“Plantation tour,” Jan responded gruffly. Maggie liked Jan all the more for her obvious dislike of Rufus.
“They got some beauties in Natchez, but I wouldn’t advise crossing the state line into Mississippi.”
“Why not?” Debbie asked, confused.
“Because you’re all suspects in a murder investigation,” Ru responded, his tone suddenly harsh.
The others stared at him in shock. Maggie felt her stomach start to roil and prayed she wouldn’t throw up.
“The Clabbers were murdered?” Ninette gasped.
“Not both of them,” Rufus said. “Mr. Clabber died of natural causes—a stroke. But Mrs. Clabber was poisoned.”
Chapter Six
“Mrs. Clabber was poisoned?” Maggie repeated. “That makes no sense. He was the jerk, not her.”
“Yes, she seemed lovely,” Debbie interjected. “I don’t think I ever saw her without a big smile on her face.”
“Well, even people who smile a lot get offed,” Ru shrugged and then faced Maggie. “Two people dying at the same time pushes a button for us law enforcement folk, and the coroner agreed to rush the autopsies so we could rule out any funny business. Well, what do you know, we found funny business. My men are on the way to your place to take statements and collect evidence. And thanks to you Crozats, since it’s Sunday, I gotta pay overtime.”
“What do you mean, ‘thanks to us Crozats’?” Maggie snapped. “Trust me, Rufus, when you’re running a B and B, having guests murdered pretty much falls last on the list of ‘fun local activities.’” Maggie took in a calming breath; she’d been taking a lot of those lately. “Would it be okay if you interviewed us Crozats first, plus anyone who’s at the house, so that these folks could see a plantation or two before they’re interrogated?” Maggie asked in her most conciliatory voice as she gestured to the Cuties and Kyle who, sensing something was wrong, had joined the group.
“Well, my goodness, I wouldn’t want to let a gruesome death interfere with a day of sightseeing,” Rufus said, his mock concern showing the glimmer of acting ability that had won him a lead or two in Pelican Players Community Theatre productions.
“If the ladies and I consent to have our rooms searched while we’re gone, maybe you could send one of your men in the van with us to take our statements,” Kyle offered.
“And while he’s there, maybe he can take some group shots of y’all in front of Oak Alley that you can post online.” Rufus shook his head. “The answer is nope. And if you got any complaints about the change in today’s—or this week’s—schedule, I suggest you take it up with management.” Rufus gestured to Maggie. The universe had unexpectedly gifted him with an opportunity to make life miserable for the Crozats, and he seemed determined to take advantage of it.
“Look, Rufus, it’s really not fair to drag our guests into whatever issues you have with my family. None of them even knew the Clabbers.”
“Well, someone at Crozat knew ’em well enough to murder one of ’em.”
“That’s just an assumption. Anyone who knew the Clabbers were staying with us could’ve snuck in and planted the poison.”
“Doesn’t say much for your security, does it?” Rufus turned to the Cuties. “I’d lock up my valuables while I was staying at Crozat if I was you.” Rufus turned back to Maggie. “And I should point out that you were the one who handed Mrs. Clabber the pills that probably killed her. You’re lucky I know you well enough to know that you don’t have the clankers to murder someone.”
“I’m both insulted and relieved.”
“Sorry, Maggie, but until my men prove someone isn’t a suspect, everyone is a suspect.”
Maggie couldn’t bring herself to admit that Rufus had a point, so she didn’t say anything. Rufus doffed his hat. “See you at Crozat.” Then Rufus got into his police car and gunned it, spraying the minivan with dirt and pebbles as he peeled out of the parking lot.
“Your police chief may be a giant pain, but he’s right about all of us being suspects,” Jan said through pursed lips as her Cutie cohorts exchanged nervous looks.
“I know,” Maggie said. “I just hate letting him know that.”
“Well, there’s one bright spot,” Kyle said. “At least he won’t be taking our statements. It’s not his job. That’s up to the department detectives.”
Maggie brightened. “You’re right. And in Pelican, it’s department detective, singular—Henry ‘Buster’ Belloise. As skeevy as Rufus is, that’s how decent Buster is. We’ll be okay.”
The Cuties hoisted themselves into the minivan. Kyle gave a longing look to Lia, who was busy replenishing dishes that had been emptied of her treats, and then he got behind the wheel. Maggie followed the minivan out of the parking lot. She was relieved to know the case was in the steady hands of Buster Belloise, so relieved that she could afford to feel magnanimous toward Ru. He was right—this was hardly the time to negotiate a sightseeing tour.
*
Maggie arrived at Crozat to find it a buzz of police activity. The department’s mobile evidence van sat at the end of the driveway close to the house. Maggie couldn’t remember when she’d seen it used for anything besides hauling a float in the town’s yearly Mardi Gras parade.
She bounded up the steps into the house, where the front parlor and the Clabbers’ bedroom were closed off with police tape. It would take a while to comb through the plantation for evidence since the Pelican police department was small, and usually the most serious crime it handled was the occasional domestic disturbance. The department could use some outside help for the Clabber case to speed up the process, but Maggie knew that was a fantasy given the reality of budgetary restrictions coupled with Rufus Durand’s ego and how much he relished seeing the Crozats twist in the wind.
Maggie found Gran’ in the kitchen plying Buster Belloise with snacks and sweets. The large belly hanging over Buster’s policy duty belt was testament to some good Cajun living.
“Oh, there you are, darlin’,” Gran’ greeted Maggie. “You want some sweet tea?”
“Thanks, Gran’, I’m okay.”
“What about you, Buster? You want a refill?” Gran’ posed the question with a hint of flirtation. Gran’ could Glossy it up with the best of them when she wanted to, and Maggie was relieved to see that she was bringing her Southern belle A game to the conversation with Buster.
“Oh, you know I can’t turn down a refill of your sweet tea, ma’am.” Buster offered his glass, and Gran’ filled it with one hand while adding some petit fours to his plate with the other.
“So Buster can’t tell us too much about the investigation,” Gran’ said.
“Can’t compromise it, ma’am.”
“My dear man, we wouldn’t want you to. But he did very kindly share the means by which poor Mrs. Clabber met her unpleasant end.”
“Arsenic,” Buster said, or at least that’s what Maggie thought he said, since he’d stuffed his mouth with petit fours before speaking. “I can’t reveal how it was administered, but the coroner was able to determine that it was of an old variety not readily available these days. We’ve got a couple of our men searching the plantation, looking for a possible source.”
“Arsenic,” Maggie repeated. The word jogged a memory, but she couldn’t zero in on it.
“Buster’s also been taking statements, and he couldn’t have been more pleasant given what a terribly difficult position he’s in, as a friend of the family.” Gran’ graced the officer with one of her best grand dame smiles, and he blushed with pride. The Belloise family was and always had been working to lower class, and nineteenth century as it seemed, being treated as an equal by a local aristocrat like Gran’ meant something to Buster. Which, of course, Gran’ knew and played to.
Maggie helped herself to a chocolate croissant from the large assortment of desserts. “Boy, Buster, I can’t tell you how glad we are that you’re taking the lead on this case.”