Read Online Murder in the Rue Ursulines by Greg Herren - Free Book Online
Authors: Greg Herren
Tags: Fiction, General, Gay, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Gay Men, New Orleans (La.), Gay Community - Louisiana - New Orleans, Private Investigators - Louisiana - New Orleans, MacLeod; Chanse (Fictitious Character)
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God, I hate her.” Paige’s shoulder-length red hair with blonde streaks looked tangled, and her lipstick had rubbed off on her cigarette butt. The most striking thing about Paige was her eyes—they were mismatched: one green, one blue. “Christ, what’s wrong?” She asked as she presented her cheek for me to kiss. “I got here before you? I am surely slipping in my old age.”
I showed her my watch. “You’re even early.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “Oh, dear lord. It surely must be the end times.” She laughed and shrugged. “Well, these days I can’t get out of the office fast enough. That bitch Coralie was definitely in rare form today.” Paige’s longtime editor, Joe LeSeuer, had retired after the hurricane and left New Orleans. “Maybe the book will sell for a million dollars and I can tell her where she can shove her fucking dress code.” Ever since we graduated from college, Paige had been puttering around with a romance novel called The Belle of New Orleans , set during the War of 1812 s. A few months after the flood, she’d taken all of her accrued vacation, grabbed her laptop, and rented a cabin in the Tennessee mountains for eight weeks, determined to finally finish the thing.
Oddly enough, though, once she got up there she started writing a new book called Head Above Water, an autobiographical novel about her experiences during the hurricane and the weeks thereafter. “Once I started it, I couldn’t stop writing it,” she’d confided to me when she returned to the city, “It was like it took on a life of its own.”I’d tried reading it, but it was too painful for me. Everything the city had been through—and was still going through—was still too fresh, raw and painful for me to relive it all through Paige’s writing. She was damned good—too good. She’d rewritten and revised it several times, and now it was in the hands of several high-powered literary agents in New York, all of whom were interested in it. It had become a kind of mantra for her: When the book sells for a million dollars, I am telling Coralie where she can put her dress code and I am walking out the door.
She rolled her eyes. “Get this—she wants me to try to be more ‘warm and fuzzy’ in my pieces. Warm and fucking fuzzy!”
“What did you say?” Much as I hated to admit it, I found the endless power struggle between the two women highly amusing.
“I told her I worked for a newspaper the last time I checked, not fucking Hallmark.” She sighed. “Get this—she put out a jar. Every time someone uses bad language”—she made air quotes around the words—“you have to put a quarter in the jar, and she’s going to use the money to go toward the office Christmas party.” She gave me an evil smile. “I got up, put a twenty in there, and gave her the finger.”
“She’s going to fire you one of these days.”
“I can only hope.”
We entered the dimly lit restaurant and took a table in a quiet corner. It wasn’t crowded, and our waitress looked somewhat tired as she took our drink orders. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, and most likely, had been working double shifts throughout Carnival. We went ahead and ordered our burgers as well. After the waitress moved away from us, Paige gave me a wicked glance. “Thanks for having dinner with me.” She sighed. “After the day I’ve had, I needed to be around someone with a brain.”
I couldn’t resist. “Good thing Ryan’s with the kids, then—since he obviously doesn’t have one.”
“Because someone with a brain obviously wouldn’t date me. Right. I get it.” She rolled her eyes. “When do you leave for Texas? That’s coming up, isn’t it?” The waitress placed our iced teas in front of us and scooted away.
“Not for a few more weeks.” I hesitated and bit my lip. I always talked about my cases with Paige—and she often used her resources at the paper to get information to help me out.
“That bitch
I showed her my watch. “You’re even early.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “Oh, dear lord. It surely must be the end times.” She laughed and shrugged. “Well, these days I can’t get out of the office fast enough. That bitch Coralie was definitely in rare form today.” Paige’s longtime editor, Joe LeSeuer, had retired after the hurricane and left New Orleans. “Maybe the book will sell for a million dollars and I can tell her where she can shove her fucking dress code.” Ever since we graduated from college, Paige had been puttering around with a romance novel called The Belle of New Orleans , set during the War of 1812 s. A few months after the flood, she’d taken all of her accrued vacation, grabbed her laptop, and rented a cabin in the Tennessee mountains for eight weeks, determined to finally finish the thing.
Oddly enough, though, once she got up there she started writing a new book called Head Above Water, an autobiographical novel about her experiences during the hurricane and the weeks thereafter. “Once I started it, I couldn’t stop writing it,” she’d confided to me when she returned to the city, “It was like it took on a life of its own.”I’d tried reading it, but it was too painful for me. Everything the city had been through—and was still going through—was still too fresh, raw and painful for me to relive it all through Paige’s writing. She was damned good—too good. She’d rewritten and revised it several times, and now it was in the hands of several high-powered literary agents in New York, all of whom were interested in it. It had become a kind of mantra for her: When the book sells for a million dollars, I am telling Coralie where she can put her dress code and I am walking out the door.
She rolled her eyes. “Get this—she wants me to try to be more ‘warm and fuzzy’ in my pieces. Warm and fucking fuzzy!”
“What did you say?” Much as I hated to admit it, I found the endless power struggle between the two women highly amusing.
“I told her I worked for a newspaper the last time I checked, not fucking Hallmark.” She sighed. “Get this—she put out a jar. Every time someone uses bad language”—she made air quotes around the words—“you have to put a quarter in the jar, and she’s going to use the money to go toward the office Christmas party.” She gave me an evil smile. “I got up, put a twenty in there, and gave her the finger.”
“She’s going to fire you one of these days.”
“I can only hope.”
We entered the dimly lit restaurant and took a table in a quiet corner. It wasn’t crowded, and our waitress looked somewhat tired as she took our drink orders. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, and most likely, had been working double shifts throughout Carnival. We went ahead and ordered our burgers as well. After the waitress moved away from us, Paige gave me a wicked glance. “Thanks for having dinner with me.” She sighed. “After the day I’ve had, I needed to be around someone with a brain.”
I couldn’t resist. “Good thing Ryan’s with the kids, then—since he obviously doesn’t have one.”
“Because someone with a brain obviously wouldn’t date me. Right. I get it.” She rolled her eyes. “When do you leave for Texas? That’s coming up, isn’t it?” The waitress placed our iced teas in front of us and scooted away.
“Not for a few more weeks.” I hesitated and bit my lip. I always talked about my cases with Paige—and she often used her resources at the paper to get information to help me out.
“That bitch
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