The Girl on Prytania Street Read online

  “Well, it looks like you’ve had a change of heart,” she said sounding genuinely surprised.

  “I’m beginning to realize that the more I think I know, the less I actually know.” I mentally calculated how long the Hillbilly doll would last me. If I solved the case quickly, I could wait until I got back to New York. If not, I would have to make another trip to the Quarter. That was another delightful side effect of addiction. The supply always came first. It didn’t matter where I was or what I was doing I always had to have a mental count of the amount of supply that was available for my consumption at any given time.

  “Well, I’ve got some excellent news for you.” She opened a file and handed Chris and I each a thick white envelope. “Here, these are invitations to Mr. and Mrs. Dubois’ annual summer costume party. They’ve had it every year for the past twenty years through floods, hurricanes, and all other sorts of misfortune that’s come upon this glorious city of ours. This year is no different. Even with the disappearance of Charlene, Mr. Dubois is convinced that the show must go on. Of course, Mrs. Dubois won’t be attending. However, she thinks that this would be the perfect opportunity for you two to sniff out who may be the mystery Judas that we’re looking for.”

  I opened the envelope and found an engraved invitation inside. “It’s tonight and costume is mandatory as well as a backstory. How did we get invites?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Dubois finalize the list months in advance. They both get to invite who they want. Mrs. Dubois managed to pull some strings and told her cousin from up North not to come this year.”

  “So, we’re supposed to be Mr. and Mrs. Williams from upstate New York,” Chris said reading the invite.

  “That’s right. You’ll get an exclusive look inside the Dubois house and plus you’ll even get to spend some time with Mr. Dubois. It’s an opportunity that the swarm of reporters standing outside would give their left eye to get.”

  “We don’t have costumes,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about that. It’s a masked ball. Mrs. Dubois has already arranged for your costumes. They’ll be in your rooms. You’ve got a few hours before the party, so put it to good use. Perhaps, do some research on Mr. Dubois and his hobbies so you’ll have something to talk about. Mrs. Dubois has put in her faith in you two, don’t take this opportunity for granted. Here, take this.” She handed me another file.

  “What is this?”

  “The layout of the house and the rooms that Mr. Dubois is especially proud of. He has a rather large art collection, study up some of the pieces so you’ll have something to talk about.”

  I wasn’t new to the undercover scene. I had gone to countless parties to which I hadn’t been technically invited to and had been really good at making small talk with strangers; however, that was before. I had even been described as witty and charming; however, now, those were the last words that any stranger would have used to describe me.

  “I know what you’re thinking, sugar,” Chris said as if reading my mind. “Erase those thoughts. Let’s go out on that bright, sunny porch and study these files. We are going to be the most charming, captivating, and well-informed people at that party.”

  Madame Queenie gave him an approving smile. “That’s the spirit. If you two are going to act like husband and wife, you’d better get to know each other a little better.”

  “Come on Mrs. Williams.” Chris extended his arm. “I don’t know about you, but I’d love to have some lunch out on that big old porch.”

  I reluctantly took his arm. “But I’m not hungry.”

  “Yes you are, you just don’t know it yet.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Kate

  Outside the air was hot and humid without the aid of a single breeze. The blooms of magnolias, irises, zinnias, and banana trees that surrounded the porch hung limp and lifeless as if they hadn’t seen a single drop of water since last month. There wasn’t a guest in sight, they were all probably out enjoying the sunshine and whatever else happy tourists did when they were on vacation. I sat on a large wicker chair and opened the file that rested on the table. The media circus across the street was in full swing.

  “Mr. Dubois! You have to come out eventually! You can’t stay inside forever you know!”

  “Mr. Dubois, how can you justify holding your annual summer party when your daughter is missing? Don’t you have a heart at all?”

  “They don’t give up, do they?” Chris looked amused as he stared at the throng of reporters. “Man, I wonder what they’d do if they only had a bit of the information that we have.”

  “They’d probably break down the doors and ambush Mrs. Dubois.” I watched as a limo pulled up in front of the mansion. A figure emerged and then another. It took me a few seconds to realize that the figures belonged to Richard and Anita. “Oh shit,” I muttered.

  “What is it?”

  “Water, I need some water, please. It’s the heat.”

  “We can go inside if you’d like.”

  “No, I just need some water.”

  “Alright, hold on, sugar, I’ll get us both a glass.”

  After I was sure Chris had gone inside. I quickly opened my purse and popped a pill. The next thing I did was make a mad dash across the front porch and out onto the sidewalk. I hid behind the massive oak that protected the property, so I could get a better look at Anita and Richard.

  They appeared to be relaxed, happy yet all down to business. Anita wore a no-nonsense black dress and Richard matched her look in a black designer suit. It was funny how much I didn’t recognize him anymore. The once anti-establishment, anti-suit boy I had fallen in love with had transformed into everything he had once hated. They weren’t headed towards the inn as I had expected. Instead, they walked straight ahead through the mob of reporters and up to the front porch of the Dubois mansion. The door automatically opened for them and they stepped inside. I put two and two together, Anita must have been tight with the Dubois clan just like Nigel. She had probably forced Richard to pay his respects and get the divorce papers signed.

  I continued to watch the scene hoping to see behind closed doors. I leaned against the oak tree and simply watched for a sign. I wasn’t exactly sure what type of sign I was looking for, I suppose anything that would give me a clue as to what they were talking about. Mostly, I wanted to talk to Richard and discuss the recent development in Zoe’s disappearance. He hadn’t reached out to me once since Jay Simmons had turned up dead, yet, here he was with Anita invested in a case that had nothing to do with him. It was a betrayal of the worst kind. A slap in the face.

  I took out my phone and tapped off an angry text.

  You don’t care about your daughter’s case, yet you’re so invested in a case that has nothing to do with you. What kind of man have you turned into? You used to be so strong and now you’ve turned into nothing but a suit who does everything that woman wants you to do. Do you realize that the only suspect in our daughter’s disappearance has been murdered? Do you realize what that means? Do you realize where that leaves us? We have no more hope of ever finding her.

  The reply came in a matter of seconds.

  Yes, I know that the only suspect in Zoe’s disappearance has been murdered and I am pretty sure that you’re the one who killed him.

  I re-read what he had written unable to believe that he too was taking Detective Ryan’s side.

  You can’t be serious. You out of all people should know better. You know that I’m not capable of that kind of violence. First Detective Ryan and now you too.

  Kate, honestly, I don’t know who you are anymore. You’re someone that I used to love and maybe deep down, I still love you as you are the mother of my child. However, I don’t know you anymore, and I don’t know what you’re capable of. You’re the one who suggested hiring a hit man to knock off the kid. I only told the detective what I know.

  You ratted me out? Me, out of all people, you ratted me out, the one person who you swore to always protect.

  Kate, life hap
pens, people and circumstances change. I didn’t rat you out. I told the cop what I knew. I told him the truth, maybe you should try it sometime. My conscious is clean. I haven’t told any lies, nor have I killed anyone. Where are you staying by the way? It’s time that we finally do the one thing that we’ve been putting off.

  I threw my phone in my purse pissed that he had told on me. He was the one who probably told Detective Ryan about all of my unsavory habits. In retrospect, getting married was the stupidest thing I had ever done. When you thought about it logically, getting married was making yourself vulnerable to someone, telling them all of your secrets and sharing sides of you that should have been kept well-hidden all the while excepting them to keep their mouth shut long after the flames of passion had worn off.

  “Sugar, why in the world are you hiding behind that big old oak with that scowl on your face.” Chris handed me a cool glass of water. I thankfully took it and drowned every last drop.

  “They’re in there, he’s in there with her.”

  “Who?”

  “My ex-husband and his fiancée that’s who.”

  “And why are you spying on them?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You kind of look like you are.”

  “Look, it’s complicated. Let’s go and study up on Mr. Dubois. The costume party is starting in a few hours and God only knows what we’ll be forced to wear.” Those three sentences took a massive amount of self-restraint to vocalize. If Chris hadn’t shown up, I would have marched up to the Dubois home and would have easily caused a scene. Maybe Richard wasn’t completely over me. After all, he had come to New Orleans to get those stupid divorce papers signed, which meant he was either desperate to get rid of me or desperate to see me. I wasn’t sure which one I preferred.

  We walked back to the porch and opened the file that Madame Queenie had provided us with. I studied the various notes, pictures, and odd facts about Mr. Dubois. Apparently, Mr. Dubois’ number one passion was his extensive art collection which covered the entire house.

  “This is some messed up stuff,” I said as I looked at the pictures of beasts, gothic mansions, terrified children, kill rooms, and life-sized statues of decapitated humans. As a native New Yorker, I had been to my fair share of creepy art galleries; however, Mr. Dubois’s private collection took the cake when it came to the grotesque and outright bizarre.

  “Well, we know that the guy is a creep and he can’t be trusted,” Chris said as he flipped through the graphic pictures that became increasingly disturbing.

  “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  “Are you a fan of this kind of art?”

  I shook my head. “Not really.”

  “That’s my point exactly, people tend to collect the sort of stuff they’re into. Let’s be honest, what sane person would have this stuff all over their house? I get it a painting or two, but the entire house is basically a freak show. Given his taste in art, we can assume that Mr. Dubois’s tastes lean towards the outright disturbing in real life, too. I wonder what his browser history looks like.”

  “We can’t judge him based on his art collection. I love vampire novels, but that doesn’t mean that I have the urge to go around and drink people’s blood.”

  “Not the same thing. You don’t have pictures of people getting their blood sucked plastered all over your house, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Check this out.” He slid over a picture of a painting of people standing over a corpse. They held forks and plates as they feasted on the dead body.

  “That’s nasty.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “So, basically, one of the richest and most powerful men in the country has a burning passion for gore and blood. That is going to make for some interesting small talk. What else does he have a passion for?”

  “Apparently, he loves to help people. He’s invested millions of dollars into various organizations. Here take a look.”

  I read through the lengthy list of organizations that the Dubois family had donated money to. My eyes were fixated on the charities, especially the ones headed by Anita. So that is how they knew one another. Mr. Dubois invested in almost every one of Saint Anita’s charities. “So basically, the guy has creepy taste in art, but his actions speak louder. He invests more in education, healthcare, to the plight of refugees, the plight of underprivileged children and a hundred other noble causes. He is quite the enigma.”

  “You can say that again, he even helps up-and-coming businesses get on their feet. There are dozens of local businesses that he’s personally directed and invested in. Within five years, they all became massive successes. There are restaurants, bookstores, coffee shops, and just about any other kind of commerce that you can imagine. He’s taken parts of the city that were previously dying and has pumped new life into them.”

  I read through the files. There were hundreds of testimonies from people who had worked with Mr. Dubois and knew him personally. There wasn’t a single negative remark—the man was a legend in New Orleans. There were pictures of him getting his hands dirty helping out and personally delivering supplies to areas that had been impacted the most by Hurricane Katrina. He had even given away free meals at one of his restaurants for a month after the tragedy had hit. His various efforts had earned him medals and recognition of all kinds. “I guess his fame makes him an easy target for jealous rivals. I see it all the time in New York. Everybody wants to be the biggest fish in the pond. Maybe the competition took Charlene to make a point or get across a message of some sort. Madame Queenie did say that Charlene was betrayed by someone she knew.”

  Chris studied the files. “There are hundreds of possibilities. I guess we can narrow it down to the guests who will be at the party tonight. I’m willing to bet that it’s one of Mr. Dubois’ closest friends.”

  “Isn’t it always the best friend?” I remarked. “Who is Mr. Dubois’s best friend by the way?”

  “He doesn’t have one per say. He’s pretty tight with some of the other big players in town namely the Lockharts, DuPonts, and Lafietes.”

  “Okay, so we need to be charming, friendly, pretend that we’re into disturbing art, human rights issues, and charities of all kinds.”

  “Do you think you can handle that?” He gave me a large grin. I mentally calculated the number of pills it would take for me to reach the sweet spot of being able to do all of those things while pretending that I wasn’t taking the case personally and I wasn’t really wondering where Zoe was, what she was doing, and what she was wearing.

  “I can’t make any promises, but I can try as long as you promise to keep me away from my ex and his fiancée.”

  “It’s that bad, is it?”

  “He pretty much told the police that I was the one who killed Jay Simmons and God knows what other terrible lies. He’s in that house across the street and I’m willing to bet that he’s going to be at that party tonight.”

  “Madame Queenie gave us the guest list, let’s take a look, shall we.” We glanced at the list, and sure enough, Anita and Richard’s names were on there.

  “There they are.” I pointed at the names.

  “Whoa, wait, your ex’s fiancée is Anita Catsberg?”

  “I know, he traded up big time maybe that’s why I’m so bitter.”

  “Now, I don’t see it that way.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, I’m willing to bet that he’s with her for professional reasons. Is he the ambitious type, your ex?”

  “Yes, he always wanted to be a somebody. Make a name for himself and all that jazz.”

  “Then it’s safe to say that he isn’t with her for love.”

  “Well according to their Instagram shots, they are in love.”

  “Sugar, you out of all people should know that social media is not reality. People are all lovey-dovey in front of the camera; however, what happens behind closed doors is a whole different story.”

  I let out a sigh. “I
try to remind myself that but it’s still hard you know. I imagine what I could have done differently and if he’s happier with her than he was with me. Sorry for telling you these things, you’re pretty much a perfect stranger and yet you know my entire history.”

  “Well, you’ve got to trust someone, it might as well be me.” He poured me some more water from the glass pitcher that sat on the table and I wondered if I would ever truly trust anyone again. In this drama that was my life, everyone seemed to be a suspect.

  “Hi, Kate, how are you today?” Brian, the teenage waiter who I had relentlessly mocked gave me a large grin which showed no trace of a grudge. How was it that some people had that ability to let go of things so easily?

  I gave him an equally large grin as if everything was perfectly normal. “I’m great.” Acting normal was probably the hardest part of being a semi-functioning opioid addict. Just because I looked normal on the outside, it didn’t match with what was going on in the inside. Sometimes it felt like a million knives were being pushed through every inch of my body and it took all the self-control in the world to ignore that particular sensation.

  “How about I bring you the lunch menu and you can take it easy on this porch. The sun is shining and the weather is sweet, can you smell those magnolia blooms? How about the camellia and pomegranates? Summer is a magical time of year.”

  I stared at him for a good while to assess if he was merely joking or serious. His expression was innocent and his smile inviting. “Sure, we’d love to see the menu,” Chris said answering for me and saving me from the embarrassment that I would have most likely caused.

  “Sure thing.” Brian reached for a couple of menus that lay on the table behind him and handed each of us one. He whistled as he watched us study the options.

  “A plate of red beans and rice would hit the spot right about now,” Chris said. I glanced at him. The thought of eating something that heavy filled me with anxiety. I suppose one of the only benefits of being a pill popper was that I didn’t have to worry about weight gain. The constant constipation, nausea, and vomiting were more than enough to suppress my appetite. “How about you, sugar? What are you thinking of having?”