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

Cordelia campaigning. She’s only a little less popular than the Virgin Mary…All right…I have someone here. I’ll call you later.”
    He flipped his phone closed and smiled weakly.
    “Sorry about that. How can I help you?”
    “Are you Stephen Robideaux?”
    “I am.”
    He stuck his hand out. It was warm and moist and soft. I gave it a brief grasp and shake, letting go as soon as I politely could, resisting the urge to wipe my hand on my pants leg.
    “Chanse MacLeod. I stopped by earlier. I’ve been hired by Cordelia Sheehan to look into her son’s death.”
    “Rory told me. I have your card here somewhere.” He gestured at the top of his desk, a scattered, disorganized mess, and gave me a sheepish smile. “I was going to call. Anything I can do to help the Sheehans, you can count me in.”
    “Do you mind answering some questions?”
    “Fire away.” His face went white. “I’m sorry, that was in poor taste, given the circumstances.”
    “Rory told me you came down from Lafayette to run Wendell’s campaign?”
    “More or less. I worked for the state party for a long time, and I run a consulting business for political campaigns. I’ve helped elect quite a few Democrats to Baton Rouge. But this was my first campaign for a national office. In fact, I was the one who convinced Wendell to run in the first place.”
    He seemed proud of himself, a little pompous, like he was trying to impress me.
    “Really? How did that come about?”
    “When his first wife died and he retired from public life, it was a loss for the entire state. Wendell was a rising star, and with the Sheehan and Spencer names behind him, there would have been no stopping him. He was attorney general, remember, and the state party was prepping him for a run at the governor’s mansion. Next it could have been the White House. You never know.”
    He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “But his wife’s death devastated him. He backed away from everything and focused on running the family business and raising his daughter. I thought maybe when he remarried he’d return to politics, but no.”
    “He ran for mayor.” I pointed out.
    “The hurricane and what happened after woke a lot of us up. Wendell realized that Louisiana—the country—lacked leadership. He saw the direction the country had been going in while he wasn’t involved, and he didn’t like it. Actually, he hated it. So he ran for mayor.”
    “I voted for him.” I said.
    “As long as I live I will never understand the outcome of that election. Maybe there were shenanigans involved—it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened in New Orleans. But Wendell decided he could do more good for New Orleans, and Louisiana, in the Senate. After the scandal about the incumbent and his penchant for prostitutes, I came down to meet with him. It wasn’t hard to convince him to run for that seat. We were getting support like you wouldn’t believe, from all over the state. The Sheehan name was like money in the bank—or ballots in the box, if you’ll forgive me. Granted, the election is still two years away, but by the time it truly geared up we would have had an unbeatable machine put together.”
    “Do you think political enemies could have done this? Someone who didn’t want him in the Senate?”
    “I seriously doubt it. Murder isn’t their style. They prefer slander and innuendo. Not that they were in a position to throw stones. I was really looking forward to doing rebuttal ads to whatever they threw at us. There was no viable opponent for the primary; all the primary drama is going to be on the other side, and I don’t think even they would go as far as murder. This whole thing is such a mess. Do the police really think Cordelia could have shot him? I find that so hard to believe. It’s just not like her.”
    “I’m not privy to the police investigation, so I can’t answer that. But she fired the gun, and hers were the only fingerprints on it.”
    “I’m