Plantation Shudders

“Any guess who?”

“No. I haven’t seen any shovels or metal detectors when I’ve cleaned, but I haven’t been looking for any. I’ll look tomorrow when I clean again. They might be keeping them in their car, so I’ll peek into those too.”

Maggie stood up. She felt stiff and sore. “Do you think this could have anything to do with Beverly’s murder?”

“Maybe. If someone actually found something and Bev caught them. She could have been killed to keep her quiet.”

“Which once again rules out Gran’. She was born and raised here. No way she’d search for buried treasure unless she had a sudden attack of the seniles.” Maggie checked her phone. “I need to go. I’m due at Doucet for my shift in an hour, and I need to shower first.” She took a step and felt aches in a variety of body parts.

“You should find someone to cover for you for a few days. That was a bad fall. They’d understand.”

“Yeah, but my bank account wouldn’t. I’ll be fine. Walk it off. Isn’t that what sports types say?”

Bo laughed. “Yeah, the ‘sports types’ do say that, Miss Artist. Speaking of which, I do want to get Xander together with you to paint. Maybe next time I have him.”

“I’d like that. And let me know if you find anything. I’ll do the same.”

Maggie headed out of the woods, trying to disguise the pain from her bumps and bruises. She knew Bo would have jumped to help her, but for a reason she couldn’t define, she didn’t want to display any weakness. It was her way of protecting herself, but from what, she wasn’t sure.

*

Doucet was packed with tourists getting in some last-minute plantation oohing and aahing before summer ended, and Maggie led four full tours before getting a break. By the time she sat down to rest and eat a yogurt, she was exhausted. The lack of answers for the minimysteries surrounding the bigger mystery of Beverly/Francine’s death was also getting to the artist. What was the big news B/F pla

“Well, somebody looks like the last dog at the pound.”

Maggie looked up to see Gaynell, who flashed a sympathetic smile and then took a seat next to her. “It’s just . . . stuff,” Maggie said with a shrug.

“Wa

“You know what, right now I’d actually like to take a break from talking or thinking about it.”

“You got it.”

“Thank you. Hey, I never told you how good you were last night.”

“Thanks. We’re working on a set we can submit for JazzFest. Playing there would be the dream of all dreams.”

“Well, if I can help in any way, let me know.” The two women ate lunch in companionable silence, and Maggie enjoyed letting her mind wander aimlessly for a change. It landed on a moment with Bo from the night before. “Gaynell, do you happen to know the lyrics to the song ‘Ring of Fire’? At least some of them? All I know is the ‘down, down, down’ part.”

“Sure,” Gaynell said. She began singing the plaintive tune in her rich alto. Gaynell filled each note with emotion, bringing to life the song’s pathos and longing. Maggie, who had a sweet voice of her own, joined in, and the two women harmonized on the chorus. As they wrapped up, a couple of Asian tourists applauded and snapped their picture with smart phones. Maggie and Gaynell laughed.

“Looks like I got myself a backup singer,” Gaynell teased.

“Yeah, right. If you only do one song.”

“It’s a good one, though. Hot. Super sexy.”

“Yes. It really is.”

“June Carter cowrote the song about how she was falling in love with Joh

“No, relax, it’s nothing like that. Marriages aren’t the only thing that can make liking someone complicated.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Not that I like someone,” Maggie backtracked.

“Right.” Gaynell stood up and picked a piece of lettuce off of her antebellum ball gown. “I gotta go take a tour group. If you need to talk, I’m around.”

“Thanks.”

By the time Maggie’s shift was over, the injuries from her fall, though minor, caught up with her, and she couldn’t wait to get home. The shotgun was empty, so Maggie drew a bath and soaked while listening to a download of vintage the Mamas & the Papas. Feeling much better, she threw on jean shorts and a tomato-red cotton halter top. She noticed the bag of art supplies for Xander on the floor of her closet and had an idea. Rather than wait for their lesson to happen, Maggie would get them to Xander so he could do some art experimenting on his own. She’d drop them off at the police station for Bo later on. But first she needed to check in at the main house to see if she could be of any help.

Maggie found Gran’ relaxing in the office chaise longue, ubiquitous iPad on her lap. Gopher snored at her feet. “I tell you, there are some fu

“I feel bad about that.”

“Don’t, that man needs the exercise. He’s got a gumbo pot for a stomach. So, I heard you did get in a visit to Yvo

“Yes, and that woman is one huge gossip.”

“Don’t begrudge a lonely old lady a bit of entertainment.” Gran’ put down her iPad and looked Maggie in the eye. “You do know that I had nothing to do with Francine’s passing?”

“I know, Gran’.”

“Good. I swear, even in death, that tart is causing me trouble. Making me a murder suspect. The nerve of that woman.”

Maggie tsk-tsk’d with her grandmother, but something disturbed her. She’d never heard Gran’ call anyone such a harsh name before. Protestations to the contrary, Francine/Beverly still got to her.

Gran’ yawned and got up. “I’m going to take a bit of a lie-down too.” She vigorously shook her head. “I think I have a case of ti

“I hear it too.” Maggie looked around the room and saw the source of the problem. “It’s the paper shredder. Someone left it on.”

“Oh my, that was me. Cutie Debbie wanted to shred something earlier, so I turned it on for her. I forgot to turn it off. Oh well, blame A-G-E syndrome.”

Gran’ and her iPad left for their nap, and Maggie turned off the paper shredder. She stared at it a moment. “Hmm. Is it weird that a retiree on vacation would need to shred a document, Goph? Or am I being paranoid?”

Gopher looked up at her, saw she was treat-free, and went back to napping and snoring. She decided to trust her suspicious instincts and opened the shredder. It was a rarely used, decrepit machine that, luckily for her, chunked the pages rather than shredded them. Having studied collage and mixed media at art school, she had no trouble reassembling Debbie’s document. Maggie found herself reading a meticulously laid-out business plan for co-opting the nonprofit Cajun Cuties, booting Jan from the presidency, and turning the group into a profit-making venture that Debbie would eventually take public for a generous financial profit.

It appeared that Dim Debbie wasn’t so dim after all.

Chapter Eighteen

Maggie figured that she had just enough time before di

“Hey, Maggie. Anything to eat in there?” He eyed her bag hopefully. “I could use some sides with my sammy.”