“Hey there, Xander,” Maggie smiled and waved from her seat, as did Tug. Gopher raised himself from his canine stupor, galumphed over to Xander, gave him one sniff, and then parked himself next to the boy. Xander was slight, with features that were delicate for a boy. He had his father’s thick, straight hair but it was blonde instead of black, and his eyes were green, not Bo’s deep, dark brown.

Ninette bent down so she was eye level with Xander. “Nice to meet you. Can I talk you into some gumbo?” Xander, his expression serious, shook his head no. “Then how about a hot dog?” With the same serious expression, Xander nodded yes. “Okay, then. You and your daddy join us at the table while I get your dinner. Maggie, get Bo a bowl, please.”

“Bet you’re sorry you skimped on the showering and makeup now, ain’t ya?” Tug teased her in a whisper.

“Shut up,” she whispered back and then stood up and fixed Bo a bowl of gumbo. He took the bowl and thanked her with a grin that to Maggie’s surprise seemed a little shy. A surge of warmth coursed through her body, and she quickly looked away from him. Her eyes caught her dad’s. Tug winked at her, and the warmth turned into a flush of embarrassment. “So, Detective, we’re still waiting for the good news,” she said, her tone as businesslike as she could manage.

“There are no fingerprints from any members of your family on the arsenic box. In fact, there are no prints at all on it. The theory is that someone planted the box either to implicate or cause trouble for your family.”

“You mean, exactly like I told you when you found the box?”

“Maggie,” Ninette said in a singsongy warning tone. “Manners.” Ninette fished Xander’s hot dog off the range grill, placed it on a bun and dressed it with ketchup and mustard. “There you go, sweetie,” she said as she handed it to him.

Xander looked at the hot dog and his serious expression morphed into panic. He began shaking his head fiercely and flapping his arms. Then he began to sob. Gopher, who seemed to have appointed himself Xander’s guardian, barked in concern.

“It’s okay, buddy,” his father reassured Xander while Maggie and her parents stared, confused. “I’m real sorry. It’s just . . . he doesn’t like it when different colors and flavors touch each other.” There was a look of anguish in Bo’s eyes, as if he were begging them to understand.

Ninette quickly removed the hot dog, and Xander calmed down. “It’s my fault,” she said. “I should have asked before I dressed it. Xander, I am so very, very sorry. I’ll make you a new hot dog and let you put whatever you want on it yourself. Would that be okay?”

Xander stopped flapping and shaking. He nodded yes, his demeanor no longer anxiety ridden but once again serious.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bo said. “We should probably wash up first. Be right back.”

Bo took his son’s hand and led him out of the kitchen to the restroom. As soon as he was gone, Maggie turned to her parents. “What was that about?”

“For goodness sake, Magnolia, show some sensitivity.” Ninette had never snapped at her that way before, and Maggie felt ashamed of her flip comment. “That poor child obviously has some serious issues. I remember when we hosted that end-of-year lunch for the Pelican Elementary teachers, I heard them talking about how so many kids today are ‘on the spectrum.’ I think that could be the case with Xander. I’m guessing he’s either autistic or has Asperger syndrome.”

Tug sighed. “When I was a kid, we just called boys like him weirdoes and treated them that way. I hate to think how they suffered because we just didn’t know any better.”

“Well, nowadays we do know better.” Ninette glared at her daughter. “And we need to show that with our behavior.”

“You’re right, Mama,” Maggie said, abashed.

Ninette finished grilling a second hot dog for Xander just as Bo returned with his son. She looked to Xander before placing the hot dog in a bun, and he solemnly nodded his approval.

“Condiments are over here, sweetie,” Ninette said, pointing to the kitchen table. Xander stared at them thoughtfully and then carefully squirted a thin line of ketchup on his frank. He eyeballed the line, and then squirted a fine thread of mustard so thin that it paralleled the ketchup almost exactly. Maggie was impressed by his precision. The boy sat down to eat his hot dog. After getting a refill of gumbo, she took a seat next to him. The others joined them at the table. While Bo, Ninette, and Tug chatted about Fet Let, Maggie focused her attention on Xander.

“Is it good?” she asked. Xander nodded yes as he slowly ate his hot dog. Maggie noticed that he was counting each bite before he swallowed. “You know,” she continued. “I’m an artist and I hate when certain colors get mixed together, too. I can show you, but I’d have to mix the ketchup and mustard.” She turned to Bo. “Do you think it would be okay? I don’t want to upset him again.”

Bo laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Xander, would you like to see that, if she does it on her own plate and not yours?”

Xander pondered the question for a minute and then, a little wary, nodded yes. Maggie took the ketchup and mustard and squirted both into her now-empty bowl. She took a spoon and mixed the two together until they formed a muddy paste. Xander watched, both repulsed and fascinated. She showed the homely result to Xander.

“Ugh, ugly. I don’t like this at all. Do you?”

Xander shook his head no. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for what might come next. Maggie panicked for a moment, but then she had a brainstorm. “Would you like to come over tomorrow and mix pretty colors with me?” she asked the boy. Xander nodded and this time, for a brief second, there was a flicker of a smile in his eyes. Maggie turned to Bo. “I mean, if it’s all right with you.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s great. Absolutely.”

The meal finished without incident and Maggie gathered up the dirty dishes. “I’ll clean up,” she told her parents.

“Xander and I’ll help,” Bo said.

“Actually,” Ninette said, “I was thinking Tug and I might show Xander our new chicken yard. It’s pretty big because we want to produce free-range eggs for the plantation.”

“That sounds like way more fun than washing and drying dishes, doesn’t it, son?” Bo winked at his son, who responded with his de facto solemn nod. Ninette and Tug each offered the boy a hand. He stared thoughtfully and then took them. The trio headed for the chicken yard, with Gopher on the seven-year-old’s heels.

“Dogs know, don’t they?” Bo said as he watched them go.

“Know what?” Maggie asked.

“When someone . . . when a kid . . . is special.”

“Xander is special, Bo. And in the best way that word can mean.”

Bo began gathering plates and placing them in sink. “Thanks. He liked you.”

“Really?” she said as she began rinsing dinnerware and placing it in the dishwasher. “How could you tell?”

“Eye contact. He looked you in the eye. He hardly ever does that. So it means something.”

“Wow. That’s great.” Maggie was surprised by how good this made her feel and then slightly depressed that the approval of a seven-year-old would mean so much. The bar’s been lowered since the days when it took Julian Schnabel remembering my name to get me excited, she thought. Maggie handed Bo a towel. “Why don’t you dry the stuff that has to be hand-washed?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two washed and dried in a silence that felt surprisingly comfortable to her. When they finished, they worked together to put everything in its proper place. Bo wrinkled his nose. “I keep smelling some kind of chemical. I wonder if there’s a leak at one of the plants. Maybe I should call headquarters.”

“No, don’t bother,” The lingering scent of disinfectant on Maggie’s clothes had disrupted their camaraderie, and she found herself annoyed as well as mortified. “It’s me. I gave the Shexnayders some time off and I’ve been doing the cleaning.”