Read Online Body on the Bayou by Ellen Byron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ellen Byron
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with a few neighbors to see if they’ve noticed a stray lately?”
“Good idea,” Maggie said, grateful to her mother for offering a distraction from Ginger’s death.
“I’ll wash up and change into my walking shoes.” Gran’ stood up and placed the pup she’d been feeding back in the playpen, then picked up a lint roller and deftly swiped it over her navy silk slacks.
Maggie hastily typed and printed some “Lost Dog and Found Cat” fliers to put up around town. As soon as Gran’ was ready, the two took off. They went from one neighborhood to the next, ringing doorbells to ask if anyone was missing pets or had seen a stray dog in the area. No one had. As they trudged down another dusty street toward the final house on the block, Maggie noticed Gran’ pull a tissue out ofher purse and pat her forehead with it. The eighty-two-year-old was also breathing heavier than usual.
“Maybe you should go home,” Maggie said, concerned. “I can keep looking.”
“No. This is merely proof that I don’t get enough exercise. Chère, I need to talk to you about Ginger. Do you really think someone killed her?”
Maggie nodded, her face grim. “She was facedown in the water with a deep wound in the back of her head.”
Gran’ shuddered. “How ghastly. Well, PPD won’t lack for suspects. There’s her husband, of course.”
“And Bibi, who obviously hated her and was in love with him,” Maggie said. “Then there’s Trent, who was having a thing with Ginger. Who knows what the real story was there?”
“True. And one can’t rule out Vanessa or her gorgon of a mother, Tookie.”
“There’s also the remote possibility— extremely remote—that Rufus might have been driven to get off his duff and defend his fiancée from Ginger’s machinations,” Maggie said.
“And these are just the people we know about. I’m guessing that woman left a trail of bad blood between here and Houston.”
Maggie hesitated before saying, “And there’s us.” Gran’ looked at her, confused. “I got the impression that Perske thinks Ginger’s death was very convenient for the family, as was my discovering her body.”
Gran’ gave a derisive snort. “That man suffers from a serious lack of imagination.”
“I just hope he doesn’t fixate on us. And that once the coroner establishes a time of death, we all have alibis.”
Maggie stopped at the end of the country cul-de-sac. She and Gran’ stood in front of a small but charming house. It was painted a pale green with bright, white gingerbread trim and a deep, forest-green door. “This is lovely,” Gran’ said.
“Adorable,” Maggie agreed. “Do you know who lives here?”
“An older couple, but I’ve never met them. I heard from Alicia Benoist up the street that it’s a vacation home and they bought it not that long ago.”
Maggie surveyed the cheery scene. She noticed that the street numbers on the house were painted in dark green but shaded in the paler green, an artistic touch she appreciated. The home had been renovated so recently that the smell of sawdust and fresh paint still clung to the air.
“They’ve put a lot of work into the place. They’re either planning to spend more time here or fixing to sell.” She and Gran’ walked up three wooden steps that led to the front porch, which featured an oak-stained Adirondack chair surrounded by potted pink azaleas. Maggie rang the doorbell, which responded with a few church-like bongs.
“A bit pretentious for a spit of a house,” Gran’ said.
“Don’t be judgy,” Maggie admonished.
“Be right there,” a man called from inside the house. Maggie and Gran’ heard a few sturdy footsteps, then the front door opened a crack, and a man who appeared to be inhis midseventies stuck his head out. He had a thick thatch of pure white hair and alert, light-brown eyes that peered through gold, wire-rimmed glasses. “Sorry, I’d open the door more, but I’m taking care of a dog and I don’t know if
“Good idea,” Maggie said, grateful to her mother for offering a distraction from Ginger’s death.
“I’ll wash up and change into my walking shoes.” Gran’ stood up and placed the pup she’d been feeding back in the playpen, then picked up a lint roller and deftly swiped it over her navy silk slacks.
Maggie hastily typed and printed some “Lost Dog and Found Cat” fliers to put up around town. As soon as Gran’ was ready, the two took off. They went from one neighborhood to the next, ringing doorbells to ask if anyone was missing pets or had seen a stray dog in the area. No one had. As they trudged down another dusty street toward the final house on the block, Maggie noticed Gran’ pull a tissue out ofher purse and pat her forehead with it. The eighty-two-year-old was also breathing heavier than usual.
“Maybe you should go home,” Maggie said, concerned. “I can keep looking.”
“No. This is merely proof that I don’t get enough exercise. Chère, I need to talk to you about Ginger. Do you really think someone killed her?”
Maggie nodded, her face grim. “She was facedown in the water with a deep wound in the back of her head.”
Gran’ shuddered. “How ghastly. Well, PPD won’t lack for suspects. There’s her husband, of course.”
“And Bibi, who obviously hated her and was in love with him,” Maggie said. “Then there’s Trent, who was having a thing with Ginger. Who knows what the real story was there?”
“True. And one can’t rule out Vanessa or her gorgon of a mother, Tookie.”
“There’s also the remote possibility— extremely remote—that Rufus might have been driven to get off his duff and defend his fiancée from Ginger’s machinations,” Maggie said.
“And these are just the people we know about. I’m guessing that woman left a trail of bad blood between here and Houston.”
Maggie hesitated before saying, “And there’s us.” Gran’ looked at her, confused. “I got the impression that Perske thinks Ginger’s death was very convenient for the family, as was my discovering her body.”
Gran’ gave a derisive snort. “That man suffers from a serious lack of imagination.”
“I just hope he doesn’t fixate on us. And that once the coroner establishes a time of death, we all have alibis.”
Maggie stopped at the end of the country cul-de-sac. She and Gran’ stood in front of a small but charming house. It was painted a pale green with bright, white gingerbread trim and a deep, forest-green door. “This is lovely,” Gran’ said.
“Adorable,” Maggie agreed. “Do you know who lives here?”
“An older couple, but I’ve never met them. I heard from Alicia Benoist up the street that it’s a vacation home and they bought it not that long ago.”
Maggie surveyed the cheery scene. She noticed that the street numbers on the house were painted in dark green but shaded in the paler green, an artistic touch she appreciated. The home had been renovated so recently that the smell of sawdust and fresh paint still clung to the air.
“They’ve put a lot of work into the place. They’re either planning to spend more time here or fixing to sell.” She and Gran’ walked up three wooden steps that led to the front porch, which featured an oak-stained Adirondack chair surrounded by potted pink azaleas. Maggie rang the doorbell, which responded with a few church-like bongs.
“A bit pretentious for a spit of a house,” Gran’ said.
“Don’t be judgy,” Maggie admonished.
“Be right there,” a man called from inside the house. Maggie and Gran’ heard a few sturdy footsteps, then the front door opened a crack, and a man who appeared to be inhis midseventies stuck his head out. He had a thick thatch of pure white hair and alert, light-brown eyes that peered through gold, wire-rimmed glasses. “Sorry, I’d open the door more, but I’m taking care of a dog and I don’t know if
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