Who Dat Whodunnit (14 page)

“We have to face the possibility.” He put his arm around me. “Maybe it would be better if—”

“Stop right there.” I cut him off. “Yes, there’s always a chance some lunatic terrorist or assassin or whatever might track you here. And yes, they might use Frank or me or Mom or Dad to get to you. That’s a risk we’re all willing to take.” I poked him in the chest. “We lost you once before, and none of us are willing to go through that again. Understood?”

His eyes welled up, and he looked away quickly. “I know, but—”

“No buts.”

“I have a lot of enemies, and there are a lot of people who would love nothing more than to put a bullet in me.”

“Exactly—who’d want to put a
bullet
in you.”

He put his key into the gate lock. “But run you down with a car? And a Honda, at that? That doesn’t say professional killer, at least not to me. It’s kind of amateurish, don’t you think? I mean, I can hardly imagine some international gang of terrorists deciding the best way to get rid of you is to run you over on a public street with a beat-up old Honda.” As we walked, the memory was slowly coming back to me. “There was a dent in the hood, and a crack in the windshield.”

He didn’t say anything else until we were inside the apartment. He helped me to the couch and placed a blanket over me, tucking it in around me. I bit my tongue. It was irritating, but if it made him feel better about going back out and leaving me, so be it. He got me some pain relievers and a glass of water. The pain had subsided to a dull throbbing. I gulped down the aspirin and the water. He sat down next to me. “Yeah, you’re right,” he finally said. “It does seem amateurish. But I’m still going to call Angela.”

“You’re not the only person with enemies, you know.” I nestled down under the blanket. “I’ve made a few myself.” I thought for a minute. “There’s those neo-Nazis who worked for Willy Perkins, remember? And I’m not exactly popular with the Pleshiwarian fundamentalists we helped thwart last year. Or those Russian mobsters.”

“True.” He got up. “I’ll call Angela—and Storm, let him know what’s going on.” He pulled his cell phone out and walked out of the room.

I closed my eyes and stretched out on the couch. It’s not pleasant to think someone wants to kill you—but when it’s reality you have no choice but to deal with it.

I was actually more concerned about the cryptic warning from the Goddess.

My relationship with the Goddess had become a little dysfunctional over the last few years—not that it had ever been normal. She’d first appeared to me during the Southern Decadence nightmare, when Woody Perkins and his band of neo-Nazis had plotted to destroy the French Quarter by blowing up the river levee. Before then, I’d primarily channeled my psychic gift by reading the Tarot cards. Sometimes She spoke to me through the cards, sometimes She just ignored me. During another case, She allowed me to communicate with the spirit of a dead man to help me get to the truth. But after the Mardi Gras case—when Frank and I thought Colin was a murderer, and She’d allowed me to go on thinking that—I turned my back on Her. Six months later Katrina came barreling in from the Gulf and She wouldn’t even speak to me through the cards. In my bitterness and anger over the city’s destruction, I was more than happy to be done with Her and the stupid gift once and for all. She’d come back during the Pleshiwarian case—along with Colin, who turned out not to be a killer after all—and our relationship had been a little contentious since then.

She never showed herself to me without a reason—and usually it was important. Something terrible was going to happen at the PAM rally and counter-protest this Saturday if we didn’t get to the bottom of the Bourgeois case before then.

I was about to reach for the cigar box I kept my Tarot deck in when Colin walked back with a grim look on his face. “Well, Angela’s going to put out some feelers—but she hadn’t heard anything.” He swallowed. “She’s worried it might have something to do with my last mission—we thought it was over, but maybe not.” I opened my mouth, but he held up his hand. “Angela thinks it very likely a professional would try to make it look like a simple accident. She’s going to send us some backup.”

“Great.” I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t be like that. She’s sending the Ninja Lesbians—you like them, don’t you?”

I’d met Rhoda and Lindy during the Pleshiwarian mess, and yes, I did like them. “I thought they worked for the Mossad.”

“The Mossad owes Angela a few favors, and they know the city—and you, Frank, and the rest of the family. I think it’s a good idea.”

I sighed. “If you say so.”

“We don’t know what we’re up against and it’s better to be safe than sorry. I also called Storm, to let him know what’s going on.” He winked. “I made sure to emphasize not saying anything to Mom and Dad.”

I blew out the breath I’d been holding in relief. Mom would have run every step of the way to my side, and would have been impossible to get rid of. Don’t get me wrong—it’s great having such a loving mom, but it can be a bit much sometimes.

When I’m fifty, I’ll still be her baby.

“Storm’s back at the police station—he’s going to head over here when he’s done there. They aren’t charging Jared, by the way.”

“Did you tell him about Jared’s alibi?”

“Since they aren’t charging him right now, I thought I’d let you have that pleasure when he gets here.” He grinned, dimples marking his cheeks. “And David’s on his way over. When he gets here, I’ll try to track down these other suspects. What time will Frank be back?”

“Probably not until around ten,” I replied, reaching under the couch and grabbing the cigar box. “I can do some background checking while you’re gone.”

He sighed. “I’d rather you just lie there and rest, but I suppose that’ll be okay.”

“I’ll use the laptop so I can stay on the couch,” I offered.

The gate buzzer rang, and Colin moved to the intercom. “Yeah?”

David’s voice came through the wall. “It’s me.” Colin hit the buzzer to unlock the gate. A few moments later there was a rap at the door. Colin leaned down and kissed me on the cheek before opening the door. I heard them murmuring to each other, and the door shut again.

“You look like hell,” David said with a big grin, sitting down in a reclining chair after removing his jacket. “I guess the gym’s out of the question today?”

“Cute.” I grinned back at him. David is one of the best friends anyone could ask for—particularly, as he liked to point out from time to time, since being my friend is dangerous. Thus far, he’s had his nose broken, his car totaled, and his house shot up. But he can always be counted on, any time I need him—and for pretty much anything.

Of course, one has to put up with his sarcasm and teasing.

He leaned back in his chair and pulled a joint out of his shirt pocket. He lit it and took a deep inhale. “Can you believe it’s open season on the anti-marriage crowd?” he said, blowing out the smoke and offering it to me. “Pity.”

I hesitated, remembering my promises to myself to not smoke so much. I did have to talk to the cards, apologize to the Goddess, and do background checks online…none of which, I realized, would be impeded by being a little buzzed.

I took the joint. “Just one,” I said, taking the hit.

“I can’t say I’m sorry someone killed that Bourgeois bitch,” he said, accepting the joint back. He took another hit before pinching it out and dropping it back in his pocket. “But Marina Werner, too? Now if only someone would shoot Peggy MacGillicudy, the world would surely be a better place.”

I stared at him. The pot was relaxing me, and at the same time opening my mind a bit.
Of course, Marina and Tara both have been killed—the two murders have to be related.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that two of the movers and shakers for the Protect American Marriage rally were now dead.

And both were killed within a twenty-four-hour period.

“You’re a genius,” I said slowly.

“Underappreciated most of the time, but yes, I am.” He grinned back at me. “So what happened to you? Colin said you were almost hit by a car.”

“Yeah, I hit my head.” I reached under the coach and got my deck of Tarot cards. I sat up and started shuffling. “I have a bit of a headache—had,” I corrected, realizing the combination of aspirin and pot had taken the pain away. “Speaking of which, what’s the deal with you and Jesse Santana?”

He started. “How do you know about that?”

I laughed and filled him in on Jared’s possible involvement with Tara’s murder—and Mom’s gun. “When we were at Domino’s, Jesse brought you up. Come on, spill.”

“He’s hot, don’t you think?” David leaned back in his chair with a blissful smile. “Definitely next husband material.”

As long as I’ve known David, he’s really wanted to be in a permanent relationship. He’s had a few false starts along the way—most notably being Carlos, this hot little Hispanic muscle boy who’d been transferred here right before Mardi Gras the year of Katrina. They’d gotten pretty serious, but that one-eyed bitch fucked that up. Carlos’s company transferred him to Los Angeles while New Orleans lay in ruins—and they hadn’t survived.

“I can’t believe you’re considering a bartender husband material,” I teased. “What have I always told you about dating the help?” It was my first rule for Gay Life—you can sleep with bar staff but never date them.

He made a face at me and gave me the finger with both hands. “I’ll have you know he has a master’s degree and is just taking a break before going back to Tulane for his Ph.D., fuck you very much.” He closed his eyes. “And that body…Christ on the cross. And he loves, loves, LOVES getting fucked—and he likes handcuff play, and—”

“Too much information, ew,” I interrupted. “You met him for the first time at Mom’s the other night?”

“Yeah. After the game was over we went bar-hopping and ended up at my place.” He gave me a grin. “Other than to get a change of clothes and going to work, he hasn’t left yet. And when he gets off work tonight, I’m going to see how he feels about being tied up.”

I gave him a sour look. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

But for David’s sake, I was glad Jesse’s story checked out.

I got the cards out of the cigar box and started shuffling. David watched as I spread them out in a Tree of Life reading and started flipping them over.

A mean-spirited woman who commits evil in the name of God.

The death of one led to the death of the other.

Danger for a loved one.

“So what do they say?” David asked. He was one of the few people outside the immediate family who knows about my gift.

I leaned back and looked over the cards again. No, I’d read them correctly. It was a very clear message, much clearer than usual. The Goddess had clearly forgiven me my flippancy.

Danger for a loved one
made me a little nervous. Which loved one?

I looked at David. I bit my lip. He could be trusted—he always helped with our cases without question. “I think you’re right, and the cards confirm it,” I said, explaining quickly the bare bones of the case.

When I finished, he stared at me. “Seriously? That douche bag Jared was dating both Dominique
and
Tara Bitch-wah?”

“But this”—I gestured at the cards—“this tells me the two murders are connected…which means—”

“You need to find someone with access to your mother’s gun, and who was connected to both women.”

“What if the connection was just trying to stop the rally?”

“Then you’d kill Peggy MacGillicudy—that would have put it to rest.”

“So, it’s likely she’s in danger.” I sighed. “I guess Storm’s going to have to let her know.”

“Talk about Sophie’s choice,” David replied.

The Hanged Man, Reversed

Preoccupation with matters of the self

After a few hours of watching reruns of some horrible reality show set on the beach in New Jersey (David kept going on about how hot the guys were—which was certainly true. Unfortunately, they insisted on talking, which dramatically reduced their hotness quotient and appeal), I told David to go ahead and head home. It was going to start raining again at any moment and the sun had already gone down. My head had stopped hurting and I wasn’t seeing double, so I figured I was out of the woods.

Besides, I wanted to get going on the background checks. It seemed rude to do them while he was there—since he was doing me a favor by making sure I didn’t die or go into a coma or something. Lying on the couch under a blanket doing nothing while Colin was out doing the legwork didn’t sit well with me.

I was also a little nervous about him walking around the Quarter alone. Intellectually, I knew it was dumb—if ever there was anyone who could take care of himself, it was Colin. His skill at just about everything never ceased to amaze me. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. He could fix a car engine and whip up a batch of the most delicious brownies you’d ever eat while engaging in a gun battle with a herd of bad guys—all of it without turning a hair or breaking a sweat.

Still, I couldn’t help but worry about him.

As soon as David left, I retrieved the laptop and sat back down on the couch. I went online, and with the list of party attendees sitting on the end table, I started digging up everyone’s past. It sounds a lot more interesting than it actually was. I was doing background stuff—employment histories, where they lived, credit checks, etc.—and creating dossiers on all of them. Once I had a “residence” history, then I checked local newspaper archives for mentions before broadening the search to any mentions of their names on the Internet.