Free Murder in the Garden District (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) by Greg Herren Page A

hard to conclude that one of the two Mrs. Sheehans killed him to protect the baby, and concocted their ridiculous, contradictory stories to cloud the issue. I only had Janna’s word that she’d told no one about the pregnancy. If Cordelia knew—if Wendell came home and got violent with Janna—would Cordelia have killed her son to save her grandchild?
    I knew the answer to that—a resounding hell yes .
    “We have to retrace Wendell’s steps that night,” I told Abby.
    “What do you need me to do, boss?”
    She whipped out her Blackberry.
    “Talk to Wendell’s friends and associates. Find out if he went to the Delacroix that night. See if anyone there heard or saw anything. See if he went anywhere else before going home. And find out what his state of mind was. This is a long shot, but see if you can find out who Carey Sheehan’s father was. Janna wouldn’t tell me, and I asked her twice—she reacted vehemently, insisting he had nothing to do with Carey and nothing to do with her.”
    “The lady doth protest too much?”
    “Something like that. Maybe she was having an affair, the way Barbara was. Might as well see if everything in these two cases is parallel.”
    Her fingers flew over the tiny keyboard. She glanced up.
    “You really need to get one of these instead of that tired old phone you use. Anything else?”
    “We need to talk to Carey and Alais Sheehan. They were both in the house that night. Alais isn’t returning to college this semester. She goes to Ole Miss. See what you can dig up on her. Carey had swim practice yesterday. Maybe you could catch him there. May I recommend your schoolgirl look? He’s only thirteen, and hormonal.”
    “You aren’t suggesting I take advantage of a child, are you? That’s sick.”
    “I didn’t say sleep with him. Lift your mind out of the gutter. Isn’t your specialty getting information from men?”
    She closed her Blackberry.
    “He’s a boy, which is like shooting fish in a barrel. And my specialty is getting money from men.”
    She slipped the phone into her purse and stood up.
    “I’m off. I’ll get that report to you this afternoon, and e-mail a progress report to you tonight. Thanks for lunch, Chanse. Can I give you a lift home?”
    “I have to stop by Wendell’s office and see if his campaign manager is back yet.” I put two twenties into the little tray the waitress had discreetly slipped onto our table, and stood up. “I take it you’re not dancing tonight? No class, either?”
    “I took the week off. Makes the regulars tip more when you come back. Why do you ask?” We walked out into the blinding heat.
    “There was a car parked on the other side of Coliseum Square from my place last night. Someone was just sitting there. It may have been nothing, but if the car’s there tonight, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”
    Her face lit up. She loved doing surveillance.
    “Give me a call if it’s there. Should be a piece of cake. I’ll bring the dogs. No one would suspect a girl walking her dogs, right?”
    I couldn’t help grinning as I watched her walk away. A little more experience under her belt and she was going to be the best private eye in Louisiana. Maybe I should make her a partner.

    *

    The only person in Wendell’s campaign office now was a short, stocky man with reddish-blond hair and a red face wet with sweat, talking into his cell phone. His blue button-down shirt was soaked at the armpits. He waved me into a seat by his desk, looking apologetic. I listened to his end of the call.
    “Uh-huh…yes, I know…there’s got to be another viable candidate somewhere in the state…I always said it was unlikely we’d have both senators from New Orleans…it’s never happened before and you know how those Baptists in North Louisiana are. They hate everything about South Louisiana…they hate Catholics and think New Orleans is Sodom and Gomorrah all over again…I know…a Sheehan would have had the best shot, especially with