Read Online G.T. Herren - Paige Tourneur 02 - Dead Housewives of New Orleans by G.T. Herren - Free Book Online Page A

coherent when the first police officers showed up, along with the crime lab and the EMTs and everyone else associated with a crime scene. But when Venus arrived, she was able to calm me down and get my story. I was much less impressed with her partner, a good old boy in his late fifties with a pack of Marlboro Reds in his shirt pocket, a tomato sauce stain on his tie, and a beer gut that looked like it needed a wheelbarrow. He was a pompous, condescending sexist asshole, and I had nothing but sympathy for the cool, competent, professional black woman stuck with him as a partner. She got a uniform to drive my car home, while I followed in a patrol car driven by another uniform.
    Still shaking a bit when I got to my apartment, I sat down and wrote an op-ed I titled “What Price Life?” Venus called me later that night to let me know the two teens had been caught. They’d stolen only forty-seven dollars, it turned out, which made my piece even more tragic. When I was finished I emailed it to the city editor and the senior reporter so they would know why I didn’t do the assignment they’d given me.
    Apparently, it impressed them, because it ran in the paper the next day. Later, it was even nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. I didn’t win— but while that would have been nice, more important was the fact that the piece got everyone talking and made City Hall— and the NOPD— stand up and take notice. There was a lot of talk about the city’s growing crime problem, and what needed to be done— and for once, things actually DID change for the better.
    It also did wonders for me, completely changing how I was viewed at the paper. I was no longer a newbie fresh out of college who needed to prove herself by writing obituaries and puff write-ups of the endless festivals going on in the city every weekend. I was now seen, if not as a serious journalist, as someone who, with the proper training and grooming, could
become
a serious journalist. I was no longer given grunt work, but actually assigned to real stories.
    And unlike Chloe Valence— well, she was Chloe Legendre then— I got moved up on my writing ability, not my back.
    No sooner had I thought of Chloe when my phone rang. “Tourneur.”
    “Paige? Margery Lautenschlaeger. Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.” She sounded agitated and nervous. “I’m not disturbing you, am I? Is this a bad time for you?”
    “No, it’s fine, I’ve been waiting for your call. Athalie didn’t really tell me much,” I said carefully. Skittle jumped onto my desk and blinked at me. “Just that you’re being sued by Chloe Valence? I don’t know that—”
    She interrupted me. “I can’t discuss this on the phone! I know I’ve
ruined
your plans for the weekend, but I hope you can forgive me. It’s very important, you have no idea how important. Could you possibly come to my home later this evening? Say around 8? I know the weather is bad. If you like I can send a car for you.”
    “I can drive myself,” I replied, trying to keep my tone even and not show my annoyance. “But thanks for the offer.”
    “You know where I live? It’s a big stone home on St. Charles Avenue.” She went on to give me the house number.
    It took all of my self-control to not laugh out loud.
Everyone
in New Orleans knew the Schwartzberg castle. “Yes, thank you, I will see you at eight o’clock.”
    I put my phone down and shook my head. I still had no idea what she wanted from me, but at least I could get some information for my article— namely, what on earth had possessed her to go on a reality television show?
    The obvious answer was fame, I supposed. But she was already pretty famous in New Orleans. Everyone in New Orleans knew who Margery Lautenschlaeger was. Maybe she’d done it for kicks; who knew?
    I’d find out when I asked her.
    I pulled up the show’s website again and stared at her bio. She’d been the only heir to the Schwartzberg liquor empire, had gone to school at Vassar and