Murder in the Garden District (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) by Greg Herren Read Free Book Online

what her marriage was like. You know she didn’t start all of that up until after her husband died. She’s a horrible snob, of course, but she’s been in or around politics her entire life and knows how to put on a good face for the hoi polloi—especially when she wants you to write a check. Then again, she could be much, much worse. She could do nothing for charity and just have lunch. I’m glad she does what she does—who’d do it if she didn’t? Her shelters and foundation have done a lot of women a lot of good. What was your impression?”
    She popped an errant shrimp into her mouth.
    “I didn’t like her. She has about as much charm as a rattlesnake. But then, I’m just the help.”
    Paige sipped her beer and frowned.
    “And she wants you to look into Wendell’s murder? It’s a mess, you can be sure of that. Cordelia’s fingerprints were the only ones on the gun, and she tested positive for powder blowback. If it were anyone else, she’d have been arrested already. But I can’t imagine her killing her own son without a damned good reason. I guess it’s just a matter of finding it. My sources in the police department—”
    “Venus and Blaine?”
    “You know I can’t name my sources.” She winked, crumpling up the greasy paper her sandwich had been wrapped in.
    Venus Casanova and Blaine Tujague were friends of ours, and probably the two best detectives in the NOPD. I’d met Venus during my time on the force. After I left, she took a dim view of my “interference” when our professional paths crossed. But over the years, our relationship had passed from dislike to grudging respect, and finally to friendship. I’d never been sure of her age, but she had two grown daughters who had married and settled in Memphis. She was tall, had been an athlete in college, and had kept her body fit. Her partner, Blaine, was in his early thirties, a Creole from a prominent society family that had no problem with his being gay but disapproved of his being a cop. He was a good-looking guy, about five-nine with bluish-black, curly hair, blue eyes and thick muscles from hours spent at the gym. We’d become friends after joining the NOPD and for a time were fuck buddies. But that was ancient history. He lived with an older man now. Venus had stayed in their carriage house for a while after her house in New Orleans East had been destroyed by Katrina. A few months ago, she’d bought a house on General Pershing Street in Uptown. Paige and I had helped her move. Blaine and Venus became partners after her original partner retired and Blaine made detective grade. Surprisingly, their different styles meshed. They worked seamlessly together. Blaine also just happened to be the younger brother of Paige’s boyfriend, Ryan.
    “It was Janna’s gun all right,” Paige continued, “but her fingerprints weren’t on it even though she admitted using it at a firing range just a few days before the murder. Apparently, Cordelia is claiming that Janna killed Wendell. Someone wiped Janna’s fingerprints off that gun—Cordelia says it wasn’t her. But why use Janna’s gun if the killer wasn’t planning to frame Janna? There are at least eight registered firearms in the Sheehan house. She had to know Janna wouldn’t test positive for powder residue. It just doesn’t make sense to me. My sources in the district attorney’s office told me they aren’t going to make an arrest until they’re absolutely positive. A wrong move could be political suicide. The Sheehans are just too powerful.”
    Her mop of blonde-streaked red hair bounced as she shook her head.
    “It’s a juicy case, though. I almost wish I was back at the paper, so I could cover it.”
    “Did Venus and Blaine—er, sources —fill you in on the statements the Sheehans gave?”
    “Both Cordelia and Janna went downstairs after hearing a gunshot? They’re either brave or really stupid. I would have called the police and waited upstairs until they