Murder in the Garden District (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) Read Free

him,” she sneered, “which is utter nonsense. She’s the one with everything to gain.”
    “I’ll need to speak with her.”
    “You have an appointment tomorrow morning at ten to discuss all of that—and her ridiculous story—at our home.”
    She handed me a gold embossed card with her name and address on it, then waved her gloved hand dismissively.
    “I will pay you, of course, quite handsomely, through Mr. McKeithen’s office. Say, a thousand dollars a day plus expenses?”
    That was almost three times my going rate. “That’s very generous.” I replied cautiously.
    I’ve always been suspicious of overly generous clients. They tend to take it for granted that I’ll be willing to break the law on their behalf. I may bend the law on occasion, but I won’t do anything that might put me behind bars.
    She went on as though I hadn’t said a word, her gloved fingers tapping a steady tattoo on the couch arm.
    “I’m paying you to devote yourself entirely to this case, Mr. MacLeod, to the exclusion of all else, so I cannot expect you to not be compensated properly. I know you work for Barbara’s company, but she understands how important this is. And I expect results. There will also be a substantial bonus for those results.”
    “I don’t understand,” I said. “What kind of result are you looking for? Proving your daughter-in-law is guilty?”
    She started laughing. It was a very unpleasant sound. She put her hand to her throat.
    “Oh, dear me. My daughter-in-law killed my son, Mr. MacLeod. There’s no question about that.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “ Your job is to find reasonable doubt for the jury, enough maybe to keep the district attorney from prosecuting her. That’s what I’m paying you for.”
    I looked her square in the eyes.
    “You handled the murder weapon. You even fired it. Even if, as you say, only a fool would think you’d shot him, that’s enough reasonable doubt right there to keep your daughter-in-law out of jail. Loren is a damned good lawyer—he’d have a field day with that.”
    “Let me make myself clear, Mr. MacLeod,” she said contemptuously. “As long as there is breath in my body, no one named Sheehan will go to prison for anything. No matter what I might think of her and what she has done, my daughter-in-law is a member of my family, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that she does not spend a single night behind bars for her crime—no matter how much I would enjoy seeing that happen. And I am not about to be painted as a murderer in a court of law to save her. My son had plenty of enemies. I want you to look outside my family. Is that clear?”
    She stood up and walked to the door. “Ten o’clock, tomorrow morning, Mr. MacLeod,” she said, turning back to me. “Do be punctual.”
    I heard her heels click softly in the hallway as the door closed behind her.
    I poured myself a gin and tonic from the little bar in a corner of the room. It was at my lips when Barbara said from the doorway, “Pour me one of those, will you, dear? That woman will drive anyone to drink.”
    Barbara took the glass from me and plopped down on the sofa. I’d never seen her drink anything other than champagne—usually mixed with orange juice. She tossed the drink back like it was nothing and set the glass down on the coffee table.
    “I’m sorry to get you involved with that awful woman, but I didn’t have a choice,” she said.
    I sat in the wingback chair again. “What do you mean, you didn’t have a choice?”
    “Let’s just say I owe her and leave it at that.” Barbara closed her eyes. “I am truly sorry, Chanse, dear. I hope you don’t come to regret working for her like everyone else who deals with her. But please don’t ask me to say any more.”
    I knew better than to press her.
    As the owner of Crown Oil, Barbara was the wealthiest person in Louisiana. We’d been working together for years. She’d started out as my client, when she was being