“Sorry,” Gran’ said and then leaned toward Maggie. “You’re absolutely right.”

Maggie bit her lip to keep from giggling, as did Gran’, but a couple of chuckles sneaked out. Ninette glared at them. “You two need to walk over to another tomb until you get yourselves under control,” she whispered.

“Sorry, Mom, we’ll behave.”

Gran’ turned her attention back to the service, but Maggie’s mind was elsewhere. Ninette had a point when she questioned why Mrs. Clabber hadn’t brought up her past in Pelican. Was she killed to prevent her from revealing something? But what? She sighed in frustration. Debbie Stern, who was standing next to her, gave Maggie a sympathetic smile, mistaking the sigh for sadness.

“Death is so hard, isn’t it?” Debbie whispered. “No matter who the departed is or what our relationship with them was, it reminds us of our own mortality.”

Maggie nodded but didn’t speak, not wanting to risk another scolding from her mother. She focused on evaluating the differences between Debbie and Suzy. Suzy was by far the most stylish of the Cutie foursome. Her silver hair was cut in a perfect shoulder-length bob, and while the liver spots on her hands hinted that she was at least in her sixties, her face possessed only a smattering of lines. She’d obviously had some work done, but it was discreet and high end, as were her black linen slacks and top. If someone made Maggie sum up Suzy in one word, it would be “immaculate.” Which would be the last word she’d use to describe Debbie.

Debbie had yet to stray from her uniform of leggings and slightly worn oversized shirts that did a desultory job of hiding the weight that had settled in her middle. Everything from her limp, dry hair to her makeup-free face sighed, “I give up.” If the dull look in Debbie’s eyes indicated her mental state, Suzy’s insistence on giving her a light volunteer load was not unreasonable. But at least Suzy offered the possibility of another suspect besides Gran’.

Father Prit finally launched into the Lord’s Prayer and concluded the service. The Crozat guests all took off in various directions dictated by their sightseeing plans for the day, and the family returned to the plantation to prepare for Fet Let. They were greeted by the now-familiar sight of Bo’s bland silver sedan parked in front of the main house. Its appearance was always a harbinger of some ominous development.

“Now what?” Maggie muttered.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Ninette said, trying to sound as if she actually believed that. “I’m sure the detective is just here to supervise. If you don’t mind, sweetie, pull into the back so I can go straight into the kitchen. I’d rather not be distracted from my dish by the officers.”

Maggie parked the Falcon in the back motor court. Gran’ went off to the shotgun house to rest before the fete while Maggie, Tug, and Ninette headed for the kitchen, hoping to bypass any law enforcement representatives. But when they got there, they found it closed off with police tape. Cal and Artie, under Bo’s tutelage, were dusting one of the upper kitchen cabinets for fingerprints.

“Oh no,” Ninette murmured. “No, no, no.”

“What’s going on here?” Tug asked. “Why can’t we get into our kitchen?”

“We found the box of arsenic,” Bo said. He pointed to where Cal and Artie were toiling. “On the top shelf of that cabinet.”

Maggie, Ninette, and Tug stared at where Bo was pointing. It was the shelf equivalent of a junk drawer, packed with old pots and broken but not completely useless bowls and cups. And there, tucked between a chipped vase and dented saucepan, lay the dusty yet still lethal box of arsenic.

Chapter Thirteen

“But . . . I don’t understand,” Tug said. “We would never have arsenic, or any poison, in the kitchen. How did it get here?”

“It’s obvious, Dad,” Maggie said, trying to control the anger she felt welling up inside. “Whoever murdered Mrs. Clabber thought it would be a great place to hide the ‘weapon.’ It works on a couple of levels—it’s a shelf that hardly ever sees action, and if anyone does go up there and finds the arsenic, it incriminates our family. Am I right, Detective?”

“Ms. Crozat, can you identify this as the arsenic you saw in the plantation store?” Bo asked, ignoring Maggie’s combative tone. He motioned to Artie, who carefully removed the box with gloved hands and showed it to Maggie, who nodded curtly. Artie bagged the box and handed it to Bo.

“Okay, you’ve got what you need. Now can you get out of our kitchen so we can get into it?” she asked.

“Sorry, but we’re not done,” Bo said.

“Well, when will you be done?”

“Can’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t count on getting in here until at least tomorrow.”

Ninette gave a small groan of despair. “No. My dish. How am I gonna make my dish?” She put a hand over her eyes and began to weep. Ninette, fragile ever since her bout with cancer, had shown unexpected strength during this stressful time, despite the worries of her family. It took the threat of no Crawfish Crozat to put her over the edge. And her mother’s tears worked Maggie’s last nerve.

“Look what you’ve done to my mother,” she yelled at Bo. “I’ve had it, with you, with all of this. Let us into our kitchen right now.”

She tried to shove Bo out of the way, breaking the police tape. Bo stumbled back a few steps and then regained his balance. He put out his hands and held her back. For a moment, she flailed helplessly like a cartoon character trying to battle a muscled bully, and then Tug pulled her off.

“Maggie! Enough.”

“They’re ruining our lives.” Maggie struggled to get out of her father’s grasp. Cal and Artie exchanged uncomfortable glances, while even the preternaturally nerveless Bo seemed thrown by her outburst.

“Um . . . should we arrest her?” Cal asked Bo, with a marked lack of commitment to the idea.

“No,” Bo said. “Not necessary.”

Ninette placed a hand on her daughter’s arm and the gentle gesture sent a message to Maggie, who forced herself to calm down. “It’s my fault,” Ninette said. “I was just upset about not making my dish for the fete. But I was being selfish. I’m sorry if we caused you any trouble, Detective Durand.”

“It’s all right, ma’am. I wish things could be different.”

Tug glared at his daughter. “I think someone here needs to throw around a few ‘I’m sorrys.’”

As much as she hated to admit it, Maggie knew her father was right. She was embarrassed by her own behavior. She opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, Bo held up his hand to stop her. “This is a very difficult situation for everyone. If someone made my mother cry, no telling what I’d do.”

This time Bo’s smile was real and warm, prompting Maggie to fight a sudden tickle of attraction, which felt highly unbefitting to the circumstances. Luckily for her, Cal chose that moment to join the conversation.

“You know, sir,” he said to Bo. “Ninette’s dish is pretty famous around here.”

“He’s right,” Artie chimed in. “People wait all year for it. When it comes to the Fet, there’s a real lack if there’s no Crawfish Crozat.”

“Nicely put, you almost got it to rhyme,” Cal congratulated his partner, who beamed. “We did finish the refrigerator and pantry areas,” Cal pointed out to Bo. “Maybe you could see your way to the Crozats at least retrieving their ingredients.”

“That would be great,” Maggie jumped in. “We could help you cook everything in the shotgun kitchen, Mom. It’s not big, but it’s functional.”

“That’s a very nice idea, but it’s up to the detective.” Ninette looked at Bo, eyes filled with hope. Bo turned to Cal and Artie.

“Give the Crozats what they need,” he directed.

“Thank you,” Maggie said, so grateful that she found herself tearing up. “We’ll get out of your way fast.”

Cal and Artie helped the Crozats cart ingredients, pots, and other essentials over to the shotgun. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate this,” Ninette told the officers once the last of the necessary items had made the trek.