Death by the Riverside

Author:J. M. Redmann & Jean M. Redmann [Redmann, J. M. & Redmann, Jean M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Lesbian, Contemporary, Romance
ISBN: 9781931513050
Google: GajSOAAACAAJ
Amazon: 1931513058
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 1990-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Ranson called me early in the day, but it was strictly business. She outlined the deal she was working on for Frankie. I told her I would get in touch with him and get back to her.

I had to wait a couple of hours before I called Torbin. He worked late and it was bad enough saddling him with naïve young men just coming out; I didn’t need to interrupt his beauty sleep, too. I called from a pay phone, just in case.

Frankie was beginning to sound like Torbin, which I took as a good sign. He agreed to everything, except turning himself in at the police station. That he absolutely refused to do. “No, no, no,” he said. “They get people killed in jail all the time. Their informant is well connected and knows everything they need to know. It has to be someplace public and well populated with law officers of all kinds, everywhere. I’m sorry to be a pain, but it’s my life.”

I couldn’t disagree with him. I spent another hard-earned quarter calling Ranson. She said she’d do what she could.

I left messages on both Danny’s and Cordelia’s answering machines, saying hi and that I was fine. Cliched, but adequate. Then I called the hospital. Still no change.

The next day a messenger brought me a package from Ranson. It contained an invitation to the Krewe of Nemesis Ball for M. Knight and escort. Ranson had enclosed a note saying, “Will this do?” It would be a private affair, but there would be too many diverse law enforcement officials there for even a rabid rat like Milo to try anything. It would mean going out to One Hundred Oaks Plantation one more time and seeing my bosom buddy Karen Holloway, but it seemed a good idea for Frankie.

I found a pay phone and called Frankie and told him to get his dancing shoes ready for Saturday. He agreed. We discussed his wearing the dress and me the tails, but decided that it would have to wait for another ball. Torbin agreed to lend me a suitable dress, but warned me to find my own shoes. I got Frankie’s measurements to rent a set of tails for him.

I wasn’t going to go over to Torbin’s until Saturday, much as I would have liked to. Torbin is a great way to pass time, but I didn’t want the risk, however small, of someone following me there.

I prowled my way through the week taking care of the other case that had shown up on my doorstep—tracking down a missing eight-foot dragon’s rump from a Mardi Gras float. Why is it that I get the tail end of everything?

Finally, on Thursday, I decided to do something boring and practical and all too necessary. Get my car fixed. There was a garage here in town that my car was inordinately fond of visiting, but I decided, for financial reasons, to avoid the high overhead of city rents and taxes.

Azalea Decheaux’s oldest son had a garage out in Bayou St.

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