“I thought you Americans didn’t care about this kind of stuff,” Luke said.

“Most of us don’t,” Maggie replied. “But we still have debutantes and social snobs in this country. And Princess Kate and Prince William brought sexy back to royalty in general.”

The guests continued to pepper Bo with questions, eager to extract every last detail about the case from him. The conversation could have gone on for hours, but Ninette noticed Bo’s energy flagging.

“This has been a very long day and I’m guessing everyone here has quite the appetite,” she said as she stood up. “I’ve got a pot of jambalaya warming on the stove. Tug, will you help me serve?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tug exited out of the parlor after his wife. The rest of the group drifted into the dining room, leaving only Bo and Maggie in the parlor.

“Thank you,” she said to Bo. “You’re the only one on the force who was really on our side. I owe you, Bo.”

Bo smiled. She had never noticed that he had a slight cleft to his chin. “You don’t owe me anything. But you do owe my kid an art lesson.”

Epilogue

The new week brought game-changing developments to Pelican. Ears all over town bled from the scream Vanessa Fleer let out when Rufus caved to her nagging and said, “Fine, I’ll put a ring on it. Now shut up and lemme clean my gun.” A proposal was a proposal in Vanessa’s book, so its lack of romance didn’t bother her, especially when she learned that her fiancé would soon be up to his bushy eyebrows in cash. The Durand family had finally received an offer on Grove Hall that even Rufus couldn’t refuse. Maggie and Bo crossed their fingers that the perpetually slothful Ru would feel flush enough from his share of the sale to quit his position as police chief. But Rufus had no intention of relinquishing his throne. “Money and power, buddy,” he gloated to his cousin as he unscrewed the cap on a thirty-two ounce bottle of convenience store beer. “I’m livin’ the dream.”

Bo took comfort in the fact that his share of the sale would allow Xander to attend Bright Start, the Baton Rouge school dedicated to kids with unique academic needs. And Maggie did get to revel in Ru’s outrage when he learned that the LLC that purchased Grove Hall was owned by Kyle Bruner, whose move to Pelican brought joy to Lia and the rest of the Crozats. Any Crozat happiness would always mean Rufus Durand misery. “Tough break, Ru Ru,” Maggie fake-commiserated, making sure that she revealed Vanessa’s pet name for the police chief in front of delighted department gossips Cal and Artie.

To make up for the hell that Jan Robbins had gone through with her false arrest and Debbie Stern’s betrayal, Bo put in a call to the Cuties’ airline and arranged a few extra days in Pelican for the group with no change fee to their plane tickets. “You were the only ones who came here without some scheme in your visit plans, and I’ll never forget that,” Maggie told the women as she hugged them good-bye. Jan promised that when the Cuties returned to Cajun Country in the spring for their convention, many events would be held at Crozat, and with one last cry of “laissez les bons temps rouler!” the Cajun Cuties had taken off for the airport in their rented minivan.

There was news regarding the Ryker clan as well. Gran’, who’d set up an Internet alert for Crozat Plantation B and B, was tickled to receive an e-blast containing a rave review written by Lachlan Ryker on a website called aussiesinamerica.com. Carrie and Lachlan had adopted the American entrepreneurial spirit the minute they arrived in California and created a website for homesick Aussie ex-pats that would help them navigate the New World. It was rudimentary and would take time to grow, but Maggie’s instincts told her that the prosperity gris-gris bags Lia had gifted the family with would eventually bear financial fruit.

Crozat Plantation B and B slowly began its recovery from the fallout of a double murder on its property. Maggie came up with a “Don’t Labor on Labor Day Special” that offered low rates and a Crozat cookout, both of which attracted potential guests. “And we can credit morbid curiosity for a few of the reservations,” Gran’ said. “It’s sold many a ticket to a freak show.” The Shexnayders returned from their holiday rested and ready to resume their housekeeping and maintenance duties. From the little winks and butt pinches between them that Maggie observed, the break had also energized their libidos.

With Bud and Marie back at work, Maggie finally had time to market her line of souvenirs, and it was picked up by several of the nearby plantations. This provided the pressure she needed to convince Gran’ that it would be in perfectly fine taste to sell the items—displayed discreetly, of course—at Crozat. Once on board, Gran’ became a sales powerhouse, and no visitor to Crozat left without a memento, even if the poor soul just stuck their head in the door to ask for directions.

The best news of all came from a visit to Ninette’s oncologist, Dr. Felicia Gilbert.

“Negative,” Dr. Gilbert told Ninette’s family. “Every test.”

The Crozats fell into each other’s arms and breathed a collective sigh of relief. “But then what was wrong with me?” Ninette asked.

“There was no evidence of an infection, so I’m going to write off the fever and high white count as the result of stress you’ve been under, especially since your numbers are normal and appear to have stabilized. The night sweats are something else. You’re menopausal, Ninette. And given the intensity of those sweats, you might be in for a rough ride.”

“Given the alternative, I’ll take it.” Ninette grinned. Maggie hadn’t seen a smile that big on her mother’s face in a long time. The family would never be free of worry about Ninette’s health, but Dr. Gilbert had given them a respite from it.

With life at Crozat running relatively smoothly once again, Maggie could return to her art. But first . . .

*

It was early afternoon, and the light offered the first golden glint of autumn. Two easels stood side by side on the lawn next to the parterre. Tubes of oil paint covered a small table between them.

“They’re arranged by color and shades within each color,” Maggie explained to Xander, who nodded, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the tubes of paints. She was finally making good on her promise to give the boy an art lesson. Bo napped on a blanket next to them while Gopher rested his head on Xander’s feet. “But if you want to mix your own shade of a color, you can. Would you like to try that?”

Xander nodded yes. He picked up a few tubes with his slim little fingers and squeezed dollops onto the palette Maggie had given him. Maggie added a big blob of white. “You can make a ton of color shades just by adding a little or a lot of white,” she explained. Xander stared at the paints and then started carefully mixing some colors, adding a touch blue, a drip of yellow, a bit more white. When he was satisfied with the result, he showed it to Maggie, who stared at the palette, mesmerized.

“Wow, just . . . wow,” she sputtered.

Xander had created a shade of green that was extraordinary.

The boy then picked up tubes of yellow and blue and mixed them. He did the same with a range of other colors until his palette was a phantasmagorical rainbow. Maggie watched, amazed. How could a boy who wouldn’t eat his hot dog because the mustard and ketchup touched mix the most beautiful, otherworldly colors that she had ever seen?

Xander stopped and looked at her for approval. “Wow,” she said again. “Xander, those are just . . . gorgeous. Okay, so, let’s paint. I thought it would be fun to try and do the vegetable garden and chicken yard. Do you like that idea?”

Xander nodded and began painting. Maggie picked up a brush but put it down to watch Xander put his vision on canvas. He had a child’s surreal view, but it was coupled with an attention to detail that seemed channeled from another realm.