G.T. Herren - Paige Tourneur 02 - Dead Housewives of New Orleans (9 page)

Someone, then, was home who hadn’t been when they stopped by.

Unfortunately, there was no way of checking whether there were cars in the driveway. There was a garage door in the back, built into the eight-foot brick wall that ran the length of the property behind the house. I knew on the other side of the garage door was an enormous parking area, and part of the dower house had been converted into a garage as well. The local PBS station had done a documentary about the architect who’d designed the Valence house and several others, and so I had a pretty good idea of the layout of the property.

I grabbed my umbrella and opened it as I got out of the car. I checked both ways before dashing across the street and stepping over the enormous curling roots of the live oak. There was an intercom buzzer right next to the gate, but to my surprise the gate itself was not completely closed. An alarm went off inside my head—
don’t go inside, this isn’t a good sign—
so I paused for a moment. The logical, rational thing to do here would be to ring the buzzer, and ignore the slightly open gate. I stood there, weighing options as the rain drummed down on my umbrella.

Okay, I’ll admit it— I’m not above trespassing. I’ll climb a fence if I have to and if I think I can get away with it. The open gate was incredibly tempting, but… I kept thinking about what I call Dumb Girl in the Movie syndrome. I always get annoyed at movies when Our Heroine, alone in a creepy house during a thunderstorm, hears a weird noise and goes up to the attic to see what it is. Hint: it’s never anything pleasant. I also get irritated when Sexy Young Woman in Negligée takes off running in the woods to escape the almost supernatural mass murderer, but doesn’t think to take off her stiletto heels.

I took a deep breath and pushed the gate. It swung open without making a sound, which made me feel a little better.

Besides,
I thought as I stepped inside,
this isn’t a movie. And it’s not like I haven’t done dumb things before. Sometimes more than once.

I swung the gate back in place, making sure it didn’t catch. It started raining even harder as I hurried up the short walk to the front steps and climbed to the front porch. The wooden steps and even the porch gave a little under my weight, as I crossed to the big front door. I pressed my index finger against the buzzer, but didn’t hear any sound inside.
Maybe the buzzer isn’t working,
I thought, so I rapped on the door frame a few times. But the house was huge, I couldn’t be sure my knocking could be heard upstairs or in the back of the house. There was nothing to do, I figured, but wait and see if someone came down. I pulled my cell phone out of my coat pocket and set the timer for three minutes.

Something seemed really off— I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly what it was, but I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Yes, because you’re psychic now,
I jeered at myself.
Go home and get out of this weather.

I paced back and forth on the porch, debating with myself. The shutters were closed— otherwise I am ashamed to say I would have had no problem with pressing my face right to the glass to look inside. A car drove by slowly— the Garden District employs its own security— but I guess I didn’t look scary enough to inspire them to stop. I watched them turn the corner, though, and waved as they headed down Coliseum Street. I pressed the buzzer again and when my phone started vibrating in my pocket, I debated whether or not to just go back home and wait for my appointment with Margery, or wander around the house, see if anyone was home and just couldn’t hear me knocking.

Great idea, Paige, just wander around the house in the rain.

I’d just decided to go home when I heard a sound— a loud bang— from the back of the house.

Probably a loose shutter. No big deal.

Go home or check it out, just to be on the safe side?

Naturally, snooping won hands down.

I waited a little while longer— at least another twenty seconds— to see if anyone came to the door. When no one did, I went back down the front steps and followed the brick path along the side of the house. The path was under about an inch of water and I splashed my way along. Besides the live oak, there were several enormous bushes running along the front fence, elephant ears and mimosas and lilacs interspersed with towering bamboo stalks and banana trees. The growth was so dense that the entire yard was shielded from the sidewalk and the road— no one could see in. There was a large gazebo in one corner of the yard, and a hammock lazily stretched between two enormous live oaks. As I walked alongside the house, I could see there was an enormous carriage house in the back, behind a big rectangular swimming pool. One of the shutters on the carriage house windows was swinging.

That was what you heard
, I chided myself,
now turn around and get out of here before you’re arrested for trespassing—

I caught my breath.

There was something— someone— lying on the pavement alongside the pool.

My heart started beating faster as I splashed through the water on the bricks, that horrible feeling of numbness starting to take control of my brain. As I got closer, I could see that it was a woman’s body— a woman with long braids.

I screamed.

There was a side porch running alongside the back of the house, and I climbed up onto it as my shaking hands tried to retrieve my phone from my coat pocket. My teeth were chattering and my hands shaking so badly I couldn’t seem to grip properly, but finally I managed to get the phone out and touched the screen to activate it.

My hands were so out of control, I kept hitting wrong numbers trying to call 911. I finally managed to get the right numbers entered and was about to tap the ‘call’ button when someone grabbed my arm from behind.

I screamed, spinning around so quickly my phone flew out of my hands and into the bushes alongside the porch. I slipped and teetered for a moment, but I knew, in my frightened and horrified state, that I was going to go over backwards and down the steps just before it happened. My head hit the pavement and everything went dark.

When consciousness slowly began to return, I was aware of a snapping and popping sound that took me a few moments to recognize as the sound of a fire— and to feel the heat from it. I opened my eyes to see that I was sitting in a wingback chair, wrapped in a dark red woolen blanket. My raincoat was stretched out on the brick floor in front of the fire, and I could see my boots sitting next to it. My head felt like it was about ready to explode, and moving it sent a pain shooting through me so intense I caught my breath and closed my eyes again. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes and looked around as much as I could without moving my head. The only light was coming from the fireplace, so I couldn’t tell much about the room other than the walls were a dirty-looking beige color. There were some photographs in gold frames sitting on the mantelpiece, but I couldn’t get a good glimpse of the people in them. There was a huge, gilt-framed mirror mounted on the wall above the fireplace, but it was dusty and grimy looking. The room smelled musty and moldy, almost like rotting wood. The floor was hard wood, but it, too, was covered in dust. I looked up toward the ceiling— as much as I could without moving my head— and I could see dust and dirt on the walls near the ceiling, and cobwebs in the corners. There was also an enormous water spot on the ceiling.

“Oh, good, you’ve come to,” a male voice said softly. I heard footsteps approaching.

I winced as I turned my head. It was Remy Valence. His face was pale, and he held out a delicate china cup and saucer with steam rising from it. “I made you some tea. You gave me quite a fright, falling like that.” He handed me the cup and sat down on an ottoman. His eyes were reddened and swollen. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice broke, but he got himself back under control. “And Chloe— the police and an ambulance are on their way.”

I took a sip of the tea. It was good and strong. I took a couple of breaths. “Chloe— she’s dead?”

He wiped at his eyes and looked away from me. “I’m afraid so. I— I—” His voice broke, and he covered his face in his hands.

As much as I doubted their marriage was genuine, I could see he genuinely cared for her. At least, it didn’t seem like an act.

“Who would do such a thing?” Remy went on, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “Chloe was such a good person. Everyone loved her.”

Let’s not go overboard,
I thought as I took another sip from the tea. I finished it, and put the cup and saucer down on the side table. “Remy, where have you been all day?”

He put his hands down. His cheeks were wet, and a tear was dangling from the side of his chin. “Me? I just got home. I was away. I went to our place in Destin for a few days.”

Damn, my head hurt.
“Wait— you were out of town? You weren’t at the premiere last night?”

He nodded. “Chloe insisted— she didn’t want me to see the show until she had seen it.” He gave me a rueful look. “They don’t let the women see it before the audience does— they have to watch it with everyone else.”

“Why didn’t she want you to see it?”

He made a face. “There have been some issues with things that have been said during filming. Allegations about me.” His face turned red in the firelight. “And allegations about Chloe… slanderous things so awful we had to get our lawyers involved.” Once again, he covered his face with his hands. “I told her not to do this show. I begged her, but she really thought it would be a big help to her writing career, and I wanted to be supportive.”

I was glad he wasn’t looking at me— can only imagine what my facial expression must have looked like when he said
her writing career.

“But those other women on the show! Those vulgar, nasty, vicious bitches!” He dropped his hands and his face twisted. “They were all so jealous of Chloe, you know. Especially that Fidelis Vandiver bitch.” He spat the words out. “West Bank trash is all she was. I don’t care who she slept with to get that stupid fitness show, or who her sugar daddies were— the way she always went after Chloe! And me!”

“Fidelis is dead,” I said. “Someone killed her last night.”

He stared at me, uncomprehending. His mouth opened and closed a few times. “My God.” He finally gasped the words out. “My God. What the hell is going on around here?” He got up and walked over to the fireplace, standing there for a moment, staring into the flames.

“I heard that Chloe was suing Margery Lautenschlaeger,” I went on, wincing as another pain shot through my head. “What was that about?”

He didn’t turn back to me, and took so long to answer I was almost ready to ask the question again when he said softly, “Margery said I was gay on camera. I don’t know why, but she and Chloe were arguing at a dinner party they were filming, and Margery said something along the lines of, ‘what do you know, you married a gay man’ and of course Chloe stormed out of there. She came home and we called the lawyers.”

If you have something to hide, the last thing you should do is go on a reality show,
I thought,
even if it is mostly scripted. Things have a way of coming out on camera.

“So our lawyers sent her a cease and desist letter, telling her she couldn’t talk about us any more, and of course our lawyers and the network’s lawyers are fighting it out,” He rested his head on the mantelpiece. “We wanted them to guarantee they wouldn’t air that scene with Margery’s slanders, but the network is claiming that Chloe agreed to let anything filmed be aired when she signed her contract.” He shook his head. “I could strangle that old bitch myself.”

I really didn’t see what the problem was. His mother was long dead, and according to everything I’d heard, she was the only reason he’d never come out of the closet in the first place. And in order to prove she hadn’t slandered him, all Margery’s— or the network’s— lawyers had to do was put men he’d slept with on the stand.

Hell,
Chanse
had slept with him. He’d said so at their wedding.

He turned back to me, and his face was sad. “I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do without Chloe.” A strange look came over his face. “What were you doing in the back yard, anyway?”

“I came by to talk to Chloe,.” I forced a smile on my face. “I’m doing a story on the show for
Crescent City
magazine— my name is Paige Tourneur, I’m the editor there, I used to work with Chloe at the paper. I was at your wedding, do you remember?”

He scowled. “Sorry, I didn’t know all of Chloe’s friends at the paper. And anyway, the lawyers wouldn’t have let her talk to anyone in the media without being present. But that still doesn’t explain what you were doing in our back yard.”

“No one answered the doorbell— I don’t think your doorbell is working.”

“It was disconnected— there was no point in having a working doorbell when people had to ring at the gate to get in. How did you get in through the gate?”

“It was open, so I just walked up to the front door. Like I said, I rang the buzzer and knocked, but no one came. I was just about to leave when I heard a banging sound in the back yard, so I walked around to make sure everything was okay. One of the shutters on the carriage house was loose, I guess, and then I saw Chloe…” I let my voice trail off and closed my eyes, shuddering.
.

I looked back at Remy. I took a deep breath “When I saw Chloe by the pool— I screamed and ran up onto the porch. I was about to call 911 and then when you came out, you scared me and I slipped and fell…” I touched my forehead. “I guess I hit my head. Did you carry me in?”

He nodded, but before he could say anything, there was a loud pounding noise from what I assumed was the front of the house. “That must be the police.” He walked out of the room without another word.

I took a deep breath, and tried to stand up. I got dizzy, and had to hold on to the chair for a moment to keep my balance. But my head cleared and I slowly walked over to the door he’d just gone through. There was a long hallway that led to the front of the house. I could see the side porch through the windows, and just beyond that the swimming pool—