Murder in the Irish Channel (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) by Greg Herren

communing with God?”
    “Chanse—” Venus reached across the table and grabbed my right hand with both of hers, squeezing. “Maybe it’s different in other places, I don’t know, I don’t live somewhere else. All I can tell you is what it’s like here. In New Orleans.” She let go of my hands and looked out the window as a Coca-Cola delivery truck went by. She took a deep breath. “St. Anselm has been serving its parish for over a hundred years, and so has Our Lady of Prompt Succor. People who were baptized there, confirmed, married, had their kids baptized and confirmed and married there—the place itself matters to people—it matters.” She shrugged. “And it’s hard to let go, Chanse—it’s like having your heart ripped out.” She swallowed. “I’ve been going to St. Anselm myself since the flood. My old parish in the East isn’t there anymore.” She closed her eyes. “I was baptized and confirmed at Mary Queen of the Universe. I was married there. My kids were baptized, confirmed, married there. It kills me that Mary Queen of the Universe isn’t there anymore, Chanse. And now I go to St. Anselm—and soon if the archbishop has his way, it’s not going to be there anymore, either. And that’s just wrong.” She finished her coffee and pushed her chair back. “Haven’t we lost enough here already? Do we have to lose our churches, too?” She took her cup back to the counter for a refill.
    “Have you talked to Paige at all?” Blaine asked as she sat back down.
    “Paige? Why?” I asked, startled.
    Blaine laughed. “Some friend you are!”
    Venus tried not to smile, but gave up and grinned broadly at me. “Seriously.” She got out of her chair and walked over to the counter, picked up a magazine, and walked back. She slapped it down on the table in front of me and started laughing.
    It was the latest issue of Crescent City ,and the cover photograph showed a group of people standing in front of a church with their arms linked. The headline said simply, F IGHTING FOR R ELIGIOUS H ERITAGE . Beneath that, it said in a smaller font: An in-depth look at the church closing controversy by Paige Tourneur.
    Paige was my best friend, the editor of Crescent City , and had been dating Blaine’s older brother Ryan for about four years.
    “Paige has been covering this story since the archdiocese announced they were closing the churches,” Blaine went on as I flipped to the article. “You mean she’s never mentioned it to you? And you don’t read her articles?” They exchanged glances.
    “Can’t wait to rat your ass out to her,” Venus said with a grin. “You’re gonna have some serious ’splainin’ to do, Mr. Man.”
    I looked at her. “Okay, I admit, I never read the newspaper and rarely watch the news. And she’s used to it. She used to get mad at me when she worked at the paper, but it doesn’t bother her anymore. But can you explain something to me? If it’s two churches, why does St. Anselm’s get all the coverage and no one ever talks about Our Lady of Prompt Succor—which is a ridiculous name for a church, I have to say.”
    “Because it’s over on the West Bank,” Venus replied. “And that best-selling novelist is a parishioner at St. Anselm—so he gets them a lot more coverage, people listen to him when he talks. But the archbishop is trying to close two churches.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “It’s a pity, too. St. Anselm is a beautiful old church, and the parishioners are really great people. They really made me feel at home there.” She picked up her purse and stalked out of the coffee shop.
    Blaine leaned back in his chair. “Don’t mind her. This whole church thing has got her riled. I can’t say as I blame her—she already lost one church to Katrina, and now she’s about to lose another? And I think her younger daughter’s having marital trouble, but you know how she is. She won’t say a damned thing until she’s ready—and in the meantime I