Page 9 of Death in the New Year

“You can’t dwell on that, ma’am. It’s not your fault,” said Pierre, trying to heed Barry’s advice.

“We were friends. Good friends,” she said, wiping her tears. “She was one of the most good-hearted women I’d ever known. We argued now and then like all friends do, but we loved one another like sisters.”

“Sisters arguing is something we both understand. Did she ever have any issues with Matilda?” asked Gabe.

“Matilda? Heavens no. She was lost as a lamb and scared of her own shadow. Matilda never gave anyone any trouble. I don’t know what that poor girl went through, but it must have been awful. She never wanted to leave the church. Never.”

“Yet she did,” said Pierre. Shirley looked at him with a little shock and then realized he was telling the truth.

“Yes. I suppose she did,” she said quietly. “But she wouldn’t have hurt Imelda. Not for anything. I don’t think she was capable of hurting anyone. She was a tiny little thing. Not very big at all, except her chest. She had a large chest.”

The two men smiled, nodding at the woman.

“Come to think of it, Imelda was tiny as well, other than her chest.”

Gabe filed that detail away and asked Shirley a few more questions before he realized that she was getting tired.

“I just have one more question. How was the church doing? Financially, I mean,” he said.

“Oh, we’re a tiny little church. Nothing like St. Louis Cathedral or the mega-churches on the outskirts of the city. We’re non-denominational. Most of our flock are from the Quarter. Lots of strippers, bartenders, drag queens, dancers, gays, and lesbians,” she laughed. “We always say we have the most colorful, well-dressed, best dancers in the city in our choir. They’re all wonderful and so much fun to be around.”

“Yes, ma’am, I bet they’re something else. I’ll have to come by and hear them some time,” smiled Pierre. “What’s it like working for the Reverend?”

“Oh, technically, I’m a volunteer, but I know what you mean. He’s wonderful. Kind, generous, always there for you. He’s counseled me so many times about my mother I can’t even imagine what I would have done without him.”

“Thank you,” nodded Pierre. “We hope you feel better.”

“I hope you find whoever did this,” she said, tearing up again. “Imelda’s husband and daughter deserve some answers. She was a great woman.”

By the time they got down to the truck, the brothers were even more confused than before.

“What do you think?” asked Gabe.

“I have no fucking clue, and that bothers me more than anything.”

Mac and Luc wandered the streets around the church, charting out a six-block square that was a good start to their inquiry.

“Cute little shotgun houses,” nodded Mac toward the pink one on their left. It had white shutters and a teal-green door that spoke of old New Orleans.

“Yeah,” nodded Luc. “Mama and Pops used to bring us down here for some of the music festivals. We all loved it. These people aren’t wealthy, and they sure as hell don’t have anything that someone would want to steal, yet here we are.”

Mac tapped his arm, nodding toward a house where an older man was sitting. He had a small space heater on the porch, trying to stay warm, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Afternoon, sir,” said Mac.

“Afternoon,” he nodded. “You with the heat folks?”

“The heat folks, sir?”

“My heater broke three days ago. They sent some boy yesterday who couldn’t find his own asshole with a roadmap. It’s worse today than it was yesterday, and they already charged me three hundred dollars. I can’t afford to keep payin’ you folks, and I need some heat, or I’m gonna freeze to death.”

“We’re not with the heat folks,” said Mac, “but I’d be happy to take a look at it for you. It’s not safe to have the space heater out here on the porch.”

“Ain’t safe to die of the cold either,” frowned the old man. Luc laughed at him, nodding toward the door. The old man let them inside, pointing him toward the heating unit.

“Mac will look at the heat while we talk if you don’t mind,” said Luc.

“As long as it’s free, we can talk all day long.”

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