Free Body on the Bayou by Ellen Byron Page A

chère,” Ninette whispered back, “but it’s called flirting.”
    The Crozats’ landline rang. “I’ll get it,” Ninette said. She picked up a cordless phone and stepped into the hallway. Gran’ and Stevens didn’t even register her departure.
    “You could be on the road to getting a stepdaddy, Daddy,” Maggie teased her father.
    “Huh,” Tug said, wrinkling his forehead. “Not sure how I feel about that.”
    Ninette reappeared in the doorway. “That was Pelican PD,” she said, her voice tense. “They’re on the way over.”
    The others exchanged worried glances. “Everything okay?” Stevens asked.
    “We have a problem with a guest,” Maggie said. Unsure of how much to reveal, she opted for being vague.
    “A Houston woman,” Gran’ said. “I’m not going to ask if you know her because I despise when people do that. ‘Oh, you’re from Louisiana, do you know my friend Mary Smith?’ Let me run through the names of the five million Louisiana citizens in my head and see if that one rings a bell.”
    “Now I’m curious. Try me. What’s her name?”
    “Ginger Fleer-Starke,” Maggie said.
    To the surprise of the others, Stevens burst out laughing. “Oh, I’ve heard all about Mrs. Ginger Fleer-Starke, as has pretty much every litigator in Houston—which is what I was in my former life. I don’t think a month went by when that woman wasn’t suing someone. What’s your problem with her? Maybe I can help.”
    “That’s very generous, but I don’t think you can.” Maggie held up her cell phone. “Bo just texted me. PPD received the coroner’s report. It’s official. Ginger was murdered.”

Chapter Nine
    Stevens looked stricken. “My God, that’s awful. What happened?”
    “We don’t know,” Maggie said and then described how she’d found Ginger by the bayou. “I assume the police will have more questions. Unfortunately for us, we’re on their list of suspects.”
    Stevens grimaced. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick around. Just in case you need a lawyer at some point. You know, to at least run interference.”
    “That’s both reassuring and terrifying,” Maggie said. “Thank you, but here’s hoping the only reason we need you is to help nurse animal babies.”
    “I just heard a car pull into the back parking area,” Tug said. “I’ll see what’s going on.”
    “I’ll put on another pot of coffee,” Ninette said. “Thank goodness I made a Bananas Foster coffee cake this morning. Food earns a lot of goodwill with at least some of the PPD officers.”
    Maggie followed her father outside, where Cal Vichet and Artie Belloise had parked their patrol car. “Sorry, Crozats,” Cal said. “I’ve got some bad news. According to the coroner’s report, the cause of death for Mrs. Fleer-Starke was blunt force trauma. Translation—she was murdered.”
    Before Tug could respond, Maggie jumped in. She didn’t want to give away that Bo had already shared the news. “Oh, no!” she cried out, hoping the officers wouldn’t question her overly dramatic tone. “What a tragedy! We had no idea.” Tug gave her a confused look but didn’t say anything.
    “We’re sorry to put you through this again,” Artie said, “but we got stuff to do. I’m gonna examine what’s now officially a crime scene. And Cal’s gonna take statements. He’ll need to talk to everyone here—guests, you guys. You know the drill.”
    “Sadly, we do.” Maggie’s heart pumped. She had a question—an important one. “Was the coroner able to determine a time of death?”
    “Yeah, we got lucky,” Cal said, hastening to add, “Begging your pardon regarding the circumstances. The victim was wearing one of those fitness watches. It must have cracked on a rock when she fell. Anyway, it stopped working, and the time on the watch corresponded with the coroner’s estimation.”
    “Which is . . . ?” Maggie prompted.
    “3:07 PM . On the watch. Coroner estimated between two and four PM