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

robbery gone wrong— so it wasn’t likely any of the prints would even be in the system. No wonder Blaine was being such a bitch. This was going to be high-profile— might even attract the attention of the national media. I didn’t know how big a name Marigny had in the fashion industry— for all I knew, she could be the American equivalent of Coco Chanel.
    And the longer it took them to catch the killer, the less likely it would be they would.
    Unless they got a lucky break, the magazine would be going to bed on Wednesday without the name of Marigny’s killer in the cover story.
    “You’re sure you didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary?” There was a note of pleading in Venus’s voice I’d never heard before.
    “I wish I could help,” I replied. I shook my head. “But no, it was the most boring party I’ve been to in a long time— and that’s saying something. There really wasn’t anyone there who was even in the least bit interesting to talk to.”
    “So you got drunk.” This time Blaine sounded sympathetic.
    I nodded. “Yeah.” I took another swallow of my coffee. “If I do remember anything, I’ll give you a call.”
    “Do that,” Venus walked around to the driver’s side of the SUV. “And no snooping around the crime scene, understood? Don’t think I won’t arrest you for obstruction.” She pointed an index finger at me as she said it.
    “I swear,” I replied as Blaine shut his door.
    I glanced back over at the house as they drove off. I wasn’t a crime scene specialist— so it wouldn’t do me any good to look around anyway.
    I drank the last of my coffee as I walked back to my car and formulated a plan.
    The best way to handle this article, since it’s not likely they’ll make an arrest by Wednesday, is to do it as a retrospective. I need to know the dirt, the stuff you can’t find online .
    I smiled as I got into my car.
    I knew exactly who to ask.
    And the fact it would piss off Blaine was just gravy.

Chapter Four
    If the biggest drawback of dating Ryan Tujague was enduring his younger brother’s teasing, well, that was nothing compared to the benefit of being considered family by his mother.
    Athalie Bascomb Tujague might not be the crowned queen of New Orleans, but she was certainly a force of nature that had to be reckoned with. She was the last of a long line of New Orleans blue bloods that made their fortune, it was whispered, in the slave trade. Athalie dismissed the very idea with a wave of her elegant fingers whenever someone had the boorish bad taste to bring this up to her. “Nonsense,” she would say with a disdainful glance down her aristocratic nose, her eyes twinkling. “My ancestors weren’t slave traders. They were pirates.”
    “Paige darling!” She swept into the parlor of the big house on St. Charles Avenue with her arms spread wide to envelop me in a hug. She was a little taller than I was, and her figure, despite six children and about fourteen grandchildren, was still as trim as when she reigned as Queen of Rex. “What a delightful surprise!” She gestured for me to have a seat. “Do you want coffee? Tea? Is it too early for a cocktail?” She frowned and peered at the clock on the marble mantelpiece. One of the few concessions she made to vanity was a refusal to wear glasses, despite being terribly nearsighted.
    My stomach roiled at the mention of alcohol. “I’m still recovering from last night,” I admitted, sitting down and leaning back in the wingback chair. “I went to Marigny Mercereau’s fashion show—”
    “That detestable woman!” She interrupted me with an elegant shudder. Despite the early hour, she was wearing a pale blue cashmere sweater over dark blue slacks, and several ropes of pearls with matching earrings. “All of her taste was in her mouth— and even that was questionable.”
    I smothered a grin. “I hate it when you beat around the bush, Athalie, and won’t say what you really mean.”
    Her brows came