Murder in the Rue Ursulines

Chapter One

“Chanse MacLeod to see Loren McKeithen,” I said to the pretty woman at the reception table. She looked to be in her late thirties, and of mixed racial heritage, her skin the color of a delicately mixed café-au-lait, her hair copper-colored. She gave me a wide smile. There was a wedding ring on her left hand, and a diamond tennis bracelet on her right wrist. Her nails were done in a French manicure. On her forehead was a smudged cross made of gray ash. I was tempted to ask what she’d given up for Lent, but decided against it.

“Have a seat, and I’ll let him know you’re here.” She gave me a smile, picking up her phone. “It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

I nodded and took a seat in an overstuffed leather chair, picking up an issue of Crescent City magazine and idly paging through it. I was tired, probably way too tired to be taking on a new job. The aspirin I’d taken hadn’t kicked in yet, either. Every muscle in my body ached. I’d planned on spending my entire Ash Wednesday in bed, or lazing around my apartment, recovering from the overindulgence of the last five days. But Loren was a good guy, and threw me some work every now and then. So, I’d roused myself out of my post-Mardi Gras stupor and come to his office.

Besides, it never hurts to have a prominent attorney in your debt. You never know when you’re going to need one.

“Mr. McKeithen is waiting for you in his office,” The receptionist said, nodding her head to the left. “Just down that hallway, the last door on the right.” She set her phone back down into its cradle and turned to her computer screen.

I thanked her and walked down the hallway. Loren was sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, a phone cradled between his shoulder and ear. He waved me in, motioning for me to shut the door. “All right, well, my eleven o’clock is here, so let me review the paperwork and I will call you first thing in the morning…okay. You, too.” He slid the phone back into its receiver, and walked around his desk to shake my hand.

Loren was short, about five-seven and thickly built, his stomach protruding over the waistband of his slacks. His shiny skin was the color of toffee, his face round, and his cheeks chubby. His gray silk suit screamed expensive at the top of its lungs. His tie was black with golden fleur-de-lis scattered over it. Like the receptionist, he had the ashy smudge of a cross on his forehead. “How have you been?” he asked, giving me a broad smile.

“Good.” I took the seat he offered me, and declined coffee or anything else to drink. He went back around his desk and sat down. “I can’t complain.” I laughed. “Well, I can always complain about something, but overall, things are good. And you?”

“The usual.” He shook his head. “You look good, Chanse. You’re taking care of yourself, that’s great.” He looked down and pondered the expanse of his stomach. “One of these days I need to get my fat ass back into the gym.” He patted it and rolled his eyes. “I’m giving up liquor for Lent.”

“That’s good,” I replied, and couldn’t resist adding, “I think.”

“Well, we’ll see how it goes.” He barked out a short laugh. “But you’re supposed to give up something you’ll miss, right? What are you giving up?”

I grinned at him. “Catholicism.” It was my standard answer.

He rewarded me with another laugh. and chattered on, the usual small talk about Mardi Gras and the usual complaints about the slow recovery of the city and the requisite bitching about the uselessness of the federal government. Loren was a self-described ‘yellow dog Democrat.’ I knew he was very active politically, and often went up to Baton Rouge to lobby for gay rights at the capital. I waited for him to get to the point, nodding or politely responding when it was called for. Finally, he looked at me over the top of his glasses. “Chanse, is your time your own right now?”

I crossed my legs, keeping my face impassive. “In three weeks, I have to take a business trip, and then I’ll be out of town for several weeks. For now, though, I am free and clear.”

“Excellent.” He beamed at me again. He cleared his throat. “I represent someone who has some work for you, but you have to be completely at their disposal. It shouldn’t take more than three or four days, if that, and they’re willing to pay you five thousand dollars a day for your time, plus a substantial bonus when the work is done.”

I whistled. That was a lot of money. My usual rate was five hundred a day, plus expenses. Fifteen or twenty thousand dollars was an awful lot of money for three or four days work. Always beware the lawyer dangling a large sum of cash in front of your nose. “I won’t do anything illegal, Loren.” That wasn’t an absolute; I’d danced over that line several times in my career-but it’s not wise to advertise a willingness to bend the law up front. Apparently, these clients, whoever they were, had money to burn-so maybe they’d be willing to pay a little more to bend my sense of ethics.

Loren laughed. “I’m not about to lose my license, Chanse. Everything will be legal and aboveboard, I can assure you.” He slid a file folder across the desk to me. “Are you interested?”

“It depends on what the job entails.” I leaned back in the chair.

“Would you be willing to sign a confidentiality agreement?”

“I don’t make a habit of breaking my client’s confidences,” I shot back, getting annoyed. “I wouldn’t be in business long if I did.”

“All right, that’s fair enough.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to tell you more than I should without your signing the confidentiality agreement, all right? My clients are Jillian Long and Freddy Bliss. You have heard of them, haven’t you?”

I whistled. “Last I checked, I wasn’t living in a cave, Loren.” I laughed. “Of course I’ve heard of them.” And now, of course, the confidentiality agreement made sense.

Jillian Long and Freddy Bliss were two of the biggest movie stars on the planet. Everything they did, everywhere they went, everything they wore and said was reported breathlessly by the news media. They’d even gotten one of those nauseatingly cutesy names, like Brangelina and Bennifer; they were known collectively as Frillian. They’d been married for three years, and had bought a huge mansion in the French Quarter on the first anniversary of the levee failure-a fact they played up in the huge press conference they held to announce their move, and the reason behind it. Freddy, had co-founded a non-profit organization called Operation Rebuild, dedicated to rebuilding the

Lower Ninth Ward.

After the press conference, Frillian had become the major topic of discussion in town. I saw them riding their bikes in the Marigny…I ran into Jillian at the CC’s on Royal Street, she just drinks regular coffee…have you seen them yet? Overall, most residents felt it was a great thing that they were lending their celebrity and fame to bring world-wide attention to the continuing plight of New Orleans. But, like everything else, after a few weeks, the local hubbub had died down, and no one really paid much attention to them locally, despite the fact their every move was still national news.

Naturally, they’d want anyone who worked for them in any way, shape or form to sign a confidentiality agreement.

“If I take the job, I’ll be more than happy to sign a confidentiality agreement. But you know as well as I do that won’t survive a subpoena, if it ever came to that.”

Loren gave me a faint smile. Of course he’d thought of that, the smile told me. “You will be paid by me, so you are acting as my agent, and are bound by client privilege.”

I nodded. “All right. What do they want me to do, Loren?”

He stood up. “Why don’t we let them tell you themselves? They’re waiting in one of the conference rooms.”

Jillian Long was a great beauty, with long thick beautiful red hair, porcelain skin, and the hugest, most amazing gray eyes-hauntingly beautiful eyes impossible not to notice and admire. But she was more than just another beautiful actress-her talent as an actress surpassed even her flawless beauty. She’d won an Oscar for one of her first films, Indecent, playing a low income mother who’d murdered her no-good boyfriend when she found out he’d been molesting her four-year-old son. She’d been major news ever since.

I’d lost track of her marriages, divorces, and lovers-it really wasn’t any of my business. But it was hard not to be aware of her personal life when headlines scream at you in line at the grocery store. When she’d hooked up with Freddy Bliss, a major new male star twenty-odd years younger than she was, it was as though entertainment journalists had died and gone straight to heaven-especially since Freddy had left his wife to be with Jillian. Freddy’s wife, Glynis Parrish, had been on the cover of every magazine telling her story of ‘heartbreak’ and moving forward. I think she may have even written a book, but I could be wrong. I don’t really pay that much attention to that kind of thing.

But one thing I liked about them was that ‘Frillian’ seemed dedicated to using their fame for charities and to help underprivileged people; not only in this country but around the world. Jillian had long earned a well-deserved reputation as an activist-and traveled the world on good will missions for the United Nations. Even before they met, Freddy was doing the same-but for inner-city neighborhoods and schools. Individually, they’d accomplished a lot. Together, they were accomplishing more. I’d been one of the people who’d been pleased when New Orleans recovery became one of their issues. The country had moved on from the disaster as though it had never happened-and they were working to make sure New Orleans wasn’t forgotten.

Even though I knew they were just two normal people, like me or anyone else, I felt more than a little nervous about meeting them in person.

When Loren led me into the conference room that opened just off his office, the first thing that struck me about them was that they were both rather, well, small. Granted, I’m six-feet-four and weigh 230 pounds, so I’m usually one of the bigger people around. But when Freddy Bliss rose from his chair and stepped toward me, flashing that big toothy smile that lit up movie screens and inspired the kind of passions in teenaged girls that frightened their parents, my first thought was, but he’s so short. That can’t be. I felt like a huge clumsy ogre as my hand closed around his. His grip, though, was firm and the big smile seemed genuine. His brown hair was artfully unkempt, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. The smile-and the light in the big brown eyes-were infectious and I found myself smiling back at him. He was wearing an LSU football jersey-the white home one with the gold and purple stripes at the shoulders-and loose-fitting, worn jeans over dirty-looking white sneakers. “Freddy Bliss,” he said, as he shook my hand firmly three times before letting go. I detected a slight trace of a Midwestern accent in his voice, something I’d never noticed on screen. “I understand you played ball for LSU, Mr. MacLeod.”

I felt like I was grinning like an idiot, but couldn’t seem to stop. “Yes, sir, I did. I played four years, lettered three. And it’s Chanse.”

“Freddy’s become a big fan.” I turned and watched as Jillian Long rose from her chair in a steady languid motion, her face going from impassive mask to friendly warmth. Jillian Long was always picked for those ‘most beautiful women in the world’ lists, but I’d always assumed her great beauty was assisted by make-up, lighting and camera work. However, in person, with little or no make-up, she was even more beautiful than on film. Her skin was pale white, but had a strange shimmer and sheen to it that reminded me of mother of pearl. Her long, thick, reddish hair hung loosely past her shoulders, contrasting with her black cashmere sweater. Her thick lips were a pale pink, and I could see tiny blue veins in her neck.

Her large gray eyes looked as though they had a thin sheen of ice over them. She was shorter than Freddy, perhaps not even five feet tall. She was also wearing dirty white sneakers and worn-looking jeans. She was wearing very little make-up, and her voice was deep and throaty, which seemed strange given her slender frame. There were slight wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, but she showed none of the tell-tale signs of having corrective work done. She looked very delicate, but her small hand gripped mine tightly.

“Every Saturday during football season, we live and die with the Tigers. I’m Jillian Long. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chanse.”

“The pleasure’s mine.” I somehow managed to pry the stupid grin off my face, and assumed what I hoped was a confident, professional smile.

“But you’re so young.” She frowned, and turned to Loren. “You didn’t mention he was-“ she waved one of the delicate hands in a graceful, fluttery move, “-so young.”

“I’m thirty-one.” I replied. What did my age have to do with anything? “And my record speaks for itself.”

Her eyes widened for just a moment, the pupils expanding and retracting as the hand she’d waved went to her throat. She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, of course. My apologies.” Her face relaxed into a charming smile. “I was just startled-I was expecting someone older. Do forgive me.”

“Not a problem,” I said, my face filling with blood.

I may have been only thirty-one years old, but I felt much older. I’ve killed two men in the course of my career-both times in self-defense, but it had taken a toll on me emotionally. My partner Paul’s death, the hurricane…in my thirty-one years I’d already seen a lifetime’s worth of tragedy and death and destruction. Calm down, Chanse, take some deep breaths, you’re overreacting, I said to myself.

“Let’s be seated. Does anyone need anything?” Loren asked, moving over to the end of the table where they’d been seated. He sat down at the head of the table. Freddy and Jillian went back to their seats, and I sat directly across the table from them, with Loren to my left. The chair was expensive, made of black leather, and so comfortable it seemed to wrap itself around my body.

“Are you willing to sign the confidentiality agreement?” Freddy asked, taking Jillian’s hand.

“It’s really very important to us.” She opened her eyes wider. She turned first to Freddy, then Loren, and finally looked me directly in the eyes. Her eyes were amazing, mesmerizing. The gray was flecked with gold, and they did seem to be sheathed in ice. It was impossible to gauge them, to get a sense of what she was thinking. “This is an incredibly sensitive matter. This cannot get into the press under any circumstances.”

A part of me wanted to say yes- which surprised me. “I’m sorry.” I swallowed, forcing down the unusual desire to please. “But you’re not willing to tell me anything until I sign it-and I’m not willing to sign something without knowing why I’m signing it. Or letting my own lawyer look at it first.” I smiled. “But in these four walls, it’s just us. Anything you tell me-well, all you’d have to do would be to deny it, right? And Loren can go along with you. My word against yours-and who am I?” I didn’t expect her to buy it, and I wasn’t disappointed.

“You’d be surprised.” Jillian said. Her voice was tired. “Everyone has their price, Chanse. And you’d be surprised what they’ll print-and what they’re willing to pay for it.” She closed her eyes. She fluttered her hand again. “You have no idea what it’s like.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t. I can’t even imagine what it’s like, and I don’t expect you to trust me right off the bat, either. So, we’re kind of at an impasse. I can’t help you unless…“ I pushed my chair back, and paused.

It worked.

“I’m getting threatening e-mails.” Freddy cut me off. Jillian spun her head quickly to stare at him, while Loren started to clear his throat. He held up his hand as Loren started to speak. “We want you to find out who it is.”

I stared at him for a moment, confused. Threatening e-mails? Why on earth did that need to be kept a secret? They had web-sites, surely, Myspace pages, you name it-there were any number of ways to send e-mails to them. And then I got it. “You mean on your private account? You think it’s someone you know, don’t you? Someone close to you. And that would be a scandal.”

Loren broke in. “Regardless of who it is, it would be tabloid fodder.” He started drumming his pen on the table.

“There are-“ Jillian bit her lip, closed her eyes, and squeezed Freddy’s hand. “There are things about both of us we would like to keep private, if at all possible.” She swallowed again. “In order to help you figure out-and stop-whoever it is, we’re going to have to tell you things.” She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Things that you cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone else. That’s why you need to sign that confidentiality agreement, Chanse. We’re willing to pay you well.” Her voice became plaintive, pleading. With a jolt, I realized I’d heard her use that tone of voice before. In a movie, whose name I couldn’t remember.

She was, after all, a very good actress.

“Are these threatening e-mails…” I hesitated. “Is there a hint of blackmail involved in this?” I’d dealt with blackmailers before. One was even homicidal. “Because you need to understand that it never stops with payment. If this person truly knows something that could be damaging to you…”

Freddy said, “They’re just making threats, whoever it is.”. He gave me a reassuring smile-the same one he’d given Cameron Diaz in Love Unbound, when he was trying to get into her pants, despite his wife. “There’s nothing criminal in either of our pasts. Sure, there are things we’d prefer the general public not know about us-” He stopped himself. “I probably shouldn’t say anything more.”

“Let me see that.” I gestured to Loren, who passed the folder over to me. I opened it and looked at the paper. I read it carefully. I didn’t really need to have a lawyer look it over. It simply stated that as a requirement for doing work for them, I was signing this and promising never to reveal to an outsider the nature of the work, or anything I might discover about them or anyone involved with their lives, without their permission. If I violated the agreement, I would have to repay any moneys paid to me by them, and possible damages, to be determined by private, confidential, and most importantly, independent, outside arbitration. “You realize, of course, that if I am ever subpoenaed, this is just a piece of paper?”

“I’m not worried about any subpoenas.” Loren replied. “I can have a clause added that this agreement is invalid if you are called to testify in court, which is a moot point, as it will never happen.” He looked over at them. “Do you have any objection to that?”

Jillian opened her mouth, but Freddy spoke. “No. Do whatever’s necessary.”

Loren took the document from me and excused himself.

“You were going to say something,” I said, looking at Jillian.

“No.” She shook her head, drumming her fingertips on the table.

An uncomfortable silence descended.

The smart thing to do, I figured, was to refuse to sign the thing and not take the job. They were actors, and good ones. They’d convinced millions of viewers they were any number of different people. They played roles for a living. How would I ever be able to ascertain the truth of anything they told me? But I was also curious; I wanted to know what the hell was going on with them. I watched their faces, but got no clues. What was in those e-mails that had them so rattled? There was more here than met the eye, but I wasn’t going to find out until I signed that agreement.

My curiosity was getting the best of me.

On the other hand, they weren’t exactly normal people either. Most people don’t have every aspect of their life offered up to the general public for discussion and conversation.

Loren walked back in, and handed the revised agreement to me. A check for twenty thousand dollars, drawn on the firm’s account was paper clipped to it. I read it over quickly. It was straightforward. I hesitated for just a moment, then took a pen from my jacket pocket and signed it.

Jillian let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you.” She got up and walked over to the sideboard, pouring herself a glass of ice water.

Loren rose. “I’ll go make a copy of this for you, Chanse, and give you three some privacy.”

Once the door shut behind him, Jillian took her seat again. “As we said, over the last couple of weeks, Freddy has been getting some bizarre e-mails.” She reached into a bag and pulled out a file folder, which she slid across the table to me. “Vaguely threatening.”

“One of them does include a death threat,” Freddy said as I opened the file folder. “Not I’m going to kill you but I could just kill you. A technicality, sure, but it’s enough to worry us.” They exchanged another look.

I read the first one.

Freddy Freddy Freddy:

You just think you’re hot shit, don’t you? A professional do-gooder, right? What would everyone think if they knew the truth about you? You don’t deserve to live.

It was unsigned.

“That’s my private e-mail account.” Freddy went on. “No one has it, except family, friends and you know, our staff. It’s not even registered through the server as being mine, you know? Our assistant, Doreen, set us both up with a private account under her name.” He waved a hand. “I’m sure somehow someone could have found out-I’m not the best with this computer stuff-but…”

“Who do you think would do this?”

“Where to start?” Jillian gave a tired laugh. “There’s my latest crazy ex-husband, Freddy’s ex-wife, my own mother…” She waved her hand again. “Everyone either one of us has ever been involved with has their own axe to grind, their grubby hands out for more money. We’re targets, Chanse, always targets. Remember that. Even when we are doing good work for charities-you’d be amazed at the things people say. I’ve been called every name in the book…but I am getting off the subject.” She wiped her eyes and smiled at me. “I do that, sorry. But I’m convinced it’s one of those three…I’m just not sure what their game is yet. But they don’t want to kill Freddy, I don’t believe that for a minute. Why would anyone want to stop our work here?”

“Let’s start with your ex-husband.” I said, mentally adding the words at least, your most recent ex-husband. I thought for a moment. “You were married to Dale Monteith, right?” Dale Monteith was a character actor who somehow had managed, through hard work and talent, to become a star of sorts. “I’m assuming the break-up wasn’t a happy one?”

“Well, forget everything you’ve seen in the tabloids.” Freddy replied. “The public story is that when we were making The Odyssey, we fell madly in love and left our spouses to be with each other.”

“Dale and I had not been husband and wife for two years before Freddy and I met,” Jillian continued. “I was going through a very rocky period when Dale and I met, is the only defense I can offer-we were fine for a year, and then I realized-“ she rubbed her eyes. “I realized that Dale just wasn’t serious enough for me. He wasn’t interested in anything other than all that Hollywood bullshit, you know? I moved out of his house a year after we were married. Yes, we never bothered to file for divorce until I met Freddy, but we also had barely spoken in those two years. When I moved out, he knew it was for good. So, no, Dale has no reason to be resentful of Freddy-no matter what the tabloids say.” She gave me a horrible smile. “And the publicity was good for Dale’s career. He wasn’t getting work until he got to play cuckolded husband for the entertainment of the masses.”

“Likewise,” Freddy said, “my ex-wife, Glynis and I were having problems for a while before I met Jillian.” Glynis Parrish had been a television star when she’d married the sexiest man alive. After the break up, she’d been everywhere: every talk show, every magazine cover, weeping quietly over her great heartbreak and humiliation. “Glynis played the jilted wife to perfection, as you must be aware. Hey, the marriage was over, and she was milking the publicity to make herself sympathetic to the audience, you know? So, I let her play it out-she got some movie roles out of it-and what did we care if people hated us?” He smiled at Jillian. “It all blows over after a little while-and people still came to see our movies.”

“But these e-mails started coming two weeks ago.” Jillian went on. “And just two weeks ago, Glynis blew into town to make a movie.”

I hadn’t heard about that. “She’s making a movie here?”

Freddy laughed. “She plays a woman who comes to New Orleans to rebuild her life after her husband leaves her for another woman…” He rolled his eyes. “Original concept, huh?”

“Okay.” I shook my head. “Kind of interesting that she came into town around the same time the e-mails started.”

“My mother is here too.” Jillian spat the words out, placing particular loathing on the word mother. “And I wouldn’t put anything past that bitch.”

Interesting. “Have some problems with your mother?” Jillian’s mother, Shirley Harris, had been a musical comedy star for years, moving between Broadway and film effortlessly. Until a bout of ill health had recently sidelined her, she’d been a huge draw in Las Vegas.

“How much time do you have?” Jillian laughed bitterly. “Look, my mother and I don’t have a relationship. I tried for years to have one with her. She doesn’t understand boundaries, she doesn’t understand anything other than what she needs. I don’t want anything to do with her. She knows this, but keeps pushing.” She sighed. “Wherever I go, there she is. Maybe if someone would give her a job, she’d forget all about me.” A pained look crossed her face. “My mother was always desperate for the limelight…and now that her star has faded, the only way she can get any attention is by talking about me.” Her lips narrowed. “It’s really pathetic, if you think about it.”

“Where is your mother staying?” Somehow, I doubted that Shirley Harris would stoop to this level of harassment, but one of her employees might.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but she’s here. I can sense her evil.”

Okay, probably best not to push that one. “And your staff?”

“Doreen Benson is our assistant.” Freddy said, passing me another folder. “Inside this folder are cell phone numbers for Dale and Glynis, as well as the resumes for Doreen, our nanny Cindy, and Jay Robinette, who’s the head of our security detail-along with our cell phone numbers. Our private numbers.” He glanced at his watch. “Those numbers, needless to say, aren’t for public knowledge. Cindy, Doreen and Jay have been instructed to cooperate with you fully-anything you might need. If you need to meet with us at the house, just call us, and we’ll let Jay know to let you in. You know where the house is?” When I nodded, he laughed. “Everyone knows where our house is, right? But as for the rest-“ he shrugged. “If any of them are doing this, I doubt they’d want to talk to you.”

“All right.” I picked up both folders to put into my shoulder bag. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything concrete, or if I need something.”

“Thank you,” Jillian said. “Please-get to the bottom of this quickly.” She reached over and touched my hand. “And please-be discreet.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

I watched them exit the conference room, and sat there for a moment. I opened the folder with the e-mails, and leafed through them. They were all insulting, some making derogatory remarks about Freddy’s genitalia-which naturally made me think of Glynis Parrish…until I remembered that a photographer had snapped pictures of Freddy sunbathing nude in the south of France a year or two earlier. Everyone in the world had seen him naked. Even I had-I hadn’t been able to resist clicking through the gallery of images when they’d been posted on a gossip website. There was no question that Freddy was a beautiful man-my best friend Paige had said when they’d moved here, “You know, I’ll see every movie he makes, because he always shows his ass. And he has such a nice one…” We had both laughed.

With a sigh, I shoved the e-mails back in the folder.

Loren came back into the conference room. He shook my hand. “Thanks for doing this, Chanse.”

“No problem,” I replied, and walked back out to the elevators. Frillian were long gone, and as I waited for the elevator, I wondered again if I’d made a huge mistake.

They were movie stars. They were paid lots of money to play roles, to become different people, to be convincing. It was their job. So, I would have to take everything they told me with a grain of salt, and be careful not to simply trust them. The feud between Jillian and her mother was well-documented in the tabloids-but then again, she’d also told me not to believe everything I read about them. So, what was true and what wasn’t true? They both claimed their former spouses held no grudges against them, that everything between them was fine. They’d been very careful, though, to point out that someone starting sending the e-mails right around the time Dale and Glynis came to New Orleans to make their movie.

The hardest part of this case would be to curb my natural curiosity. I didn’t need to know why the e-mails were being sent. I was being paid to find out who was sending them-and that’s what I was going to do. I’d file a report, destroy all copies of the files to maintain confidentiality, and then I could just walk away from all of this.

I climbed into the elevator, and hit the lobby button.

No, I wasn’t going to be able to take them at face value. And though I was trying not to let my curiosity run wild, I couldn’t help myself from thinking about it on the way down to the lobby.

There was something more going on here than either of them wanted to admit.

I was going to have to be very, very careful.