Mostly Murder by Linda Ladd Page A

shape.
    Madonna Christien’s home looked considerably better than its neighbors. Painted pale yellow with white shutters, it was neat and clean and deserted. The apartment was on the second floor, but had a large enclosed carport space underneath at ground level. A balcony faced the alley, but Claire couldn’t see Christien’s front door. There was an interior stair that led to a landing unseen from the street.
    Various clay pots filled with wilting red geraniums sat on the wide balcony railing. Several more sat on the floor of the deck. A striped yellow cat with a bell on his collar sat on the banister and stared at them with an utterly bored expression. One pot, the largest, lay in pieces in the alley in front of a new-model white Ram truck.
    Zee said, “There’s Rene. Right on time.”
    As they pulled up behind the truck, a man got out and strode back to them. He looked about five feet nine or ten, probably a little bit taller than Claire, and he was ruggedly handsome, with the dark hair and eyes of Louisiana Cajuns. He looked a little different from how she remembered. When Zee rolled down his window, Bourdain leaned in, unsmiling and all business.
    â€œHey, Zee, my man, how you doin’? Been a while, eh?”
    â€œYeah, you lookin’ good as usual, Lieutenant. Sorry you had to come over here and miss the second half of the game.”
    â€œYou sure this here’s your victim’s address?”
    Claire decided to get things on the road. “We’re not certain about much of anything at this point. This’s the address we found when we identified the body with prints, but the victim’s face was painted up. It looks like the same woman.”
    For the first time, Bourdain bent down low enough to look at her through the open window. Claire watched his face register surprise, and then he stared at her, as if speechless. “Annie? That you, chère ?”
    Oh, God , Claire thought. He remembered her better than she remembered him. She did not like him using her birth name. It just brought up a lot of unpleasant questions about her past.
    â€œHi, Rene. I’m surprised that you recognized me. It’s been a long time.” Claire got out of the car and gave him the obligatory smile, but her mind remained on the case.
    â€œOh, yeah, I heard you was down here with that Dr. Black fella. Hell, you’re pretty near famous now.”
    â€œNot really. Who told you I was here?”
    â€œWhy, I heard tell from Luc and Clyde and the boys over on the Bayou Blue . I go there to play poker and listen to them play zydeco, and they said that our little Annie gal and Nick Black came in and was talkin’ ’bout old times when you stayed down there on the bayou with Bobby and Kristen.”
    â€œI don’t go by Annie anymore,” she told him pointedly, but kept the courteous smile. She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t want to discuss any of this in front of Zee, either. She hoped Rene got the message. “It’s Claire Morgan now, Rene. Please don’t ask me why, that’s way too long a story. Right now, I’m working with Zee down in Lafourche Parish.”
    â€œLord have mercy, little Annie, or Claire, I guess. Look at you, girl, all grown up and pretty as a picture, too, with all that blond hair and those big blue eyes of yours. I’d a known you anywhere. Even with you bein’ a grown woman now.”
    Claire sucked in a breath and looked him straight in the eyes. She liked the guy, but the last thing she wanted was to reminisce about the old days. “Well, it’s good to see you, too. Good to see all the LeFevreses, but right now, we’re really anxious to get inside and take a look around. This woman died real hard, Rene, and we want her killer. You can let us inside, right?”
    Interesting expressions flitted across Bourdain’s face. He appeared highly expressive and easy to read. But his wide grin