Maggie didn’t like the way Bo only responded with a slight smile. Gran’, however, was oblivious. She gave Bo a friendly pat on the knee. “My, you must have worked up an appetite with all this talking. Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

“Thanks very much, ma’am, but that wouldn’t be appropriate.” Bo glanced at the tin in Maggie’s hands a bit wistfully. “Although whatever you have there smells pretty good.”

“Well, if you won’t stay, we’ll just make you a plate to go, right, Maggie?”

“No, really,” Bo said. “As an officer of the law, it’s improper for me to accept gifts of any kind. That includes free food and beverage.”

“Oh, please,” Maggie snorted. “Ru’s closets are probably full of stuff he ‘confiscated,’ or got as ‘thank-yous.’ But,” she hastened to add, realizing she might be encouraging Bo to join them for a meal, “I respect your ethics.”

Bo acknowledged this with a nod and another of his slight smiles. She couldn’t be sure, but this one seemed a little less enigmatic—it bordered on being a genuine smile and created a crease on the right side of his mouth that in other circumstances she would have called sexy.

Bo stood up to go. He wore his blue sport coat over a finely checkered tan button-down shirt and jeans, and she tried to ignore how the casual work look somehow seemed sexy on him. “Thank you both for your time. My men got called away to an accident on I-10, but they’ll be back later to finish searching for that box of poison you remembered seeing, Miss Crozat.”

As soon as Maggie was sure Bo was out of earshot, she turned to her grandmother. “Gran’, you need to remember that until they catch whoever killed Beverly or Francine or whatever her real name is, we are all suspects. All of us. Everyone in this house and now pretty much everyone in Pelican.”

Gran’ waved her hand dismissively. “Save your lecture, dear. The new addition to Pelican PD is as smart as he is handsome. He’s an astute enough judge of character to be able to see that I had absolutely nothing to do with Francine’s death. I’m sure the genuine shock on my face when he told me who she was quickly ruled me out as a suspect. I wonder if I have any pictures of her. I must dig up my yearbook. Oooh, maybe a picture in it will help lead Detective Dreamboat to the real murderer.”

Gran’ took off to search her past for evidence of Beverly/Francine. While it didn’t seem to bother Gran’ much, Maggie hated that Durand was eyeing her grandmother as a potential murderer. I have to deflect his attention from her to someone else, she thought as she walked down the hall into the kitchen, where her mother was preparing dinner. Maggie put the bread pudding down on the counter; her arms ached from carrying the sweet carbo load for so long.

“Hey, chère,” Ninette said without taking her eyes off the beef she was seasoning in a large cast iron pan. She was cooking up a large batch of grits and grillades, a meal usually served at breakfast or lunch. But since Crozat’s guests found the dish too heavy for breakfast and were rarely around for midday meals, Ninette enjoyed making it the centerpiece of a dinner menu. “Is that detective done giving Gran’ the third degree?”

“I’m not sure who was messing with whom there,” Maggie said.

Ninette let out a deep sigh. “I just want this whole horrible business over,” she said.

“I know, Mama. Me too.” Maggie noticed perspiration doing a slow drip down the side of her mother’s face. She took a paper towel and gently wiped it away and then kissed Ninette on the cheek. “You feel warm,” Maggie said, concerned.

Ninette laughed. “For goodness’ sake, why wouldn’t I be warm? I’m cooking.”

Tug came in through the kitchen back door, laden with groceries. “Here you go,” he said to Ninette as he put down the bags. He gave his wife an affectionate pat on her bottom. “Everything for your fete crawfish.”

“Ohmygod, I totally forgot about the fete,” Maggie said with a groan as she helped her mother unload groceries into the cupboards and refrigerator.

Ninette checked the crisper drawers. “I need okra and red pepper from the garden.”

“I’ll get it,” Maggie said.

“Next year I’m not going to all this trouble. I’m just gonna make a big pot of franks and beans.”

“Yeah right, Mom,” Maggie laughed. Fet Let participants claimed bragging rights to certain dishes, and Ninette was famous for her Crawfish Crozat, a delicious pasta dish. Her mother threatened not to make it every year, but Maggie knew Ninette relished the moans of gustatory delight she got from her long line of customers. Fet cooks competed to see who’d run out of food first, but mostly they fought over second place because Ninette always nailed the top spot.

Maggie went out to the garden, where she picked enough okra and red pepper to fill a large basket. She was about to take it inside when she saw Cuties Debbie and Jan walking through Crozat’s parterre. The formal garden, whose design dated back to Crozat’s earliest days, featured immaculately clipped bushes and gravel paths laid out in a symmetrical pattern; maintaining it was a labor of love for Tug.

Jan’s sturdy frame and height of close to six feet meant that she dwarfed Debbie. But Maggie noticed there was nothing intimidating about her presence at the moment; in fact, she seemed parental with her compatriot. When Debbie yawned and said something to Jan, the Cutie board president nodded and patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. Debbie then headed toward the coach house, most likely to nap before dinner. Jan gave her a little wave good-bye and continued her stroll through the parterre, stopping now and then to admire the flowering plants that the trim bushes encircled.

This was Maggie’s chance to get the Cutie president alone and do a little digging about Debbie and her alter ego, Debra Stern. She put her basket in the shade and made her way over to Jan, who seemed pleased to see her.

“This garden is fantastic,” Jan said. “It’s very calming.”

“I know. It sure seemed to have that effect on Debbie—almost like it made her sleepy.”

“She’s a little tired from all of our sightseeing.”

“Is Debbie okay?” Maggie asked, concern coloring her voice.

“Oh yes, she’s fine. Just needs some rest.”

“It seems like something’s wrong. Is she unhappy with her stay here? I would totally understand, given the crazy circumstances.”

“No, she’s not at all unhappy here. She loves Crozat. We all know that what happened had nothing to do with your family.”

“What a relief. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate y’all’s support.” Maggie hoped a little charm and flattery might open Jan up, but the woman’s lack of response proved that Gran’ had not passed on the Glossy gene to her granddaughter.

As Maggie walked with the Cutie president, she debated the best way to draw the woman out. If she boldly asked what the deal was with Debbie, she’d reveal herself as a snoop, which would put Jan off. “A friend said she recognized Debbie from articles on the Internet,” she said, mixing a white lie with the truth. “My friend says she’s this incredibly successful businesswoman. I told her she must be wrong, because, no offense to Debbie or anything, but she doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”

Jan’s paced slowed. “Actually . . . your friend is right.”

“Really?” Maggie played up the surprise in her voice. She hoped she wasn’t milking it too much. “Wow, I don’t see that at all.”

“Well . . . she was a successful businesswoman. She’s not pursuing that anymore.”

“Why not?” Maggie adopted an innocent tone, grateful that she still remembered a few tricks from a high school drama elective.

“It’s just . . .” Jan hesitated. She glanced toward the coach house. There was no sign of Debbie or any other Cutie, for that matter.

“You’re not gossiping if you’re trying to help someone understand a friend,” Maggie gently prompted her, hoping that Jan wouldn’t wonder why she should feel compelled to help an innkeeper’s daughter “understand” a fellow Cutie. Luckily, Jan took the bait.