G.T. Herren - Paige Tourneur 02 - Dead Housewives of New Orleans (14 page)

“I really don’t know,” I replied, surprised he’d asked. “I’m sure I can’t venture an opinion.” I batted my eyes at him. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”

He gulped down the rest of his water, smothered a belch, and snapped his fingers at Brandon. Without a word Brandon got up, took the glass and refilled it. Instead of sitting down again, Brandon remained standing behind Abe, his arms folded.

“Anyway, glad you could make it over here.” He slurped down some more water. “Listen, it’s a tragedy, make no mistake about it, it’s the worst thing imaginable. My heart breaks for their families.” He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “But this is a business, and you really can’t buy this kind of publicity. The coverage on E! has been non-stop ever since they found Fidelis’s body— and now Chloe too? We’re going to be the cover of every tabloid and entertainment magazine next week. The whole country’s going to tune in on Tuesday to see the show kick-off, if for no other reason than to find out what all the fuss is about.” He held up both hands in mock defeat. “This is business, see? I got a show to put on the air. We’ll do a memorial thing at the end of the airing— you know, film some of the other chicks talking about how much they’ll miss them, yadda yadda yadda— that schmaltzy stuff goes over like gangbusters with the viewers— they eat that shit up like pudding.” He rubbed his hands together. “Ratings gold, we’re gonna clean up.”

It really says something
, I thought,
when I’m sadder about Chloe’s death than her producer.

“I would imagine so,” I managed to keep my voice neutral. I picked up my recorder and switched it on. “I’m curious, Mr. Golden, how did you come to cast the women you did on the show?”

Now that we were going on the record, it was like he turned into a completely different person. He put his feet on the floor, and when he spoke, his voice was a more pleasant-sounding baritone and his accent was almost non-existent. “Well, as you may know, Ms. Tourneur, we had tried to launch a New Orleans franchise once before, only we were more interested in African-American women. It was when we were looking to cast upper middle class women of color that I met Fidelis Vandiver— we had a mutual friend in common, who put us in touch. She expressed to me that she was very interested in being on the show herself, but at that time we were looking to do something different with the New Orleans show. I did think it was unfortunate, because she had everything we look for in a cast member— she was tall, very pretty with a nice figure, she was successful, and she even had experience being in front of the cameras. So, after we scrapped our original plan and came back to New Orleans to try again, of course I got in touch with Fidelis, and asked her if she could recommend some other women.”

“And did she?”

He took a delicate sip out of his water. Seriously, it was like he’d turned into a completely different person. It was fascinating. “She recommended Serena Castlemaine, Amanda Beth Lautenschlaeger, and a woman named Rachel Sheehan. Rachel wasn’t interested in the show and said no. Amanda Beth suggested we cast her mother Margery instead. Amanda Beth also sent us to Chloe Valence and Rebecca Barron, and I think maybe it was Fidelis who found Megan Dreher… I can’t really remember, it was either her or Amanda Beth. Megan didn’t work out as well as we would have liked. She of course agreed to do the show, but once we started filming she really didn’t open up much on camera. Unless she was drinking… and unfortunately we couldn’t have her drinking 24/7.”

So Amanda Beth was the link to getting Chloe on the show, as well as her mother and Rebecca. Interesting. Maybe I should look into Amanda Beth a little bit more.

“I understand there were some issues between the women— worse than what had happened on the other shows,” I prodded. I turned off the recorder. “Mr. Golden, I should probably tell you that I know about the lawsuit Chloe and Remy Valence threatened Margery with.”

“Call me Abe.” He flashed his dazzling smile at me. It was really remarkable the way he could turn on the charm. Had he not allowed me to see his true self before, I would have been completely mesmerized by him. He was like a cobra hypnotizing his prey. “Yes, that was unfortunate. Chloe was quite upset about the allegations Margery made about her husband, and rather than talking to me, or someone, anyone on the production staff, she got her lawyers involved. We were served with a cease and desist order, informing us that if Margery’s allegations actually aired, they would sue us.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, most of the drama for the rest of the season dealt with the fall-out between the women after Margery made her allegation. We really didn’t have a choice, and I thought we came up with an excellent alternative— we decided to air the scene, only bleep out what she actually said, and edit the rest of the season so that no one viewing will ever know what exactly it was.” He spread his hands in an ‘aw shucks’ gesture. “It’s an awful tease—”

“But it’ll stir up interest in the show,” I said. I have to admit I was impressed with how they were handling it. The viewers would be dying to know what Margery had said, which would whip the tabloids into a frenzy of speculation.

And of course, there were the pictures. If Chanse had found them, so could a tabloid.

What the hell had Chloe been
thinking
when she agreed to do this show?

And with the interest the murders were going to create, the show was going to be must-watch television. The network had to be thrilled.

“Now, of course… I don’t know.” He finished his water and held it up for Brandon, who took it and refilled it yet again. “The police want all of our footage, and are going to hold it for evidence. Of course, most of it has already been sent back to our production studios in New York for editing the season— so now we have our lawyers negotiating with the New Orleans police department.” He sighed again. “I’m beginning to wonder if it’s all worth it. Maybe we should just cancel the entire season.”

He said that for my benefit, of course. There was no way the show wasn’t going to air.

His cell phone started ringing again. He glanced at it and gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, that’s the network, I have to take it. Sorry to cut this so short.” He took the phone and answered as he hurried back to the bedroom, talking loudly and slamming the door shut so hard the whole room shook again.

I shut off the recorder and put it back in my purse. I smiled at Brandon. “Thank you for everything.” I held out my hand and shook it. “It must be difficult working for him sometimes.”

Brandon walked me to the door. Once we reached it, he opened it and stepped out in the hall with me, pulling it almost closed behind him. “That’s the network party line he gave you in there. He doesn’t give a shit about either one of the—” he swallowed, “— late cast members. They are going forward with the show, and with the season. He’s already started looking around for women to replace them in season two. They’re going to dedicate the season to the two of them… the real issue is whether they can keep putting the show together with the police confiscating the video… and how to handle the reunion episodes.” He winked at me and stepped back inside.

I walked to the elevator and pushed the button. The doors opened immediately, and I got inside. On the way down, I fished out my phone again, and did an Internet search for Amanda Beth.

There was practically nothing about her online. Not even a Facebook page.

Who doesn’t have a Facebook page? I frowned at my phone screen.

The elevator doors opened in the lobby and I glanced at my watch. I had some time before I was due to meet Abby at Hoshun, but my stomach was growling.

Seriously, a plate of beignets wasn’t enough?

I dashed down Canal Street and grabbed a cheeseburger at the McDonald’s near Royal Street, unwrapping it and eating it as I hurried along the sidewalk.

I dialed Athalie, ducking into the lobby of the Monteleone Hotel, shoving the burger wrapper in a trash receptacle. I took a seat in the Carousel Bar while the phone was ringing, barely managing to order a glass of Chardonnay before Athalie picked up. “Paige, thank you so much for talking to Margery— I just got off the phone with her. She’s very grateful…“

“I just have to ask,” I said carefully, not wanting to offend her, “but how much did Margery tell you about why she wanted to talk to me?” I couldn’t believe Athalie could have known about the pictures— it was all far too sordid for her, or at least I thought so— but I wanted to be sure.

“She simply told me about the lawsuit, and said she needed someone to get her side of the story out into the media,” Athalie replied. I could hear the frown in her voice. “Why are you asking me?” She lowered her voice. “You don’t think Margery had anything to do with the murders, do you?”

I smiled at the waiter as he set my glass of wine down on a napkin in front of me, and waited until he was out of earshot before going on, “I don’t think so, but you never know.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely certain she didn’t,” Athalie said with a short laugh. “I can hardly see Margery swinging a baseball bat, can you?”

I tried to picture it and couldn’t.

“Anyway,” I took a sip from my glass of wine, “tell me about Amanda Beth Lautenschaeger. I didn’t know until last night that Margery even had a daughter.”

She laughed. “Yes, Margery likes to play things close to the vest. There’s really not much to tell about her, though. She keeps a pretty low profile— she was a late baby, Margery actually thought she had a tumor, was really surprised to find out she was pregnant. The boys were already in high school. Amanda Beth is a lot younger than her brothers. Margery had always wanted a girl, so she was absolutely delighted.” She paused, and I could almost see the expression on her face. “She was kind of wild when she was a teenager— spoiled, you know— and her father had already died and the boys had taken over the businesses from Margery by then. There was some kind of trouble when she was in high school at Newman. I don’t remember what it was, but it was all hushed up, of course— naturally Margery paid everyone off. Margery sent her off to a boarding school in upstate New York, and then she stayed up there and went to college. She came back home, of course, after graduation, and she lives with Margery.”

“No boy friends, never been married, anything like that?”

“You know, it’s strange, but I don’t know.” Athalie sounded honestly puzzled. “I’ve never heard anyone say anything… and Amanda Beth doesn’t really seem to go to any parties. Now that I think about it, that’s rather odd, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is.” I sipped my Chardonnay. It was house, but quite good. I made a mental note to ask the waiter what brand it was. “And you can’t remember what kind of trouble it was she got into at Newman?”

“No. Paige, what’s going on? You don’t think Amanda Beth—”

“Athalie, it’s probably nothing. I’m just curious— you know how it is.” I replied, looking at my watch. “Just grasping at straws. You do know Amanda Beth, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, she’s a lovely girl. Very polite and well mannered. Whatever it was she got herself into, she’s certainly made amends since then.”

“Okay, thanks! I’ll talk to you soon.” I disconnected the call and finished the glass of wine while doodling on my notepad.

Everyone seemed to believe Billy Barron had been sleeping with both Fidelis and Chloe. Billy had used Chloe as his alibi.

Billy and his brother were suing Rebecca for control of their father’s company.

It had been Amanda Beth who’d gotten Chloe on the show in the first place.

There was something there, but I couldn’t get it all to come together in my head.

I was missing something, and it was driving me insane.

I signaled for the check. I wrote down the name of the Chardonnay on my notepad, and I handed the waiter a ten. “Keep the change, and thank you.”

I still had plenty of time before I met Abby. I hurried to my car. I fished out some money to pay the parking fee, drove out of the lot, and headed uptown. Traffic wasn’t that bad, although there were a few times when I’m afraid I did some stupid things and got sworn at by other drivers, like not realizing the light at Julia had just turned red as I sailed through it. I made a ‘sorry’ face at the angry drivers who had to slam on their brakes in order not to plough into me.

I don’t think they appreciated it… maybe there
is
something to this bad driving reputation I have.

I got lucky for once— there was a parking spot right in front of my house. The parking situation on my street had gotten out of control. The Avenue Pub, up on the corner at St. Charles Avenue, had been discovered by college students and young professionals in the city. The end result was there was rarely anywhere to park. On Saints game days, I’d learned the hard way to not take my car anywhere or I’d wind up having to park down at Coliseum Square. I turned off the car and locked the doors. I heard a car slow down and turn off Prytania Street behind. I didn’t bother looking because my street is one of the only two-way streets in the neighborhood, so there’s always a lot of traffic on it,

I was in front of the vacant lot when I heard the car again.

It sounded like it was right behind me, so instinctively I turned to look.

It was heading right for me.

I froze.

I heard someone shout, and the next thing I knew I was being tackled and shoved out of the way.

My feet left the ground and I flew through the air. The car passed so close I could feel the hot air but all I saw was a black blur so close I could have touched it easily. There was a screech of tires and I could feel the hot exhaust tousle my hair.

And in a blink of an eye it was gone.

All my breath was knocked out of me when someone landed on me.

My head was throbbing as whoever it was on top of me got off. A male voice asked, “I’m so sorry— are you all right?”

I got up onto my knees. I’d landed in the dirt in the vacant lot between the parking lot for the law office next door, and the paved parking lot for the medical lab around the corner. I brushed myself off. My elbows were skinned and bloody and I was a complete mess. “I’m good,” I managed to gasp out.