by G A Chase
Kendell set her coffee cup down with slow deliberation. “You think her injury was intentional?”
“It wasn’t an accident, and it wasn’t an injury. I know enough about medicine to know a punctured neck artery when I see one. Blood was spurting out all over the locomotive’s cabin. The medics didn’t want to alarm anyone, especially me, but if Marilyn makes it through the night, I’ll be amazed. I should have gone to the hospital, but the family’s put enough of a burden on me without me also having to be the one to make the phone calls of doom. I gave the medics her information so they’ll know who to call. I just want to get the hell out of this city. My father was right. This place has it in for anyone in the Laurette family.”
Finding a cursed item from over a hundred and fifty years ago and using it as a means of committing murder seemed a little farfetched. “Was there someone after her?”
“You sound like a detective. Maybe we should go to the police with what I know, but I can’t imagine they’d listen. Marilyn is a reporter down here. She mostly writes about high-society events and interesting historical tidbits. I’m sure there will be an investigation, but with so many witnesses seeing the tractor’s tire blow out and her stab herself with the knife, it’s not likely the case will go very far.”
Kendell started tapping out some notes on her phone. “If you don’t know who murdered her, and you believe it was intentional, you must know more about the pipe tool than you originally told us.”
Samantha stared down into her coffee and bit her lip. He suspected she was either creating some clever cover story or deciding how much to divulge. Considering her emotional state, he chose to give her the benefit of the doubt. “The Laurette name is well known down here, as are all the branches of the family. As I mentioned at the house, my grandfather had a passion for documenting the family tree. I did find his writings by the way. They were kept in a couple of shoe boxes under his bed. When I was young, I thought his ramblings were just the foolishness of an old man trying to find meaning in his life through association with those of the past. But when my father took up the cause and started investigating how each person had died, I suspected there was something he wasn’t telling me. It was only when Dad knew he was dying and I’d inherit the house that he gave me the diary.”
Kendell nearly dropped her coffee cup. “Whose diary? What did it say? Can we see it?”
Samantha shook her head. “It’s still in Atlanta. Dad made it clear that he didn’t want it coming back to New Orleans. He said I’d be in enough danger as it was. He’s also the one who warned me against admitting to knowing anything about the Malveaux family. I’m sorry I hid that from you, but you had just walked in off the street.”
Kendell reached out to take her hand. “I guess we were pretty presumptuous knocking on your door and asking about your family like that. We’re trying to make sense out of what we’ve discovered. If we’re prying, just say so, and we’ll leave you alone.”
Samantha’s smile looked forced. “I could use someone who isn’t a part of my family to talk to. But I’m afraid the diary won’t be as helpful as you’d like. It was the war journal of my ancestor, Anthony Laurette. It left me with more questions than answers. He did know Antoine-Caliste Malveaux. According to Anthony, he died early in the war. Anthony described him as an athletic youth, but other than that one attribute, he was completely unfit for battle. He said that in spite of the boy’s privileged upbringing, he was too compassionate for the horrors of war. Apparently, in their first skirmish Antoine ran out of the tree line into a volley of musket fire.”
Myles tried to hide his disappointment. “It doesn’t sound like they knew each other for long.”
“That’s one of the confusing aspects of the diary. It’s clear Antoine died within the first two pages of the journal, but for the rest of the book, Anthony has many conversations with the deceased Antoine. Dad believed Anthony either suffered from bouts of delusions or a dissociative identity disorder—multiple personalities.”
The excitement in Kendell’s voice was unmistakable. “He thought Anthony and Antoine were the same person?”
Myles took a sip of his coffee, grateful she hadn’t said, “I told you so.”
The more Samantha talked about the past, the calmer her voice sounded. “War does strange things to people. It’s impossible to know just from the one diary what Anthony’s state of mind was when he wrote the passages. If you believe them to be the same person, he didn’t see how he could endure the war or his past. Antoine’s death—be it physical or psychological—forever changed Anthony.”
Questions were floating around Myles’s head like the buzz of the tourists hurrying to the next parade. “Did he say anything about Antoine’s sister Serephine?”
“Yes. Their first conversation after Antoine’s supposed death revolved around the Malveaux family. Apparently, his sister died in their father’s office with the door and windows bolted shut from the inside. It was quickly ruled a suicide, but Antoine didn’t accept that. He said Serephine was too full of life to end hers so young. There was never an explanation that I could find, but Antoine blamed his father. Clearly, there was some family falling-out even before Serephine’s death.”
Myles focused on his breathing to avoid jumping to conclusions. What he’d seen matched up nicely with Samantha’s account so far. “Was there any mention of how she killed herself?”
“You want me to tell you it was that pipe tool you found, but the journal wasn’t that specific. Antoine referred to a pocketknife that was too dull to accomplish the deed as being the only sharp object found next to his dead sister.”
Kendell tapped her fingers against her coffee cup. “But it could have been the pipe tool. I’m still unclear on why your dad was so concerned about the diary.”
Samantha took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “About halfway through the diary—not long after the battle of Fort Jackson but before the fall of New Orleans—they had a conversation regarding ‘Anthony’s grand obligation.’ The title came up numerous times after this conversation. Antoine said his father, the baron Malveaux, was a truly evil man, and every family member including the extended family must be forever alert to unseen dangers. But only those of legitimate descent from the baron would be in direct peril. You have to realize, Anthony was writing this after a big battle that the South lost. He had to know New Orleans was about to fall. His mind wasn’t all there.”
Myles could see Samantha was having trouble believing the story herself, but having someone die in front of her was far more convincing than a hundred-and-fifty-year-old diary. “You think he was referring to a family curse?”
“If it were just me, I’d put it down to an overactive imagination. My grandfather was nearly a recluse toward the end of his life. He was convinced he would meet with some accident if he set foot outside the door. Dad’s research on how our ancestors died was pretty speculative in my opinion. I mean, everyone dies somehow. Antoine warned Anthony to be on the lookout for any of the baron’s personal artifacts. He said they would be everyday objects. Things the baron might have carried with him. That’s why Dad had me read the diary before he died. He was worried I’d find something in that house that would cause a family member’s death or my own.”
“And yet he left you the house.” Myles couldn’t imagine a father putting his daughter in such danger.
“Maybe it would have been easier if he hadn’t, but what family roots I have are in that mansion. I still want to believe this talk of curses is all just superstitious nonsense. But to be safe, I took on the cleaning of the place myself. Even if there weren’t a curse, I couldn’t let strangers dig through my grandparents’ stuff. I may not have known them well, but I owe their memory the dignity of a family member burying the family skeletons, so to speak.”
“What was ‘Anthony’s grand obligation’?” Kendell asked.
“It was never explained in the journal. According to Dad, that lack of explanation was one of the telling messages t
hat Anthony was half of a split personality. And of course, the two names, Anthony and Antoine, are practically the same. At first Dad thought he was just trying to hide from his past, and that might still be true. Anthony Laurette became well known for his building designs, which might be difficult for someone with a mental disorder. And if he really had lost his mind, he’d have ended up in one of the mental wards. I’m hoping to find more family diaries. There’s six attics in the damn building plus countless hiding places. So far, I’ve only managed to clean out two of the storage spaces.”
Myles knew what Kendell was going to say even before she set down her cup. “We’d be happy to help.”
Samantha shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m not putting anyone else at risk. I promise, though, if I find anything pertinent to your pipe tool or the Malveaux family, I’ll let you know.”
11
“We need to get that tool back.” Kendell didn’t see any alternative as they walked along the levee, doing their best to avoid the groups of drunk tourists.
Myles had been suspiciously quiet after their meeting with Samantha. “That thing’s dangerous. I’d be happy to leave it with the authorities.”
“There are no authorities, not for situations like this. The police will rule Marilyn’s death an accident. It’s kind of the perfect crime when you think about it. With so many witnesses, trying to prove she was murdered would be insane.”
He turned to lean against a railing and look out across the river. “The knife going into her throat wasn’t the whole story, though. I doubt tires blow out on parade tractors for no reason. Those things must be checked out pretty thoroughly. I can accept the pipe tool killing Marilyn as part of the curse, but the tool didn’t puncture the tire. That had to have been done deliberately.”
His insight surprised her sometimes. “Add that to our run-in with the thugs at Float World, and I think we know where to start looking for our murderer. But again, the police aren’t going to listen. Even if we could somehow prove the tire had been tampered with, there’s no way to prove her stabbing herself wasn’t an accident.”
“Isn’t that what detectives do—try to find the unlikely connections?”
Kendell’s emotions were a jumbled mess. She couldn’t forgive the man who’d stolen Cheesecake. He still needed to pay for the abduction, and involving the police might still put her dog in more trouble since she bit the thief. Then there was this strange connection she felt regarding the pipe tool. It was like she was responsible for something she had no control over. She’d just bought the damn thing, not performed the curse. But there was also an indefinable thrill when she thought about investigating a paranormal murder with Myles.
As she saw the situation, the bottom line was the question of where the pipe tool would end up. “If we solicit the police’s help or not, we still have to go to the station. They have the pipe tool as part of their investigation. If they rule it an accident, what happens to the knife? We still have the receipt from the antique store. They’ll vouch for us if the police need further assurance that it’s ours. I’ve got too many questions to just walk away.”
“So we just walk into the station and ask them to return our blood-soaked knife? You don’t think that’s going to look suspicious?”
She tried to play out how events might transpire. Any questioning that delved too deeply into their history with the tool would get uncomfortable fast. “In all likelihood, they’ll just laugh at us. I’ll bet they’ve got a whole file of people walking in with tales of encountering dangerous ghosts or being cursed by voodoo priestesses. We’ll endure a little humiliation. When they realize they’ve got no reason to keep the knife, we’ll get it back. We have to at least try. And if they don’t return it to us, we need to know it will be kept securely out of the public’s hands.”
* * *
The light-green walls and fluorescent lights gave Myles a mild headache. The institutional metal chair hurt his back. All that was missing was a pair of handcuffs to complete the experience of being questioned in the police station. “What are we doing here?”
A uniformed policeman stood near the door while another man in a business suit stood next to him—clearly also a cop, based on his stance. The detective across the table produced the pipe tool from his pocket. “We have a few questions. How long have you each lived in New Orleans?”
Myles couldn’t imagine why that would matter. “Seven years. I came down for college and decided to stay after graduation.”
Kendell kept her eyes down, making her look guilty. “I was born here. But I’ve spent most of my life in California. I only returned to attend college.”
The detective made a note on his pad. “Do you have family here?”
“Only my father. My parents are divorced.”
“No siblings?” The detective’s questions were beginning to get on Myles’s nerves.
“Just me.” She didn’t sound afraid, but something in her voice made Myles feel protective of her.
“What do you know about this pipe tool?” At least his questions were starting to sound less creepy.
“We bought it at a shop on Royal. It was stolen a few weeks ago.”
He made some more notes on his pad. “And you didn’t report the theft?”
“We only paid fifty dollars for it. Since we got my dog back, we didn’t see any point in getting the police involved.”
He set his pen down. “Your dog was taken too?”
“It’s a long story. She swallowed the damn thing, so the thief took her. But we got her back once she shitted it out.”
The man in the suit near the door rubbed his chin. “What kind of dog?”
Kendell smiled for the first time since they’d walked into the police station. “Lhasa apso.”
He nodded slightly. “Makes sense. Dogs are intuitive anyway, but the closer they are to their wolf ancestors, the more in tune they are to people and things around them.”
The detective at the table cleared his throat. “Can I continue?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” But the man’s tone made it clear the detective was merely asking the questions. It was the man in the suit who was really in charge.
“We’ll want an affidavit regarding the theft and recovery.”
Myles couldn’t sit silent any longer. “The death was an accident. There was a whole crowd of people who saw what happened. Why are we being questioned?”
The detective must have dealt with far more belligerent interrogations. “We’re simply trying to understand what happened. You did come to us after all.”
“Not to be put in a room and grilled like criminals. Do we need a lawyer?”
The man by the door removed his glasses and began cleaning them. “I think I can handle this, Detective. Thanks for your help.”
The man across the table made a display of flipping his notepad closed as if he’d gotten to the bottom of something. “No problem, Lieutenant.”
As the uniformed policeman and detective left the room, the lieutenant motioned to the one-way mirror to turn off the recording devices. “My name’s Lieutenant Joe Cazenave. Anytime I talk to someone, I’m required to have an entrance interview for the police records. I’m afraid we do so many they start feeling a little overly formal. I apologize.”
Kendell loosened up her shoulders and lifted her head. “Why don’t you just ask us what you want to know?”
“There is the truth people accept to get through their daily lives, and there are ideas they only entertain when they feel they are among friends. A police station is hardly the kind of place that makes people feel at ease. Nonetheless, I’d like to ask what you believe to be true about the death of Marilyn Fontenot. Not just the facts, but also what lies below that reality.”
Myles stared into the lieutenant’s eyes. Something about the old-fashioned glasses made them appear strangely translucent. He chalked up that impression to the reflection off the green-tile walls. “We’ve spent some time researching the pipe tool
’s history. It was originally a present to the baron Malveaux from his young daughter. The story we’ve uncovered suggests she committed suicide with the knife, but it’s something of a mystery.”
The lieutenant stared at Myles from behind the glasses for some time before nodding. “An old, mysterious death and now an unfortunate accident involving the same seemingly harmless weapon. Certain superstitious individuals might try and make a connection between the two.”
Kendell grasped Myles’s hand under the table. “We’re both college educated. But since you asked us to be at ease with ideas that might not be accepted by the general population, what if the death was of supernatural origin?”
He sat in the chair vacated by the detective and picked up the pipe tool. “I have the unenviable task of being our department’s investigator into the paranormal. As you can imagine, we get people walking in the door all the time with wild claims of being cursed or chased by a vampire. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories. Being the police, we have to take them all seriously. Most of my fellow officers are well trained on how to handle ninety percent of what comes in the door. But that last ten percent, the ones that might have some merit beyond the explanation of one of the parties being blind drunk at the time, end up on my desk.”
“You think this thing is cursed?” Kendell asked.
“I didn’t say that. I only told you about my job specialty so you’ll understand why I ask some of my questions. I’d like to start off with you telling me your history with this item.”
Myles felt certain Kendell was about to spout off about his ability to read past energy. To prevent being sent to the loony asylum, he recounted their history with the pipe tool while leaving out any mention of their experiment into what he could do. The history lesson from the jeweler had the lieutenant feverishly jotting down notes. To Myles’s surprise, however, he showed only minimal interest in the events at Float World.
