Gopher looked up at her, saw she was treat-free, and went back to napping and snoring. She decided to trust her suspicious instincts and opened the shredder. It was a rarely used, decrepit machine that, luckily for her, chunked the pages rather than shredded them. Having studied collage and mixed media at art school, she had no trouble reassembling Debbie’s document. Maggie found herself reading a meticulously laid-out business plan for co-opting the nonprofit Cajun Cuties, booting Jan from the presidency, and turning the group into a profit-making venture that Debbie would eventually take public for a generous financial profit.
It appeared that Dim Debbie wasn’t so dim after all.
Chapter Eighteen
Maggie figured that she had just enough time before dinner prep to drop off Xander’s art supplies and deliver the latest guest bombshell to Bo. But first, she applied some lipstick and just enough eye shadow to bring out the orange in her eyes that Bo had commented on. She then drove to the Pelican PD, where she found Artie Belloise working the front desk, as well as a large fried crab po’boy.
“Hey, Maggie. Anything to eat in there?” He eyed her bag hopefully. “I could use some sides with my sammy.”
“Sorry, just art stuff for Bo’s kid.”
“Oh.” Artie didn’t try hiding his disappointment. “I’ll get it to him.”
“Actually, I need to talk to Bo, so can you let him know I’m here?”
“He ain’t around right now.”
“Oh.” It was Maggie’s turn to be disappointed. “Well, let him know I came by and have some information.”
“Will do.” In pretty much any other jurisdiction in America, a law enforcement official would have found this message intriguing enough to pepper Maggie with questions. But Maggie could put money on Artie’s lack of interest in anything but his po’boy.
She got back in her car and headed toward Crozat. Her cell rang, and she put in her earbud to answer it. The caller was Tug.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“I’m at the hospital with your mother.”
“What?” Maggie, her heart racing, pulled over and parked near the Pelican town square. She was too distracted by Tug’s news to drive.
“Nothing to panic about. She’s been having night sweats and wasn’t feeling well this afternoon. We could tell she had a fever, so I brought her here. I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“No, of course not.”
“The doctors want to keep her at least overnight and run some tests in the morning. It’s probably nothing.”
Or, Maggie thought, it’s a very bad something. But she kept her attitude upbeat with Tug. “I’m sure you’re right, Dad. I want to see her, though. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“All right, sweetie.” Tug’s voice cracked the tiniest bit. “I love you, bebe.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
They ended the call. Maggie sat in the Falcon for a moment and then got out. She needed air. She walked to the bandstand in the middle of the square, leaned against the opening, then slid down to the top step.
When Maggie was going through her brutal breakup with Chris and thought she’d never find love, she’d seen a therapist, who discouraged her from “catastrophic thinking.”
“Stop going to worst-possible outcome scenarios,” the therapist told her. “It’s a waste of time and energy because things rarely get that bad.”
Now, as an unsolved murder haunted her family’s home and livelihood and her mother faced a potential health crisis, Maggie was tempted to call the therapist and yell that she wanted her money back. Instead, she sat on the steps of the bandstand, overwhelmed with emotions—sadness, frustration, anger at herself for allowing her life to get messed up in such a big way. Then she dropped her face into her hands and began to cry.
“It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
A hand rested gently on her shoulder. She lifted her puffy, wet face to see Bo. He sat down next to her on the bandstand steps, keeping his hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for the art supplies. Xander’ll love them.”
“How did you find me?”
“Uh, excuse me, it’s my job to track people down,” Bo said, faking indignation. “I saw your car and looked left.” Bo grinned and she couldn’t help grinning back through her tears. She wiped them away, smearing her carefully applied eye makeup. “What’s going on?” Bo asked.
Maggie looked at him. He only had a few years on her, yet he seemed so much wiser and more mature. “Bo . . . was there a moment when it hit you that you had to grow up and be an adult?”
“That’s an easy one for me. It was the moment Xander was born. But you need to stop beating yourself up about where you are and give yourself some credit. You’re working two jobs, helping your parents, getting your art going. You are an adult, Maggie.”
“I feel like I’ve regressed. Like I’m more of an adult-in-training these days.”
“Whatever you want to call it, it’s something to be proud of.”
Bo turned Maggie’s head toward him so she could see how sincerely he meant those words. And she saw something she’d never seen in the eyes of any man she’d ever been involved with: kindness.
Their faces were close enough to inhale each other’s warm breath. Then instinctively, both pulled away. “I got a message from Artie that you wanted to talk to me,” Bo said, making his voice brusque and businesslike.
“Yes, right.” She shook off the moment and filled him in on Debbie’s secret machinations to oust Jan and turn Cajun Cuties into a moneymaker.
“Interesting,” Bo said. “Gives us a new suspect. If Beverly Clabber found out what Debbie was up to, it’s a possible motive for murder. What if Clabber felt she needed to tell Jan that one of her Cuties was planning a coup d’état? It would have destroyed everything for Debbie.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m gonna go do a background check on this Debbie Stern. Rufus is off today, so he’s not around to stonewall me. I’ll let you know what I come up with.”
Maggie and Bo exchanged a little more information and perfunctory good-byes, each choosing to deny the heat between them.
“Hope your mom’s okay,” Bo said as he started toward his car.
“Thanks,” she responded. “I’m heading over to the hospital to check on her.”
She forced herself to concentrate on the road as she drove to Francis Xavier Medical Center, the closest hospital to Pelican. Rush hour was just beginning, and cars darted in and out of lanes without warning as they battled the growing clog. Maggie swore to herself that if she ever got a vanity license plate, it would read, “UZ SGNL.”
She parked and went into the hospital, where a receptionist directed her to Ninette’s room. Maggie gave the door a gentle knock.
“Mom?”
“Come on in, chère.”
Maggie walked into the typically antiseptic hospital room, where Ninette lay on a bed that had been raised for her comfort. Tug sat in a chair next to her, holding his wife’s hand. Maggie had never seen her mother look more pale or frail. She kissed her father and then sat on the edge of the bed.
“Mama.” She reached down and hugged Ninette, hiding her face so the tears slipping down her cheeks wouldn’t show.
“My sweet baby.” Ninette patted the bed, and Maggie crawled in next to her. “This is just like when you were little.”
“I know. I’d use any excuse to get into bed with you and Dad. A storm, a bad dream. Which is what this feels like right now.”
“Everyone is overreacting. This is just some little thing.”
Tug squeezed Ninette’s hand. “I’m sure it is, but we could do with some medical facts to back that up.” He awkwardly rose to his feet. “I’m stiff from all this sitting. I need to stretch my legs. I’m gonna take a lap around the floor. Be back in a few.”