Five minutes after she pulled into Doucet’s pebbled parking lot, Maggie was at the front door of the mansion in full dress, wig, and makeup, calling up her best Louisiana accent to welcome a group of thirty retired teachers from Ohio. She, Gaynell, and Vanessa each toured ten of them through the plantation, and since these visitors were educated and engaged, the evening wound up being a bit of a murder palate cleanser.

The evening tours for riverboat groups always ended with a champagne toast, and Maggie volunteered to lead it. “A toast to Doucet. May we appreciate its beauty while we learn from its history.”

There were a few hear, hears, they all toasted, and then she, Gaynell, and Vanessa escorted the group back to the riverboat landing. The evening shadows transformed the women’s polyester gowns into the illusion of silk taffeta. They waved parade queen waves to the boat as it paddled off down the river and froze like statues so the tourists could snap a few last-minute shots. For a moment, the Ohio retirees could pretend that they were in another century, one where women’s gracious manners made them beautiful, horrible injustices were ignored, and murders were the by-product of duels fought in the name of honor.

“I gotta pee like a racehorse,” Vanessa announced, breaking the mood. She hiked up her hoop skirt so she could race back to the staff lounge while Maggie and Gaynell strolled behind her.

Maggie filled Gaynell in on the latest developments regarding Debbie’s death as they walked into the lounge to change. Vanessa had a head start on them but was slowed down by the difficulty of trying to zip up jeans that were at least a size too small. “Ru called and told me about the latest murder,” Vanessa said. She sucked in her gut and gave the zipper one last yank. “Y’all keep going like this and the only way you’ll have visitors is if you try to sell Crozat as some kinda creepy haunted house.”

“You know, Van,” Maggie said, making sure to use a hated nickname, “unnaturally tight pants can create infertility in women as well as men.”

“You’re just mad ’cuz you know I’m right.” Vanessa touched up her face with so much makeup that Maggie wondered if she was heading over to Nudie’s Princess Palace to pole dance. “And ’cuz you don’t have a boyfriend.”

Maggie didn’t deign to respond. Unfortunately, it was because she knew Vanessa was right on at least one count. Crozat B and B was in big trouble. It was time for her to change the conversation. “Gay, any chance you could cover my shifts for the next couple of days?”

“Sure. I could use the money.”

“Thanks.”

“Wish I could help you,” Vanessa chimed in, “but it’s Ru and me’s two-month-aversary and I got to plan something special.”

“I appreciate the thought, Vanessa,” Maggie said, choosing the high road.

She finished changing and said good-night to her coworkers. As she walked to her car, she pulled out her cell and called Tug.

“Hey, honey,” he said. “What’s up?”

She lowered her voice. “If any of our guests take you up on the offer to find other accommodations, tell them you checked and nothing in the area is available. I need to buy some time.”

“To do what?” Tug asked, worried.

“As soon as our guests leave, it’ll be that much harder—maybe impossible—to find suspects besides Jan and Kyle. Don’t worry; I’m not going to do anything stupid or unsafe. I won’t be like one of those dumb cheerleaders in a horror movie who goes roaming around a house where there’s a killer on the loose. I’m just going to research some stuff.”

“Well, that couldn’t be vaguer,” Tug responded, his concerns not allayed. She didn’t respond. “All right, but be careful. And let me know if you need anything. Just me. We’re gonna keep your mom out of this.”

“Definitely.”

“More secrets, I’m afraid,” Tug sighed.

Maggie ended the call and got into her car. As she drove home, she concentrated on clues that would lead in the opposite direction of Kyle and Jan. Gaynell was still waiting to hear from her brother about his negative experiences with the Pi Pis, but an Internet search might also yield some dirt. The Rykers clearly had something to hide. For the sake of their kids, Maggie hoped it wasn’t murder. And she couldn’t forget the ring and brochures she’d discovered under Beverly’s bed. It was time to give those another look and see if they sparked anything useful. She also realized that she’d never put the original brochures and the ring back in the Clabbers’ bedroom as she had planned. There was no time for that now; she’d give everything to Bo and just tell him that she’d found it all while cleaning the Clabbers’ room.

*

By the time she got home, Crozat was quiet and few lights were on. Guests and staff had retreated for the night, probably worn out by the day’s events. Maggie noted that Gran’s light was out too, so she tiptoed across the shotgun’s floor, eliciting only small squeaks from the centuries-old cypress boards. She retrieved the desk key from its hiding place in her bureau and went to her desk in the living room. She was about to unlock the desk drawer, but as she inserted the key, the drawer slid open. It was already unlocked.

Maggie paused, trying to recall when she last went into the drawer. Maybe she’d forgotten to lock it. But the memory she retrieved was a clear picture of placing the Clabber items under other documents, turning the key, and tugging at the drawer to make sure it was properly locked. In fact, she remembered locking all four drawers on the desk.

She checked them. Each was unlocked.

Her heart heavy with fear, she opened the drawer and pawed through its contents until she found the file marked “Receipts.” She was relieved to see the copies she’d made of the Clabbers’ brochures and Beverly’s ring. Then she dug to the bottom of the pile to find the originals. She saw nothing. Fear blossomed into panic as Maggie yanked out the drawer and dumped everything in it onto the floor. She went through the papers and loose ends over and over again. But the ring was gone, as well as the original brochures.

“My goodness, what is going on out here?” A sleepy Gran’ appeared in her bedroom doorway, her lace-trimmed cream nightgown gently billowing from the breeze of the ceiling fan above her. “I was afraid we had mice, or one of those giant flying palmetto bugs had found their way in. I still have the occasional nightmare from when I thought I heard someone in my room and turned on the light only to find one of those disgusting winged roaches wandering through my perfumes.”

“Gran’, have you been in this drawer? Did you take a ring and some brochures from it? It’s okay if you did; I just need to know.”

“I would never do such a thing without telling you. Why, are they important?”

“They’re what I found hidden in the Clabbers’ room. A signet initial ring and brochures from a Scottish castle and English country manor.”

“And they’re missing?”

Maggie hesitated, hating to admit it. “Yes.”

“Oh, dear.” Gran’ sat on the couch. “That’s not good at all, is it?”

“No. It is not good.”

Neither of them voiced it, but the same thought was in both of their minds. Someone had come into their home with the express purpose of finding what the Clabbers had hidden and Maggie had rehidden.

And the odds were pretty good that the evidence thief was Beverly Clabber’s killer.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Gran’ cautioned. “It could be a common burglar. I’ll see if my jewelry is gone and you do the same.”

“I don’t have anything worth stealing.”

“Well, the burglars don’t know that.”

The women went into their bedrooms and checked on their valuables, which in Maggie’s case meant sentimental costume jewelry like a charm bracelet she’d received for her seventh birthday featuring images of the Spice Girls, a pop group she’d idolized at the time. She and Gran’ then reconvened in the living room.