Murder in the Rue St. Ann by Greg Herren

one of her brother’s parties to refill her vodka martini, “than to just practice law for the hell of it.”
    She didn’t really have to work at all. She came from money, and then had married more. She loved the Quarter, and fought for its historic heritage with the tenacity of a tigress. She was very petite and pretty, with short thick brown hair and a lovely olive skin that didn’t require a lot of makeup. She had a birthmark just above the left side of her mouth and lustrous round brown eyes framed with long lashes. She was what we in New Orleans called a “party friend”— someone you never saw unless it was at a party or a function with a cocktail in her hand. I ‘d always liked seeing her. When I attended a party and saw her there, I always made a beeline for her side. She had a raunchy sense of humor that never failed to take me by surprise because she looked every inch the Uptown aristocrat.  She was the perfect person to stand next to in a room full of people you don’t know. She knew everyone and everything about them, and was more than happy to share her wealth of knowledge. What she doesn’t know, she’d make up. Once I accused her of fabricating something. She grinned at me, threw her arms out in a dramatic gesture, and said, “But darling, this is New Orleans! Anything can happen here!” You never could be sure if the gossip she shared was true or not, but that was part of the fun.
    “CHANSE!” She squealed as she came around the desk to present her cheek for me to kiss and then her body to hug. She was maybe five three, so I had to bend down for her to wrap her arms around me. She wore a white silk blouse over a gray skirt that matched the jacket flung over the back of her chair.  “I couldn’t believe it when Christy buzzed me to say you were here asking for me.” She sat back down and crossed her legs. “I’m so sick of all this crap—what a pleasant break from all of this.” She gestured to the pile of paperwork on her desk with a dismal frown.  “I swear, sometimes I just want to get in a cab, head to the airport and buy a ticket for anywhere .”
    “It’s nice to see you.” I took a seat. “How are you doing?”
    It took her about five minutes to fill me in. Her husband, a psychiatrist, was thinking of going on sabbatical and writing a book. “A novel, can you imagine? Suddenly he thinks he’s a creative genius.” Her youngest daughter was turning into such a terrible flirt—she was going to be trouble as a teenager. “Every morning I have to send her back to her room with turpentine to take the paint off.” Her older daughter had taken to wearing white make-up and black clothes—she was probably going to be a lesbian. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that—at least then I don’t have to worry about her getting pregnant in the backseat of some horny boy’s car.” Their pool was almost finished, though her contractor was a nightmare.  “You’ll have to come to the party I’m going to throw when it’s finished—the guest list is going to be limited to people who look good in swim suits—you can be sure of that .” She was thinking about having another baby, but if her husband was going to take a sabbatical, she really couldn’t yet. Still, she was afraid if she waited much longer it would be too late.
     “How polite you are, listening to me run on and on.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “But enough about me. How are you? How’s that new boyfriend thing working out?”
    “Good.” I said. I’d known Ruth for years, but it wasn’t like she was a confidant. Besides, the last thing in the world I wanted was to become part of her cocktail party repertoire for someone else’s entertainment.
    Her eyes narrowed for a second and her smile faltered just a little. When it reappeared, it didn’t quite look real. “So, what brings you to see me?” The friendly gossipy tone was gone from her voice.
    Shit . I needed her in gossip mode. “Why is