by Greg Herren
“I’m working on it.”
“Well, do me a favor—if you see her, would you kill her for me?”
“There’s a surcharge for that, my baby.”
That one brought her up short, too—even I knew I’d gone too far. “Sorry?”
“No, I’m sorry. Diva shouldn’t even joke about things like that. Thanks for your help, darlin’.”
Mimi Dupuy was the Queen of Denial if she thought we were talking about a coincidence. On what planet do they make coincidences like that? Excuse me, George and Violet came to work for two halves of the same couple at the same time and then disappeared at the same time? And now they were both missing? I didn’t think I was going to have a chance to collect that surcharge from Mimi—my guess was Violet was already dead. Along with Geo.
Time to pay a visit to Detective Clarence Bopp, NOPD.
Bopp and I go back a long way. We met when he was busting some pole-dancer for dealing and I was the featured act at the club. Before he figured out I wasn’t your average everyday dancer, he made some moves that could have been embarrassing if Diva hadn’t taken pity and clued him in. So now he loves me—plus he’s a well-known sucker for a pretty face.
I hoped I didn’t embarrass him, barging into the squad room like I did, but probably not. Only one other guy was there, and he was talking on the phone. “Oh, Clarence! It’s your favorite private dick. Or should I say chick?”
Bopp was bent over something that looked suspiciously like a racing form. When he looked up, I was touched by the look of unmitigated delight on his world-weary—if pudgy—mug. (Though some might have mistaken his sunny smile for a grimace.)
“Oh, crap. It’s the world-famous Mistress of Disguise.”
“I didn’t get that title by choice, my baby; only because Disguise wouldn’t marry me.”
“Why buy the cow when the milk is free?”
See how much fun Bopp and I have together? “You calling Miss Diva a cow?” I inquired.
“Moooo!” he riposted. We’d be the bromance of the century if Miss Diva weren’t such a lady.
I pantomimed kissing: “MWAH. We both know you love me.”
Bopp said, “Yeah, right, Devereaux. How do I pry you outta here?”
I ignored his lively wit. “You got a missing persons report on a kid named George Dupuy? Filed by a Miss Wendy Thornton?”
He lit up. “Promise you’ll go if I find it?” And without another word, he started staring at his screen and clicking around. Miss Diva was quiet as a cat.
After a while he said, “Well, I’ve got a Geo De Pew. Damn close, huh?”
I figured that was no accident. “Yeah, that’d be him. Listen, I’ve got a pretty good idea where he is. That is, Barkus does. He thinks a certain sculpture stinks. If you take my meaning.”
And I proceeded to tell Bopp the whole story, to which he replied…
“Okay, simple. All I’ve got to do is get a court order to melt down a piece of civic art commissioned by one of our most prominent citizens, who happens to be married to the artist. Sure, no problem. What if there’s no body in there? You gonna pay for my retirement party?”
I knew he’d believe me. As usual, he was just playing hard to get. “The nose knows. Barkus is never wrong.”
“Yeah, well what about this Violet chick?”
“Get back to you on that.”
Oh, yeah. I sure would. Because the Mistress of Detection was definitely putting three and three together. And you know what Diva just hates? Being played for a sucker. Fortunately, unlike Bopp, I do not work for NOPD.
Perhaps it would be revealing too much to say exactly what the Mistress of Detection did next—and how. Suffice it to say, the color of the day was basic black and I was forced to trade in my usual fabulous footwear for something a bit stealthier. And then…
Back to that Dauphine Street address Wendy’d given me, an entirely boring two hours waiting for her to go panhandle or drink coffee, depending on whether she was in money-in or money-out mode, and finally—Action Jackson!
Not being Bopp, I could operate freely on the theory that you can’t make a case without breaking windows, and in the back, I found a nice one I could kick in with my stealth-boots. I lifted Barkus in first and then followed gracefully. Who knew whether she’d gone for a quick coffee or a slow day of panhandling, so I had to be fast. But no problem, it was a one-room room, as the old joke went. It was going to take about five minutes to toss the entire joint.
Oddly, nothing of Geo’s was in evidence. It was clear only one person lived here, and that person was a woman. Wendy obviously wasn’t expecting her dearly beloved to come back. Okay, then, drawers, files, suitcases, closet. Right. Check. Good show. A very fruitful search indeed.
All that remained was to find something amusing to read till Miss Thing came home. I settled for her personal papers.
And in about an hour, she returned, carrying a coffee cup—so maybe panhandling first, then sustenance? That would explain the time frame. She found me waiting for her, on a chair she evidently used to catch yesterday’s appalling outfit, and the one from the day before that and…hmm, seemingly back through eternity. I’d transferred them all to the unmade bed, and you could hardly notice the difference. In my lap were my faithful dog Barkus and three items of interest.
Quite a reasonable question she asked upon seeing us: “What the hell are you doing here?”
What she’d asked me to do, of course. I said, “Making this case my bitch, darlin’. Think I might almost have this thing wrapped up. Doesn’t look so good for Geo, though. You were right, my baby. Looks like Ramsay did kill him because, just as he suspected, he Knew too Much. Oh, yeah, Geo knew all about Violet and Ramsay, a circumstance that was gonna cut off Ramsay’s gravy train if his very rich wife found out. Geo tried to blackmail him, and…well…Ramsay didn’t want to be blackmailed.”
“Oh my God! No. Do you mean what I think you mean?”
“Well, it’s not all bad, Ramsay was going to make him immortal. Until Diva came along. So Geo’s now a clarinet, I’m sorry to say. And I’m even sorrier to have to report it’s the world’s ugliest clarinet. But, see, there’s another problem. Violet’s dead, too. Or let’s just say she never existed.” The coffee cup slipped unnoticed through her fingers. “Barkus, could you get off the evidence, please?”
My sweet baby jumped to the floor, giving the client a tiny little Barkus-snarl.
I held up the first item in my lap. “Recognize this nice blond wig, Miss Thing?”
“Excuse me, Delish, but we’re wigs ’r us around here—haven’t you noticed? I’ve got blue, I’ve got pink, why wouldn’t I have blond?”
Hmmm. Very defensive. She definitely saw where I was going. I stayed on course. “Oh, and would these temporary tattoos be yours? By the way, I see you’re not wearing your slave bracelets today.”
“The last I heard, permanent tattoos weren’t mandatory in this parish.”
“Well, aren’t we petulant!”
“What are you implying, anyway?”
I stood up and got in her face. “I’m implying, Miss Thing, that you don’t know who you’re dealing with, my baby. Diva Delish was a world-famous Mistress of Disguise before you got your first training bra. And what’s the first rule of disguise? It’s sleight of hand, my darlin’, just like magic. Distract ’em—like with a face tattoo—Diva’s hat’s off to you, by the way—and that’s all anybody’s gonna notice. You were Violet, darlin’. Oh, yeah, you and Geo set the whole thing up. You went to work for Mimi so you could hit on Ramsay Erickson and cook up a yummy delicious Blackmail Pie for your boyfriend Geo. Only Ramsay liked his gig as kept artist a lot more than you figured.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Oh, yeah! Don’t ya love it? See, you knew Geo was a trustifarian. And if the two of you could have held on for another year, you would have been rich. But you got greedy and Geo got a hostile makeover. You didn’t hire Diva to find Geo, you hired me to find his body.
Because unless Geo was officially dead, you wouldn’t officially be a widow. And you wouldn’t get a dime.”
“What are you talking about?”
Holding up the third item of interest, I went into incredibly annoying singsong mode. “Found ya marriage license,” I sang, like the worst bully on the playground. This was the most fun I’d had since Mardi Gras.
“Give me that!”
She reached for it, but I was ready for her. Grabbed her arm, spun her around, and pulled up on it, which had to hurt.
But she only said, “Damn, you’re strong!” and kicked backward at my knees.
Hmmm. Maybe it didn’t hurt enough. I exerted a bit more pressure. Oh, yeah. Better. She screamed, but she still had fight in her.
“Let me go!” she hollered and her other arm came up, the idea being to throw me off balance with a little hair pulling, I guess. But, darlin’, since you know Diva’s secret, you can guess what happened instead. Wendy ended up with yet another blond wig, this one of exponentially better quality than any she owned.
And there I was in nothing but my basic black burgling suit and a silly wig cap. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and burst out laughing.
“Why, Mrs. Dupuy,” I said, using Don’s voice for the first time, “you seem to have snatched me bald-headed!”
“You’re a guy!” she yelled. “You’re the guy who gave me the card.” Ah, yes. The card she brought to the Marigny Palace that fateful night.
I filled her in while I applied a pair of simply captivating pink cuffs that I got from handcuffworld.com for a mere twenty-one dollars. Bopp was just going to love them.
“Oh, you mean my partner, Don Devereaux,” I said, still in Don’s voice. “Yep. Don’s the name, Diva’s the game.”
And then I switched back to Diva. “That’s right, my baby. Born Donald Devereaux in Terrebonne Parish, and magically morphed into the fabulous Diva Delish, New Orleans’s most famous mixologist and private… Well! You know. Gives new meaning to that tired old phrase, now doesn’t it?”
She didn’t think it was funny.
Contributors
Josh Aterovis has published four books in the Killian Kendall mystery series. His first book, Bleeding Hearts, introduced gay teen sleuth Killian Kendall and won several awards, including the Whodunit Award from the StoneWall Society. He followed up by winning the Whodunit Award again the following year for Reap the Whirlwind. The third book in the series, All Lost Things, was a finalist for the 2010 Lambda Literary Awards for Gay Mystery. The Truth of Yesterday, the fourth in the series, has just been published.
Mel Bossa is the author of the two novels, Split and the forthcoming Suite Nineteen. Mel lives in Montreal.
’Nathan Burgoine lives in Ottawa, Canada, with his husband, Daniel. His previous short stories appear in Fool for Love, I Do Two, Blood Sacraments, and Tented. He has nonfiction works in I Like It Like That and 5x5 Literary Magazine. He promises the real Ottawa is not nearly so rainy or grimy. You can find ’Nathan online at n8an.livejournal.com.
Rob Byrnes is the author of four novels—Straight Lies (2009); When the Stars Come Out (2006; winner of a Lambda Literary Award); Trust Fund Boys (2004); and The Night We Met (2002)—and has contributed to several anthologies. His next novel, Holy Rollers, is being published by Bold Strokes Books in late 2011. A native of upstate New York, he currently lives in West New York, New Jersey, with his partner, Brady Allen. He can be found online at www.robbyrnes.net and robnyc.blogspot.com.
Michael Thomas Ford is now best known for his charming novels about Jane Austen living as a modern-day vampire, and men falling in love with one another, but once upon a time to pay the bills he wrote dirty stories under various names. Much of his erotic fiction has been collected in the book Tangled Sheets. You may visit him at www.michaelthomasford.com.
Greg Herren is the Lambda Literary Award–winning author of Murder in the Rue Chartres and the Lambda winning editor of Love, Bourbon Street: Reflections on New Orleans. Under his own name and various pseudonyms, he has published seventeen novels and edited nine anthologies, as well as over fifty short stories. “Spin Cycle” is an adaptation of a radio play originally produced by the Southern Repertory Company, in conjunction with WWNO Radio.
Adam McCabe is the pen name of an award-winning mystery author. He lives in Cincinnati with his partner and two dogs.
Felice Picano is the author of more than twenty-five books of poetry, fiction, memoirs, nonfiction, and plays. His work has been translated into many languages, several titles have been national and international bestsellers, and four plays were produced. He is considered a founder of modern gay literature along with the other members of the Violet Quill. Picano also began and operated the SeaHorse Press and Gay Presses of New York for fifteen years. His first novel was a finalist for the PEN / Hemingway Award. Since then he’s been nominated for and / or won dozens of literary awards, including a Lambda Literary Foundation Pioneer Award in 2009. His most recent work includes the history / memoir True Stories: Portraits From My Past, and co-editing Ambientes: Latina / o Writing Today with Prof. Lazaro Lima. He teaches literature at Antioch University, Los Angeles. Recent (free) Picano stories, essays, and book reviews are available at www.felicepicano.net.
Neil Plakcy is the author of the Mahu mystery series, about openly gay Honolulu homicide detective Kimo Kanapa‘aka. They are: Mahu, Mahu Surfer, Mahu Fire, Mahu Vice, Mahu Men, and Mahu Blood (2011). He also writes the Aidan and Liam bodyguard adventure series: Three Wrong Turns in the Desert, Dancing with the Tide, and Teach Me Tonight (2011). His other books are In Dog We Trust (a golden retriever mystery), GayLife.com, Mi Amor, and The Outhouse Gang, and the novella The Guardian Angel of South Beach.
Max Reynolds is the pseudonym of a well-known East Coast writer. Reynolds’s stories and novellas have appeared in numerous anthologies, including Men of Mystery, Frat Boys, Rough Trade, His Underwear, Blood Sacraments, and Wings.
Jeffrey Ricker is a writer, editor, and graphic designer. A magna cum laude graduate of the University of Missouri School of Journalism, he has had writing in the literary magazine Collective Fallout and the anthologies Paws and Reflect, Fool for Love: New Gay Fiction, and Blood Sacraments. His first novel, Detours, is forthcoming from Bold Strokes Books. He lives with his partner, Michael, and two dogs, and is working on his second novel and too many stories to keep track of at once. Follow his blog at jeffreyricker.wordpress.com.
Jeffrey Round’s most recent novel is The Honey Locust. His first two books, A Cage of Bones and The P-town Murders, were listed on AfterElton’s Top 100 Gay Books. He has worked as a television producer and writer for Alliance Atlantis and CBC. Jeffrey directed the long-running stage production of Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap for three of its most critically acclaimed years. His short film, My Heart Belongs to Daddy, won awards for Best Director and Best Use of Music, among others. Vanished in Vallarta, his third installment in the Bradford Fairfax Mystery Series, is scheduled for publication in 2011.
Julie Smith is the author of more than twenty novels, most of them mysteries, and an Edgar winner. Her most popular series feature NOPD Detective Skip Langdon and PI Talba Wallis. She’s also the founder of an electronic publishing group, www.booksBnimble.com.
John Morgan Wilson is a widely published journalist and fiction writer. His twelve books include eight novels in the Benjamin Justice series, which has earned an Edgar from Mystery Writers of America for Best First Novel and three Lambda Literary Awards for Best Gay Men’s Mystery. His short stories have appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and a number of literary anthologies, including Art from Art (Modernist Press) and Saints and Sinners 2011: New Fiction from the Festival (Rebel Satori Press). John lives in West Hollywood, California, where he serves on the planning committee of the annual West Hollywood Book Fair.
About the Editors
Greg Herren is a New Orleans–based author and editor. Former editor of Lambda Book Report, he is also a co-founder
of the Saints and Sinners Literary Festival, which takes place in New Orleans every May. He is the author of ten novels, including the Lambda Literary Award–winning Murder in the Rue Chartres, called by the New Orleans Times-Picayune “the most honest depiction of life in post- Katrina New Orleans published thus far.” He co-edited Love, Bourbon Street: Reflections on New Orleans, which also won the Lambda Literary Award. He has published over fifty short stories in markets as varied as Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine to the critically acclaimed anthology New Orleans Noir to various websites, literary magazines, and anthologies. His erotica anthology FRATSEX is the all-time bestselling title for Insightoutbooks. Under his pseudonym Todd Gregory, he published the bestselling erotic novel Every Frat Boy Wants It and the erotic anthologies His Underwear and Rough Trade.
A longtime resident of New Orleans, Greg was a fitness columnist and book reviewer for Window Media for over four years, publishing in the LGBT newspapers IMPACT News, Southern Voice, and Houston Voice. He served a term on the Board of Directors for the National Stonewall Democrats and served on the founding committee of the Louisiana Stonewall Democrats. He is currently employed as a public health researcher for the NO / AIDS Task Force.
J.M. Redmann has written six novels, all featuring New Orleans private detective Michele “Micky” Knight. The fourth, Lost Daughters, was originally published by W.W. Norton. Her third book, The Intersection Of Law & Desire, won a Lambda Literary Award, as well as being an Editor’s Choice of the San Francisco Chronicle and featured on NPR’s Fresh Air. Lost Daughters and Deaths Of Jocasta were also nominated for Lambda Literary Awards. Her books have been translated into German, Spanish, Dutch, and Norwegian. She currently lives in New Orleans, just at the edge of the flooded area.
