Who Dat Whodunnit (11 page)

“It’s been more than a few months—he’s been gone since August,” I reminded him, checking both ways.

“Well, your bedroom gymnastics can wait another few hours,” he replied. “This is more important.”

Easy for you to say
,
I thought. Aloud I said, “Are you completely convinced Jared didn’t do it?” I stepped up onto the curb in time to avoid being mowed down by a United cab.

Storm whistled. “Scotty, I know you and Jared have never gotten along, but given the time frame, there’s no way he could have gotten the gun. And besides, during the party, he was kind of playing in the championship game? Against the Vikings?”

“Warming the bench, you mean.”

“In front of eighty thousand fans and a television audience of millions.”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted, bro,” I replied. “Someone could have gotten it for him.”

“Why would he need to get Mom’s gun, though, Scotty? He has access to Papa Bradley’s arsenal, not to mention Uncle Skipper’s—and he undoubtedly has guns of his own.” Storm clicked his tongue. “But no, Jared’s not completely in the clear on this. I wish he had a better alibi than ‘I was alone in my apartment all night.’ And a word of friendly advice from your older brother, Scotty? Let go of the childhood grudges. I know Jared was a total shit when he was a kid, but we’ve all grown up since then.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean—I was a really good kid.”

He laughed so loud and hard I had to switch my phone to the other ear again. “Please. You were a spoiled little monster—you were just as bad as Jared, if not worse.”

“Whatever. Talk to you later.” I clicked the phone off and shoved it back into my coat pocket.

But as I hurried down Royal Street, much as I hated to admit it, I knew Storm was probably right. Jared wasn’t the same spoiled, annoying child who seemed determined to make my life miserable when we were kids. He had his degree from Southern Mississippi—which was more than I could say—and not only played for the Saints but in the off-season ran a foundation to help underprivileged kids—and there was no shortage of those in New Orleans. He’d always been perfectly pleasant to me on the rare occasions we ran into each other—usually at family gatherings at Papa Bradley’s.

But he knows I’m gay and knew Frank and I would both be there last night—and he brought that homophobic bitch anyway. Why would he do that? Could he have really thought it wouldn’t bother us?

But he came to you when he needed help.

I bit my lower lip and turned the corner at Barracks.
Get over it, Scotty—he’s not only your cousin but he’s now your client. He didn’t kill Tara. Presumption of innocence—and give him the benefit of the doubt.

Another blast of wind almost knocked me over when I turned the corner at Decatur. From my coat pocket came the sound of cathedral bells—my notification I had a new text message. I pulled my phone out as I got to the iron gate of my building and grinned as I slid my key in the lock.

I’m home and naked. Where are you?

I laughed out loud and pulled the gate closed behind me. I ran down the narrow passageway to the back courtyard and up the back steps. I was just about to put my key in the lock to our apartment door when the door swung open and I was yanked inside. Colin spun me around and kicked the door shut behind him with his foot, pulling me into an intense bear hug.

He wasn’t lying—he was naked and
really
glad to see me.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” I said an hour later. We were still in bed, but just lying there under the blankets with our bodies entwined. “And in one piece.”

He nuzzled my neck. “You have no idea how glad I am to be back. In one piece.” He stroked my chest with his right hand. “I think about you and Frank every night I’m away, you know.”

I grabbed hold of his hand and brought it to my lips. “We worry about you. We all do.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be—you’re part of the family.” I laughed. “And pity poor Angela Blackledge if anything ever happens to you. Mom will hunt her down like a rabid dog.”

Colin laughed. “She would, too. So, what’s this new case?”

I sat up, pushing a pillow behind me to support my back as I explained. Colin’s an excellent listener—part of his super-spy training, no doubt—and he didn’t interrupt me until I finished.

“Tara Bourgeois, huh?” He ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened curls. “I can’t say I’m sorry she’s gone. How many people have been gay-bashed because of the hateful things she’s said over the last year? She’s done a lot of damage in the name of her ‘faith.’” His eyes flashed. “It always amazes me how many people claim to be ‘Christian’ but everything they do or say denies Christ’s teaching. I’m a Jew, and I know more about Jesus than she did.”

“She was a miserable human being, but my cousin didn’t kill her.” Reluctantly, I got out of bed. “And I promised Storm I’d get started on talking to the people who were at the party—he told me not to indulge in bedroom gymnastics with you until we’d talked to everyone on the list.”

Colin made a guilty face. “Uh-oh. We’re bad boys.” He rolled off the bed. “We’d better get moving.”

Three of Cups, Reversed

Pleasure turns to pain

It took me a little less than fifteen minutes to get the addresses and phone numbers of Mom and Dad’s football party guest list off the Internet. I cut and pasted them all into a Word document and printed it out. “What do you think, Colin?” I asked. He was looking over my shoulder. “Storm thinks we should split up—that way we can get through the list faster—and we’ll be a couple of steps ahead of the cops.”

He frowned as he slid his jacket on. “Interrogations are always better with two people,” he replied. “One person asks questions, the other observes the reactions of the person being questioned—and it’s always a good idea to have another perspective. I might think of questions or pick up on something you miss—and vice versa.”

I didn’t argue the point with him. For one thing, he’s got a hell of a lot more experience interrogating suspects than I do. For another, I hadn’t seen him in almost five months and didn’t want to let him out of my sight for a while.

Storm could just get over himself.

“Okay then,” I said, shutting down the computer. “Domino’s is the closest place—and Jesse should be working. We can interview him and Dominique both—she lives on the top floor of the club. Well,” I amended, “she used to. I’m not sure if she still does.”

“Before the flood?” Colin asked.

I shut and locked the door behind me. I nodded as I started down the stairs, shivering. The temperature must have dropped at least ten degrees since I’d gotten home, and the air was getting heavier. I said, “You can deal with Storm, by the way. I’m not in the mood to listen to his bitching—and not splitting up was your idea.”

“Coward. We’re ahead of the police anyway,” he said as we walked through the gate. A blast of cold wind almost knocked us both sideways. “Fuck me, it’s
cold.
” He turned up the collar of his black trench coat and pulled his wool cap down over his ears. He grinned at me. “I always forget how cold it gets here.”

I didn’t answer as I wrapped my Saints muffler around my face until all that could be seen were my eyes. “It’s been colder than usual this winter,” I replied. “Everyone’s joking that hell’s frozen over.”

He gave me a puzzled look as we started walking up the sidewalk. “Why?”

“The Saints are in the Super Bowl, dumbass,” I replied with a laugh. “Granted, you’ve been out of the country for a while, but didn’t you notice on your way into town from the airport? The flags on all the cars? Every one in jerseys or Who Dat shirts?”

“No—I was kind of tired from my flight and wasn’t paying any attention. Seriously?” He shook his head. “The Saints are in the Super Bowl?” he asked, his eyes getting wide. He threw his head back and let out a whoop so loud other pedestrians stopped and stared. He threw his arms around me and picked me up, spinning me around until I was getting dizzy. Finally, when I thought I was going to puke, he set me down. He blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I missed the whole damned season. The Saints are
really
in the Super Bowl?”

“I didn’t know you were such a big fan,” I said, weaving a little as we started walking again.

He just laughed. “I love everything New Orleans, Scotty.” He put his arm around my shoulders. “Was that the point of the party at Papa Bradley’s?” He made a face. “Of course it was—it was in Jared’s honor, right? And so the party on Sunday night at Mom and Dad’s—it was to watch the Saints game?” He whistled. “I can only imagine what it must have been like in the Quarter that night.”

“The whole city,” I said as we turned up Barracks Street. The buildings sheltered us somewhat from the wind, but it was still cold. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It was the most exciting game ever, Colin. They’re ahead, we’re ahead, back and forth all night long—we were all screaming and hollering! It was like being on a roller coaster emotionally, up and down, up and down, and then it went to overtime—and when Garrett Hartley made the field goal that won the game, the whole city literally shook…everyone was jumping up and down and screaming and crying.” Just thinking about it made me tear up again. “It was so fucking awesome.” I wiped at my eyes. “The party lasted pretty much all night—impromptu second lines, everyone screaming ‘who dat’ all night—it was like every Mardi Gras rolled into one. Papa Diderot said it was like V-E Day, but bigger.” I grinned. “I’d marry Garrett Hartley in a heartbeat. He’s the cutest thing.”

“Oh, man, I wish I’d been here.” Colin sighed. “So who are we playing in the Super Bowl?”

“The Colts.” I let out a delighted laugh. “So we really can’t lose. I mean, it would be great if we did win, but even if we don’t—well, Peyton Manning is from New Orleans. And his dad Archie played for the Saints for years, so the Mannings kind of belong to us anyway.” I was bouncing as I walked. “And really—just
making
it to the Super Bowl is kind of enough for me—winning would just be icing.”

“Awesome.” He grinned at me as we reached the corner at Royal. “Damn, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Domino’s was on the 700 block of Bourbon, between Orleans and St. Ann, across the street from the Bourbon Orleans Hotel. The sign, a big domino showing the 2 and 1 dots, was swinging back and forth in the bitterly cold wind below a huge Saints flag. We ducked our heads and walked faster.

The front doors were wide open, but just beyond that an iron gate was shut. We detoured into a huge room to the left. The walls were painted a deep burgundy, and several red couches were scattered around, with low tables placed in front of them. Against the far wall was the bar, with a huge mirror on the wall with bottles of liquor lined up on shelves. There were bar stools placed neatly equidistant from each other along the bar. Another big iron gate was closed on the wall opposite the street but I could see tables and chairs set up in front of a large stage. There were no customers in the place.

A bartender wearing the domino pattern on his shirt was polishing glasses behind the bar when we walked in. As we got closer, he looked up and smiled. I recognized him from the party. “Scotty, right?” he asked as we sat down on bar stools. “We met Sunday night. I’m Jesse.”

My memory of him from the party was pretty blurry, and I made yet another mental note to stop smoking so much pot. Jesse Santana was a very good-looking guy. He looked to be about in his mid-twenties, with dark black hair he wore in a ponytail. His skin was dark and his eyes a rich dark brown. He was broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted. “I remember you,” I replied, shaking his hand. “This is my friend, Colin.”

“Ah, the one who was out of town.” I started a bit as he shook Colin’s hand. I didn’t remember talking to Jesse much, let alone telling him about Colin. Maybe he’d talked to Frank. “Too bad, man, you missed out on a great night.”

“That’s what I hear.” Colin smiled back at him.

“What can I get you guys?”

“Coffee,” Colin and I said at the same time. We looked at each other and laughed.

“It’s cold out there,” Jesse commiserated. “I just made a fresh pot.” He shook his head as he put two glass coffee mugs on the counter. He turned and retrieved a full pot from a burner, filling our mugs before putting it back. “Cream? Sugar?”

After stirring the cream and Sweet’n Low into my coffee, I took a sip. It was good—most bar coffee was awful, and I said so.

Jesse shrugged. “I like coffee, so I make it good. What brings you guys out on such a cold day? Man, if I didn’t have to work I’d have just stayed in bed.”

I pulled a business card out of my wallet and slid it across the bar. Jesse picked it up and did a double take. “We came here because we need to ask you a few questions, Jesse, and since you’re not busy…” I let my voice trail off.

“Detectives, wow.” Jesse poured himself some coffee and took a sip. “I’ve never met a real private eye before.” He winked. “Sure, go ahead. Ask some questions.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the cooler.

“Something was taken from the Bradleys’ apartment on Sunday night, most likely during the party,” Colin said smoothly, taking the lead. “So, we’re talking to everyone who was there that night.”