When she reached Crozat, Maggie stopped at the manor house to meet with her mother and grandmother to coordinate snacks and drinks for the gala committee meeting. “I’ll put out the china and flatware,” Gran said.
“I can do it, Charlotte,” Ninette responded.
“Please, you have to let me do something,” Gran pleaded, clasping her hands together to mime praying. “Lee’s at work, and Vanessa banished me from the cottage so she can surprise me with the design results, which quite frankly terrifies me. She’s a dear, but signing on for her design advice was a drunken impulse I fear I’ll live to regret.”
Maggie exchanged a clandestine amused smile with her mother. “I’m sure we can make adjustments to Van’s choices that will make you happy and not hurt her feelings,” Ninette said.
“Or we stage a ‘burglary,’ ” Maggie said, throwing air quotes around the word, “and hope Van doesn’t notice that the only stuff stolen is the stuff she picked out.”
Maggie left the manor house for her apartment. On the way, she saw Kate striding toward her lodgings. She noticed Maggie. “Oh, hey. Would it be possible to buy a bottle of wine from the B and B? Any bottle. I’m not picky. I’ll take a belt of anything to wash down today.”
“I’ll have my father bring over a bottle of Chardonnay and a bottle of Merlot. On the house.”
“Thanks.”
“I heard about Luis being interviewed by the parish police.”
Kate slapped her hands against her forehead in a gesture of incredulity. “Can you believe it? I can’t. Phillippe was Luis’s biggest supporter. He thought he had a ton of promise.” This should have come as a revelation to Maggie, given what she’d once been told. Instead, it helped confirm what she suspected. “I don’t know,” Kate continued. “Maybe I’m too kumbaya, love your fellow man. Trick’s way more skeptical. He said there was a dark side to Luis. I thought he was jealous because Luis had a crush on me.” She took a tin of mints from her designer purse and popped one into her mouth. “I’m pretending these are Xanax, which I could really use right now, except my doctor wouldn’t refill the prescription. I need to have someone sneak me in a bottle of antianxiety meds from Canada.”
“What’s your plan for the restaurant? Are people in shape to work?”
“Yes, thank God. Jerome is back on his feet. Becca is better too. She’ll train under him and hopefully eventually take over. And Scooter is still Scooter, for better or worse. So, oysters will be shucked, and meals will be served.” She pointed to her smartwatch. “Ticktock on that wine.”
Kate continued into the carriage house. Maggie made her way to the spa and traipsed upstairs. She texted Kate’s wine order to Tug, who replied with a thumbs-up and a string of wine bottle emojis. Rather than phone Bo, she decided to wait until he got home from work to run her theory by him. Overcome by an intense wave of exhaustion, she collapsed into bed for an hourlong nap. When she awoke, she showered and changed before returning to the manor house. The warm water was rejuvenating, and Maggie could have lingered under it forever. Instead, she switched off the hot water and endured a blast of cold that she hoped would give her the energy she’d need for the gala committee meeting.
Maggie tried but found it impossible to focus on the meeting. Her mind kept straying to the events at Chanson. She fidgeted with a pencil, finally breaking it, which earned her a quizzical glance from Ninette. Finally, much to her relief, Ione snapped her laptop shut. “We’re in great shape, ladies. Meeting adjourned. Now, let’s adjourn to the bar.”
“That will have to wait a few minutes.” Gran held up her phone. “Vanessa’s done with my cottage. She wants us to come over and see the results.”
The women left the manor and trod the path to the Crozat-Bertrand home. Gran’s front door flew open and Vanessa stepped out to welcome them. She wore a bright-pink satin cocktail dress that hugged her baby bump. “Come on in, y’all. Take a look-see at Charlotte and Lee Bertrand’s abode, updates brought to you by Vanessa MacIlhoney’s Fine Interior Design.”
Gran gripped Maggie’s hand. “Pray for me,” she said under her breath.
Maggie followed her inside. She and the others gasped at what they saw. The living room walls were painted pale taupe. An elegant mix of antique and contemporary furniture upholstered in neutral shades filled the room, with tomato-red throw pillows adding a pop of color. A stunning bayou landscape painted by a beloved local artist—the one and only Maggie Crozat—hung over the couch. “Vanessa, I … I …” Gran stammered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I got the hint when you asked me to paint over the yellow in your bedroom,” Vanessa said. “And took it from there.”
The women toured the now-lovely home, heaping compliments on the newly minted interior decorator. They finished in the sparkling, remodeled kitchen where Van poured each of them a glass of chilled champagne. Gran raised her glass. “To my brilliant designer and beautiful new home.” The women toasted Vanessa, who blushed. “Let’s take this party into the living room,” Gran said. “Very, very carefully. If a single drop spills anywhere on this gloriousness, I might sue.”
“I know a lawyer,” Vanessa joked.
The women moved en masse, but Vanessa held Maggie back. “Thanks for sharing your gran with me.” Emotional, her voice quavered. “It made me a little less sad about losing my mama.”
“Of course.” Maggie, with newfound insight into Vanessa’s attachment to Grand-mère, hugged her. There was a crunch of gravel from the parking area outside. “I think Bo’s home. I’m gonna sneak out of here. The place is gorgeous, Van. I wish it looked this nice when I lived here.”
Maggie hurried home. Bo was already in the apartment nursing a beer by the time she arrived. They shared a kiss. “It’s been a day,” he said, taking a seat in the living room club chair and hefting his long legs onto the chair’s matching ottoman.
He pulled Maggie onto his lap, and she curled up in his arms. “What happened with Luis?” she asked.
“He’s released for now, due to a lack of evidence, but he’s still in the parish police cross hairs.”
“I have a theory about the poisoning, and it ties into Phillippe’s murder.”
“You have a theory, huh? Why am I not surprised?” Bo didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “You’ve got a dang good track record with your theories, so lay it on me.”
Bo listened as Maggie mapped out a possible scenario. “Does that make any sense?” she asked when she was done, suddenly insecure.
“Yes. But I need a whole lot more than a supposition to sell it.”
Maggie, now animated and determined, jumped off her husband’s lap. “No worries. I don’t just have a theory. I have a plan.”
Bo raised his eyebrows. “Uh-oh.”