by G A Chase
“I don’t think he was trying to hide. If he were, New Orleans would be the last place he’d move to after the war. My guess is he wanted to show his father he could succeed without the old man’s name, money, and connections. Anthony would want his true identity hidden from everyone but the baron.”
Samantha leaned against the crumbling brick fireplace, drinking her beer. “But why would it matter? We’re trying to figure out who killed Marilyn, and you’re looking at family connections from a hundred and fifty years ago.”
Myles jumped down from the ladder and made a couple of paper tabs marked “money,” “power,” “cursed items,” and “Anthony’s diaries.” He put them all next to the paperwork about the baron. “We know eventually the cursed objects find their way to Anthony, based on the pipe tool being found in the wall here at the Laurette mansion.” He moved that tab over to Anthony Laurette. “But Anthony would have rejected the old man’s power and money. After the Civil War, the bank would have changed hands, but the baron’s brothels, wealth, and political connections would have remained intact even if not out in the open. So where did they go after his death?”
Kendell climbed a couple of steps up the ladder. “I see a lot of powerful names on the opposite end of the table. The Laroque family boasts two of the last three mayors of New Orleans, the current chief of police, and a state senator.”
From his position, it was hard to make out all the connections. “How far back does the name Laroque go before it intersects Laurette?”
“Anthony Laurette had four children. The oldest daughter, Fleurentine, married Marcus Laroque.”
Myles reached across the table and picked up the sheet of paper marked Fleurentine Laurette. He stared at the names, imagining Anthony’s anger at his father. “She was called Phiny but not because of her first name. Her middle name was Serephine. I know it’s reaching, but you don’t suspect that Fleurentine was Antoine’s mother’s name, do you? In his firstborn daughter, he might have sought to enshrine the memory of the two women he most loved and whom he thought his father had destroyed.”
Samantha wrote “Fleurentine” next to “Laurette” on the page next to the baron. “So we finally meet the woman.”
Kendell pointed at the page in Myles’s hand. “When does it say Anthony’s daughter lived?”
“1866–1948. She married Marcus in 1892. They had three children. The eldest, Nathan Laroque, was the first to attain political office. He was mayor of New Orleans from 1924 to 1934, serving four terms.” Myles grabbed sheet after sheet describing the heirs of Anthony’s first-born daughter. “Looks like after Nathan, the Laroque family dug firmly into New Orleans politics.”
Samantha picked up the folder describing Laura Laroque. “A dynasty that continues to this day. Laura just won her second term as our state senator. But again, I don’t see what any of this has to do with Marilyn’s murder.”
“I do.” Kendell jumped down and ran around the table to the tabs Myles had written. “First Anthony insults his father by naming his first born after the two women. Then the baron retaliates by corrupting Marcus Laroque or Fleurentine or both. Do you remember those pictures we saw of the Laurette family? They weren’t rich. Anthony might have made a name for himself as an architect, but that would have taken decades. So unless Marcus came from money, the Laroque family needed someone with wealth and connections to start their political dynasty.”
Myles consulted the pages. “It’s possible. The baron died in 1893. Fleurentine had already married Marcus.”
Kendell placed the tabs marked “power” and “money” on the section of the table-sized chart occupied by Fleurentine Laurette-Laroque. “That cunning bastard. The baron’s ultimate revenge on his son was to turn his daughter into everything Anthony had tried to escape.”
Samantha tossed her beer bottle in the trash. “You two have quite the active imaginations. Next you’re going to tell me the Laroque family still runs the old brothels.”
Myles picked up the remaining tab marked “Anthony’s diaries.” “It’s just a hypothesis. But somewhere on this table is the name of the person who killed Marilyn. Anthony Laurette believed in the Malveaux curse enough to seek out his half siblings, like Kendell’s grandpapas, to warn them. If he did that for relative strangers, he must have told the story to his own children until they had it memorized. They wouldn’t have needed the diaries, but as a final warning to Fleurentine’s family, he might have left the journals to her children.” Myles consulted the dates of births and deaths. “Anthony would have lived just long enough to see Nathan Laroque become mayor. How much do you want to bet that’s where the diaries ended up?”
Samantha brought in a fresh round of beers from the kitchen. “Well, the story wasn’t widely discussed around our dinner table.”
Kendell took a long drink of her Abita Amber. “Your family left New Orleans. And your father was suspicious of you returning. Most of the old families down here don’t hold with the superstitions of their elders. Assuming the curse involved some of the baron’s personal possessions, and considering that the pipe tool was found in the wall here, I’d guess Anthony did what he could to hide the objects. But he couldn’t be sure he’d gotten them all.” She walked around the table to the sheet of paper headlined Marilyn Fontenot 1973–2017. “She lived her whole life down here. She would have heard about the curse, possibly from her grandparents. Samantha, if your grandfather put together a family tree, maybe her family did something similar. I know our hypothesis is filled with ifs, but if Marilyn thought she’d found a big story, it might have put her in danger.”
* * *
Kendell rubbed her eyes as she and Myles walked back to the streetcar. “I love investigating old documents, but that old man’s handwriting sucked. It was nice of Samantha to let us take the pages home with us. We already took up an entire afternoon of her time poring over her family tree.” As the day had worn on, Kendell felt a growing sense of obligation toward every person listed in the genealogy.
Myles had the old laptop bag slung over his shoulder. But instead of a computer, it was filled with the paperwork that had been carefully compiled from Samantha’s dining table. “I get the impression she’ll be happy to see the last of New Orleans and her family legacy. She’s very sweet, but she reminds me of your mother. What did your dad call her—an emotional tumbleweed?”
Kendell held her heavy coat in her arms and enjoyed the late afternoon sunlight that filtered through the trees to her face. “I hope she stays. I like her. But you’re probably right.”
“You know, if it is the Laroque family, we’re in way over our heads.”
She could tell he was feeling her out again on her commitment to the investigation. “We don’t know anything yet. I want to see Marilyn’s notes on what she was working on. Since her job with the Picayune was just writing fluff personal-interest stories, I suspect that’s where our adventure will end. Since no one else is looking into her death, we owe it to her to do what we can.”
“And if her notes do lead somewhere?”
She knew neither one of them could stand up against Chief of Police Gerald Laroque or State Senator Laura Laroque. “We don’t even qualify as David versus Goliath. In spite of our paranormal connections, there’s no invisible, all-powerful being standing on our side. The Laroque family could crush us without leaving a clue. Just like they did to Marilyn.”
“We have a few advantages she lacked. The curse not only doesn’t work on you, but you may be one of the few people who can defeat it. We may not have many allies, but I suspect both Professor Yates and Madam de Galpion are well connected to the paranormal underworld. And we have the most fearsome hellhound known to man.”
Kendell snickered at his joke. “That’s true. Cheesecake, defender of the underdog.”
“Have you accessed that dark-web forum Link told us about?”
“Yep. He vouched for me like he said he would. The post about the theft listed the job as complete. A lot of pilferers are hai
ling Lion—that’s Link’s screen name—as a master thief. Whoever commissioned the job left a short but positive review. Otherwise, it’s been quiet. I haven’t seen any posts about looking for more Malveaux objects.”
Myles pulled out some money for the streetcar. “Any mention of the pipe tool itself?”
“No. Both Link and the person who made the request kept quiet about it. There was no mention of wanting it again. If we’re right about the Laroque family, maybe they think it’s safely in police storage. Or maybe they just don’t care if all they were after was Marilyn’s death.”
He helped her onto one of the old, highly lacquered wooden seats. “Have you made any posts?”
Even if she hadn’t recently experienced a shared mental connection with him, she’d have known when he was being overly protective. “And risk you yelling at me? I think not.”
“Just trying to figure out if I get to sleep tonight or if I should keep the phone handy for your cry of help.”
She suppressed her initial response of telling him he could stay at her place just in case. Some jokes hit a little too close to home. If anything romantic were to develop, she didn’t want it to be with her as the girl always in need of rescue. The only relationship she could accept would be one of equals.
17
Myles couldn’t take his eyes off Kendell. In her backless black dress and high-heeled shoes, all of her curves were perfectly displayed. Part of him felt bad for so blatantly admiring his friend’s beauty, but if she had wanted him to maintain the girl-next-door impression of her, she probably wouldn’t have accepted his invitation to the Endymion Ball in the first place. “You look amazing.”
She gave him a half twirl that made the dress fly up to her knees. “Thank you, kind sir.” The coquette only lasted for a moment. “I can’t believe you got tickets. Dance with me?”
He took her hand and led her into the high-society throng. Dances had never been his thing in school, and the drunk tourists who frequented the bar didn’t make the activity seem any more inviting. But with every person in the Super Dome so elegantly dressed, he wondered what he’d been missing. Even finding a reasonable space to dance wasn’t an issue.
Kendell’s moves reminded him of seeing her on stage with Polly Urethane and the Strippers. Instead of grinding and flirting for the entire audience, this time her moves were just for him. As if knowing she had his full attention, she put her hands on her head and shimmied her body just far enough from him so that he could see her every move. Most women he dated were so overly confident in their beauty that they didn’t feel it necessary to do much more than stand there. Kendell undulated like an exotic belly dancer enticing a rich patron. He leaned in close. “I never knew you had these kinds of moves.”
She slipped her hands from her head to his shoulders so she could talk in his ear. “Get us quiet ones out of our shells, and we’ll surprise you every time.”
They were still partners. That wasn’t something he wanted to endanger. But Mardi Gras Balls were closer to masquerade than reality. He put his hands on her sides and pulled her closer. She teased her breasts and hips against him. But before anything became too serious, she laughed and moved away. “I could go for something to drink.”
He suspected she too felt the tension of sexual attraction competing with their mission. “Chardonnay?”
She batted her long eyelashes at him. “You remembered.”
“Stay here. I don’t want to lose you. I’ll be right back.”
The crowd was still filling the huge space prior to the arrival of the parade floats and marching bands. He’d have to hold her close when the party really kicked into full gear. As always seemed to be the case, the bar was the first to experience the incoming throng of people. But Myles had an in. “Hey, Charlie, thanks for the tickets. Can I get a beer and a chardonnay?”
“You got it. Anytime you want to work one of these events, I can land you the gig.” Charlie looked out across the bobbing heads. “Once these socialites get a little tipsy, it’s an amazing place to pick up chicks. Even better than the bar on Bourbon Street. These women stay classy no matter how intoxicated they get. Once the parade floats arrive, it’ll be full-on Carnival.”
Myles took the drinks, grateful he didn’t have to wait half an hour just to get the bartender’s attention. Women who were laughing and flirting filled in the area around him. All he wanted, though, was to get back to Kendell. “Have fun, my friend.”
“I always do.”
Myles had to squeeze past a couple of groupings of college kids, but he found his way back to the pillar where he’d left Kendell with little trouble. He searched the crowd before spotting her dancing with a man their age in a garish purple-and-gold suit. She looked to be having fun but was keeping a greater distance from her new dance partner than she had with him.
As the warm-up group on stage ended their song, he moved in to catch her attention. Before he could, however, she was whisked deeper into the crowd for another song. Myles could handle letting his date go for a single dance, but this guy was beginning to put his moves on her—as well as his hands. Instead of allowing her the space to move as she pleased, her dance partner felt it necessary to pull her tight to his grinding hips.
Myles saw the brilliance of cutting in, but with his hands full of drinks, dancing would be out. Still, he couldn’t stand idly by and watch his friend get pawed at by some letch who didn’t know his place. As his fear grew that he might have to physically intervene, he saw her put an unusual dance move on her partner. Instead of gyrating her hips with his, she bent her knee up sharply between his legs. He didn’t double over, but she had clearly made her message understood.
Myles held out the glass of white wine as she flipped her hair back at the guy, who was still struggling to stand upright. “Nice move. Remind me not to get too frisky on the dance floor with you.”
“He had it coming. That was Lance Laroque. He was in my freshman English class in college. Honestly, I didn’t think he knew who I was back then. No sooner had you gone to get us drinks than he moved in and practically demanded we dance. He hasn’t changed at all since school. Even back then, he thought every woman just fell at his feet. That dude has a serious case of the entitlements.”
As she snuggled up close to him, he felt a warm glow knowing that when it came to overtures from other guys, she could take care of herself. “So that’s one of the Laroque family.”
She pointed toward a boisterous table near where the floats would be arriving. “That’s the less well-off branch of the family. The rich and powerful Laroques either ride on the Grand Marshal’s float or have a reserved space near the stage.”
He tossed his empty bottle into the trash and grabbed her around the waist. “Fuck ’em. Tonight, I just want to dance with you and catch fancy stuffed toys for Cheesecake to rip to shreds later.”
By the time the first marching band entered the arena, he’d forgotten all about the Laroques and their arrogance. The bright, colorful strobe lights from the floats lit up Kendell’s dark-brown eyes as she anticipated receiving the thrown items that sailed through the air. Even the rich and elegant people who surrounded them couldn’t deny the excitement of catching meaningless plastic beads and Mardi Gras paraphernalia. More than once, he lifted her by the waist to catch some shiny bobble that all those around her yearned for.
* * *
Kendell found people in New Orleans more open during Mardi Gras. Something about the parades, food, and overall excitement lowered the social barriers. Even so, she was surprised when Marilyn’s brother accepted their request to discuss what she’d been working on. Having Samantha vouch for them had done wonders.
The renovated shotgun double in the Uptown neighborhood made her imagine a different life for herself. If her mother wasn’t an emotional tumbleweed… if her parents hadn’t divorced… if she’d gone to school with these people who were now pushing baby strollers and weeding their front gardens, who would she be? She wanted to believe suc
h a privileged upbringing would have made her a social activist. She’d be the one championing the rights of those less well-off. But looking around at the peaceful neighborhood, she imagined such luxury had a way of insulating these happy individuals from the suffering of others. It wasn’t an upbringing she desired. Cheesecake would be barking like a fool at every passing poodle. And Kendell doubted she’d have had the opportunity to meet Myles.
A man in his midforties, wearing slacks and a cotton shirt that was too well tailored to be inexpensive, answered the door. “You’re Samantha’s friends? Come on in. I don’t know what we can do for you. We’re still in shock over Marilyn’s death.”
Before entering the house, Kendell spotted the black wreath on the other door to the double. “Thank you for seeing us. I’m so sorry for your loss. Samantha has such nice things to say about her distant cousin.”
“Samantha’s a sweetheart. I’m Alfred, and this is my wife, Anna. I am—was—Marilyn’s brother.”
Kendell took Myles’s hand and sat on the reproduction antique settee. “We don’t want to intrude, but we had some questions about your sister and what she was working on.”
“Samantha told us. I’m happy to tell you anything you’d like to know, but I will warn you, the whole thing about our family being cursed isn’t something we believe in. So if your intention is to bring up a bunch of hocus-pocus, we’ll have to ask you to leave. Marilyn’s death was an accident. We don’t need people turning it into something it wasn’t.”
“I understand.” Not long ago, Kendell would have had the same reaction. “What can you tell us about your sister?”
“You know the popular kids in high school? Marilyn would have been their queen, though she was never arrogant about it. I was the nerdy kid brother. But instead of trying to hide me from her friends and pretend I didn’t exist, she continually tried to work me into her clique. Every birthday or Christmas, she’d buy me expensive, fashionable clothes. She introduced me to the younger girls who tried to join the inner circle of popular kids, hoping one of them would take a liking to me. Marilyn never gave up on me. In spite of our vast differences, we were very close.”
