Free Who Dat Whodunnit by Greg Herren

promptly. “Mom wasn’t exactly in any kind of condition to get over to Poydras Tower and shoot anyone.” He laughed. “None of us were. And Father Dan was still there when we left. So if you were worried about Mom, don’t be. I wish she hadn’t punched Tara last night, but no sense in crying over spilled milk.”
    I felt my entire body relax with relief. I’d never for one second believed Mom killed Tara—but that wouldn’t exactly carry any weight with the police. It was good to know she wouldn’t be a suspect.
    “I’m hiring you and Frank to help,” Storm was saying. “Jared doesn’t have an alibi—of course, that would be too easy—but I don’t think for a minute he killed Tara Bourgeois.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t think Jared’s been to Mom and Dad’s since he was a kid—he couldn’t have taken the gun.”
    “Someone else could have taken the gun and given it to him,” I replied. Frank raised his eyebrows.
    “Scotty, I know you don’t like Jared, but he’s our client now, and he’s our cousin.” Storm’s voice was chiding. “ Family . So he deserves our support, got it? Now, I’ll give you a call when we’re done at the police station.”
    “Yeah, sure, whatever.” I turned the phone off and gave Frank a brittle smile. “Looks like we have a new client.”
    Frank shrugged. “I figured that much. But I can’t go with you over to Mom’s.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got practice in Biloxi.”
    I’d completely forgotten. Under the name “Frank Savage,” Frank’s a professional wrestler for the Gulf Coast Wrestling Alliance, and he had a title shot coming up on Saturday in Biloxi. “It’s okay, I’ll handle it. When you get home tonight I’ll fill you in.” I pulled on my black wool Who Dat cap and stood up, leaning down and kissing his cheek. “Have a good practice. Kick some ass, stud.”
    I stepped out onto the sidewalk of Decatur Street just in time to almost get knocked down by a cold blast of wind. I shivered and shook my head, grinning. It was one of the coldest Januarys I could remember—everyone was joking that hell had frozen over since the Saints were in the Super Bowl. I ducked my head against the wind and started walking.
    Saints mania had swept over the city since the season had started way back in September. As I walked, everywhere I looked I could see Saints flags hanging from balconies. WHO DAT or SUPER BOWL BOUND or SUPER SAINTS or GEAUX SAINTS was written in black grease pencil on every available glass surface as far as the eye could see. Parked cars had Saints flags on their roofs, snapping in the wind. The city still seemed a little subdued from the game Sunday night—kind of like everyone was on day two of a massive hangover. Just thinking about it gave me a little lift in my spirits. I started walking faster. It was really cold.
    I unlocked the gate and climbed the back stairs to Mom and Dad’s apartment. It wasn’t quite noon yet, so they might not be awake. I unlocked the back door and stepped into their kitchen. Coffee was brewing, and the heat was on. The warmth felt great. “Mom? Dad?” I called, slipping off my jacket and draping it over a chair.
    Mom stepped into the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a gold Saints sweatshirt. “Scotty! What are you doing here?” She threw her arms around me. “This is a pleasant surprise!”
    I hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. “Business, I’m afraid.” I tossed my wool cap onto the table. “Is Dad up?”
    “He’s in the shower.” She poured us both a cup of coffee. “Business? What do you mean? What’s happened?’ She looked into my eyes. “You’re not in trouble again, are you?”
    “Not me—Jared.” I held the steaming mug in both hands, appreciating the heat.
    “Jared?” She shook her head. “What has he done?”
    “Better wait for Dad—no sense in having to explain twice.”
    She cocked her head to one side. “I don’t know