Who Dat Whodunnit

by Greg Herren

  “Which was why she left work early that day to begin with,” Colin prompted.

  “When I found out, she told me it wasn’t mine. But I knew Tara was my daughter, I always knew.” He sighed. “She got married again before the baby was even born, you know, she married Johnny Bourgeois. He went to high school with us, too—he’d always had a thing for her, and now she was available. As for me…” He rubbed his eyes. “The only thing that got me through all of it was my faith, and I heard the call. I’ve been a priest ever since.”

  “It must have been horrible to hear Tara spout that homo-phobic nonsense at the Miss United States pageant,” I observed.

  “Until then, I was so proud of her.” The waitress refilled his coffee mug, and he smiled his thanks to her. “I never knew her, you know. Marilou and her family made sure of that, and I don’t know, maybe it was for the best. But I always kept an eye on her. I watched her grow up—from a distance. I think the proudest day of my life was when she became Miss Louisiana. I was there. I actually wept with joy when they put the crown on her head.” He shook his head. “Pride is a sin, you know. But I never blamed Tara for the things she said, the things she did after the Miss United States pageant. That was all Marilou. Marilou raised her to hate gays and lesbians, to think they were evil.”

  It’s just the way I was raised, I heard Tara saying again in my mind.

  “I just kept thinking if I could talk to her, make her see how wrong it was to hate people…” Dan finished his coffee. He pulled a twenty out of his wallet, and put it down on the table. “And now she’s dead—and even after all this time, Marilou still can’t forgive me.” He stood up. “Enjoy your dinner, boys.”

  “Father Dan.” Colin stopped him. “I know you were at Mom and Dad’s the night Tara was murdered, but where were you on Monday morning?”

  “You think I killed Marina Werner?” His eyebrows went up, and he laughed. “I suppose you have to ask. No, I didn’t kill Marina Werner. I was at the Mission on Oretha Castle Hailey all morning, ministering to the homeless. You can check it out. Please do.” He patted me on the shoulder and winked at Colin. “I’ll see you boys later.”

  My mind was reeling, but I was so hungry nothing could stop me from devouring the bacon cheeseburger in a matter of moments. When all that was left was a puddle of ketchup and some French fry debris, I said, “He could have taken the gun.”

  Colin finished chewing the last bite of his burger and swallowed. “I don’t see Father Dan killing Marina, frankly. You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the Dove Ministry, though. What are you thinking?”

  “That place makes me sick,” I replied as our waitress slid a small tray with the bill on the table. “And it was sickening the way Werner and that MacGillicudy woman are using the murders to further their own agenda.”

  “All zealots are like that, opportunistic.” Colin slid an American Express card into the tray and took another drink of his iced tea. “It’s reprehensible, but you have to admire how quickly they can think on their feet. They probably raked in about a hundred grand in donations for the church and her group tonight.”

  “False prophets,” I said aloud, remembering the feeling I had while we were sitting in that awful place. “They prey on the weak, and then bilk them out of money.”

  “What I’m more curious about is why your aunt was there.”

  That jolted me. In my shock over the whole Father Dan thing, I hadn’t given Enid another thought. “And she was right there in the front pew with Marilou Bourgeois,” I said.

  “And you said she said some homophobic things to Frank on Monday night.” Colin smirked. “Just what is her connection to the Dove Ministry and the Bourgeois family, anyway? You know, she’s the only person we know of who is connected to both victims.”

  “Enid couldn’t kill anyone,” I scoffed.

  “You don’t think she’s changed since she had the gastro-bypass?” Colin asked as he signed the credit slip and put his card back into his wallet. “Frank does.”

  “He hasn’t said anything to me.”

  “She’s your aunt, Scotty.” Colin patted my leg as I slid out of the booth and put my coat back on. “It’s not cool to badmouth someone’s relatives.”

  “Certainly not a problem with my crazy family,” I retorted as we walked back out into the parking lot. “Frank knows that. So, what did he say?”

  Colin shrugged as he started the car. Another car started farther down the row from us. His eyebrows came together as he peered out into the rain and shrugged again. “Frank said Enid was nuts but harmless before she had the surgery. After she started losing the weight and got her own place, she started changing. He said she was more mean-spirited and malicious than she used to be.”

  “That’s because he didn’t know her all that well before,” I replied as he pulled out onto Veteran’s Boulevard. “She’s always been that way. She pretends like she’s sweetness and light—all the little presents and the cards are just window dressing to cover what she’s really like.”

  He made a U-turn and headed back for New Orleans. “What is it with you and her?”

  I sighed and hit the button to make my seat recline. “She is mean, Colin. She always has been—she says incredibly mean things about other people to be funny. And the stuff she says is funny, but it’s also mean and hurtful.” I closed my eyes. “She used to do it to me all the time, and sometimes the things she said would really hurt my feelings. If I said anything, she would get all pouty and say she didn’t mean it that way, she was just teasing, and on and on and on. But the funny thing I started noticing was she could say whatever she wanted to about someone else, and it was supposed to be funny. But if someone did the same thing to her, she would start crying.”

  “Could dish it out but couldn’t take it?”

  “Exactly. I don’t remember exactly when it was, but she was at Mom and Dad’s for dinner with everyone one night, and she started in on Storm. And you know Storm—he’s kind of the same way, only he can take it when you tease him. And usually Storm just let her go—didn’t say anything back, you know, just laughed and went along with it. But that night—I can’t remember exactly what it was she said, but it really annoyed him for some reason, and he shot back at her in the same way—I think she was making fun of him because of gaining some weight, or something, and he just looked at her and said, ‘Morbidly obese people really shouldn’t mock other people for putting on a few pounds,’ and she got all quivery and started to cry. ‘I can’t believe you’re so mean,’ she said, and then Mom just lost it completely.”

  “Ah, Mom.” Colin laughed as he merged onto I-10.

  “Yeah. Mom just went off, just read her the riot act up one side and down the other, and then of course Enid finally got over her hurt feelings and said something nasty to Mom, and Mom told her to, and I quote, ‘get your fat fucking ass out of my house before I rip off one of your enormous arms and beat you to death with it, you fucking hypocrite.’” I blew out my breath. “And of course, after she left everyone started comparing notes about her—and I’ve never really felt the same way about her since then. And after what she said to Frank the other night…”

  “You think you can control your temper if we stop by there?” He glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned.

  I turned and looked out the back window. “I wish you would stop doing that.”

  “I know, but I would swear there’s a car following us—the same one that was in the parking lot at Chili’s—and it looked like the one that was following us earlier.”

  “Which looked like the car that tried to run us over?” My heart started beating faster. I looked behind us again, but all I saw was headlights.

  “I don’t think we’re in any danger,” Colin replied, “but I don’t like that someone is following us.”

  I closed my eyes and said a serenity prayer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Queen of Cups, Reversed

  A woman whose imagination runs away with her<
br />
  Aunt Enid lived on Coliseum Square in the lower Garden District. The house was a beautiful old Victorian mansion that had been split into apartments. A gallery ran around the entire first floor, and the left front corner of the house featured a round tower crowned by a witch’s hat–style roof. The house itself stood three stories tall, and the second and third floors had small galleries as well. There was a large swimming pool in the fenced-in backyard, and bushes rimmed the front and side yards just inside a waist-high black wrought iron fence. It was painted a dark pink and stood on the corner facing the park. As Colin parked the Jag on the park side of Coliseum Street under a streetlight, I could see the park was completely empty except for a woman in a green raincoat walking a black Lab. It was a beautiful park filled with massive live oaks. The old-style lamps along the various paved walkways were all lit up. The rain had degenerated to a mist, which shrouded the park lights and gave them an eerie glow. The fountain was fully lit, and I could hear it splash as I got out of the car.

  I’d only been to Enid’s apartment once, shortly after she moved in several years ago. She’d called Frank and needed our help rearranging the furniture. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Frank had insisted. She lived in a big, spacious, well-lit apartment on the second floor, which encompassed the front corner of the building with the tower. The tower room was, she informed us, her crafting room. The whole place was done in pastels—pinks, pale blues, lavenders. The walls were covered with framed prints of scenes from medieval literature—damsels in distress waving handkerchiefs at knights in shining armor, the Lady of the Lake rising from the water with Excalibur in her hands while Arthur knelt on the shore, Ophelia floating in her watery grave with flowers entwined in the hair spread out around her head like a halo.

  That visit was in May, and while it was a lovely eighty degrees outside, her windows were all tightly closed. Walking into the apartment felt like stepping into a walk-in refrigerator—it couldn’t have been more than a frigid sixty degrees inside. I was so cold I wished I’d brought a sweater. The apartment had been in complete disarray. There were dirty dishes and take-out debris all over the kitchen counters. The sink was filled with dirty pots and pans. Every garbage can was overflowing sides onto the floor. Empty boxes were scattered everywhere I could see. Those little Styrofoam packing beans and crumpled sheets of bubble wrap were all over the floor. We moved her couch a few times—it finally wound up back where it had originally started. Finished, we beat a hasty retreat, her insistence on having us over for dinner “once I’m settled in” ringing in our ears.

  That dinner invitation had never come.

  We went up the back stairs to the short covered gallery that led to her back door. Her car, a bright yellow Karmann Ghia, was parked in her spot, and all her lights were on. I hesitated for a moment before knocking on her door. I heard footsteps and the door swung open.

  “What took you—” She stopped herself when she realized it was Colin and me. Her hand flew to her mouth. She’d changed into a pale blue cotton sweat suit. “What are you two doing here?”

  “We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop by,” I lied, plastering a smile on my face. “Can we come in? It’s cold out here.”

  Her narrowed eyes moved back and forth from me to Colin. She stepped aside after a moment. “Of course.” Her tone was pleasant but forced. “What a pleasant surprise!” She forced a big smile onto her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  She was obviously not pleased to see us, and I wondered who she’d been expecting.

  We walked past her into her huge living space. It was an enormous room, with lots of windows for light. All of her blinds were closed, and it felt like an oven inside. I felt sweat forming under my arms. She had the same prints on her walls, but the frames were now ornate and gilt. There were also pale blue velvet curtains at every window, tied back by gold cords ending in enormous gold tassels. The apartment looked like a hurricane had swept through it. There were newspapers and magazines piled on every available surface. Empty soda cans, wineglasses with a puddle of red wine in the bottom, empty wine bottles, and clothes were scattered all over the floor. There was barely enough room for one person to sit on the couch, which was otherwise buried in debris. There was also a strong odor of cat urine, and I noticed three cat boxes next to the refrigerator in the kitchen. An enormous white cat was perched on a pile of disheveled newspaper on the arm of the couch, looking at us with disdain before pointedly starting to clean himself.

  She walked over to one of the armchairs and transferred the pile of debris from it to the top of another pile on the coffee table. The pile wobbled but didn’t fall. She did the same to the other armchair, gesturing for us to have seats. “I wasn’t expecting company or I would have picked up a bit,” she said, smiling. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone what a horrible housekeeper I am! Can I get you boys anything? Wine? Diet Coke? Tea?”

  “Nothing for me,” Colin said, gingerly picking his way through the debris on the floor to one of the armchairs and sitting down.

  “Me, either,” I replied, debating whether I wanted to sit down. I decided it would be rude not to, so I slid into the other chair. “We just ate at Chili’s.”

  “I love Chili’s!” she squealed, clapping her hands together. Colin gave me an odd look I couldn’t interpret. “They have the best chicken Caesar wrap!” She licked her lips. “I’ll have to head out there tomorrow and have one. Are you boys sure you don’t want anything?”

  “No, we’re fine.” I smiled back at her.

  “I’ll have some wine, if you don’t mind.” She hurried into the kitchen area and pulled the cork out of a half-empty bottle. She opened a cabinet and got down a tumbler, which she filled almost all the way to the top. She sat down in the clear area on the couch, holding the wine with one hand while she stroked the cat with her other hand. A wad of white cat hair drifted into the air before settling on the end table. “I’m sorry I’ve never had you boys over—I keep meaning to invite you, but then time just gets away from me!” she said, using her breathless little girl voice that raised my hackles. She reached over and stroked the enormous white cat. “Who’s Mommy’s little man?” she cooed as he climbed into her lap, purring. “Oh, who’s Mommy’s sweet kitty? Yes, that’s my Harley.”

  Colin glanced over at me. I just gave him my whatever look as another cat, this one orange and white and weighing at least twenty pounds, leaped into my lap and started nudging my hand with his head.

  “You pet him, Scotty!” Enid commanded, her eyes wide. “Jonah doesn’t usually like people, you know. He must think you’re special.”

  I started scratching the cat under his chin as commanded, and he closed his eyes to slits, purring. “Enid, I was just curious—how did you know Tara Bourgeois?”

  Her eyes narrowed for a moment before widening again as she gave me an innocent face. “Well, I met her at the Ministry, of course. I know her mother, Marilou, quite well. She’s one of my dearest friends. Such a wonderful, sweet woman, that Marilou. She’s just devastated about Tara, the poor thing.”

  I took a deep breath. Jonah was now kneading my chest with his front paws, and the claws were piercing through my thin white dress shirt. “I didn’t know you were a member of the Ministry,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

  “Oh, yes, Scotty, I am.” She clasped her hands together, like she was about to start praying. “The Ministry is just wonderful. Reverend Werner is such a Godly man. He truly communicates with God, you know.”

  I swallowed. “So, how did you wind up at the Ministry?”

  She closed her eyes. “I remember it as though it was yesterday. It was when we evacuated for Katrina—we went to Atlanta and were staying at a Hotel Intercontinental. I had a terrible argument with Papa—I don’t remember what it was about now, and it doesn’t matter, I suppose…and I ordered a huge meal from room service.” Her eyes opened, and she gave me a sly look. “I always took refuge in food when I was unhappy, and I was unhappy al
l of the time. You remember that, don’t you, Scotty?”

  I just nodded.

  “I was flipping through the channels, hoping to find a movie or something, and I saw Reverend Werner on one of those Christian cable channels, talking about New Orleans, so I stopped and watched.” She got a blissful look on her face again. “It was like he was talking directly to me, Scotty. And I knew God was going to save New Orleans because of men like Reverend Werner, and I decided right then and there to join his ministry when I got back.”

  “You’ve been going there that long?” I said, wondering why no one in the family had ever mentioned it.

  “Well, no.” She shook her head. “I backslid and forgot all about it. I kept wandering in the darkness. I was lost, Scotty, but now I’m found.” She gave me a beatific smile. “You know what it was like for me, remember?” Harley jumped down from her lap as she shuddered. “It was so cold out there without God’s love. I always knew something was missing from my life, you know, but I never knew what it was. And then I found God’s light.”

  “But you’re an Episcopalian,” I replied, trying to make sense of this. “You went to church with Papa and MiMi every Sunday.”

  She made a rude noise. “Episcopalians. They’re just Catholics without the pope. Idolaters.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing in that church for anyone. God has turned His back on that church—no one there heeds God’s law anymore, and He has turned His back—and not just on them. No, sir! The Catholics, the Baptists, the Lutherans, the Methodists—all of them. They no longer follow God’s law.” She gave me a predatory smile. “But it’s not like that at the Ministry. Dick Werner is truly a prophet of the Lord.” She shook her head and made clucking noises. “It’s just terrible about his daughter.”