Page 58 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
"Said every dumb girl in a movie before she gets whacked.”
“This is too much of a weird coincidence. Why on earth would Beau say to come alone? This is a set up, Maggie. It has to be.”
“I literally just said that.”
She kind of had, but I waved my hand around. “I’ll text Hollis and tell him where we’re at.”
We climbed into my car against both of our better judgment.
St. Louis Cemetery #1, because of its proximity to the Quarter, is arguably the most touristy cemetery in New Orleans, which is saying something in a city where the dead are major attractions. The above-ground tombs, necessary because of our below-sea-level geography, create a maze of marble and stone. Some of the tombs have seen better days and are crumbling at a rapid pace, which is unnerving. That enough time had passed that whoever was interred was no longer remembered or cared for. It’s a crusty, crumbling little cemetery, the water levels from Hurricane Katrina still visible on some of the tombs.
Tour groups wandered through the narrow pathways, guides spinning tales of a voodoo queen and gambling debts. A hustler or two was also usually present, trying to pretend they were tour guides, approaching tourists walking alone and offering to tell them tales for tips. It seems like no matter the time of year, the cemetery was always sweltering hot and an odd blend of history, death, capitalism, and a testament to our obsession with the macabre.
I never went there if I could help it and I couldn’t imagine why the heck Beau would choose to meet there, which made me cautious enough to very seriously consider it wouldn’t be Beau at all, but Arthur Kellum, waiting to unalive me behind a headstone.
Then again, why would Arthur need or want to kill me? I had no evidence he’d done anything, if he was the culprit. I wasn’t sure what his motive would have even been to kill Delia. If it was related to the past, that envelope from Lucien was gone. Presumably in his hands.
But to my complete surprise, we found Beau standing near the tomb of Marie Laveau, the legendary voodoo queen of New Orleans. He looked nervous, glancing around as if he expected someone to jump out from behind a tomb.
"Harper," he said when he saw us approaching. "I said come alone."
Maggie frowned. “You’ve known me for years. What’s the big deal?”
“It’s just…” Beau looked around again.
"Maggie's my backup. And my witness. What is going on? Why are you being so weird, and what did you want to show me?" His jumpy demeanor had me on edge as well.
“I have a confession to make,” he murmured. “That you’re not going to like but I can’t be involved in this and I’m kind of being blackmailed.”
There was dewy sweat on Beau’s upper lip and he took a deep breath.
My eyebrows shoot up. “What are you talking about?”
“Let me try to start at the beginning. But I don’t have much time.” Beau pulled out his phone. "I've been going through my father's papers since Delia died. Found some things that... well, they connect to what happened in 1984."
He showed us a photograph. It was a group of men in suits standing in front of a construction site. I recognized Beau's father immediately. I’d seen him on and off throughout my childhood at various school functions.
“That's the site where the Pelican Development Group was building their first hotel in the Quarter."
"Okay,” I said cautiously. Did that mean Beau thought his father was involved?
"Look at this." He swiped to another photo. This one showed a woman in a light-colored dress standing near the construction site, partially hidden behind a pillar. "I think that's Francine."
I squinted at the image. The woman was too far away to make out clearly, but there was something familiar about her posture, the tilt of her head.
"When was this taken?"
"February 20th, 1984. Two days before she disappeared."
Maggie leaned closer. "Why would she be at a construction site?"
"That's what I've been trying to figure out. But Harper, there's something else." Beau's voice dropped. "There was a client list in Delia's things. The police questioned me and my father about it as next of kin."
"Next of kin?"
"Distant cousin. She didn't have anyone else."
“You’re her cousin?” Maggie practically shrieked.
