G.T. Herren - Paige Tourneur 01 - Fashion Victim Read Free Page A

the nicest way I’d heard her décor described was “French Quarter whorehouse.”
    I leaned against Venus’s SUV and sipped the cup of coffee I’d gotten from the PJ’s in the Winn Dixie strip mall on Tchoupitoulas. It was a cool day in early April, and there was some serious damp in the air. The sky was full of clouds, and if I didn’t miss my guess it was going to rain at some point in the day— hopefully not while I was waiting outside for Venus.
    The front door opened and Venus stepped out onto the front gallery, followed by Blaine. She made a face when she saw me. Venus is a tall African-American woman, well over six feet, and always wore heels with her no-nonsense business suits to look even taller— and she could run in those heels pretty damned fast when she had to. Born and raised in New Orleans East, she’d put herself through LSU on a basketball scholarship and still hit the gym pretty regularly. She wore her hair cut close to the scalp, very little make-up or jewelry, but was nevertheless still attractive with strong cheekbones and a sharp chin. Her dark skin was flawless. Blaine was several inches shorter than she was and looked so much like his older brother they could almost pass for twins— the same curly blue-black hair, the same olive skin, the same blue eyes, and the same bluish shadow on his face when unshaven. Blaine was a lot shorter than Ryan, and a lot vainer— he looked like he lived at the gym and his clothes always emphasized his muscles. He lived with his long-time partner in my neighborhood, just a block or so from my apartment.
    I smiled and waved at them with my free hand.
    “What are you doing here, sister-in-law?” Blaine was a horrible tease, and he loved to call me that because he knew it drove me crazy.
    I scowled. “I should just go ahead and marry Ryan so I can ruin all of your family holidays.”
    “What are you doing here?” Venus said.
    I smiled back at her. “Believe it or not, I’m covering the story for Crescent City . I’m a crime reporter again— at least temporarily. Just like old times.”
    This time Blaine scowled. “Great.” He drew the word out into about ten syllables and made a farting sound at me with his lips.
    Venus took a deep breath. “You know we can’t comment on an ongoing investigation, and—”
    I cut her off. “Hello, have we met before? This is Paige, remember me?” I took a sip from my coffee and smiled. “I’m not going to butt in, I’m not going to be a pain in your ass, okay? Besides, I was at the show last night. Don’t you want to ask me some questions?”
    They glanced at each other. Blaine shrugged, and Venus rolled her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. “You see anything out of the ordinary?” Venus asked me, “Like someone threatening her, maybe?”
    I bit my lower lip. Before I could admit the party had been boring and I’d gotten drunk, Blaine cut me off. “She didn’t see or hear anything— you got wasted, didn’t you, punkin?” He winked at me. “Don’t bother denying it, we’ve already talked to Jackson.”
    I could feel my face reddening as Venus smothered a laugh. I gave her a dirty look.
    Venus grinned at me. “Don’t bust her chops, Blaine.”
    “Sorry, Paige, couldn’t resist that one.” He winked at me.
    “Good boy,” Venus patted his arm, and turned back to me. “Coroner’s best estimate for now is Marigny was killed around one in the morning, give or take. She was shot in the chest, just once. Looks like she was at the top of the stairs leading down to the first floor. No signs of breaking and entering. No murder weapon anywhere. There are fingerprints everywhere— and I do mean everywhere.” She blew out a raspberry.
    “That sucks,” I commiserated. Of course there were fingerprints everywhere— there’d been a party, not to mention the downstairs usually served as the showroom. It would take days, maybe even weeks, to sort out all the fingerprints. It sounded like this wasn’t a