Murder in a Minor Key Read Free Page B

back at Broadbent, he said, “When one has substantive material to discuss, drama comes naturally.”
    “Are you suggesting my work isn’t substantive?”
    “Nonsense. You’re a fine writer.” Wayne emphasized the final word.
    “Oh, is this another snide ‘day job’ comment?”
    Broadbent was getting hot. He stood quickly, sending his chair rolling to the back of the stage. His six-foot frame towered over Wayne.
    Doris Bums stood watching the exchange, an amused smile playing over her mouth.
    Wayne gazed down at his black-and-white “spectator” shoes. He licked his right index finger and leaned over to wipe a smudge off the toe of his left shoe. Straightening, he looked at Broadbent and said, “You must admit, your writing is far superior to your abilities, such as they are, on the saxophone.”
    “At least, I know how to play. You only know how to complain.”
    “Criticism is a noble, if occasionally underappreciated, profession,” Wayne announced to me in an easily heard aside.
    “Noble, is it? You’re about as noble as a swamp rat.”
    By this time, I was tugging at Wayne’s arm, attempting to draw him away before a battle-royal ensued. It was Charlie Gable who jumped between the mismatched combatants, the man in the blue suit at his side.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Mayor Amadour’s top aide, Philippe Beaudin. Philippe, please say hello to our distinguished speakers. This is Ms. Bums and Mrs. Fletcher, and of course you know Mr. Copely and Mr. Broadbent.”
    Philippe Beaudin flashed a dazzling smile that was probably a powerful weapon in the political arena. Smoothly, he greeted each of us with murmured compliments, gently calming the waters and distracting Broadbent and Wayne from their rancorous exchange.
    “The mayor hopes you’ll be his guests at a party he’s throwing during the Jazz and Heritage Festival,” Beaudin said. “There’ll be the usual warm Louisiana hospitality, good food, stimulating company, and wonderful music, which I know you’ll all enjoy. Lots of politicos for you to pursue, Mr. Broadbent.”
    He winked at Broadbent, smiled at Wayne and me, and said, “Wayne, tell these nice folks what a wonderful host our beloved mayor is.”
    “You do just fine in the telling yourself, Phil,” Wayne responded.
    Beaudin turned to Doris Burns. A flicker of interest lit his eyes; his voice dropped, becoming husky.
    “A few of our voodoo disciples will be present, cher,” he said, using the familiar Cajun endearment. He moved closer. “Fertile ground for your research. I hope I’ll see you there.”
    “Please tell the mayor I’ll be happy to attend,” she said coolly, apparently accustomed to discouraging unwanted male attention.
    “I’ll do just that.”
    Beaudin donned his cowboy hat, and pulled a sheaf of papers from his breast pocket, handing them around. “The directions and other details are here,” he said brusquely, all business now that his mission was accomplished. “You can let Charlie know if you’re coming and he’ll have transportation arranged if you need it. I look forward to seeing you all again.” He tugged on the brim of his hat and left the stage.
    Broadbent jogged after Beaudin as the mayoral aide swiftly walked up an aisle in the direction of the auditorium exit. “Phil, is the mayor eyeing former Senator Lunsford’s seat?” I heard him inquire loudly, reverting to his investigative reporter role and apparently having forgotten his confrontation with Wayne. I couldn’t hear Beaudin’s reply as the two men barreled through the double doors to the lobby.
    “Well, that was a timely interruption,” Doris Burns noted. She turned to me. “I understand we’re staying in the same hotel. Would you like to walk back together?”
    “Wayne and I planned to have lunch at one, but you’re welcome to join us.”
    “Please do, Ms. Burns,” Wayne jumped in. “New Orleans is famed for its unique cuisine and we are titillating our palates