“We can’t afford not to, chère. How can we charge them for a vacation spent being grilled by the likes of Rufus Durand? Yes, it will cost us, but if our guests make a disgruntled departure, it will hurt us more in the long run when they post unflattering comments on all the travel websites.”
“I think you’re right,” Ninette said. She turned to Tug. “I don’t see any other way around this, do you?”
Her husband pursed his lips and shook his head no.
Tug assembled everyone in the parlor and filled the guests in on the police chief’s request for their continued presence, leaving out the possibility of murder. Initially, there were a few complaints. “Maybe we should see if they fixed the plumbing at Belle Grove,” Angela groused to Jan and the other Cuties.
Gran’ jumped in before anyone could respond. “Even if they did, this is Louisiana, honey. Lord knows when they’ll get rid of the mold or its awful smell.” She turned up the charm as she addressed all the guests. “Y’all seem like such lovely people and I do believe that once we get past this tragedy, you’ll have a stay at Crozat that’s memorable for the right reasons. I know this experience was not on anyone’s itineraries, so we want to make it up to y’all. The rest of your stay will be entirely complimentary. That means a week of beverages, hospitality, and home-cooked meals on us.”
That silenced the grumblers. The guests, now bonded by what had become an adventure—and a free one at that—commiserated with each other about the shocking turn the evening had taken. A few made shared plans for the morning and exchanged supportive hugs before retiring to their rooms. Only Kyle remained behind.
“Your offer is extremely generous,” he told the Crozats, “but I’d rather book a moldy room at Belle Grove than take you up on it. I’ll be paying for my stay.” The family protested, but Kyle ignored them and walked out of the room.
“What a kind man,” Ninette said.
“He’s awesome,” Maggie agreed.
Tug smiled at his daughter. “Am I picking up on something?”
“God, no.”
“He’s not her type,” Gran’ said. She’d traded her highball glass for a wine goblet. “Too stable. Maggie prefers a man who’s a hot mess.”
“Oh, nice, Gran’,” Maggie shot at her. “And by the way, men aren’t called hot messes, just women.”
“Not according to urbandictionary-dot-com.”
“That’s it, I’m cutting off your Internet access.”
“Enough, you two,” Tug admonished them. “We have bigger problems to solve than Maggie’s love life. I don’t like what Rufus Durand was intimating.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Ninette said. “Why would anyone want to kill them, especially poor Mrs. Clabber?”
“I know,” Maggie agreed. “I can see people lining up to take a whack at him, but her . . .”
“Maggie, honey,” her mother said, “the man may have been a terror, but he is gone. We should show some respect.”
“Ugh, Mom, that’s so old-fashioned. Why should we show respect to someone who didn’t deserve it? Shouldn’t respect be earned? Even posthumously? He was a nasty old coot, and I’m not going to say differently just because he’s dead.”
“Hey, don’t you talk to your mother like that,” Tug scolded Maggie.
“It’s all right, we’re all tired,” Ninette said with a sigh. “I’m going to bed.”
“I am too,” Gran’ said and followed behind her daughter-in-law.
As soon as the women were gone, Tug focused on Maggie. “You need to be more sensitive to your mother’s health, Magnolia. Stress can make a body do bad things, and with two guests dying plus us having to float the other ones, that’s one big bag of stress.”
“You’re right.” Maggie was filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry. That was totally thoughtless of me. I’ll do anything I can to help, Dad. And as soon as things are normal around here, I’m going to work on building up my souvenir business, see if I can get more plantations to sell my stuff. Including ours. Gran’ has to get over thinking it’s ‘déclassé’ to shill our own merchandise.”
Tug looked at her, amused. “Shill?”
“I dated a guy in the garment business when I first moved to New York. And no, he wasn’t a hot mess. In fact, he broke up with me.” Maggie paused. “So maybe I’m the hot mess. Or the just plain mess.”
Tug opened his arms. “Come here.” Maggie shared a hug with her father. Tug sighed. Then he shuddered.
Maggie drew back. “What’s wrong?”
“Well . . . there’s something I didn’t want to mention in front of your mom. Did you happen to notice that the main house was the only one that went dark tonight? When I checked the generator gas line, I saw that it’d been turned off. And I swear I changed those fuses just about a month ago, but the ones that blew were old and worn out. And not even the brand I buy.”
Maggie was silent as she digested what Tug was saying.
“Look, maybe I’m the one who’s being dramatic,” Tug said. “It’s late, and my brain is worn out from all this. I’m going to bed. But first, I’m walking you to the shotgun. I’m sure the Clabbers’ deaths are nothing more than a tragic result of old age and health issues, but I don’t want to take any chances. If Ru’s instincts are as sharp as I wish they weren’t, we’ve got way bigger problems than a lack of cash flow.”
Chapter Five
Maggie, exhausted by the traumatic events of the night before, overslept the next morning. By the time she got to breakfast, the Georgias were heading out with the Ryker family for a day of “’sploring,” as Sam Ryker excitedly called it.
“We thought it was a good idea to distract the kids from those poor people’s deaths,” Carrie whispered to Maggie. She motioned to Georgia One, who was pretend-wrestling with Luke. “Even the big kids.”
Jan Robbins, in her role as Cajun Cuties president, opted not to let the passing of two people she barely knew and liked even less upend her group’s agenda. She even convinced Kyle to join the Cuties on a tour of local plantations. “We’re checking out some new ones for our convention next year,” Jan explained. “We’re also going to the African American Museum in St. Martinville.” The other Cuties simultaneously nodded agreement as if they were one person. Shane and Emily debated joining the tour group but then opted to stay at Crozat and enjoy some R and R, which Maggie assumed was code for making love. She had to admit that she was a little jealous of how much sex the couple was having.
“If you’d like, I can pack y’all a picnic lunch,” Ninette offered as she entered with a plate of steaming hot beignets. The Cuties brightened, but Kyle demurred. “Lunch is on me, ladies.”
“You won’t catch any of us saying no to that,” Jan said, while the other Cuties once again nodded. They reminded Maggie of the three little maids from Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado.
“I’m happy to at least pack you a snack,” Ninette said.
“No,” Kyle responded firmly. “You’ve got enough going on right now. I’ll take care of everything.”
Maggie realized Kyle’s generosity was inspired by his sensitivity to the expenses the Crozats would be racking up. He’s a catch, she thought to herself. Almost too good to be true. She shook her head as if to erase the thought, upset that recent events were making her unfairly suspicious.
“If anyone’s interested, there’s also the eleven a.m. Mass at St. Theresa’s,” Gran’ shared as she shook powdered sugar onto a hot beignet. “I may not have liked the Clabbers, but it would be terribly rude not to pray for them. You’re coming, aren’t you, Maggie?”
“Yes, Gran’.” Maggie cleared the table, ran the dishwasher, and then dressed for Mass. Since her wardrobe consisted mostly of T-shirts and jeans, a scoop-neck teal rayon top and black pencil skirt was the best she could do. She flipped the camera on her phone to do a quick inventory. Slim build but with an “ample bosom,” as Gran’ would say, hair the color of burnt sienna that fell a few inches below her shoulders, a smattering of youthful freckles on the bridge of her upturned nose that contrasted with the fine lines around her eyes. Maggie didn’t completely hate what looked back at her, although she would always be bugged by the fact that her 5'4" height, once deemed average, had been reclassified as petite.