirt. “You need to help me. You’re good at finding out who killed people. With Rufus on leave and that stupid chief acting like besties with the mayor, no one’s gonna do anything to find out what happened.”

“I think that’s a little unfair, Vanessa. Despite personal differences, Chief Perske is a professional. Besides, it’ll look bad for him if he can’t solve the crime.”

Vanessa released Maggie and slumped in her chair. “Yeah, but will he do it in time for my wedding? It’s not gonna be much fun if everyone’s looking at their neighbor in the church pew wondering if they’re the one what killed Ginger.”

Maggie had to acknowledge that Vanessa had a point. “If you really want quick action, you and Rufus should hire a private eye or something.”

“With what money? Every dime is sunk in that stupid mansion. And did I mention Rufus is on
unpaid
leave? That was one expensive parking space he fought over. Please, Maggie. I know Bo will help, but I need more than that. I need you.”

“Of course,” Maggie said. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Vanessa brightened and downed the rest of the water. She made a face. “Dang, more peeing.” She got up and disappeared into the bathroom. The others looked after her.

“Great,” Maggie said when Vanessa was out of earshot. “I can now add solving a murder to my list of maid of honor duties.”

*

Maggie raced home after work, put on her workout clothes, and met up with Ninette, Ione, Lia, and Gaynell for a twilight power walk. The five women had signed up as a group for Ninette’s Yes We PeliCAN! Walkathon. The weather was perfect, with a sixty-five degree temperature that prevented the fifty percent humidity from feeling clammy.

Maggie led a few warm-up stretches, and then the women took off down the plantation’s side road at a brisk pace. “Are we done yet?” Ione asked a few minutes after they started. She took a tissue out of her fanny pack and dabbed at a spot of perspiration on her forehead.

“Ione, you’re terrible,” Maggie chided. “Aside from the fact this is for a good cause, you need the exercise. We want you to stick around for a good long while.”

“Maybe I’d rather sit on my duff eating pecan pie and stick around for a
really
good short while,” Ione grumbled. But she kept up with the others, even upping the workout by grabbing a couple of rocks to use as hand weights.

The fivesome used the time to catch up with each other. Ninette and Maggie filled the others in on their newfound infant animal brood, eliciting a chorus of “awws.” Gaynell blushed scarlet when teased about her admirer, Chret. But the casual chatter faded into silence as they passed PPD’s evidence van, once again parked at Crozat.

“Poor Ginger,” Lia said. “I pray that she didn’t feel any pain.”

“Amen,” Ninette said.

“Amen,” the others chorused.

“She ran this route twice a day while she was here. She always went down that old road.” Maggie gestured to the overgrown drive that melted into a thicket of shrubs and trees.

“Do you have any idea who might have done it?” Gaynell asked.

Maggie shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Do the police?”

“Lots of ideas, but I don’t think they have any strong leads. If they do, they’re not clueing us in on them.”

“At least we have Bo in our corner,” Ninette said. “He was so helpful with the last . . . incidents.” Ninette could never bring herself to call the previous tragedies at Crozat what they were: murders.

“Bo’s been a great friend,” Maggie said, keeping her words purposefully bland. She knew her friends suspected that she and the detective were involved in some way and appreciated that they never pressed her about the relationship. “But I’m not sure how much he’ll be able to help us this time.” Maggie told them about Bo’s demotion.

The women gasped and muttered angry epithets. “That Perske’s a total jerk,” Gaynell declared.

“The worst,” Maggie agreed. “If you ever tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it to my death. But . . . I kind of miss Rufus as chief.”

“It’s a classic case of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend,’” Lia said. “You both despise Perske.”

“‘Despise’ is such a strong word,” Maggie said. “And yet, in this case, not strong enough.”

*

The women finished their trek in enough time to allow Maggie a chance to shower before Bo brought Xander over. Considering their strained last exchange, she searched her closet for an outfit that would be appropriate to the occasion yet put a desiring gleam back in his dark-brown eyes. She settled
on a snug, black pleather tank top that she paired with black jeans. She was just adding mascara to her curled eyelashes when a car scrunched to a stop on the gravel drive in front of the shotgun.

Maggie finished her beauty routine and hurried to the front door. She opened it to find an absolutely stunning woman standing there. She appeared to be in her early thirties, like Maggie. But that’s where any resemblance ended. The woman was tall and had the natural figure of a Playboy Playmate. Her hair was golden, her eyes sapphire blue, and her bone structure the stuff of sculptures.

“Hello,” Maggie said, wondering who the vision on her doorstep might be. “Welcome to Crozat Plantation and B and B. I can check you in at the main house.”

“Oh, I’m not a guest,” the woman said. She smiled, revealing dimples and perfect teeth. “I’m Xander’s mom, Whitney. Bo’s wife.” She slapped her forehead with a beautifully long-fingered hand. “Wow, what was that? Sorry. I’m Bo’s
ex
-wife.”

For a moment, Maggie just stared at Whitney. She wondered why Bo had never mentioned that his ex was gorgeous enough to appear on the cover of
Vogue
or the
Sports Illustrated Swimsuit
edition. Then again, why would he?
She’s his ex,
Maggie reminded herself.
As in over. Done. It’s history.
But that’s what Bo and the enticing Whitney shared. A history. And a child.

The last thought jogged Maggie out of her stupor. “Well, hey, nice to meet you, Whitney,” she said, hoping to pull off a casual friendliness that she didn’t feel. She stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her. She felt like a circus midget compared to Bo’s statuesque ex and discreetly checked out the woman’s footwear, hoping to find a pair of six-inch heels. Whitney was wearing ballet flats. “Where’s Xander?” Maggie asked.

“With the chickens. He loves y’all’s chickens.” Whitney gave a throaty chuckle. Even her laugh was sexy.

“What’s not to love about chickens?” Maggie said. “Especially fried.”
Oh my God, did I just say that?! I sound like an IDIOT.
“I mean, not those chickens. We’d never fry those. They lay eggs.”
Like me in this conversation.
“Anyway, I’m all ready for him. I thought we’d paint in my studio tonight.”

“Sounds great,” Whitney said as they walked toward the chicken pen. “I’m sorry Bo couldn’t drop off Xander, but this Chief Perske has him on a short leash, poor guy. I was hoping that once my husband Zach and I moved to Pelican, Bo would get more time with Xander. But he’s had even less time since Ru got put on leave. It’s killing him. Bo is such an
amazing
daddy.”

She spoke the last with so much warmth that it set off an alarm bell for Maggie. Whitney’s phone buzzed and she checked it. “Oh. Zach landed in Riyadh.” She put her phone back in her purse. There was silence for a moment.

“You can talk to him,” Maggie said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s okay.” More silence. “I’ll call him later tonight. Or tomorrow. He’s probably tired.”

“Okay, then. Well . . .” Maggie forced an enthusiastic tone into her voice. “Welcome to town. Bo told me you were coming, but he wasn’t sure when or for how long. You used the m-word—moved. It’s sounding pretty permanent.” Afraid the last sentence sounded snarky, she tacked on a weak “Neat.”

“It’s not permanent,” Whitney said. “At least . . . not yet.”

There it was. Maggie’s intuition had picked up a vibe from Whitney that all was not well with her current marriage, and
the “not yet” confirmed it. Weighted in those two words was the intimation that Whitney was grappling with important decisions in her life. The question that remained to be answered was the one that troubled Maggie the most: when “yet” came, would it be with or without Bo? It didn’t take clairvoyance to sense some unresolved feelings about him on the part of his ex.

The women found Xander outside the chicken yard, staring thoughtfully as the animals scurried around, squawking at each other. Xander’s serious expression rarely wavered, but Maggie was pleased to note the hint of a smile when he saw her.

“Hey, baby,” Whitney said, bending down, taking her son by the shoulders, and looking him straight in the eye. Bo had taught Maggie to do the same thing with Xander as a way of encouraging him to hold eye contact and connect with people. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You behave yourself, okay?”

Xander nodded. His mother kissed him on the top of his head, thanked Maggie, and headed to her car. Maggie and Xander watched in silence as she pulled out of the driveway. Then Maggie took Xander’s small hand in hers.

“Come on, buddy,” she said as she led him toward her studio. “Let’s make some awesome art.”

Teaching Xander meant helping him create a specific shape or detail but otherwise staying out of his way so his imagination could let loose with colors and images that seemed channeled from another world. The young boy had a condition known as selective mutism. He knew how to speak
and, according to Bo, did so until he was four. Then he simply stopped. Since Xander never spoke, there was silence as he worked, and Maggie’s thoughts began to drift. She was torn between brooding over Whitney’s bewitching ways and debating who murdered Ginger. Since the former was rough on her ego, she went with the latter.

Ever since the murders at Crozat a few months earlier, Maggie had been haunted by the question of why people kill. Was Ginger’s murder a crime of passion? If so, her cuckolded husband Fox was the frontrunner. Or was it a crime of means? That required some insight into who might gain from her death. Ostensibly, that would rule out Bibi and Trent because they’d both be out of jobs. Or would they? Up until Ginger’s passing, Maggie had sensed nothing but loathing between the two, yet they’d provided alibis for each other. Maggie was suspicious of their newfound chumminess.

Her phone pinged, and she looked down to see an e-mail from Vanessa with an attached spreadsheet of updated maid of honor duties. Maggie found it ironic that a woman who couldn’t make change from a twenty in the Doucet souvenir shop was a computer whiz when it came to her wedding festivities. Maggie’s cell rang, and Vanessa’s name flashed on the screen. “Yes?” she said through gritted teeth as she answered the call.

“Did you get my e-mail?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who killed Ginger yet?”

“No.”

“Dang. Well, then, let’s focus on my bachelorette party.”

“You’re going through with that?”

“Of course. You haven’t read the spreadsheet yet, have you?” Vanessa scolded.

“I looked at it.”

“That doesn’t count. If you’d
read
it, you would’ve seen that Mama and I had a great idea for the theme. It’ll be a memorial to Ginger. The kind of blowout she would have wanted us to have if she was still among us. And we’ll do it at Junie’s.”

Maggie lacked the energy to point out how insincere Vanessa’s idea sounded. Instead, she said, “I’ll check into it,” and ended the call. She looked up and was startled to see Xander standing there. He handed her a painting-in-progress of two chickens in the Crozat chicken yard. Some of the details were rudimentary; others, like the feathers of the birds, were meticulously detailed and shadowed. The painting was fascinating.

“Buddy, I love this,” she said and then hugged him. The boy stiffened only slightly, pointing to still more progress in their relationship. “You can finish it next time you come over. Now, let’s get you a treat.”

She took Xander to the kitchen of the main house, where they enjoyed slices of Ninette’s coffee cake. “And now I have a really special treat for you,” Maggie said. She motioned for Xander to follow her into the office, where Gopher had parked himself in front of the playpen. He barked a happy greeting to Xander and padded over to get a pet. Xander obliged, but his attention was focused on the puppies and
kittens. The tiny creatures lay by their mothers, occasionally letting out a squeak. Maggie had initially feared for the health of all the animals, but they’d blossomed under her family’s care.

“It’s like one of those Internet videos where cats help raise puppies or a mama dog helps take care of kittens, isn’t it?” Maggie said, and Xander gave a slight nod. Maggie pointed out each puppy to Xander by name. “These are both boys and they seem attached, so we call them Rice and Beans. We named the girl Jasmine, and the mom is Jolie.” Maggie reached into the playpen and gave Jolie a pet, then stroked the mama cat’s fur. “And I named her Brooke, which is short for Brooklyn, where I lived before I came back home.”

Brooke purred and stretched, jostling her kittens. They mewed their displeasure and then went back to sleep. Maggie had an idea. “I’m supposed to name the kittens, but I haven’t come up with anything yet. Why don’t you name them, Xander? You can make a list and give it to me.”

Xander gave a slight nod and leaned over the edge of the playpen to study the kittens. He smiled. A real smile, full of joy. Maggie’s eyes welled with tears.

Bibi appeared in the office doorway, and Maggie pulled herself together. “Hi, can I help you with something?” she asked the guest.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be checking out in the morning. Should I pay you now or then?”

“Then will be fine.” Maggie noticed that everything about Bibi seemed lighter since her boss died. Her hair seemed fuller; her face was no longer fixed in a tight grimace.
Maggie could swear she’d even put on a few pounds. And she’d made a fashion choice that she never would have dared to make when Ginger was alive—she was dressed in the late woman’s signature soft white. “Are you going back to Houston?”

“No.” Maggie picked up a slight hesitation before Bibi continued. “Ginger set up her company so that Trent would take over if anything happened to her.”

Oh, really?
Maggie thought.
That’s an interesting development.

“Trent and I had a long talk,” Bibi continued, “and it turns out that he really likes my work. He wants me to stay on and finish setting up the new location in Baton Rouge. He’s renaming the business Starke-Socher Design and hiring me as a full-time designer. I’ll do the day-to-day work while he courts clients. I might even get my name in the title eventually. I’m so excited—” Bibi caught herself. “Although I’m very upset about the way all of this happened.”

“Of course,” Maggie said, feigning sympathy. She marveled at Trent’s machinations. He had used his romantic sway over Ginger to guarantee himself a career and then somehow maneuvered Bibi into working twenty-four-seven while he gadded about with wealthy potential clients, among whom there might be a bankable replacement for Ginger. He made the leap in Maggie’s mind from slacker opportunist to evil genius. And an evil genius might include murder in his master plan.

Bibi excused herself to finish packing. Maggie heard a car pull into the driveway and recognized the sound of Bo’s sedan. “Your dad’s here,” she told Xander, then went to meet
him, doing a quick makeup check on her way out the door. Her heart flip-flopped when she saw Bo’s lean figure saunter toward her, and she suppressed the urge to fling herself into his arms. But before she could even utter a greeting, an SUV pulled into the gravel drive, and Whitney jumped out. She threw her hands up in mock frustration when she saw Bo.

“Oh my goodness, did we get our wires crossed? I thought I was picking up Xander.”

“Didn’t you get my text? I thought I’d take him tonight since I had to work late last night.”

“No, my battery died and I couldn’t find my car charger.”

“How you find anything in that car mess of yours is beyond me.”

As the exes chatted and joked, Maggie fought off the urge to throw up in the bushes by the side of the house. “Xander’s in the office with the puppies and kittens we found,” she said, motioning for the couple to follow her inside. Their casual exchange continued, leaving Maggie to feel like the definition of a third wheel.

When the three reached the office, they found Xander reaching inside the playpen as he took turns petting Brooke, Jolie, and their respective broods. “Oh, Bo,” Whitney whispered. “How sweet is that?”

Bo nodded, too moved to speak. Maggie watched the tableau of mother, father, and son. Whitney and Bo may have divorced, but they still shared a bond that she could never compete with.

“Why don’t you take him home tonight?” Bo said to Whitney. “I have to be up early anyway.”

“Okay.” Whitney addressed her son. “Sweetie, we need to go now.”

Xander pulled himself away from the animals. “You can see them whenever you want,” Maggie told him. “And don’t forget that list of names for the kitties.”

Bo hugged his son, then he and Whitney shared a quick hug, and she left with Xander. Maggie felt a resentment that she knew was unjustified. “Nice to see you,” she said to Bo. It was an awkward, chilly dismissal.

“Huh?” Bo looked at her, confused. Then his expression cleared. “I get it. This is about how I blew you off when I was in the middle of being the world’s worst traffic cop. I’m sorry. It’s rough going from detective to the guy in white gloves trying to keep ticked-off drivers from banging into each other.”

“I know. It’s not that. It’s just . . .” Maggie couldn’t bring herself to admit that she was jealous of Whitney. “It’s just . . . everything that’s been going on here lately.”

Bo nodded his head in sympathy and wrapped his arms around her. She felt heat course through her body.

“I want to kiss you so much right now,” he murmured. Then he gently pushed her away. “But not here.”

“I know where we can find some privacy,” Maggie said, unwilling to let him go. “My studio.”

“Oh, you’re going to ‘show me your etchings’?” Bo teased. “I like it.”

Maggie and Bo were about to leave when they heard two men shouting outside. “What is
that
?” Maggie said as she ran out of the office and down the hall to the plantation
home’s front door. She met up with her parents, who’d made their way from their bedroom.

“What’s going on?” Tug asked.

“No idea,” Maggie replied as Bo ran past her and out the door. She, Tug, and Ninette followed. They found Fox Starke on the front lawn, raining down punches on a cowering Trent Socher.

“You killed her!” Fox yelled as he pummeled Trent. “You killed my wife!”