Murder in the Garden District (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries)

by Herren, Greg

  “Remember, Chanse is on your side,” Abby said softly as she handed Alais a mug. “We both are.”

  She shooed Rhett off the couch and sat beside Alais, curling her legs underneath her. She was wearing a Catbox Club T-shirt and a pair of jeans shorts. Her feet were bare and her hair was tied back. She’d kept Cruella De Vil for herself.

  Alais took a big drink from Maleficent. “Gram’s paying him, isn’t she?” she responded to Abby.

  “And he’s paying me,” Abby pointed out. “If we intended to take you home, we would have called your family last night. We want what’s best for you, Alais.”

  “That’s what Gram and Mom always tell me. Don’t I have any say in it? I’m not a child, and I’m tired of being treated like one.”

  “Tell Chanse everything, Alais, and we’ll help you however we can.”

  She nodded in my direction. I picked up the cue.

  “Why did you run away, Alais?” I asked as sympathetically as possible.

  “I didn’t run away. I wanted to get out of that house, to get my head together. I’m tired of being treated like I’m crazy.”

  With her jaw set, Alais’s resemblance to Cordelia was both eerie and unsettling.

  “I don’t think you are, Alais. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

  Her eyes filled. “Do you ever get over it?”

  I thought about lying, but decided she deserved honesty. She got enough lies at home.

  No, you never do. You learn to live with it, and eventually you get to the point where you don’t think about it every day.”

  It had taken me about two years, but there was no need to tell her that.

  “I’m so sick of that Time heals bullshit. Is that supposed to make me feel better somehow? Being drugged out of your mind doesn’t help much either. And the worst of it is…”

  “Start at the beginning, Alais,” Abby encouraged. “It’s okay, you can trust Chanse.”

  She wiped her eyes. “I’ve loved Jerrell ever since I was a little girl,” she said. “He was always a sweet boy, and fun—he always made me laugh.”

  “How did you meet him? Did you go to school with him?” I asked. I knew she hadn’t, but it was a good way to get her talking.

  “He was always around. Our housekeeper is his great-aunt. She never had any kids of her own, and she raised his mother. Jerrell’s real grandparents died when his mom was a little girl. He called Vernita Grandma. She’d bring him to the house with her whenever she couldn’t get a sitter. He was supposed to stay in the kitchen, but my real mom let him play with me, go swimming in the pool. And when she died… After that, Vernita never brought him around anymore. I missed him.”

  “Why did Vernita stop bringing Jerrell around?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. But he was my friend. That changed when we were in high school. He was at Ben Franklin. Gram wouldn’t hear of me going to a public school, even if it was a magnet. I was trapped at Newman. I’m not sure exactly when our feelings changed from just being friends, but we kept it a secret.”

  “Because Jerrell was black?”

  She looked at me like I was an idiot.

  “Because his great-aunt was our housekeeper. The kids at Newman would have loved that. And Gram would never have allowed it. I was afraid they’d fire Vernita. And they would have, too. He got a full scholarship to Ole Miss—that was why I decided to go there. Gram wanted me at Vanderbilt, but I never mailed the application. She was pissed. I stood up to her, and Dad and Mom both took my side.”

  “Was that unusual?”

  “It wasn’t like Dad was really on my side. He never cared about me or noticed anything I did.” She stated this as a matter of fact, absent of bitterness or sadness. “He just liked to piss off Gram. Janna said she thought I should go to school wherever I wanted to, it was my life, and Gram needed to get used to the idea I could make my own decisions. Gram was so mad, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.”

  “Did you like your stepmother? Did the two of you get along?”

  “I was scared of her at first—you know, that whole ‘wicked stepmother’ thing— but she was great. She said I didn’t have to call her Mom if I didn’t want to, it was my decision. I called her Janna at first, and then I started calling her Mom. Whenever I needed anything, she was there for me. She never missed anything at school, you know, when I was in plays or stuff. Dad never came, Gram did sometimes, but Janna was always there. She was my friend. I could count on her. This summer, though, she’s been different. Distant, like she had something on her mind.”

  Maybe like being raped and abused by your father. According to Janna, the rape happened four months ago, in May. That put it just before Jerrell’s murder.

  “Tell me about Jerrell, Alais,” I said gently. “What happened to him?”

  “Jerrell was—” Her voice broke. “He was the nicest guy, not like the other ones. He respected me, didn’t push me. And he was smart, too. Pre-med. He wanted to work for Doctors Without Borders, go to Africa and help out. It was all Carey’s fault. He didn’t mean to, I know that, but not meaning to do something isn’t much different from meaning to, if the result is the same. He came up to visit me at school. He always knew about Jerrell and me; I never kept it a secret from him. He used to help me sometimes—you know, when I needed to sneak out of the house to see Jerrell. He’d cover for me. It was our little secret. We had so much fun when he came up that weekend. But he took pictures of us and Janna found them, and the next weekend she came to see me, to talk to me about Jerrell. She told me to break it off, that Dad and Gram would never let me marry him. I told her I loved him, and they could just deal with it. I made up my mind that when I came home I would tell them, and if they didn’t like it, well, too damned bad. Somehow Dad found out. I didn’t want to think Janna told him, because she’d said she wouldn’t, but how else would he know?”

  “What happened when he found out?”

  “It was horrible. He called me at school and screamed at me that I was a whore, that it was about time I started acting like a Sheehan.”

  “Did he threaten Jerrell?”

  “He told me if I didn’t break it off, he would take care of it and I wouldn’t like his solution. I told him to go to hell. A weekend later, Jerrell was killed.”

  She broke down. Abby put her arm around her, and Alais buried her face in Abby’s shoulder. Her body shook. The two of us sat quietly until she subsided.

  “I’m sorry,” she sniffled, sitting up again. “We’d gone out to dinner with some of our friends. Jerrell had a paper he had to finish, so he dropped me off at the Kappa house and went back to his apartment.” Her lower lip trembled. “He had his own little studio. He worked at a coffee shop to pay the rent. He was supposed to meet me for coffee the next day, but he didn’t show up and didn’t answer his phone. I found him.”

  “You poor thing.” I also knew what it was like to find the person you loved brutally killed. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with it at nineteen. “But the news reports said his manager from the coffee shop found him.”

  “When he wasn’t answering his phone, I went over there. The door was ajar. I saw him lying on the floor, in all that blood. I got out of there as fast as I could, went back to the Kappa house.”

  She wiped the tears away. Her eyes blazed.

  “And I just knew.” She spat the words out. “Dad was behind it. The police said it was a robbery—his wallet was gone, and his computer, and his DVD player. But his computer was ancient, and he never had any money. He didn’t have anything. Then Gram came with her goddamn doctor. They shot me up with drugs and dragged me home. Janna—Mom—said she hadn’t told Dad, but she must have been lying. How else would he have known? If I’d just done what he said, Jerrell would be alive.”

  “It isn’t your fault, Alais,” Abby said gently.

  “You can’t think that, Alais,” I added. I knew saying it wouldn’t help. Everyone had told me that, too. I hadn’t believed it, eit
her. “You don’t have any proof?”

  “If I’d had proof, I’d have gone to the police. I told that stupid cop up at Oxford, but he didn’t believe me. The asshole acted like I was crazy. But it was him, I know it, I kept calling those stupid cops up there, to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen. Gram took me to some psychiatrist. He didn’t believe me, either, kept telling me I was delusional. He put me on pills. Gram kept track, to make sure I was taking them. Every night she’d come to my room and count them. I was a zombie all summer.”

  “Did they help at all?” I asked, although I knew the answer.

  “When I was medicated it didn’t hurt anymore, so the pills helped that way. I didn’t feel anything when I was taking them. Two weeks ago, Vernita told me to stop, that I had to face the pain or it would never go away. So, I stopped taking them. And once I could think clearly again, it all started making sense. Gram wanted me doped up so I’d forget that Dad killed Jerrell.” She stifled a sob. “My own grandmother did that to me.”

  Abby hugged her again. “It’s okay, Alais. Go ahead and cry, if you need to.”

  Alais pulled away.

  “I can cry later.”

  She was Cordelia’s granddaughter, all right.

  She looked me right in the eyes.

  “Gram still counted my pills every night. I flushed them down the toilet so she wouldn’t know I wasn’t taking them. I started listening to their conversations when they thought they were alone. As far as they knew, I was drugged out. They weren’t paying attention to me. One night I heard Gram and Dad arguing in the drawing room. She told him he was playing a very dangerous game, and she couldn’t go on covering things up for him. He needed to get rid of everything in the safe, because if anyone ever found it, he’d go to jail and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. He just laughed. He said he’d changed the combination, and wouldn’t tell her the new one. I knew if I could just get into the safe, I’d be able to prove he killed Jerrell.

  “I tried to get the combination. I went through his desk, went through everything, but I couldn’t find it. On Monday, I decided to confront him.”

  “What happened?” I leaned forward.

  “I heard him pull into the driveway. It was just after nine. I remember looking at the clock. It took me maybe ten, fifteen minutes to get up my nerve, then I left my room. He and Janna were in the drawing room, arguing. I went down the stairs and listened. She wanted a divorce. She said she wasn’t going to raise another child in that house. He just laughed at her, told her he’d fight her, he’d take us kids away from her and make sure she never saw us. She told him to go ahead, when she was through with him, he wouldn’t be able to get elected dogcatcher. ‘Who’d vote for a murderer?’ she said. Janna knew. All along, she knew he’d killed Jerrell and never said anything.

  “I couldn’t listen anymore. I ran across the hall to the library and closed the door. My head was spinning, I could hardly breathe. I got the gun out of Gram’s desk, and loaded it. I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to work up my nerve. I didn’t want to kill him. I was just going to use the gun to scare him, to make him open the safe and tell me the truth. I had to do it—for Jerrell. And then I heard the shot.”

  “You never left the library?”

  “Not until I heard the shot. I dropped Gram’s gun into the drawer and ran across the hall. Dad was on the floor. There was blood everywhere. I saw the gun. I picked it up and screamed.

  “And then Janna was there. Alais, what have you done? she shouted. Gram took the gun and wiped it with her shirt. She told Janna to get me out of there. I was hysterical. We were on the stairs when I heard another shot. Janna got me to my room, made me take a pill, told me that if anyone ever asked, I’d never left it, had my headphones on, didn’t hear anything. That’s what I told the police.”

  “You didn’t see or hear anyone else with your father before the shot?”

  She shook her head vehemently.

  “After the shot?”

  “I didn’t kill my father. You have to believe me.” She laughed bitterly. “But why would you? My own family doesn’t. I tried telling them, but Gram and Janna refused to believe me.”

  “That’s why she left,” Abby said.

  “I believe you, Alais,” I said.

  “You do?” She seemed startled.

  The pieces were starting to fit together in my head. It all made sense now. The nonsensical story Janna and Cordelia had been trying to pass off as true—they’d been trying to protect Alais. But the only thing they’d succeeded in doing was letting the real killer get away with it.

  “Yes, Alais, I do. But you’ve left something out, haven’t you? You know who killed your father.”

  She shrank back against the couch.

  “Alais,” I coaxed. “You were in the library a long time, almost an hour and a half. While you were in there, you could hear your parents arguing, right?”

  She nodded.

  “You said as soon as you heard the shot, you ran across the hall. Unless the killer moved at superhuman speed, there is no way you couldn’t have seen who it was.”

  I gave her a smile.

  “You can tell us, Alais. It’s okay,” Abby encouraged.

  “I don’t know! Why won’t you believe me?”

  “Who was it, Alais?” I said.

  I’d miscalculated. She froze up, and refused to say anything further. Either she really didn’t know or wasn’t going to tell us. But I was pretty sure I knew anyway.

  My cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I debated not answering it, but thought it might be the U.S. Marshals with an update on Vinnie.

  “MacLeod.”

  “This is Meredith Cole,” a ragged voice whispered. “From the Allegra Gallery? I talked to you last night? I need your help. Can you come to the gallery?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Cole. I’m kind of busy right now. Can this wait?”

  “Please! Kenny’s dead!” she screamed into the phone. “And the police won’t come!”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I knelt in front of Alais and took her hands in mine.

  “Alais, will you answer a different question?”

  She looked miserable.

  “What happened the night your mother died?”

  “How would I know?” she responded, clearly surprised. “Gram and I were in Paris.”

  It all made sense now.

  “I have to go out for a little while. But when I’m done, I’m coming back here and taking you home, Alais.”

  “No.”

  “There’s a hurricane heading for the city,” I said calmly. “Your family is worried about you, and you can’t stay here.”

  Abby followed me onto the porch.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’m counting on you to convince her, Abby.”

  “I don’t know if I can talk her into it, Chanse. She seems pretty determined not to go back there. I can’t say that I blame her.”

  “Me, either.” I said. “But promise me you’ll work on her? I’ve got to run downtown.”

  “What’s going on, Chanse?”

  “I think I’ve figured it out. I’ll tell you when I’m sure of it. In the meantime, Kenneth Musgrave is dead, and I need to get over to the gallery. From there I’ll go to the Sheehan house. Then I’ll call you. Don’t tell Alais, okay?”

  She nodded. I kissed her cheek.

  “Good work, Abby. After the hurricane we’ll talk about that raise.”

  “If you think I’ll forget because of the storm, you’re wrong!” she called after me.

  *

  When I tried to reach Venus, a mechanical voice informed me that all circuits were busy and to try again later. Irritated, I threw the phone into my passenger seat and turned on the radio as I got into the line of cars on Magazine heading toward the highway.

  The latest projections showed New Orleans directly in the path of Ginevra. The storm surge coming into Lake Pontchartrain could reach thirty feet.
The governor had requested aid from the Federal government, and National Guard units were mobilizing throughout the Southern states. The low-lying coastal parishes were already ordered to evacuate, and the order for Orleans Parish would come at noon. Anyone who remained in the city would be on their own until conditions were considered safe for first responders to get into the affected areas. That meant after the storm had passed. State buses were lining up at the Superdome and other sites throughout the metropolitan area for those without transportation out of New Orleans, with a limit of one suitcase per passenger. A toll free number was provided for anyone who needed a lift to the staging areas. Pets would be transported by the Louisiana SPCA. No hotel rooms were available on I-10 West before Houston. The Red Cross was setting up the Cajundome in Lafayette as a shelter, but only for people bused in from New Orleans. Traffic reports estimated a thirteen-hour drive to the Texas state line. I-10 East was closed off. Contraflow lanes on I-10 West would open at noon. The mayor urged everyone to leave as soon as possible.

  I turned off the radio. What had the Katrina surge been? Twenty-five feet? More than enough to crumble levees and destroy most of the city. Who would come back this time? Who would want to?

  My entire body shook. My eyes filled with water. I told myself to get a grip, I had work to do.

  Other than the cars crawling along Magazine Street, the city was like a ghost town. All the businesses along the street were boarded up. A sign at the gas station at the corner at Washington read Go away you bitch! Plastic bags covered the pump handles. My gas gauge still showed past full. Hopefully that would be enough to get me to Houston.

  I turned left onto Washington to get out of the line of slow-moving cars, gambling there wouldn’t be heavy traffic on Prytania, which didn’t have an outlet to the highway. The gamble paid off. I flew up Prytania Street, turned left again at Felicity to get to St. Charles and was forced to make a U-turn back to Prytania. I parked in front of Paige’s house. The gallery wasn’t far, and I’d get there faster on foot. I texted Venus to meet me, having once again gotten the damned circuits-busy message.