Who Dat Whodunnit (18 page)

“So how did—”

“The next morning I went over to her house.” Emily went on like I hadn’t said anything. “I was just going to get my stuff, you know, and leave her a note. Imagine my surprise to find her there! She hadn’t left town—I don’t know why I thought that wasn’t a lie, but it was, I’m so stupid—she couldn’t see me all week because
she was going to be too busy with her fucking rally.
” She gulped. “She was shocked to see me, of course, and we had a horrible argument. And of course, I had the stupid gun in my bag. I got so mad I took it out and shook it at her. She tried to take it from me and it went off!”

“Well,” Colin said, “it was an accident, Emily, you didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t
kill
her.” She looked at him as though he were insane. “The bullet went into the mirror over the couch and broke it. I think we were both so shocked we just stood there for a minute…and all I wanted to do was get out of there, so I turned and ran out the front door, jumped in my car, and headed home.” She sighed. “It wasn’t until later that I realized I didn’t have the gun—I must have dropped it in her house. I didn’t know what to do. What if she pressed charges? What if she had me arrested? I didn’t know what to do, guys, I thought I was going to lose my mind. I didn’t know if I should call her, I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off. “And then yesterday you came down here asking all those questions about the gun. I’m sorry I lied to you—but when you said the gun had been used to kill Tara Bourgeois…”

I closed my eyes and replayed our conversation. “You thought I was asking because you’d taken the gun to Marina’s.”

She nodded. “And when you said it had been used to kill Tara, I didn’t know what to think, other than somehow Marina had done it. I—I didn’t know what to do.” She grabbed my hands. “Scotty, I didn’t kill Marina. I didn’t kill Tara. I know it looks bad, but I never intended to kill Marina. I’d forgotten I even had the stupid gun, and then…oh God, I’ve made such a mess out of things.”

The bell over the front door rang, and we all turned.

It was Venus Casanova and Blaine Tujague, homicide detectives with the NOPD.

“Emily Hunter?” Venus asked as they walked toward the table.

“Yes?” Emily replied, standing up.

“We need you to come down to the precinct and answer some questions.” She nodded at Colin and me. “Colin, Scotty.”

Emily gave me a terrified look. “Scotty?”

“Don’t worry.” I already had my cell phone out and was dialing Storm. “I’ll have Storm meet you there. Don’t say a word until he gets there, okay?”

Five of Wands

Strife, legal troubles

“Right now, she’s pretty screwed,” Storm said with a sigh. “One of the neighbors heard a shot and saw Emily leaving—got her license plate number.”

“And didn’t call the police?” Mom asked. “Who hears a gunshot and doesn’t call the cops?” She rolled her eyes.

We were gathered around one of the bigger tables in the Devil’s Weed. Mom and Dad both looked tired—I’d run upstairs and woken them up hours before they usually got up. Despite the copious amounts of coffee they’d downed since then, they were still tired and grumpy. Once Storm arrived from the police station, they’d closed the shop.

“It was
Kenner
, Mom. She thought it was a car backfiring. People out there aren’t as familiar with gunfire as we are here in the city,” Storm answered. He shrugged. “Hard as it is to believe, most people wouldn’t recognize an actual gunshot if they heard one—they think it sounds like it does on television or in movies. It wasn’t until the police came snooping around that she remembered.”

“But she made a note of Emily’s license plate?” Dad frowned. “Why would you do that?”

Storm rolled his eyes. “She’s part of the neighborhood watch group.” He shrugged. “And no, the irony that she couldn’t recognize the sound of a gunshot didn’t escape me.”

“But she only heard the one shot?” I asked. “She didn’t hear another one?”

“Shortly after Emily left, she ran her morning errands.” He shook his head. “Like I said, Emily’s really screwed. But at least they found the bullet she admits to firing. Anyway, the bail hearing will most likely not happen until later today.”

“We’ll post her bail,” Dad said without a moment’s hesitation. “No matter how much it is, we’re good for it.”

“This is all my fault.” Mom slammed her fist down on the table, making our coffee mugs jump. Coffee sloshed onto the table. She ran her hands over her head. “If I’d just kept the damned gun locked up like I should have, she couldn’t have taken it. And maybe both those women would be alive. How could I be so irresponsible?”

“It’s not your fault, Mom,” Colin replied. “How were you supposed to know someone would take your gun? And use it?”

I shivered. “I don’t like the idea you can’t trust people who come into your home. Besides, the whole point of
having
a gun in the house is to protect yourself. It’s not like a burglar is going to just sit around waiting for you to unlock your gun case.”

“I suppose.” Mom didn’t look mollified. “It’s just so unlike Emily. I mean, she
hates
guns, absolutely hates them.”

“I can’t imagine how she must have felt.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I could have bitten my tongue off. I glanced over at Colin, who just gave me a sad smile.

Of course I knew exactly how she’d felt.

During the last Mardi Gras before the levees failed, we’d gotten involved in a murder investigation so complicated and involved I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. At its conclusion, we’d all been led to believe Colin was the mastermind behind a massive criminal conspiracy that spanned several continents and left behind a stack of bodies. We’d eventually discovered he was innocent—several years later.

So, yes, I could relate to how Emily must have felt Sunday night when she found out the truth about Marina Werner.

“I am sick to death of these self-righteous homophobes turning out to be self-loathing closet cases,” Mom said angrily.

“The good news is they’re only charging her with Marina’s murder. But you can bet your ass they’re going to try to pin Tara’s on her, too.” Storm finished his coffee. “Her alibi is pretty solid, but they’re going to try to poke holes in it.” His face got grim. “I’m not worried—I’m pretty sure I can get the charges dismissed once the bail is set.”

Fortunately for Emily, she’d been rehearsing with Huck Finn until around one in the morning, after which they’d gone to the Clover Grill for something to eat before hitting the pub for drinks until around four in the morning. All three of her band mates were willing to say so in court.

“The best-case scenario, in my opinion, would be if they did charge Emily with Tara’s murder,” he went on, his eyebrows coming together. “Two murders committed with the same gun in less than twenty-four hours, but they only try her for one because she’s got a solid alibi for the other? The district attorney would be
insane
to proceed in that case.” He got a smug look on his face. “I’d have the jury so confused they’d never convict.”

“The best-case scenario would be for us to find the real killer,” I replied. I glanced at Colin, and he gave me a slight nod. “Did any of you know that Lurleen Rutledge was Marina Werner’s mother?”

“What?” Mom spluttered, her eyes bulging. “Are you serious?”

I nodded. “It’s true. Lurleen was Dick Werner’s first wife.”

“I can’t believe it—she was married to that monster? You think you know someone—I’ve known Lurleen for, what? Fifteen, twenty years, maybe? I thought Philip was her only husband. And she never told me she had children—never mentioned it.” Mom turned to Dad. “Did you know, dear?”

Dad shook his head. “She never said anything about it to me.”

“Well, she was at the party Sunday night.” I leaned on the table. “I’d say she’s probably the only person there besides Emily who knew Marina—and where she lived.”

“How could any mother kill their child?” Mom replied, looking back and forth between Storm and me. “It’s so unnatural.”

“Unfortunately, it happens every day—not every mother has your maternal instinct, Mom.” Colin got up and took a bottle of water from the refrigerator next to the espresso machine. “Do you mind giving Lurleen a call, Mom? We’ve rung her buzzer a few times, but she doesn’t answer.”

“She might not want to see anyone—I know I’d want to be left alone if one of my children—I can’t even say it.” She shuddered and clasped my hand. She pulled her cell phone out and hesitated. “You know, it might be a better idea to call Cara, her assistant—if Lurleen is grieving…”

“That makes sense.” Colin turned his chair around and straddled it.

Mom scrolled through her address book and placed the call, putting the phone up to her ear. “Cara? Hi, it’s Cecile Bradley, how are you doing, dear?” She winked at me. “Yes, I know, it’s terrible, that’s why I’m calling…how is Lurleen doing? Uh-huh, yes, I can imagine. Is there anything I can do? No, I insist, it isn’t any trouble.” She glanced over at the pastry cabinet. “We’ve got a wonderful crumb coffee cake with raspberry in…I’m sure Lurleen will love it, I ordered it with her in mind…no, seriously, it’s no trouble…I can’t get away from the shop right now, but I can send Scotty over with it in a few minutes…yes, he’s right here and he doesn’t mind at all.” She gave me another wink and a thumbs-up. “All right, I’ll send him right over. And please, if you can think of anything…and please let Lurleen know all she has to do is call. All right, darling.” She disconnected the call and made a face. “For the record, I hated doing that. But if it’ll help Emily…” She stood up with a sigh. “Let me wrap the crumb cake up.”

A few minutes later, Colin and I were walking across the street with the boxed cake. It had started raining again. Colin held an enormous umbrella over both of us, but my pants still got soaked before we got under the cover of the balcony on the opposite corner.

Lurleen Rutledge had a huge apartment on the third floor of the building directly across Dumaine Street from the Devil’s Weed. Mom once joked that her glassed-in balcony gave Lurleen a gorgeous view into Mom and Dad’s apartment. I’d never actually been inside Lurleen’s place, but it had been featured once in
Crescent City
magazine. It was gorgeous, and had been exquisitely decorated by one of the top interior decorators in the city. It was a little overdone for my taste, but I didn’t have to live there, either.

We rang the buzzer, and were rewarded with an answering buzz as the steel front door unlocked. I winked at Colin as we walked into the large entry way. The floor was black and white parquet marble, and a hanging staircase stood opposite a door that must lead into the jewelry shop on the first floor. The stairs were polished and gleamed in the light from a massive chandelier. We walked up the steep stairs to the second floor landing. There was a black wood table with an enormous flower arrangement next to a door with a 2 on it, and a huge window at the opposite end looking onto Royal Street. There was another hanging staircase directly over the one we just came up. We walked around and started up the second set of stairs.

“How on earth do people get furniture into these places?” Colin asked when we were about half the way up.

I laughed. “They pay people to do it for them.”

“Of course they do,” Colin sighed as we got to the top. This landing was the duplicate of the one below, down to the flower arrangement. There was another flight of stairs to the fourth floor, but the door marked 3 was slightly ajar. I walked over and knocked—which made the door swing open.

“Hello?” I called softly, stepping inside. “It’s Scotty, delivering the coffee cake. Hello?”

The room just inside the door was a dining room. The walls were painted a deep emerald green. The floor was hard wood polished and buffed so that it shone in the light cast by a large chandelier. A dark mahogany dining table was centered directly under the chandelier. A white lace tablecloth ran lengthwise down the center of the table. A golden bowl with apples and pears sat in the middle, with golden candlesticks holding long white tapers on either side. There was a matching sideboard against the opposite wall. A golden candelabra stood in its center with three lit white tapers dribbling wax mounted in it. Off to our right was a large doorway leading into the darkened living room. A figure was sitting on a white leather sofa, dressed entirely in black.

I assumed it was Lurleen—but I wasn’t really sure what to do next.

I heard Colin softly shut the door behind us and was about to ask him what we should do when a door on the left popped open. Cara White, also dressed completely in black, waved us toward her with a warning glance into the living room. Careful not to make a sound, we crossed the dining room and went through the kitchen door.

The kitchen was enormous. There was a double sink, marble top counters, and dark wood cabinets running all the way to the high ceiling. In the center was an island with a surface that looked like it was made out of cutting board. Stainless steel refrigerators took up the entire left wall, and there was a huge stove along the wall it shared with the dining room. A complicated-looking coffee machine took up most of the counter on the right wall, and there was a door at the end of that counter. It was open, and I could see a small sitting room just beyond.

Cara White was a small woman. She couldn’t have been five feet tall or weighed more than ninety pounds. She was almost birdlike in her movements, with almost child-sized hands. She wore her light brown hair cut in a short bob, and gold-rimmed glasses perched on her long nose. Her lips were thin and her chin pointed. She wasn’t wearing make-up on her pale skin, and three moles ran in almost a straight line down the left side of her face. She could have been any age from thirty-five to fifty. She took the box from me, placed it on the center island, and untied the string. “Would you like some coffee, Scotty? I just made a fresh pot.” She gave a weak smile to Colin, holding out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Cara White, Mrs. Rutledge’s assistant.”