Chapter 41

“Ozaire’s chargin’ a nickel less,” Gator Hibbs said, leaning on the lowered tailgate of the pickup where Homer was hard at work over a bubbling cauldron of crawfish.

“Guess you’d best snap up that offer then,” Homer told the man whose eyes watered in his round face from squinting up into the sun.

Gator chewed a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. From the back of a Ford 250 pickup parked beside Homer, a band Wazoo had brought in from New Orleans, “For free, ’cause we got ties,” belted out “I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate.” Despite there being an hour of morning left, dancers had already made sure a large patch of grass would have to be replaced.

“Cain’t think,” Gator bellowed. “Too much goin’ on.”

“Ozaire’s undercuttin’ my price,” Homer yelled back. “You need to hotfoot it over there and get you some of his stuff.”

“Rather have yours.”

Homer tapped the price board again. “How much you want?”

“A nickel off,” Gator said.

Homer turned his back to flip crabs on the barbecue and Gator wandered away.

To help out, and stop Wendy from running all over the place announcing that Vivian and Spike were getting married, Charlotte kept cooked crawfish and crab warm on a nearby table and enjoyed the novelty of selling food on paper plates. Ozaire’s recent price cut was the second of the morning. The first had been only two cents but Homer insisted he wasn’t playing the game. He’d stand on offering the best vittles.

She surveyed the crowd and figured it had to number a couple of hundred. They’d roped off the back of the house because Spike didn’t figure they had enough people to keep a safety watch there.

With cars parked on a lot opposite Rosebank, the front grounds gave more than enough space, or so Wazoo insisted. Charlotte couldn’t see a spare inch of ground anywhere but people seemed to like it that way.

She looked past the children’s sack races run by Madge, with the aid of a clown on stilts, and saw Vivian with Spike, Cyrus, Joe Gable, and Marc and Reb Girard. They stood in the shade of some arrowwood bushes, except for Reb who sat in a lawn chair with Gaston. They all made a serious group and when Bill Green wandered up with an ice cream in hand, he soon lost his smile, too. Charlotte knew better than to try to find anything out in the middle of such chaos, but she wouldn’t relax until she understood what was going on.

Wendy had finally quieted down after talking nonstop since they’d found Spike and Vivian dozing over coffee at the kitchen table that morning. Charlotte turned to say something to the girl, only to find her fast asleep on the blanket Vivian had spread for Boa. The dog and the child curled together in the shade of a golf umbrella.

“Hello, Charlotte.”

At the sound of her name she spun around and looked up into Gary Legrain’s face.

“I had to come,” he said. “I wanted to see how you and Vivian were getting along.”

“You left in a hurry,” she told him. His anxious eyes softened her annoyance with him. “We’ve wondered about you.”

He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and put down bills for a plate of crab. “Just realized I’m hungry,” he said, smiling slightly. “I didn’t think to eat before coming.”

Charlotte didn’t comment.

Gary put away several crabs, picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth. “The will shocked me. I had to get away for a little while and I also had to take stock of the firm and what it all means. Did you hear about the Martins?”

“Spike and Vivian told me. You weren’t the only one shocked by Louis Martin’s will.”

He set down his plate and rubbed grease from his fingers. His eyes never left hers. “I know that. You understand that I don’t believe there was anything between you and Louis, don’t you?”

“Good, because there wasn’t.” She stiffened her back. “I loved my husband very much and I don’t know if I’ll ever stop missing him.”

A flurry of customers arrived and Charlotte turned her attention to them.

“I’ll take a wander around,” Gary said. “If it’s okay, I’d like us to talk some more later.”

Charlotte said, “Fine,” and watched him walk off.

“I messed up, me,” Wazoo shouted, although she also smiled widely. She wore one of her ankle-length black lace dresses with a long mantilla of the same lace trailing from a comb atop her head. She twirled as she ran by, and her flowing clothes twisted this way and that around her legs. “Listen up, all o’ you. Wazoo forget a big event, real big. We gotta do it now.” In one arm she carried a huge bouquet of flowers she must have bought—or appropriated—from tables in the driveway where the ladies of St. Cécil’s Altar Society were selling them.

“Wazoo,” Charlotte called after her, but got no response.

Around and around Wazoo sped until she finally captured enough attention to hush the crowd a little. “Now,” she shouted. “It’s time for some ceremony. Ain’t no proper event without ceremony.”

Ozaire marched forward with the megaphone he’d been using to hawk his wares and delivered a ringing announcement. “Listen up. This is me, Ozaire Dupre. I got the best crawfish and crabs around. Cheapest, too. Now give your attention to Miz Wazoo who’s tryin’ to have a ceremony.” He handed the megaphone to her.

“Thank you, Ozaire.”

Charlotte put her fingers in her ears to lessen the blast.

“It’s late, but not too late. We’re gonna have us the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Gimme a drumroll.”

The drummer on the back of the Ford obligingly started a rumbling.

“Swamp Doggies.” Wazoo pointed to the regular band from Pappy’s Dancehall. “You play…that thing they do for the Pres-i-dent. Not too loud.”

“Pomp and Circumstance,” zydeco style, had men snatching off their baseball caps and slapping them over their hearts.

Charlotte noted that the dour gathering near the arrowwood bushes was actually smiling, and she smiled with them. Only Wazoo could create this kind of scene.

A huge circle of foam-topped water rose from the dunk tank. The tank was Joe Gable’s contribution to the fun, even though he had Wally running it for him. Shrieks followed, ruining Wazoo’s setup. She marched to the tank herself and laughter broke out when people saw it was Wally in the water.

Wazoo chided him loudly but he protested for everyone to hear, “I was just checkin’ it out, Wazoo. It doesn’t fall easy enough so I was fixin’ it.”

“The ribbon,” Wazoo cried, giving Wally another scowl before she returned to the clearing she’d made in the crowd. One man held the end of a bolt of wide ribbon while Thea, looking bashful, pushed a sturdy stick through the middle of the reel and walked backward to unwind a long band of yellow satin.

“Now,” Wazoo cried. “Dr. Link and Mrs. Hurst will do the honors.”

Morgan, with Susan on his arm, came forward and took an impressively large pair of scissors from Wazoo. Charlotte couldn’t help admiring the couple for the handsome picture they made. Susan wore all white and her diamond earrings sparkled in the sunlight. She looked pretty and young, and healthy. Morgan’s relaxed stance and the way he looked at his wife made him more appealing than he’d ever seemed to Charlotte before.

“Say somethin’ real meaningful,” Wazoo said. She gave Susan the bouquet of flowers.

Morgan opened the scissors and said, “May each of us get what we deserve. I declare this fete open.” And he cut the ribbon.

Spike and Cyrus stood on either side of Vivian. She caught each one of them by an upper arm and pulled until they bent close to listen to her.

“Did you see that?” she asked.

Both men said, “Yes,” and she joined them in whispering, “Left-handed.”

“I think I almost forgot about it,” Vivian continued.

“Doesn’t have to mean a thing,” Cyrus pointed out. “Many people are left-handed.”

“But many people aren’t left-handed and adept with blades,” Vivian said.

Shadow hid much of Spike’s face. “I don’t think the Martin boys hired Morgan Link to kill Louis, do you?”

“If they hired anyone at all,” Vivian said, and when Spike looked at her she saw nothing too reassuring in his expression.

Spike filled the others in on Vivian’s observation and all faces became grave. “I thought Bonine was going to be here,” Marc Girard said. “Not that I expect any help from that quarter.”

Joe pushed his hands deep in his pockets. “That man’s a dud. It’s like he’s deliberately brushed two killings under the rug. He needs to be held accountable.”

Spike and Vivian glanced at each other.

“You think something’s going to happen today?” Reb made an automatic sweep of the grounds. “I don’t think it will. Too public.”

“I don’t think anything else will happen at all,” Bill said. “Ever. I think the killings were professional. Someone wanted Louis dead and poor old Gil got in the way. Now it’s over.”

Cyrus nodded agreement but Spike said, “If you remember, Vivian and I made an unscheduled landing in Bayou Lafourche. That had to be a warning, didn’t it? For us to quit stickin’ our noses into things. And that was after Louis died.”

“I don’t know.” Bill narrowed his eyes. “You may have something there. When do you think you’ll hear more from your Iberia source?”

A ball hit Cyrus in the middle and he trapped it against him, looking around for the culprit. Wearing a pleased expression, Madge jogged toward them. Cyrus lobbed the ball back and she caught it.

“To be honest,” Spike said, “I may never hear another word.”

“Shit,” Bill said with a lot of feeling, then, “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to be,” Reb told him. “This whole thing stinks.”

Snickers apparently went over her head. “I’ve got to run out,” Bill said. “Believe it or not I’ve got a couple coming in to look at that old theater. And before you ask what they think they want it for—they’re talking about renovation and in time, putting on productions. I think they’ll take one look at the place and take off running so I shouldn’t be long. I’ll be ready for a cold beer when I get back.”

They shouted after him, promising to drink every drop before he could get any. Vivian saw Gary Legrain walking straight toward them and said, “Gary’s back,” under her breath.

“Nice of him,” Spike said.

Grinning, Gary strolled up to them and said, “Hi. Some do going on here.”

He got polite responses and stood among them as if he’d never left Rosebank without a word to anyone.

From close range, Madge sent the red ball back to Cyrus with enough force to buy her a solid “oomph.” She followed it almost at once and he took her head in the crook of his arm while she yelped for mercy. He deposited her on the ground and went to his haunches beside her. “Wicked deeds never pay,” he told her, keeping a hand on her neck. “Do you promise to reform?”

Spike and Vivian blocked the two of them from the others who couldn’t have seen how the smile faded from Madge’s lips and longing entered her dark eyes. Cyrus touched her hair, smoothed it lightly and jumped up, helping Madge to join him. “You did hear these two are getting married, didn’t you?” he asked her.

Vivian winced.

“No,” Madge said, smiling again. “I’ve been running the children’s races. Nobody told me anything. Congratulations.”

“And,” Vivian said softly, “we’ve been able to put Cyrus’s mind at rest about my fictitious pregnancy.”

Madge stopped in the act of brushing grass clippings from her jeans. “Huh?”

Vivian winked at her. “Thea overheard some remark that made her think I was pregnant. She told Doll, who told Reb, who went to Cyrus for advice on how to help me.”

“Oo, ya ya. That would be the remark I made to get you away from Bonine that day?”

“Uh-huh.”

In barely more than a whisper, Madge said to Cyrus, “If you’d said something to me, the way you used to, I’d have explained.” She looked at her watch. “Excuse me. Time for the egg-and-spoon race.”

Vivian and Spike were silent, watching Madge walk away and trying not to let Cyrus know they saw his confusion. Confusion and something close to anger. Vivian promised herself she’d push hard to have Madge move into Rosebank, then hope she could do something to help, like introduce Madge to a man who was both nice and available.

The egg-and-spoon race soon had them laughing. One toddler boy wrapped both pudgy hands around his egg and the bowl of a spoon and trotted toward the finish line with a huge pucker between his fair eyebrows. While turmoil raged around him and the field became steadily smaller, he kept on moving until he crossed the line first. He formed his own cheering squad but his parents and others were quick to join in, at which point the remaining contestants quit. Madge pronounced little Kirby the winner and the crowd laughed but demanded another race.

“That boy will go far,” Joe said amid murmurs of agreement.

“Spike.”

Ellie Byron had walked behind them and she tapped Spike’s shoulder. When he turned to smile at her she said, “Would Vivian excuse you if I had you come with me for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” Vivian said. “Did you bruise your forehead?” There were purplish marks there.

Ellie touched them and grimaced. “So silly,” she said. “A book fell on me in the shop.”

“Why don’t we take Vivian with us?” Spike said. “We haven’t had a chance to tell you our news.”

“No,” Ellie said. Her breathing was obvious and shallow. “This won’t take long, Spike. Please.”

Vivian swallowed. Something about Ellie frightened her. She gave Spike a little push. “Go on. I’ll be here when you get back.”