Body on the Bayou by Ellen Byron Page B

where are you?” Tug called.
    “Here, Dad! Down by the bayou.”
    Maggie heard her parents push through the heavy brush. They appeared seconds later, pulling the red wagon from Maggie’s childhood that now conveyed items around the plantation. Ninette let out a small scream when she saw Ginger. “Oh my God!” she cried out, clutching at her heart.
    Tug took a step toward the body, but Maggie pulled him back. “No, Dad, don’t touch anything. The police are on their way, and we have to leave everything exactly as it is for them. I need your help with this.” Maggie jumped up and ran over to the puppies and kittens, which made tiny, mewling sounds. “Mama, bring the wagon over.”
    Ninette didn’t respond or move. She seemed frozen in place. Tug ran his hands through his hair and looked from Ginger to Vanessa to the puppies and kittens, then back to Ginger. “You know how much I love animals,” Tug said, “but that doesn’t seem to be the biggest crisis here.”
    “I know, but it’s the one I need you and Mom to handle right now,” Maggie said, her tone urgent. Maggie ran back to Vanessa and dropped to her knees next to the disoriented woman. “I want to stay with Vanessa, and the authorities will have to investigate what happened to Ginger.” She motioned to the animals. “Someone needs to take care of these babies or they’ll die.”
    This snapped Ninette out of her stupor. “Yes, right. Of course. Tug, lay a blanket on the bottom of the wagon. I’ll bring them up to the house and call the vet. Vanessa, chère, are you all right?”
    “I . . . I . . . I . . .” Vanessa stuttered.
    “I’ve got her, Mama.” Maggie took a blanket from the wagon and draped it around Vanessa. She kept an arm wrapped protectively around Van’s shoulder. “It’s okay. An ambulance should be here any minute.”
    Tug and Ninette carefully moved the mother cat, kittens, and pups into the wagon. The cat didn’t give them any trouble; Maggie figured the poor thing was too dehydrated to make a fuss. Ninette headed back to the main house, pulling the wagon as carefully as possible to protect its delicate cargo.
    “I’m going out front to meet the police,” Tug told his daughter and sprinted off.
    Maggie’s cell rang again. She looked down to see that Bo was the caller and answered. “Hey,” Bo said. “Just wanted to see if you were up for Xander’s lesson in an—”
    “Ginger’s dead, out back by the bayou. Get here. I’ll explain.”
    Bo hung up without a word, and Maggie knew he was on his way. She turned back to the crisis at hand. Vanessa had transitioned to weeping. “No, no, no, no,” she moaned. “How could this happen?”
    “I am so sorry,” Maggie said as she gave her a sympathetic hug. “I know it’s a huge shock.”
    Vanessa’s nose started to run, and she wiped it with the Crozats’ blanket. She risked a quick glance at Ginger’s lifeless body and then turned away. “How could Ginger drown like this? It’s awful. Poor her.”
    Maggie nodded sympathetically but said nothing. It was not the time to point out the wound on the back of Ginger’s skull that indicated a much more sinister demise.
    *
    The Pelican first responders arrived simultaneously. EMTs examined Vanessa and pronounced her vital signs strong but insisted on taking her to the hospital to be thoroughly checked out. Maggie bundled the pregnant woman into the ambulance and texted Rufus where to find his wife-to-be. Officers Cal Vichet and Artie Belloise taped off the area while Acting Police Chief Hank Perske barked orders at them. Maggie tried to hide the instant dislike she felt for Perske, a tightly muscled giant in his early fifties. Where Rufus had opted for casual business attire while on the job, Perske was never out of uniform. He struck her as a rigid, humorless autocrat. She introduced herself and said, “I’m the one who found poor Ginger.”
    “A detective will be here shortly.” Perske’s terse, cold