That Old Devil Sin

by W E DeVore

  Ben and Q exchanged a glance.

  Way to go, Clementine. Go on and poke the angry bear some more.

  “Where were you when you weren’t on stage?” Detective Sanger asked her.

  Q said, “I told Ernst on Monday. During the first break, I used the restroom and talked to my friend, Niko. He was one of the cater waiters.” Ben squeezed her foot. She hoped he wanted her to stick with the story they had told on Monday because that was certainly her plan. “During the second break, I was with Pete. We got some food and got out of the way. Then I went to Ben’s office to freshen my make-up.”

  Detective Sanger took a note. “And you, Mr. Bordelon?”

  “I was in the crowd mostly, watching Q. I did see the dead girl come out of the storage room early in the evening; she said she was looking for the ladies’ room. I went into the room to get some supplies for my bartender and found Senator Multer in there. He was…umm…” Ben paused. “…zipping up his pants and adjusting his belt buckle.”

  “You didn’t mention that on Monday. What are you implying?” Ernst asked.

  “I’m not implying anything; I’m just telling you what I saw. Look, I’m not in the habit of telling stories about people who rent out my club for fifteen large. You spend that much money, you can pretty much have the run of the place. I didn’t want Pete to think his girl was doing something with some other dude ten feet away from where he was working.” Ben sat back and crossed his legs.

  “And the rest of the evening?” Detective Sanger prodded.

  Ben recounted the rest of his statement from Monday, carefully leaving out the truth about where Q was during the second break. Ernst looked hard at Ben while he spoke. When he was done, Ernst and Detective Sanger stood up to leave.

  Ernst said to Q, “If you hear from Pete, you tell him to turn himself in.”

  She jumped to her feet. “What do you mean ‘turn himself in’?!”

  Detective Sanger replied calmly, “Mr. Fontain’s fingerprints were on the cord that was used to strangle the victim. Several witnesses heard him threaten her. We have a warrant for his arrest.”

  “Woh. Pete didn’t kill her. His fingerprints were on that instrument cable because it was his fucking instrument cable. And he didn’t threaten her. He told her he didn’t want to watch her die of an overdose,” Q said, still not believing that they actually put a warrant out for Pete’s arrest.

  Detective Sanger flipped through his notebook. “That’s not what our witness heard. They said he yelled ‘you're as good as dead’ at the victim.”

  “That’s ridiculous, he didn’t say that,” she insisted.

  Ernst asked, “Did you see them argue?”

  “No, I…Pete told me what happened,” she replied, chastened.

  “Then you don’t really know what he said, do you?” Ernst said quietly.

  Ben stood up next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his chest.

  “If y’all don’t have any more questions…” Ben hesitated. “We’ll call you if we hear from Pete.”

  Ernst turned to Detective Sanger and said, “Give me a minute with my goddaughter, would you?”

  Sanger nodded and handed Ben his card and the spare keys to the Cove before walking outside. Ernst waited until the front door had closed.

  “You too, Mr. Bordelon.”

  Ben looked at Q. She nodded her assent and he walked into the kitchen. Ernst sat down on the couch and gestured for Q to do the same. “This isn’t a game, Clementine. Pete’s in real trouble. There anything you want me to know about? Something you left out?”

  Oh, let’s see, Pete has no alibi for the second break, he wasn’t back at the mixer for the third set, and I have a bad habit of making deals with Greek mobsters to save his sorry ass. Other than that...

  She mutely shook her head. Ernst paused before he continued, “I love you, Clementine, like my own daughter. But I won’t be able to protect you if you’re obstructing a police investigation. You understand?”

  “Pete didn’t do this, Uncle Ernst,” she replied firmly.

  He stood up. “I hope you’re right, sweetheart, but it doesn’t look too good right now. Call Pete. Get him to turn himself in so we can iron this out.” Ernst walked to the door and paused before opening it. “One more thing. Seems your Mr. Bordelon had a bit of a brawl with Urian Galanos at the end of the night. You know what that was about?”

  She nodded and said, “Urian said something…inappropriate…about me. Ben threw him out of the bar.”

  Ernst didn’t react. “You know Urian Galanos well, Clementine?”

  “Not at all.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  He opened the front door and said, “That’s an interesting piece of art your fella has on his chest.”

  Q looked quizzically at him.

  “Might want to ask him where he got it,” Ernst replied and then left without saying another word.

  She grabbed her phone and walked into the kitchen. She found Ben scrambling eggs; diced onions were already simmering in butter on the stove.

  “Couldn’t hide out from the world forever, I guess.” Pointing to his phone on the charging station, he said, “Twenty-six missed calls. Better charge yours, too.”

  She connected her phone to a free port and heard message alerts dinging repeatedly within seconds.

  “I can’t believe Pete skipped town,” she said, scrolling through her voicemails. Three from Tom. Two from Charlie. Two from Camilla. One from Niko. One from her dad. She pressed play and listened.

  Her father’s rich voice said, “Clementine, it’s Daddy. Ernst just called looking for Pete. Do not tell him where that cabin is. Try to get Pete to come back on his own. Call me and let me know you received this message.”

  One from Pete. She pressed play. “Clemmie, I’m sorry. I got back to the house and all her stuff was there and pills and booze and I can’t. I’m gone. I’ll call you when I get settled. Look, I hate to do this, but I need one more favor. I slipped my keys under your door. You must be over at Ben’s. Please swing by my place and give it a once over, so Arlene doesn’t have a mess on her hands. Ronnie has lots of clothes and shoes and things. You can have them if you don’t mind walking around in a dead woman’s heels. Keep anything you like, throw the rest away. I have everything that’s important to me. I love you, Clemmie.”

  Six from Ernst. Another half dozen from numbers she didn’t recognize. She pressed play on the first one. A woman’s voice said, “Ms. Toledano, this is Marissa Rivers, Channel 4 news. I’m calling for comment on Peter Fontain’s alleged involvement in the death of Veronica Denton…”

  Next message, a man’s voice said, “Ms. Toledano, Eric Richard, Times-Picayune. I’m hoping you’ll comment on a story we’re running about the murder of Veronica Denton at Lafitte’s Cove…”

  Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

  Panicked, Q began listening to other messages from unrecognized numbers. Gig cancellations. Two weddings, a bat mitzvah, and a cotillion ball.

  “Fuck, this is already on the news,” she said and told Ben about the messages.

  “It’ll blow over, darlin’,” he said. “Come on now and eat some breakfast. You can listen to the rest later. Maybe Pete will call. He should be in Tennessee by now.”

  “Tom and Charlie are going to kill me,” she said, sitting down at the table.

  Ben set a plate of scrambled eggs and a fresh cup of coffee in front of her. “Eat some breakfast, you’ll feel better.”

  Q laughed in spite of herself. “You sure you’re not Jewish? You sound just like my Bubbe.”

  They ate in silence, listening to the message alerts continue to sound from their phones. She finally pushed her plate aside. “I can’t eat. I’m going to take a shower. Time to go back to the real world.”

  She kissed him lightly on the top of his head as she started to leave the kitchen. He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap. “This is the real world, darlin’. We can face it together.”


  She nodded.

  “Did you catch me asking you to live here with me earlier?”

  She nodded again. “I can’t think about that right now, Ben.” She looked down. “Not yet.”

  Ben’s face cringed slightly. “Too soon?”

  Q didn’t know what to say. “Maybe ask me when we’re not being interrogated by the police?”

  He laughed. “Come on, girl, let’s get you home. I have a mess to clean up at the Cove and I expect you have a mess on your hands with Tom and Charlie.”

  ~~~

  Q slid down into the bathtub until she was lying flat on her back at the bottom. She closed her eyes and let the water rise until her nose was barely above the surface, then turned off the faucets with her feet. She futilely tried not to think about her situation: Pete wanted for murder, no gigs, soon no money. The week had gone from bad to worse. Pete’s alleged guilt was all over the news and every gig QT and Beasts had booked for the next six months had been canceled. Charlie and Tom were both furious at her and had made it abundantly clear that they thought this whole situation was entirely her fault.

  This whole situation is your fault. You booked the gig. You let Pete lie to the police. You lied to the police. You trusted Pete to do the right thing.

  She wasn’t sure how, but she was determined to figure out a way to get them out of trouble. She considered sending another text message to Pete and making it an even two dozen, or calling and yelling at that recorded bitch who still insisted that Pete’s mailbox was full. Somewhere in the distance came an incessant knocking. She could indistinctly make out a voice trying to find its way to her eardrum through the water. Q sighed and sat up.

  “Come on, Q, I know you’re in there. Stop wallowing and let me in.”

  Niko. Yay.

  Q reluctantly stood up and wrapped a bath sheet around her. She made her way to the door, not caring about the damp trail she left behind her. She left the chain on and opened the door.

  “I’m not in the mood, Niko.”

  “I’ve told you before, honey, you’re not my type. Let me in,” Niko insisted.

  She sighed and closed the door. She unlatched the chain, then turned to go find her robe without reopening it. As she walked into the bathroom, she heard Niko come in and open the refrigerator. “I brought vodka and a bucket of Popeye’s.”

  Q slipped into a long, purple silk robe and came out of the bathroom, toweling off her hair. Niko handed her an icy glass. She took a sip and sank into her chair by the window. He joined her, flopping down on the window seat.

  “Thought you had a gig tonight, baby doll?”

  She took another sip. “You know, strangely enough, parents aren’t too keen on having a band whose bassist strangled his girlfriend play at their daughter’s cotillion. For that matter, neither are parents hosting their daughter’s bat mitzvah, people getting married, people celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, or people doing whatever they do at an Elk’s Lodge banquet. Every good paying gig we had lined up through July has been canceled. We are F-U-C-T fucked.”

  Q went to the kitchen and grabbed the bucket of fried chicken, bringing it back to her chair, eating a thigh. “How does that old saying go? You can have a great place to live, a great job, and a great boyfriend, but you can’t have more than two of the three at the same time.”

  “Two out of three ain’t bad, though.” Niko sat up and reached for the bucket of chicken, she handed it to him.

  “Yeah, but I had all three. For three amazing fucking weeks, I actually had all three,” she sighed.

  “Speaking of, why isn’t tall, blond, and gorgeous here consoling you?”

  “He’s working. The Cove has been crazy busy all week. Morbid curiosity… ’let’s go drink and hook up where that stripper was killed.’” She turned around in her chair and tossed the half-eaten thigh into the kitchen sink, suddenly disgusted with humanity. “I’m not hungry. I’m going to drink. You feel like drinking?”

  She drained her glass and walked over to the freezer without waiting for an answer. Refilling her glass, she said, “I just don’t get it. There’s no way Pete would hurt that girl.”

  Niko chewed thoughtfully for a minute. “Q, honey, I know Pete’s your friend, but he’s not right. Never has been. Maybe he just snapped.”

  “Nope. It doesn’t add up. He was leaving town. He was clean.” She took another drink and lay down on the floor in the middle of the room staring up at the ceiling.

  “No, babe. He said he was leaving town. He said he was clean. Junkies lie, kiddo,” Niko persisted.

  She sat up on her elbows and looked at him. “Look, Niko. I appreciate the vodka and sympathy, but you don’t know shit about Pete Fontain. He wouldn’t lie. Not to me. Not about that. He didn’t kill that girl.”

  Q stood up and paced the room a few times before finally opening her piano bench and pulling out a stack of blank staff paper and a mechanical pencil.

  She knelt down on the floor and wrote ‘Veronica Denton’ on the first sheet and set it in front of her. She wrote ‘Senator Multer’ and ‘Marianne Multer’ on the second and third and set them to the left of the first sheet. Q paused for a minute until she finally wrote ‘Urian Galanos’ on a fourth sheet of staff paper and set it haphazardly next to the Multers.

  “Q, what are you doing?” Niko asked concerned.

  She wrote ‘Timeline’ in big letters and underlined it three times, then held it up to show him. “We were both there that night. We’re going to piece together a timeline.”

  He stood up to leave. “I’m not going to help you be crazy.”

  “Sit the fuck back down, Niko, and help me,” Q said. “Please.”

  Niko turned and walked over to the freezer to refresh his drink. “Babe, don’t you think the police has done all this?”

  Q sat back up on her knees and shook her head. “She was a junkie, a stripper, and a former prostitute. They found an easy explanation. It’s not like TV, Niko. In the real world, the cops find the most logical suspect and run with it. Pete’s not around to defend himself. They’re not looking for anyone else, they’re looking for Pete.”

  He sighed and returned to the window seat. “Fine. Just so as you know, I’m only doing this to show you that they’re probably right.”

  She gave him a disgruntled look. “I saw her with Senator Multer during the first set about halfway through maybe? And Ben saw her leaving the storage room right before the first break. Multer was in there with her.”

  She wrote:

  10pm – Ronnie and Multer on the dance floor

  10:15pm – Ben sees Ronnie leave the storage room

  Niko raised an eyebrow. “You think Senator Multer left his party to go strangle some stripper?”

  “No, dummy, she was alive when Ben saw her. Multer came back to the party after and Pete said he and Ronnie had a knock down drag out during the first break.”

  She wrote:

  10:20pm – Pete and Ronnie have a fight

  “Let’s see, we went back on stage by what, 10:30? Pete was back at the mixer by then. I had him adjust my monitor during the first song.” Q took a sip before asking, “Did you see her at all?”

  “Girl, I saw a lot of women in green wigs. I just walked around the hors d'oeuvres and tried to be charming.” He flashed a smile that faded quickly. “I did see Pete, though. During your second set. I ran into him on my way back from the toilet. He was standing in the doorway to the storage room.”

  “You ever stop and think he was on his way to the same place? It’s a narrow hallway, he was probably just ducking back to let someone by.”

  “This was your fun idea to pass a Friday night, not mine, babe,” Niko said.

  “Fine. What song were we playing when you saw Pete?”

  “I don’t know.” Niko sounded annoyed. “It was loud. Really loud. Sometime near the end, I guess. Couple songs before you went full blown Marilyn Monroe, dry humping your mic stand on stage.”

  Q wracked her brain, t
rying to remember their set list from that night. The loudest song they'd played was right before the end of the set. She swore she had looked at Pete during Charlie’s guitar solo and he was fist bumping the air with one hand, playing with a couple of faders on the mixer with the other.

  Maybe that’s how you want to remember it.

  She wrote down:

  11:45 – Pete leaves the mixer

  “Did you tell the police?” Q asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Of course, I did. They asked me if I saw anyone near the storage room.” Niko drained his glass. “Don’t worry I also told them I had gone in there, too, for napkins, and saw your angel man and that hunky bartender come out once or twice, too. Pete could have just ducked in to get a cable or snort a pill or something.”

  She felt sick. “Yeah, I guess,” she said quietly. She thought for a minute. “She looked so damn familiar. I wish I could place her face.”

  “Who? The dead girl?” Q nodded silently. He shrugged. “This city’s a small town, you know that. She probably came to some of your gigs to see Pete or something.”

  “Yeah, maybe. You’re probably right. There are two other things I just can’t get through either. Ronnie had ten thousand dollars on her when they found the body.”

  Niko let out a low whistle. “You think she was there to pay off Urian?”

  “Seems like an odd coincidence, huh? But Urian said Pete’s debt was paid, in full, so why did she still have the cash?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me. What’s the other one?” Q gave him a confused look. “The other thing you can’t get through?”

  “Oh yeah. How did she get on the guest list?”

  He hesitated. “Could Pete have asked Ben to…?”

  “No. Ben would have told me. It had to have been the Multers. It was on the typed list,” she insisted.

  Niko stood and walked to the kitchen to refill his drink. He picked up her glass on the way and stood at the counter with his back to her. “Q, I know you’re all crazy about him, but you don’t know him all that well, really, when you think about it.”

  “What are you trying to say, Niko?”