Murder in the Rue Ursulines (2 page)

 I’d lost track of her marriages, divorces, and lovers—it really wasn’t any of my business. But it was hard not to be aware of her personal life when headlines scream at you in line at the grocery store. When she’d hooked up with Freddy Bliss, a major new male star twenty-odd years younger than she was, it was as though entertainment journalists had died and gone straight to heaven—especially since Freddy had left his wife to be with Jillian.  Freddy’s wife, Glynis Parrish, had been on the cover of every magazine telling her story of ‘heartbreak’ and moving forward. I think she may have even written a book, but I could be wrong. I don’t really pay that much attention to that kind of thing.

But one thing I liked about them was that ‘Frillian’ seemed dedicated to using their fame for charities and to help underprivileged people; not only in this country but around the world. Jillian had long earned a well-deserved reputation as an activist—and traveled the world on good will missions for the United Nations. Even before they met, Freddy was doing the same—but for inner-city neighborhoods and schools. Individually, they’d accomplished a lot. Together, they were accomplishing more. I’d been one of the people who’d been pleased when New Orleans recovery became one of their issues. The country had moved on from the disaster as though it had never happened—and they were working to make sure New Orleans wasn’t forgotten.

Even though I knew they were just two normal people, like me or anyone else, I felt more than a little nervous about meeting them in person.

When Loren led me into the conference room that opened just off his office, the first thing that struck me about them was that they were both rather, well, small. Granted, I’m six-feet-four and weigh 230 pounds, so I’m usually one of the bigger people around. But when Freddy Bliss rose from his chair and stepped toward me, flashing that big toothy smile that lit up movie screens and inspired the kind of passions in teenaged girls that frightened their parents, my first thought was,
but he’s so short. That can’t be.
 I felt like a huge clumsy ogre as my hand closed around his. His grip, though, was firm and the big smile seemed genuine. His brown hair was artfully unkempt, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. The smile—and the light in the big brown eyes—were infectious and I found myself smiling back at him. He was wearing an LSU football jersey—the white home one with the gold and purple stripes at the shoulders—and loose-fitting, worn jeans over dirty-looking white sneakers.  “Freddy Bliss,” he said, as he shook my hand firmly three times before letting go. I detected a slight trace of a Midwestern accent in his voice, something I’d never noticed on screen. “I understand you played ball for LSU, Mr. MacLeod.”

I felt like I was grinning like an idiot, but couldn’t seem to stop. “Yes, sir, I did. I played four years, lettered three. And it’s Chanse.”

“Freddy’s become a big fan.” I turned and watched as Jillian Long rose from her chair in a steady languid motion, her face going from impassive mask to friendly warmth. Jillian Long was always picked for those ‘most beautiful women in the world’ lists, but I’d always assumed her great beauty was assisted by make-up, lighting and camera work. However, in person, with little or no make-up, she was even more beautiful than on film. Her skin was pale white, but had a strange shimmer and sheen to it that reminded me of mother of pearl. Her long, thick, reddish hair hung loosely past her shoulders, contrasting with her black cashmere sweater. Her thick lips were a pale pink, and I could see tiny blue veins in her neck.

Her large gray eyes looked as though they had a thin sheen of ice over them. She was shorter than Freddy, perhaps not even five feet tall. She was also wearing dirty white sneakers and worn-looking jeans. She was wearing very little make-up, and her voice was deep and throaty, which seemed strange given her slender frame. There were slight wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, but she showed none of the tell-tale signs of having corrective work done. She looked very delicate, but her small hand gripped mine tightly.

 “Every Saturday during football season, we live and die with the Tigers. I’m Jillian Long. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chanse.”

“The pleasure’s mine.”  I somehow managed to pry the stupid grin off my face, and assumed what I hoped was a confident, professional smile.

“But you’re so young.” She frowned, and turned to Loren. “You didn’t mention he was—“ she waved one of the delicate hands in a graceful, fluttery move, “—so young.”

“I’m thirty-one.” I replied. What did my age have to do with anything? “And my record speaks for itself.”

Her eyes widened for just a moment, the pupils expanding and retracting as the hand she’d waved went to her throat. She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, of course. My apologies.” Her face relaxed into a charming smile. “I was just startled—I was expecting someone older. Do forgive me.”

“Not a problem,” I said, my face filling with blood.

I may have been only thirty-one years old, but I felt much older. I’ve killed two men in the course of my career—both times in self-defense, but it had taken a toll on me emotionally. My partner Paul’s death, the hurricane…in my thirty-one years I’d already seen a lifetime’s worth of tragedy and death and destruction.
Calm down, Chanse, take some deep breaths, you’re overreacting,
I said to myself.

“Let’s be seated. Does anyone need anything?” Loren asked, moving over to the end of the table where they’d been seated. He sat down at the head of the table. Freddy and Jillian went back to their seats, and I sat directly across the table from them, with Loren to my left. The chair was expensive, made of black leather, and so comfortable it seemed to wrap itself around my body.

“Are you willing to sign the confidentiality agreement?” Freddy asked, taking Jillian’s hand.

“It’s really very important to us.” She opened her eyes wider. She turned first to Freddy, then Loren, and finally looked me directly in the eyes. Her eyes were amazing, mesmerizing. The gray was flecked with gold, and they did seem to be sheathed in ice. It was impossible to gauge them, to get a sense of what she was thinking. “This is an incredibly sensitive matter. This cannot get into the press under any circumstances.”

A part of me wanted to say yes— which surprised me. “I’m sorry.” I swallowed, forcing down the unusual desire to please. “But you’re not willing to tell me anything until I sign it—and I’m not willing to sign something without knowing why I’m signing it. Or letting my own lawyer look at it first.” I smiled. “But in these four walls, it’s just us. Anything you tell me—well, all you’d have to do would be to deny it, right? And Loren can go along with you. My word against yours—and who am I?” I didn’t expect her to buy it, and I wasn’t disappointed.

“You’d be surprised.” Jillian said. Her voice was tired. “Everyone has their price, Chanse. And you’d be surprised what they’ll print—and what they’re willing to pay for it.” She closed her eyes. She fluttered her hand again. “You have no idea what it’s like.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t. I can’t even imagine what it’s like, and I don’t expect you to trust me right off the bat, either. So, we’re kind of at an impasse. I can’t help you unless…“ I pushed my chair back, and paused.

It worked.

“I’m getting threatening e-mails.” Freddy cut me off. Jillian spun her head quickly to stare at him, while Loren started to clear his throat. He held up his hand as Loren started to speak. “We want you to find out who it is.”

I stared at him for a moment, confused. Threatening e-mails? Why on earth did that need to be kept a secret? They had web-sites, surely, Myspace pages, you name it—there were any number of ways to send e-mails to them. And then I got it. “You mean on your private account? You think it’s someone you know, don’t you? Someone close to you. And that would be a scandal.”

Loren broke in. “Regardless of who it is, it would be tabloid fodder.” He started drumming his pen on the table.

“There are—“ Jillian bit her lip, closed her eyes, and squeezed Freddy’s hand. “There are things about both of us we would like to keep private, if at all possible.” She swallowed again. “In order to help you figure out—and stop—whoever it is, we’re going to have to tell you things.” She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Things that you cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone else. That’s why you need to sign that confidentiality agreement, Chanse. We’re willing to pay you well.” Her voice became plaintive, pleading. With a jolt, I realized I’d heard her use that tone of voice before. In a movie, whose name I couldn’t remember.

She was, after all, a very good actress.

“Are these threatening e-mails…” I hesitated. “Is there a hint of blackmail involved in this?” I’d dealt with blackmailers before. One was even homicidal. “Because you need to understand that it never stops with payment. If this person truly
knows
something that could be damaging to you…”

Freddy said, “They’re just making threats, whoever it is.”. He gave me a reassuring smile—the same one he’d given Cameron Diaz in
Love Unbound,
when he was trying to get into her pants, despite his wife. “There’s nothing
criminal
in either of our pasts. Sure, there are things we’d prefer the general public not know about us—”  He stopped himself. “I probably shouldn’t say anything more.”

“Let me see that.” I gestured to Loren, who passed the folder over to me. I opened it and looked at the paper. I read it carefully. I didn’t really need to have a lawyer look it over. It simply stated that as a requirement for doing work for them, I was signing this and promising never to reveal to an outsider the nature of the work, or anything I might discover about them or anyone involved with their lives, without their permission. If I violated the agreement, I would have to repay any moneys paid to me by them, and possible damages, to be determined by private, confidential, and most importantly, independent, outside arbitration. “You realize, of course, that if I am ever subpoenaed, this is just a piece of paper?”

“I’m not worried about any subpoenas.” Loren replied. “I can have a clause added that this agreement is invalid if you are called to testify in court, which is a moot point, as it will never happen.” He looked over at them. “Do you have any objection to that?”

Jillian opened her mouth, but Freddy spoke. “No. Do whatever’s necessary.”

Loren took the document from me and excused himself.

“You were going to say something,” I said, looking at Jillian.

“No.” She shook her head, drumming her fingertips on the table.

An uncomfortable silence descended.

The smart thing to do, I figured, was to refuse to sign the thing and not take the job. They were actors, and good ones. They’d convinced millions of viewers they were any number of different people. They played roles for a living. How would I ever be able to ascertain the truth of anything they told me? But I was also curious; I wanted to know what the hell was going on with them. I watched their faces, but got no clues.
What was in those e-mails that had them so rattled?
There was more here than met the eye, but I wasn’t going to find out until I signed that agreement.

My curiosity was getting the best of me.

On the other hand, they weren’t exactly normal people either. Most people don’t have every aspect of their life offered up to the general public for discussion and conversation.

Loren walked back in, and handed the revised agreement to me. A check for twenty thousand dollars, drawn on the firm’s account was paper clipped to it. I read it over quickly. It was straightforward.  I hesitated for just a moment, then took a pen from my jacket pocket and signed it.

Jillian let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you.”  She got up and walked over to the sideboard, pouring herself a glass of ice water.

Loren rose. “I’ll go make a copy of this for you, Chanse, and give you three some privacy.”

Once the door shut behind him, Jillian took her seat again. “As we said, over the last couple of weeks, Freddy has been getting some bizarre e-mails.” She reached into a bag and pulled out a file folder, which she slid across the table to me. “Vaguely threatening.”

“One of them does include a death threat,” Freddy said as I opened the file folder. “Not
I’m going to kill you
but
I could just kill you.
A technicality, sure, but it’s enough to worry us.” They exchanged another look.

I read the first one.

Freddy Freddy Freddy:

You just think you’re hot shit, don’t you? A professional do-gooder, right? What would everyone think if they knew the truth about you? You don’t deserve to live.

It was unsigned.

“That’s my private e-mail account.” Freddy went on. “No one has it, except family, friends and you know, our staff. It’s not even registered through the server as being mine, you know? Our assistant, Doreen, set us both up with a private account under her name.” He waved a hand. “I’m sure somehow someone could have found out—I’m not the best with this computer stuff—but…”

“Who do you think would do this?”

“Where to start?” Jillian gave a tired laugh. “There’s my latest crazy ex-husband, Freddy’s ex-wife, my own mother…” She waved her hand again. “Everyone either one of us has ever been involved with has their own axe to grind, their grubby hands out for more money. We’re targets, Chanse, always targets. Remember that. Even when we are doing good work for charities—you’d be amazed at the things people say. I’ve been called every name in the book…but I am getting off the subject.” She wiped her eyes and smiled at me. “I do that, sorry. But I’m convinced it’s one of those three…I’m just not sure what their game is yet. But they don’t want to kill Freddy, I don’t believe that for a minute. Why would anyone want to stop our work here?”