miss fortune mystery (ff) - bloodshed in the bayou by Leslie Langtry

Chapter 1
     
    “Why don’t Junior Leaguers have orgies?” I asked as I answered my ringing cell.
    The sigh of a thousand martyrs came through the speaker and a cultured, Southern accent asked (obviously against her best judgment), “Why, Margaret?”
    “Too many thank you notes to write afterwards.” I answered.
    Most people joke about having an evil twin. But I actually have one.
    “Hilarious.” Peggy Sue said drily. She never liked my Junior League jokes…mainly because she was President of the local Junior League.  “I’m calling because Mother is ill. Again.”
    “I’m busy.” I answered. And I really was. Unlike my wealthy, civic despot of the community sister, I worked for a living. And currently, I was releasing an eastern cougar from an illegal snare in a swamp. It was tricky business because the cougar was doubtful about my motives. Apparently my DNR uniform wasn’t proof enough that I was on his side. At least, I think it was a ‘he.’ I didn’t think it polite to ask.
    “I’m serious.” Peggy Sue’s drawl was very refined. She’d worked hard on that when she’d married Huntington Delacroix III fifteen years ago to become the wealthiest wife in three parishes.
    We actually came from Sinful, Louisiana. Most twins are close friends and somewhat alike. And while we were identical, there was no way you’d ever think that by looking at us. I had short, curly hair I mostly tucked up under a Department of Natural Resources cap, and wore little to no makeup.
    Peggy Sue’s hair was a glossy, blonde and ridiculously flammable confection that often resembled a football helmet, and her highly stenciled makeup was artfully applied several times a day. While I wore a t-shirt, jeans and waterproof boots, my twin was mostly spotted in a tailored twin set and pearl choker.
    “What do you want me to do about it?” I asked as the cougar took a swipe at me and hissed.
    I could literally hear Peggy Sue rolling her eyes. “Go deal with it, of course! I have a meeting of the St. Bernard’s Parish Women’s Benevolence Society today!”
    With a final tug, the snare came free and the big cat ran off. “Fine. But this is twice in a row. You owe me.” I said as I stood up and tried to brush all the mud off my pants.
    “Whatever.” My sister said as she hung up.
    Mother. Hell. I’d rather deal with the cougar.
    My name is Margaret Susan Ancelet. Yes, I know that Margaret Susan and Peggy Sue are the same. But our mother had only one name picked out when I was born and I got it. She didn’t even know she was pregnant with twins, so when my sister made her appearance minutes after me, she got the same name. Weirdly, no one in Sinful ever thought this was strange.
    I toyed with changing my filthy clothes before stopping by Mom’s. Nah - she should have to put up with a little swamp gas if I had to endure an hour with her. Mom was not an easy person to visit. To put it succinctly, she was crazy as a toothless polecat in a chicken coop.
    As I maneuvered my boat through the bayou, I wondered why I didn’t move farther away? It’s not like I had a great social life, unless you consider snakes, alligators and various birds a party. Our Parish covered several towns. I could live in any of them.
    No matter how many times I asked myself this question, I knew the answer would always be no. In spite of my sister’s inherent awfulness, they had two fabulous kids who I adored. Hunt (Huntington Delacroix IV) and Meg (there isn’t one ounce of originality in my family) were seven and nine years old and surprisingly grounded, funny, warm kids. They often roamed the swamp with me on the weekends and I was completely smitten. They were probably the closest I’d come to having kids of my own.
    Mom (or Mother, as Peggy Sue called her in hopes of making people think she came from money) lived in a nursing home in another town called Mudbug - a fact I was eternally grateful for. The staff at Sunnyvale more than earned their