Authors: Greg Herren
Mary Ellen’s hair was a masterpiece, though. The curls were piled up at least three inches tall on top of her head, and more curls cascaded down over her shoulders and down her front—and probably in the back as well.
I was so fascinated by Mary Ellen’s hair that I almost missed Tara Bourgeois standing on the other side of the bride.
Tara was wearing a frilly dress that was sea foam green and completely unflattering, and was holding a small bouquet of flowers as she gave the camera a forced pageant smile.
It was a bridesmaid’s dress if I’d ever seen one.
I leaned back in my chair. Well, it only makes sense, I thought. Tara was from Kenner, it’s not much of a stretch she would go to services at the Dove Ministry of Truth. But if she was a parishioner there, wasn’t it kind of shitty to make them pay her to speak at their homophobia rally?
I distinctly remembered hearing Mom say the Dove Ministry was paying Tara ten grand to talk about the “Homosexual Agenda.”
I got up and refilled my coffee cup. I could hear someone in the bathroom brushing their teeth, so I started another pot brewing before I walked back into the living room. I sat down on the couch.
Whoever killed both women could have just been targeting them because of their anti-gay stance.
In which case, it was logical to assume that Peggy MacGillicudy was next on the hit list.
But Mom’s gun was the murder weapon. That meant the killer had been at Mom and Dad’s on Sunday night.
That was a chilling thought.
Frank sat down next to me, yawning as he set his coffee mug down on the table. He glanced at the print-out of the Marina research. “You’re getting started early.” He stretched and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Yeah.” I put my head down on his shoulder. “Turns out, Tara knew Marina—at least, she knows Marina’s brother and his wife—she was in the wedding party.” I shook my head. “But who at Mom and Dad’s was connected to both women? It just makes my head hurt, Frank.”
“There might be another connection between them we haven’t found yet,” Frank pointed out, picking up his coffee and taking a big drink. “We didn’t even know the murders were definitely connected until last night. And you know better than anyone else online research isn’t as good as old-fashioned legwork. How’s your head this morning?”
I felt around until I found the knot under my curls. “It feels like it’s gone down some—and I don’t have a headache. My shoulder’s a little tight, but it’s okay.”
“Glad to hear it.” He stretched and I could hear his back cracking. “I’m kind of stiff today myself—was a hell of a practice yesterday. I wish I didn’t have to go back over there today.” He made a face. “I’d rather stay here and help you guys crack this case.” His face darkened. “It really pisses me off someone used Mom’s gun to kill people.”
“I wish you didn’t have to either—but it’s not every week you get a title shot.” I patted him on the leg. “What time do you have to be over there today?”
“I’ve got to be there at eleven.” He frowned. “I have a photo shoot.” He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Did I really just say that?”
“You said it, supermodel.” I grinned at him. “I have to say, though, it doesn’t feel right investigating a case without you helping out.”
He grinned back at me. “Let me go hop in the shower—I think I hear Sleeping Beauty rustling around in there—and I’ll make us all breakfast.”
I watched him walk out of the room and was about to reach for my coffee cup when I noticed my laptop was still sitting on the end table where I’d left it when Storm showed up yesterday.
Oh yeah, I was researching Lurleen Rutledge
,
I thought as I reached for it.
Not much point in finishing that—I can’t imagine a gallery owner’s widow having a reason to run around killing homophobes.
But when I touched the computer, it whirred and the screen came back to life. It was set to go to sleep if there wasn’t a keystroke in five minutes—and the search engine where I’d plugged Lurleen’s name into had continued to search when I put it aside.
I looked at the screen and let out a gasp.
Lurleen Rutledge had been born Rebecca Lurleen Burleson and had married Dick Werner when she was nineteen.
Lurleen Rutledge was Marina’s mother.
“Frank! Colin!” I shouted, bringing them both on the run. “Lurleen Rutledge was Marina’s mother. Look!” I pointed at the computer screen.
“I’ll be damned.” Colin whistled.
“But why would she kill her daughter?” Frank made a face. “And Tara?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But we need to find out.”
An hour later, Colin and I said good-bye to Frank as he left for Biloxi. We waved as he drove the Jaguar out of the parking lot. “I wish he didn’t have to go,” I said wistfully. “It just doesn’t feel right investigating a case without him.”
Colin nodded, slipping his hand into mine and squeezing it. “Yeah, well, this is a chance for us to work together—so let’s make the most of it. Off to Lurleen’s?”
“Too early,” I replied. It was just past nine. “Let’s drop in at the Devil’s Weed and talk to Emily some more about her band mates—maybe she knows about a connection one of them has to Marina.”
“Sounds good,” he replied.
We walked out of the lot and headed for Royal Street. “Besides,” I said as we walked up Barracks Street, “Emily mentioned that Lurleen sometimes came in for coffee in the mornings, so it wouldn’t hurt to be there if she happens to stop by today.”
The morning was cold and damp, and I shivered as we walked. It started raining just as we got to the Devil’s Weed. I sighed in relief as we opened the door and stepped in. The warmth inside felt great. Emily was behind the counter reading
Gambit Weekly
,
and there was no one else inside.
“Hey, guys—you’re out and about early this morning!” She smiled weakly at us. She turned away from the counter and poured us two large cups of dark roast. But when I got to the counter, I could see her eyes were puffy and red.
“Emily, are you okay?” I asked, worried.
She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “I had a really rough day yesterday.” She sniffed again, her eyes welling with tears. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “I got some bad news.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Colin said, and I took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She bit her lower lip. “And I did something really, really stupid.” She wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
I said sternly, “Get some tea, sit down, and tell us what’s wrong.”
She poured some hot water into a large mug and stuck a tea bag in it. She came out from behind the counter and sat down with us at a table.
“I did something really stupid,” she said, looking down in her cup. “And now I think it’s—” She bit her lip again. “I think I’m going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“Emily, we’ll help you, no matter what it is,” I reassured her.
“I’m the one who took Mom’s gun,” she said in a half whisper.
Colin and I exchanged horrified glances.
“Emily,” I said slowly, “
you
were the one who took Mom’s gun Sunday night? You lied to me yesterday?”
She nodded and wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Technically, I didn’t take it Sunday night, it was Monday morning. But yes, Scotty, it was me.” She took a deep breath. “But I didn’t mean to kill anyone! I didn’t kill anyone! That’s what I don’t understand.” Her voice shook and her eyes filled with tears. “When you asked me about it, you told me it was the gun used to kill Tara Bourgeois, and I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t kill her, Scotty. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t even know Tara Bourgeois. I don’t know how the gun got there. You have to believe me!”
“We believe you,” Colin said in his most reassuring voice, glancing at me. “But you have to tell us what happened.”
“I feel so stupid.” She wiped at her eyes again. “A couple of weeks ago, I met someone at our show at the Spotted Cat.”
The Spotted Cat was a music club on Frenchmen Street in the Marigny District. The place had been packed, Emily explained, and the band had never sounded better. “We were rocking.” A faint smile played at her lips. “And there was a woman in the audience. Every time I looked over at her, she was staring at me. And whenever our eyes met, she winked at me.
“I haven’t seen anyone, you know, since Mickey dumped me,” Emily went on. Mickey had been this rather large butch Emily had dated for a little under a year, and the relationship had abruptly ended the previous summer. “So, when we were done with the set I was kind of in the mood to be flirty, you know, so I went out to her table and introduced myself. She bought me a glass of wine, we talked, and one thing led to another…”
It was hard not to grin, but Emily wouldn’t have appreciated it. Emily, for a far-left almost socialist lesbian, had very old-fashioned opinions about sex. She didn’t judge other people for being sexually active, but for herself, well, she didn’t believe in falling into bed with someone she’d just met, or picking someone up in a bar. She had to be in love before she had sex with someone.
I didn’t trust myself to say anything, but Colin came to my rescue.
“That’s not like you, Emily.” He said.
“I
know
!” She started crying, enormous deep sobs that shook her entire body. She kept wiping at her face. “I’m…suh-suh-suh-sorry guys…I…I…”
I put my arm around her and she put her head down on my shoulder. Colin and I looked at each other helplessly. I patted her head until she finally got control of herself again.
“Sorry.” She blew her nose and gave me a grateful smile. “I know what you’re thinking. But no, we didn’t do anything but hold each other that first night. It felt so right, you know? She was so funny, and smart, and we finished each other’s sentences, and so we started seeing each other. We talked on the phone every day whenever we could steal a minute, and I fell in love.” She hung her head. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Colin soothed. “Everyone makes mistakes, Emily.”
“But I was beginning to wonder about things, you know.” She took a deep breath. “There were long stretches of time when I couldn’t talk to her, when she wouldn’t return my calls, you know? At first, I thought well, of course it must be her job.”
“Her job?”
“She told me she was an accountant.” Emily nodded. “But you know, it was weird—there were
nights
she wasn’t available to talk to me, and some weekdays when she was. I started getting suspicious, like thinking maybe she was married and had kids or something”—that very thing had happened to her a few years earlier—“but she always had an answer any time I’d ask her—you know, she always had the answer, the perfect response to my question.”
“Which of course only made you more suspicious,” I added, winking at Colin, who looked puzzled.
“So, Sunday morning she walked me to work before she went home,” Emily went on, her eyes welling up with tears. “She told me she was leaving town that day on business—some big audit or something in Dallas, and she’d be gone for ten days, but she promised to call me whenever she could.” She took a deep breath. “I was a little late that morning, and there was a customer waiting. When Reena saw the customer, she turned white and just said good-bye—no kiss or anything, just ran off down the street. It was weird.”
I closed my eyes. I knew exactly where this was going. “Was the customer Lurleen Rutledge, by any chance?”
Emily goggled at me. “How did you know that?”
Even Colin was staring at me. “Never mind, just finish your story.”
Emily swallowed. “Yes, it was Mrs. Rutledge, and she was a lot friendlier than she usually is—I really thought she’d read me the riot act for being late and making her wait, you know, but she didn’t, she was really nice. She even hung out and talked to me while I was brewing the coffee and getting the shop ready to open. It was strange.” She gulped again. “And then, that night at the party, Mrs. Rutledge took me aside at halftime and started asking me all kinds of questions about Reena.”
Colin closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Reena’s real name was Marina Werner.”
Emily bit her lower lip, but it didn’t work. She started sobbing again.
So Marina Werner was a closet lesbian
, I thought. That probably explained why she’d never gotten married.
“She told me…” Emily snuffled and wiped her nose. “She told me the woman I was seeing was actually Marina Werner, the woman who was helping organize the Protect Marriage rally, the daughter of that horrible homophobic minister at Dove Ministry…”
Bet she didn’t tell you she was Marina’s mother, though.
“I was in shock. I didn’t believe her. But she pulled out her iPhone and went online, did a Google images search, and sure enough, there she was. My Reena, the woman who spent the whole night telling me how much she loved me and wanted me to move in with her, was that horrible woman.” She covered her face in her hands and started sobbing again.
I got up and got her some fresh tissues. By the time I got back she had managed to get hold of herself again. “I wasn’t thinking, Scotty, you have to believe that. I think I went out of my mind. The whole second half of the game all I could think of was how she’d used me, mocked me, the whole time we were together she was laughing at me behind my back…so when the game was over, I went into the kitchen and put Mom’s Glock in my bag, and I went home.”