by Greg Herren
“She might not want to see anyone—I know I’d want to be left alone if one of my children—I can’t even say it.” She shuddered and clasped my hand. She pulled her cell phone out and hesitated. “You know, it might be a better idea to call Cara, her assistant—if Lurleen is grieving…”
“That makes sense.” Colin turned his chair around and straddled it.
Mom scrolled through her address book and placed the call, putting the phone up to her ear. “Cara? Hi, it’s Cecile Bradley, how are you doing, dear?” She winked at me. “Yes, I know, it’s terrible, that’s why I’m calling…how is Lurleen doing? Uh-huh, yes, I can imagine. Is there anything I can do? No, I insist, it isn’t any trouble.” She glanced over at the pastry cabinet. “We’ve got a wonderful crumb coffee cake with raspberry in…I’m sure Lurleen will love it, I ordered it with her in mind…no, seriously, it’s no trouble…I can’t get away from the shop right now, but I can send Scotty over with it in a few minutes…yes, he’s right here and he doesn’t mind at all.” She gave me another wink and a thumbs-up. “All right, I’ll send him right over. And please, if you can think of anything…and please let Lurleen know all she has to do is call. All right, darling.” She disconnected the call and made a face. “For the record, I hated doing that. But if it’ll help Emily…” She stood up with a sigh. “Let me wrap the crumb cake up.”
A few minutes later, Colin and I were walking across the street with the boxed cake. It had started raining again. Colin held an enormous umbrella over both of us, but my pants still got soaked before we got under the cover of the balcony on the opposite corner.
Lurleen Rutledge had a huge apartment on the third floor of the building directly across Dumaine Street from the Devil’s Weed. Mom once joked that her glassed-in balcony gave Lurleen a gorgeous view into Mom and Dad’s apartment. I’d never actually been inside Lurleen’s place, but it had been featured once in Crescent City magazine. It was gorgeous, and had been exquisitely decorated by one of the top interior decorators in the city. It was a little overdone for my taste, but I didn’t have to live there, either.
We rang the buzzer, and were rewarded with an answering buzz as the steel front door unlocked. I winked at Colin as we walked into the large entry way. The floor was black and white parquet marble, and a hanging staircase stood opposite a door that must lead into the jewelry shop on the first floor. The stairs were polished and gleamed in the light from a massive chandelier. We walked up the steep stairs to the second floor landing. There was a black wood table with an enormous flower arrangement next to a door with a 2 on it, and a huge window at the opposite end looking onto Royal Street. There was another hanging staircase directly over the one we just came up. We walked around and started up the second set of stairs.
“How on earth do people get furniture into these places?” Colin asked when we were about half the way up.
I laughed. “They pay people to do it for them.”
“Of course they do,” Colin sighed as we got to the top. This landing was the duplicate of the one below, down to the flower arrangement. There was another flight of stairs to the fourth floor, but the door marked 3 was slightly ajar. I walked over and knocked—which made the door swing open.
“Hello?” I called softly, stepping inside. “It’s Scotty, delivering the coffee cake. Hello?”
The room just inside the door was a dining room. The walls were painted a deep emerald green. The floor was hard wood polished and buffed so that it shone in the light cast by a large chandelier. A dark mahogany dining table was centered directly under the chandelier. A white lace tablecloth ran lengthwise down the center of the table. A golden bowl with apples and pears sat in the middle, with golden candlesticks holding long white tapers on either side. There was a matching sideboard against the opposite wall. A golden candelabra stood in its center with three lit white tapers dribbling wax mounted in it. Off to our right was a large doorway leading into the darkened living room. A figure was sitting on a white leather sofa, dressed entirely in black.
I assumed it was Lurleen—but I wasn’t really sure what to do next.
I heard Colin softly shut the door behind us and was about to ask him what we should do when a door on the left popped open. Cara White, also dressed completely in black, waved us toward her with a warning glance into the living room. Careful not to make a sound, we crossed the dining room and went through the kitchen door.
The kitchen was enormous. There was a double sink, marble top counters, and dark wood cabinets running all the way to the high ceiling. In the center was an island with a surface that looked like it was made out of cutting board. Stainless steel refrigerators took up the entire left wall, and there was a huge stove along the wall it shared with the dining room. A complicated-looking coffee machine took up most of the counter on the right wall, and there was a door at the end of that counter. It was open, and I could see a small sitting room just beyond.
Cara White was a small woman. She couldn’t have been five feet tall or weighed more than ninety pounds. She was almost birdlike in her movements, with almost child-sized hands. She wore her light brown hair cut in a short bob, and gold-rimmed glasses perched on her long nose. Her lips were thin and her chin pointed. She wasn’t wearing make-up on her pale skin, and three moles ran in almost a straight line down the left side of her face. She could have been any age from thirty-five to fifty. She took the box from me, placed it on the center island, and untied the string. “Would you like some coffee, Scotty? I just made a fresh pot.” She gave a weak smile to Colin, holding out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Cara White, Mrs. Rutledge’s assistant.”
“Colin Cioni,” he replied, bowing over her small hand and pressing his lips to it. “My condolences.” She blushed with pleasure and preened a little bit.
I was frankly a little overcaffeinated, but if it would get her talking I could force down yet another cup. “Sure, some coffee would be nice.” I gave her a sympathetic smile. “How is she doing?”
She inclined her head in the direction of the living room. “Did you see her?” She asked, getting down two more china cups from a cabinet directly over the coffeemaker. She sighed. “Poor thing.” She filled the cups, placed them in matching saucers, and set them down on the island. I added some cream and a packet of Sweet’n Low to mine. I took a sip and somehow managed to keep my face inexpressive. It was so strong I’m surprised it didn’t permanently stain the inside of the cup.
“Wonderful.” I smiled back at her, setting it down in the saucer.
“Just give me a second, okay?” She cut a piece of the coffee cake and lifted it onto a small plate. She poured about half the pot of coffee into a carafe and put everything onto a silver tray. She picked it up and backed into the door, which swung open behind her. She gave us both a wink before she vanished through the doorway.
“Nice place,” Colin whispered. “I take it the late Mr. Rutledge was pretty well fixed?”
I nodded. “I guess so—this place wasn’t cheap. His gallery was ridiculously expensive—I went there once for a fund-raising party they hosted for the NO/AIDS Task Force while he was still alive, and the cheapest thing I could find was about twenty-five grand.” I made a face. “Obviously, I didn’t buy anything.”
The door opened again as Cara came back in with a long-suffering sigh. “Be sure to thank your mother for me again.” Cara poured another cup of coffee and took a sip. She sat down on a bar stool and gestured for us to also sit. “That was very kind of her.” She shook her head. “Lurleen is taking this really hard. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—but they were estranged, you know. They hadn’t really spoken in years. I don’t think Marina ever set foot in here. But still—I’m sure Lurleen thought—you never think”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“that your daughter is going to be murdered.” She shivered dramatically.
“How sad.” I forced myself to take another sip of the jet-fuel coffee. “I’m sure whatever the problem was seems so unimportant now.�
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Cara nodded. “I can’t imagine not speaking to my mother. I mean, yes, she’s annoying and controlling, but she’s still my mom, you know?” She hugged herself.
“Do you know what caused the estrangement?” Colin asked, finishing his coffee.
Cara refilled his cup without being asked. I made a mental note to make sure I didn’t finish mine. It was much stronger than I preferred—and a second cup would probably give me a heart attack. “She never really told me, but I’m pretty sure it was because of the divorce.” Cara cut herself a piece of the cake and licked the knife before tossing it into the sink. “Her ex-husband had sole custody of the kids and rarely let Lurleen see them when they were growing up.”
Kind of like how Jared never got to see his mother very much growing up, I thought.
“She tried, I know she tried.” Cara shook her head, making a tsking noise. “Every year, I send them packages on their birthdays and at Christmas. They always, without fail, get sent back. Can you imagine? So terribly sad.”
“No. No, I can’t.” I picked up my cup, but set it back down. There was no way I was taking another sip of that coffee.
“There’s a memorial service tonight, at that Dove Ministry out in Kenner.” Cara made a face and whispered, “That awful Reverend Werner told Lurleen she wasn’t welcome. Can you imagine? And him a man of God.”
I was just about to ask another question when the door swung open.
As a rule, Lurleen Rutledge was the epitome of the well-put-together New Orleans lady of leisure. But now she looked—disheveled and disastrous. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Her auburn hair, always regally styled, was in a stunning state of disarray. She was wearing a black sweatshirt over a pair of black jeans. Her feet were bare. “Scotty. Colin.” She was holding her plate in her left hand. She tried to smile but the result was just a sad baring of teeth. There was a bit of the raspberry filling in a corner of her mouth. “That was so kind of Cecile. I…I don’t…” She started to choke up but took a deep breath and regained control of herself. “I don’t know how to thank her.”
“I know this is a terrible time, Mrs. Rutledge, but Scotty and I are looking into what happened to your daughter,” Colin said gently. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”
She sagged a little, but nodded.
We followed her back through the dining room to the living room. She plopped down on the sofa, and we each took one of the wingback chairs on the other side of the coffee table from her.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” I said.
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “All I can think of is the lost years…” She picked up a framed photograph from the cushion next to her and handed it over to me. It was an old photo of a young boy and girl, dressed in their Sunday best. “Weren’t they adorable?”
“Yes.” I handed it over to Colin, who made appropriate noises. “I don’t understand, Mrs. Rutledge—”
“Lurleen,” she interrupted me with that terrible smile again. “Call me Lurleen, please.”
“Cara said your husband had sole custody of the children,” I went on, and as soon as I said it could have bitten my tongue off. It generally wasn’t a good idea to tell someone their assistant gossips about them.
She nodded. “Yes.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She took a deep breath. “Dick divorced me for adultery. It wasn’t hard to convince a judge in Plaquemines Parish I was a whore and an unfit mother.” She made a face. “It didn’t hurt that there were pictures, and I’d left him and was living with another man.” She gave me that horrible smile again. “Does that shock you? It was a different time—though every time I go back there, it doesn’t seem to have changed much. My first husband was a monster.”
You don’t have to tell me, I thought, thinking about the rally he was helping to produce.
“I wanted to get out of my parents’ house,” she went on. “Great reason to get married, right? Dad drank and smacked us all around. Dick was nice to me, really nice. His dad was a preacher—he did a lot of traveling, and Dick wanted to be one, too. Dick was good—at the time he was a good man, you know? He wanted to marry me—I would have slept with him, you know, I didn’t care, but he thought it was a sin, we had to wait till we got married. We got married the day after we graduated from high school…I think I got pregnant that same night. Marina was born almost exactly nine months after our wedding date. I had Bobby about ten months later.” She sighed. “I wasn’t even twenty, trying to take care of two babies while Dick tried to get going as a preacher. We were so poor I bounced a check for a can of tuna once. That was the first time Dick hit me.”
Cara brought the coffeepot in and refilled everyone’s cups. As soon as the kitchen door shut behind her, Lurleen started talking again.
“I thought a man of God wouldn’t have the devil in him, the way my daddy did, you know? But after a couple of years, I would have rather been married to a man like my daddy—he might have smacked us around when he was drunk, but he was good to us most of the time. Dick started getting funny ideas about God, you know? He started to believe he was a prophet, and that God spoke through him. Disobeying him was disobeying God. He started a small congregation of his own in Rouen, little better than snake handlers, really, but people liked what he had to say, I guess.” She took a drink. “I began to think about killing myself, you know. I loved my kids, but I hated my life. Anything had to be better, you know. And then I met Dudley Rutledge.
“I don’t know what he saw in me—I still don’t, not to this day, I don’t know what he saw in me. But he was so kind, and loving. I know it was crazy, I know it was wrong, but he started driving out to Rouen to see me. He loved me, he wanted me. I didn’t know how to act. I just didn’t care about anything. And finally, I came back to New Orleans with him. Dick was furious, he threatened me—and somehow he got pictures of me with Dudley. I guess he hired a detective, I didn’t care—he filed for a divorce. Dudley got me a lawyer, we fought with everything we had but we lost. We lost the kids. I was morally unfit to be a mother. And his congregation—they all testified against me, for him. They said I lied. Even the kids—my own children—testified that they didn’t want to be with me, that he’d never hit me, that I was a sinner and was going to hell and they didn’t want to be around me. It broke my heart, but if I stayed, I’d die. I had to choose between my children and my life. I chose my life, God help me. And my children stayed with him, being poisoned against me every day of their lives.”
“That’s horrible,” Colin said in a choked voice. I stole a glance at him—his face was mottled, which meant he was furious. Having lost his mother and siblings to a terrorist bombing when he was little more than a teenager in Haifa, nothing enraged him more than anyone who separated a mother from her children.
“I tried, you know.” She swallowed. “I sent them presents for their birthdays, for Christmas—but they were always sent back. I always assumed it was Dick sending them back—but when they were adults and had their own homes, the presents were still sent back. My children hate me. They don’t want anything to do with me because I’m a sinner.” She barked out a harsh laugh. “You can imagine my surprise Sunday morning when I saw my daughter holding hands with Emily, kissing her right in front of the Devil’s Weed, right there for God and everyone to see. The look on her face…” She started to laugh but it turned into a sob. “It was like she’d looked right into the face of Satan himself. She ran away. I should have just let it go…but no, I couldn’t.” She covered her face in her hands. “I called her. I taunted her. ‘Do you think your father will approve of your lesbianism more than he did my adultery?’ Yes, those were the things I said to my daughter. The last time I spoke to my daughter. Instead of trying to help her, of being there for her…I knew how much pain she had to have been in, how conflicted. I’d been there myself…and now…” She removed her hands from her face. “I’m sorry, I know I haven’t been much help to you…would you mind? I think I nee
d to be alone.”
Chapter Eleven
The Moon
Unforeseen perils, deception
We went down the stairs in silence.
“I think we need to go to that memorial service tonight,” Colin said as I opened the door to the street.
My mind was still reeling from Lurleen’s story as I stepped out into the cold. The rain had stopped while we were inside. The wind had picked up again, though. I shivered and turned the collar of my jacket back up to shield my neck. “Do we have to?” I asked.
Colin nodded. “Yeah, we do. If at all possible, we need to talk to Reverend Werner, maybe the brother, DJ, too.”
“And tell them what, exactly?” I made a face. “Hi, we’re trying to prove Marina’s lesbian lover didn’t kill her, can we have a few minutes of your time, please?” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll drop everything and talk to us. We’ll be lucky to get out of there with our lives.”
He gave me a look. “We’ll be a little more subtle than that, Scotty. We’ll come up with a good cover story.” He winked at me. “It’s what I do, you know. One doesn’t infiltrate a jihadist terrorist cell wearing a Star of David pendant.”
“Well, duh.” I stuck my tongue out at him. Not the most mature response, to be sure, but I couldn’t think of anything else. “How are we going to get there? Frank’s got the Jag.”
“We’ll borrow Mom’s Prius,” he said and started walking back toward the Devil’s Weed. I groaned and hurried after him. He rapped on the door and Mom let him in. Everyone was still sitting around the table where we’d left them.
“Did she like the cake?” Mom asked as she locked the door behind us.
“She loved it. Mom, can we borrow the Prius? We’re going to run out to Kenner and do some nosing around at Marina’s memorial service, see what we can find out—and Frank’s got the Jag,” Colin asked in a rush.
