“Yeah, I’m just here because Rufus asked me to take the lead until they could rush in my replacement from Shreveport. The guy is due here any minute. Wasn’t expecting to start on a Sunday. Could I bother you for some more tea?”

“Why, it’s no bother, no bother at all,” Gran’ was beginning to sound a bit like a parrot. “Now, tell us all about your plans for retirement.”

As Buster chatted away, Maggie evaluated the family’s options. With Buster off the case, they were at the mercy of his replacement. But maybe the change would be a good thing. Whoever he was, being new to the area, it was possible that he wouldn’t come with old grudges. He could provide some much-needed objectivity and impartiality. For the first time since the Clabbers had died, Maggie felt she could relax.

“Maggie, Buster and Marnie are thinking about taking a retirement trip up north to New York.”

“Really? Have you ever been?”

“No, ma’am. I’d love any recommendations you have. The wife wants a show, I want a ballgame.”

“Maybe you’ll be lucky and they’ll revive Damn Yankees, which was a show about a ballgame,” Gran’ quipped, and the three laughed.

“Excuse me.”

Maggie, Gran’, and Buster looked up to see a tall, slim man leaning against the doorframe. His pale skin provided an unusual contrast to his dark hair and coal-dark eyes. Bedroom eyes, Gran’ would call them—a little hooded and sleepy looking. But sexy—definitely sexy. His coloring was unique for a man, but it worked on him. And he was a man. There was nothing boy-child about him, the curse of so many guys Maggie had hooked up with back in New York. Where she could imagine all those old boyfriends pushing her aside to escape a burning building, this was someone she could see running in, throwing her over his shoulder, and then casually flipping off the fire on his way out. The image was a definite turn-on.

The man looked vaguely familiar to Maggie. Probably because he resembles some movie star, she thought, but which one?

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man continued, “but I’m looking for Captain Durand.”

Buster stood and walked toward the man. “You’re close. I’m Detective Belloise. Can I help you?”

The man pulled out a badge, flashed it, and then extended his hand. “Paul Durand, but everyone calls me Bo. I believe I’m your replacement.”

“Well, hey, welcome to Pelican,” Buster gave Bo’s hand a hearty shake. He eyed the newcomer. “I feel like I know you. We must’ve met before at some law enforcement function.”

Bo smiled a lazy grin, and Maggie couldn’t help noticing that his teeth were as perfect as a male model’s. “We may have,” Bo acknowledged, his voice deep yet mellifluous, his accent showing the twang that came with living close to the Texas border. “But I’m guessing I look familiar because I remind you of Rufus. I’m his first cousin.”

Chapter Seven

When Maggie was eight, Grand-père Crozat shared an age-old joke with her: What’s worse than finding a worm in your apple? Finding half a worm. He told it because she had just lived the joke. After taking a huge bite of a crispy, sweet apple, she noticed only half a worm in its flesh. She never thought she’d feel as horrified and sickened in her life again.

Then Maggie discovered that the handsome newcomer, the man who instantly made her body feel things that it hadn’t felt in way too long a time, was related to Rufus Durand, and she felt worse. But the news was also the slap in the face she needed. It was like falling in love with a gorgeous dress but then seeing its ridiculously expensive price tag and instantly falling out of love. The price on Bo Durand was way too high.

She forced herself to check back into the conversation.

“We’ve got a couple of guys bagging and tagging evidence and taking statements and prints,” Buster was telling Bo.

Bo nodded and then gestured to Gran’ and Maggie. “Have we gotten prints or statements from these ladies yet?”

Buster flushed with embarrassment. The tea and snack repast had registered with Bo. It was obvious to Maggie that under the man’s relaxed charm was one sharp detective.

“Uh, no, not yet, I was easing into that,” Buster said.

“I know we can be tight-asses up in Shreveport, but we’re not big on ‘easing’ into a murder investigation. Get what we need from these ladies—”

“Excuse me, we are not ‘these ladies.’ We have names, sir,” Gran’ said in a tone that had brought better men than Bo Durand to their knees. “I am Charlotte LeBlanc Crozat—Mrs. Crozat to you—and this is my granddaughter, Magnolia Marie Crozat.”

Gran’ glared at Bo, who smiled his lazy smile, completely unfazed. “Nice to meet y’all. Please cooperate with Detective Belloise and answer all of his questions to the best of your ability.” With that, Bo turned and left.

“Really, has there ever been a Durand who had anything resembling manners?” Gran’ took a bottle of bourbon off the kitchen counter, poured a shot into her sweet tea, and then offered the bottle to Buster, who hesitated. “We won’t tell,” Gran’ cooed.

That’s all Buster needed to hear. He gratefully took the bottle, spiked his own drink, and then took out a pad and pen. “Well . . . I guess we best get started.”

Maggie and Gran’ spent half an hour being printed and giving statements, and then Gran’ retreated to recover in her room while Maggie went to check on her parents. As she passed the front parlor, she saw that investigators were using a photo from Georgia One’s cell phone of the Clabbers lying dead on the room’s priceless rug to recreate an outline of Hal and Beverly. Georgia One had scored; when he posted the picture on a social media website, he could brag about how important it was to a murder investigation.

She found Ninette and Tug outside by the generator gas line with Bo, who was examining it. Buster had made his way there too and was hovering over the new detective.

Bo shined a flashlight on the line. “Yeah, I’d say this was tampered with.”

“Sure looks like it to me,” Buster echoed.

Bo turned to him. “Make sure the evidence techs dust for prints and get pictures of this. Of the fuse box, too. And have them bag the fuses.”

“Yes, sir.” Buster’s tone was so officious that Maggie thought he might actually salute Bo, but instead he scurried off to make himself useful.

“It’s lunchtime and I’m sure everyone’s starving,” Ninette said. “Would it be all right if I fixed something for my guests? And your people, too, of course.”

“Normally I’d have my people fend for themselves,” Bo said. “But being that it’s my first day on the job, I’ll go with making a good first impression, so sure.”

“Thank you.” Ninette, who found great comfort in cooking, gave the hint of a smile. It was all she could muster, given the circumstances. Maggie was worried by how wan her mother looked. The fine lines on her faced seemed to have deepened, and she’d dropped weight from her already too-slim frame.

“I’ll help, chère.” Tug put a protective arm around his wife’s shoulder and led her back to the house. Maggie was about to follow when Gopher wobbled up to Bo and gave a deep, territorial bark.

“Gopher, quiet,” she scolded him.

“It’s okay. Hey, buddy.” Bo gave the old dog a pet. He kneeled down, took a long Basset ear in each hand, and rubbed them. “How about some ear love, huh?” Gopher gave up his alpha dog act and moaned with pleasure. Then he fell on his back, paws straight up in the air, begging for a belly scratch. Bo obliged with a brisk rub.

“You don’t have to do that,” Maggie said. “Once you start, he won’t let you stop. He’s going to follow you around the rest of the day.”

“Not a problem,” Bo said. “I had a Basset. My wife got him in the divorce. It was okay, my son’s pretty attached to Beignet. But I miss him. The dog. And my son. Of course I miss my son.”