“They could go north, or west to Lafayette.”
“For one thing, that’s a whole different vacation. And for another, Rufus would probably make a stink about it. He doesn’t want to go chasing all over the place if he needs one of them. Too much work.”
“We’ll give everyone suggestions and let them make their own decisions. Look at the upside: the more guests who leave, the less of them we have to float.”
Tug gave his daughter a half smile. “Ouch. You are cold.”
“And here I am thinking I’m being an optimist.” Maggie put an arm around her dad’s shoulder. “We’ll present all the options during what might turn into a very unhappy happy hour.”
“Just keep the liquor flowing, darlin’.”
Which was exactly what Maggie did an hour later as Tug distributed a handout of lodging alternatives to each guest. The only ones missing were the Ryker kids, who were sheltered in their room, and Kyle Bruner. The Texan had told the family in private that he had no intention of bailing on them. Whether this declaration was motivated by pure human decency or the fact he was seriously crushing on Lia didn’t matter. He would remain a guest, and a paying one at that.
“These suck,” Georgia Two griped as he glanced at the list. “We’ve stayed in nicer places during spring break, and last year the motel had bedbugs.”
“We didn’t come to Cajun Country to stay in a Motel 6,” Jan declared.
“We also didn’t come here to stay where somebody was murdered,” Angela countered.
“More wine, Angela?” Maggie made the question rhetorical by filling the Cutie’s glass as she spoke. It was Angela’s third refill. The flush of gentle inebriation was starting to bloom on her cheeks, as well as those of a few other guests.
“I think we need a family meeting,” Lachlan Ryker said to his wife, who nodded. “Let’s go talk to the kids.”
The Rykers excused themselves. There was grim silence as the remaining guests pondered their choices. Maggie discreetly topped off a couple of glasses. Finally, Cutie president Jan spoke. “You know what? When I look around this room, I don’t see a killer anywhere. Do you?” The others exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Well, do you?” Jan pressed. A few glanced around and muttered no.
Encouraged, Jan continued. “You know what I do see? People from all different parts of the country who came here to experience the culture and beauty of Cajun Country and of Crozat itself. Nice people, good people whose adventure shouldn’t be derailed by a nutjob off the streets or someone who had a vendetta against Mrs. Clabber—who none of us even knew before this week.”
The others, gaining confidence, chorused agreement. “I never even thought of that,” Emily Butler said. “The poison could have been planted months ago. We all saw how many pills she had. Someone could have stuck poison in one of them and just waited until she got around to taking it.”
Maggie debated what she could and couldn’t reveal about the box of arsenic found in the Crozat plantation store. “Evidence may be produced that shows a local poison was used,” she said, proud of how police procedural she sounded. Or legal procedural. She wasn’t sure which but still felt good about it.
“Has anything been proven?” Jan demanded.
“Well, no, but—”
“Then it’s just a theory. Besides, lightning doesn’t strike twice.”
“Unless it’s a serial killer,” Georgia Three pointed out. “They always strike a bunch of times. That’s kind of their job.”
Jan flicked a dismissive hand at the student. “I doubt that out of all the places in the world, a serial killer would choose an old lady in a remote area to start his spree. I think Emily’s scenario makes the most sense. In which case, this whole crazy nightmare is over.” Jan motioned to the other Cuties. She was on a roll now. “I think I speak for all in my group when I say that we’re not going to let some psycho ruin our vacation. Evil can go straight to hell where it belongs, because we’re going to stay at Crozat and show our support for the wonderful family that has fought through terrible times to keep a small piece of American history alive so that they could share it with the rest of us. Yes, we Pelican! Right, ladies?”
Angela nodded a little reluctantly, Suzy with trepidation. Debbie beamed. She leaned over to Maggie and whispered, “That’s why she’s our leader.” Maggie smiled weakly. She was torn between being touched by Jan’s support and resenting its price tag. Since the other guests seemed a beat away from giving Jan a standing ovation, it was obvious they shared her commitment to not bailing on Crozat. Maggie’s last hope was the Rykers, who hadn’t been around to hear Jan’s rallying cry.
“The kids want to stay,” Lachlan told Maggie when she tracked the couple down after the rest of the guests had dispersed to ready themselves for dinner.
“And,” Carrie added with a helpless shrug, “we could hardly say no, could we?”
Maggie, who had heard “no” quite a bit from her own parents while growing up, thought that was exactly what parents were supposed to say when the situation called for it, but this wasn’t the time to debate parenting styles. “We’re so glad you’ll be with us for the rest of the week, and we’ll do everything we can to make sure you leave Crozat with wonderful memories,” she told the Rykers with the forced enthusiasm of a cruise director before retreating to the kitchen to give Ninette a hand preparing dinner.
Later, as Maggie served the guests, she studied everyone at the table while they made small talk. Kyle, the Cuties, the Butlers, the Rykers, the Georgia boys—did one of them have a connection to the Clabbers that led to murder? She wished that she had Jan’s confidence in the innocence of Crozat’s guests, but something was bothering her. Why had they all chosen to stick around? She had a sense that it went beyond the understandable lure of a free ride. But a sense was all that she had. Since Rufus would provide nothing but obstacles, Maggie realized it was up to her to ferret out whatever secrets the group might have.
*
That night, long after everyone at Crozat had gone to sleep, Maggie sat in bed typing away on her tablet. She’d decided to research alphabetically, starting with the Butlers. Both Emily and Shane had a heavy presence on social media, which wasn’t a shock. So did Maggie. In fact, she was surprised that she’d never crossed iPaths with either of them.
The only revelation, found in a gossipy New York Post Page Six blurb about their engagement, was that Emily Butler, née Fuller, came from a Boston Brahmin family while Shane was the first member of his blue-collar Long Island family to attend college. Emily had “married down,” as society mavens liked to cluck. She was the only child of divorced parents, and ancestors on both sides could be found on the Mayflower manifest. But when the upper class crashed, it crashed hard. Emily’s mother was a model and drug addict who ran off with the lead singer of an eighties hair band. She had died eight years earlier when her heart stopped in the middle of breast lift surgery. Emily’s father passed away the month before Emily’s wedding of “liver disease”—which Maggie immediately recognized as alcoholism. Maggie imagined that the poor girl welcomed the chance to join the Butler clan, which the Post painted in a boring but much more grounded light. Maggie gazed at the wedding party photo that accompanied the story. Emily, in an exquisite 1920s-style beaded wedding gown, was flanked by four women of varying ages who all bore a resemblance to Shane and looked uncomfortable in their elegant ice-blue drapey satin bridesmaids’ dresses. If the only members of her bridal party were, as she guessed, Shane’s sisters, then poor Emily lacked friends as well as family.
Having read all she could find about the Butlers, Maggie moved on to the Cuties. Angela DiPietro seemed to lead the typical life of a suburban empty nester. Why does every couple feel the need to go on an Alaskan cruise the minute their kids move out of the house? Maggie wondered as she paged through pictures of Angela and her husband mugging next to totem poles and a series of what she assumed were supposed to be artsy photos of pine trees that instead looked like someone kept dropping the camera.