by G A Chase
Kendell hoped if she’d had a brother she would have been as caring. “She sounds very kind.”
Anna’s restrained laugh matched the conservative décor. “She wasn’t, at least not to those outside of her circle. She just had a soft spot for Freddie. I guess you haven’t read any of her society columns.”
Alfred gave his wife a sorrowful smile. “School was a long time ago. But Anna’s right. Marilyn had a biting satire. It’s what made her articles on New Orleans high society so titillating. She never really outgrew that popular-girl image. As those around her found financial success one way or another, Marilyn found writing about their exploits could keep her the center of attention. If there was a high-class party, she’d be there. I once joked that she never married because a husband would put too much of a kink in her nightlife.”
Myles squirmed against the slick fabric. She knew he was feeling out of his element. “Sounds like she had a pretty good life.”
“She did, but after she turned forty, she started wondering if there was more to life than reporting on the latest gossip. For the last few years, she’d tried to convince the paper to give her something real to report on, but the news doesn’t work that way. They told her to go out and find a story and they’d consider it. Unfortunately, hard-hitting journalism wasn’t her forte.”
Kendell tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Was she working on anything interesting?”
Alfred pulled out a set of keys. “I haven’t had the heart to enter her side of the house. I can’t imagine there are any family skeletons that she would have been mortified of anyone discovering. All I’d ask is that you be respectful while you’re in her home, and let me see anything you discover.”
“Are you sure?” Kendell asked. “I really don’t want to impose.”
Anna took the keys from her husband. “I’ll go with you if it makes you more at ease. I can show you her office and unlock her computer.”
After entering the darkened side of the shotgun house, Kendell put her coat back on. “Is it colder in here or just my emotional response?”
Myles wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “It’s like her presence is still here.”
They stood in the living room as Anna went through the place turning on the lights and opening the curtains. The furnishings were less ostentatious than those on the other side of the shared wall. Two comfortable-looking lounge chairs bordered the fireplace with a small writer’s table between them. Kendell picked up a newspaper and saw Marilyn had circled the Mardi Gras party that had preceded her fateful parade.
Anna returned from the back of the house. “I booted up her computer. There’s still some sodas in the fridge. Please help yourself. Marilyn was a stickler for offering beverages to her guests. You’d be honoring her by making yourselves at home. I’ll stay here in the living room, if you don’t mind, just to answer any questions. Alfred is still an emotional wreck. It’ll make him feel better knowing I’m here.”
Kendell set the paper back on the table. “We’d feel better knowing you’re here too. Is there anything we can do or find for you while we’re poking around?”
“Marilyn was more sister to me than sister-in-law. Living so close together made us good friends. I know her house and possessions almost as well as I know my own. As you can see, she was a very tidy person. Just put things back where you find them, and I know she’ll rest easy.”
Kendell smiled to herself, knowing the dead woman would have someone so dear to her in her house while strangers poked around her possessions. “We should be able to find everything we’re looking for in her office, unless you know of any family history she might have stashed away in some closet.”
“Don’t we all have boxes of papers and family heirlooms stashed away somewhere? I’ll have a look in her bedroom while you two check her computer files. Freddy might have some stuff in our attic as well. It’ll give him something to do other than fret about the noises coming from his sister’s rooms.”
While Kendell searched through the computer emails, Myles started opening boxes from the office closet. “Apparently, she had a thing for high-school yearbooks. There must be a hundred different schools represented on these shelves.”
“Makes sense. Most people form friendships and enemies in high school that last all their lives. Is there any organization to her collection?”
He set a couple of the heavy boxes in the middle of the room. “Actually, it’s very organized. There’s very little dust on the books that are out on the shelves, and even the ones in boxes look like they were frequently consulted. She’s got Post-Its throughout each book.” He opened a couple and laid them next to each other. “She color coded the couples who hooked up from different schools. The woman was very detail oriented. Any luck with the computer?”
“So far, just old articles she’d written. There’s a ton of information. It almost reminds me of looking at Samantha’s genealogical chart, but this is all recent history intermixed with social events and gossip. This is going to take a while.”
After three hours of reading about marriages, divorces, marital dalliances, and social power plays, Kendell felt like she’d lost more than enough brain cells for one day. “This is impossible. I can’t for the life of me see what important news story she thought she’d found.”
She turned the office chair and saw that Myles had covered the floor in open yearbooks. “There’s a pattern here. I just can’t quite see it. A lot of the unions are what I’d expect—popular girls marrying jocks, nerds marrying geeks—but there’s also a thread of connections that don’t make sense. It’s almost like the families were trying to consolidate their power. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time thinking about conspiracies.”
Kendell pointed to a line of yearbooks that ran down the middle of the room to the door. “That’s the Laroque family?”
“I thought it made the most sense to put them in the middle, but I’m not seeing anything we didn’t already know.”
Kendell blushed on seeing her mother’s picture. “And that’s my family over against the wall?”
“Just your mother and Grammy. Having sort of met your grandmother in your memory, I wish I’d known her in person. From the entries in the yearbook, it looks like she was kind of a partier in her day.”
“What’s the oldest yearbook Marilyn had in her collection?” Seeing pictures and reading quotes from long-dead people recorded on paper was more interesting than reading recent emails.
“She’s got some going back to the late 1920s.”
Kendell stood and carefully walked around the layer of yearbooks. From all the faces a pattern started to emerge. “Look at the long noses and tight mouths on so many of these people Marilyn tagged. The last names don’t match up, but if I were just to meet them on the street, I’d swear they were related.”
“That’s what I was missing. I was so busy focusing on the names I didn’t look closely enough at the pictures. I’d recognize that smug asshole look anywhere. Lance Laroque really is a chip off the family block, isn’t he?” Myles got up from his squatting position and grabbed a couple of books from beneath the others. “The connecting names are all old New Orleans families. Like there was some common ancestor.”
Kendell felt her blood run cold. “The baron Archibald Baptiste Malveaux. I’ll bet anything these people were descended from women who’d been taken into indentured servitude like my great-great-great-grandmother.”
“It’s hard to believe so many families would have reestablished themselves in only a couple of generations. Not everyone made it as far as high school in the first half of the twentieth century. And these kids don’t look like they came from poor families.”
Kendell balled her fists at what she was thinking. “Presumably, my ancestor who lost his family to the baron died. Suppose these other families didn’t lose their fathers? After they’d served their time and had children from the baron they would have been returned to their homes.”
“He cemented himself into their legacies. The families would still be struggling. By lending them more money, he wouldn’t just be rebuilding New Orleans after the Civil War—he’d be making them all beholden to him. And if they ever needed reminding of who was in charge of the city or what happens to those who displease him, all they’d have to do is look at their children or those of their neighbors. Look at the marriages through the generations. Those with the baron’s attributes married up, consolidating their wealth and power. Their cousins who shared the same surnames but not the same attributes—in other words, the children of the indentured women and their husbands—didn’t fare as well. The baron’s reach continues to this day, according to these yearbooks.”
Kendell worked her way back to the desk with a renewed mission. “You don’t suppose that’s what Marilyn was on to?”
“Now that I see the connection, I don’t know how it’s something she would have missed. New Orleans’ dirty history. I doubt that’s an article many of the upper class would want to see published.”
She started printing out every wedding notification that had been forwarded to Marilyn from the area newspapers. “It’s not just about the past. Those families owed both financial and personal debts to the baron Malveaux, who might have handed the ledger to his granddaughter, thus creating the Laroque dynasty. Why else would he want a visual human record that would transcend generations?”
“You think tying the Laroque’s rise to power to the city’s dark secret is what got Marilyn killed?”
“I think they’d see her article as a betrayal of an heir to the true Malveaux bloodline. Family members turn on no one more viciously than the person who reveals their family’s dirty laundry. Especially if that family is of the powerful upper class.”
Myles began closing up the yearbooks and returning them to their boxes. “All the more reason for the Laroques to keep information of the curse out of the hands of anyone not related to Anthony Laurette. At least their relatives would be in equal danger.”
Kendell helped him load the heavy boxes back in the closet. She’d originally dismissed the pile of newspapers and magazines that leaned against the wall as light reading material. She accidentally knocked the pile over and stared at the highlighted wedding announcement. “Apparently, the Laroques have higher aspirations than just New Orleans. Look at this. ‘Bradford Baptiste Laroque, president of the Harvard Law Review, to marry Kennedy granddaughter.’ I’ll bet this pile is loaded with similar announcements.”
He started thumbing through the pile with her. “Someone in the family is trying to whitewash the past before making a play for national office.”
“With a power base going back generations, you don’t really believe it’s just one person, do you?”
18
Myles’s first reaction on seeing Lance Laroque enter the bar on Bourbon Street was to want to toss the creep into the gutter. But a bad reputation regarding the city’s powerful family would mean an end to his bartending career. “What can I get you?” that will include a spit shot.
“I’m not here to make trouble. If you want Kendell, be my guest. I was just trying to talk to her at the ball.”
Right. “About what?”
“If you’re working with her on investigating my family, you’re both in danger. People who cross the Laroques have a way of going missing.”
Myles considered throwing the shot glass at him but continued cleaning it with the rag. “That sounds a lot like a threat.”
He pulled out a card with an address. “Send Kendell. The nuns don’t like letting men into their convent. Have her ask for any information they have on Fleurentine Laurette. If you find it useful, I’d like to hear anything you know about my family. I’m not asking you to trust me.”
Myles picked up the card, which was for Our Lady of Mercy Convent. “And I’m supposed to believe anything they say?”
“I’m not going to bullshit you. I’m not a nice guy. My family’s rich, powerful, and moving up the political ladder. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with standing by while people get hurt. Have Kendell check with the nuns. At the very least, they’ll vouch for me. Then meet me at Scratch and Sniff at one in the morning on Friday.”
Myles didn’t consider himself a fool. “First you threaten me, then you expect me to meet you in some dark shop in the middle of the night?”
“I was just looking for neutral ground. I know you’ve met with Madam de Galpion. With you working nights, I figured later would be better for you. If you don’t like my suggestion, come up with one of your own.”
Kendell had felt safe at the perfumery, and he suspected Madam de Galpion knew more than she’d let on. Another trip to the shop wasn’t the worst idea. “Scratch and Sniff is okay, but let’s make it one in the afternoon.”
“Suit yourself. She doesn’t usually open during the day, but she will for me.” The arrogant asshole left to rejoin the crowd of revelers that grew by the day as Fat Tuesday approached.
Charlie spun a couple of bottles of beer down the bar toward two waiting customers in front of Myles. “Friend of yours?”
“Not likely. Ever hear of Our Lady of Mercy Convent?”
“Sure. It’s behind that big wall that takes up a city block of the French Quarter. Fucking waste of space, but anything that historic isn’t going anywhere.”
Myles studied the card again for anything other than the name and address. “Any reason why they would have taken in people suffering from mental illness?”
Charlie worked around him to grab a bottle of expensive tequila. “After the Civil War, that’s where a lot of people ended up if the hospitals could no longer help. Study some history once in a while, but for now, get some drinks for those girls batting their eyes at you.”
* * *
The old nun who greeted Kendell at the front gate of Our Lady of Mercy Convent had a kindly face, though Kendell suspected her piercing steely-blue eyes could penetrate any deception. “We aren’t open to the public.”
Kendell imagined the old woman must get pestered on a daily basis by tourists looking to explore the old grounds. “Lance Laroque sent me. I’m here about Fleurentine Laurette.”
The mention of the names deepened the lines across the woman’s forehead. “If you feel it necessary to invade our sanctuary, I must ask that you keep quiet until we reach my office.”
As the heavy wooden gate shut behind her, a feeling of calm came over Kendell. Her emotions perfectly matched the silence from the outside world maintained by the heavy masonry walls that encompassed the grounds. Though her life of excitement and adventure thrilled her, just for a moment, she could appreciate the quiet, contemplative life of the nuns. Seeing all the women studiously tending the gardens, reading, and performing their daily devotionals gave her a perspective she hadn’t anticipated.
But it wasn’t just the street noise and Kendell’s emotions that were quieted. The energy that had permeated her like a subwoofer set so low it could be felt more than heard softened as well. Only in the spiritual quiet of the convent could she identify the tool’s continual effect on her. The journey she’d shared with Myles to their childhoods and the curse’s origin had allowed the tool to mesh with her soul. She wasn’t cursed, but the driving force was unmistakable. If this is just a taste of power, no wonder the Laroques are so addicted to gaining more.
The nun’s office was much as Kendell expected. It was modest in its furnishings, quiet, and filled with light from the large window that looked out at the garden. The woman pointed to a well-used wooden chair. “Please have a seat. As I said at the gate, we’re not open to the public. The Laroque family, however, has been very generous in keeping us afloat. So certain concessions are granted where they are concerned. Mr. Lance did mention you may be paying us a visit. He’s already removed the unfortunate woman’s diaries and correspondences, though.”
“Did he take anything else?”
The woman sat behind her oak desk. “No. He only wanted her documen
ts. He asked about her other possessions, but his questions weren’t appropriate for our religious community.”
Kendell knew she had to tread lightly. Anything she said could have her escorted out of the convent. “Did he think something of Fleurentine’s might be cursed?”
“We are a deeply religious order. The ideas of evil, dark magic, and curses are left at the gate. Though we accept their existence, we choose a higher direction for our lives.” The old nun pulled out a folder with Fleurentine Laurette written across the cover. “From the writings of my predecessor, Mrs. Malveaux was a very disturbed individual. Her marriage and children were well known to the church, of course. As the Malveaux family was part of high society, all of their major life events like marriages, christenings, and deaths were conducted at Saint Louis Cathedral. She never forgave the church, however, for denying little Serephine a proper church burial due to her suicide. But Miss Fleur, as she was known in the convent, renounced her previous life once she entered our grounds.”
“She became a nun?” That wasn’t something Kendell had expected.
“No. Her mind was too far gone, but it helped keep her calm to imagine she was one of us and not just one of our charges. I mention her history so you’ll have a better understanding of how she viewed her possessions. Mr. Lance expressed concern that once Archibald Malveaux died, some of his things might have found their way here. According to this record, there was an attempt at delivering a box, but Miss Fleur wanted nothing to do with it.”
Kendell found it hard to imagine the woman’s state of mind at hearing of the baron’s death. She must have wanted to turn her back on everything associated with her marriage. “So none of the baron’s belongings are here at the convent?”