Murder in the Rue St. Ann Read Online Free PDF

inspectors--that was easy enough to rectify even though we lost time. But this other stuff has got to stop.” She sat back down and slammed her fist onto the table. “I won’t have it!”
    “So, what do you want me to do for you?”
    “I want you to find out who’s behind this all.” She smiled. “I can deal with it—but I have to know what I’m dealing with.
    I explained my rates to her and got the contract I’d prepared out of my briefcase. She got up and grabbed a checkbook from a desk drawer. She wrote the check with savage strokes, tore it out,  and tossed it to me. She took the contract from me,  read through it, then signed her name in the same bold strokes before she handed it back to me.
    “I’ll need a copy, if you don’t mind.” she said evenly.
    I folded the check and slipped it into my wallet. “Of course. Mind if I fax it to you?”
    “That’s fine.” She wrote down the number and handed it to me.
     I stuck my hand out to her. “Pleasure to meet you.”
    She hesitated for a moment, then shook. “Please find out who is trying to ruin me, Chanse.”
    “I’ll do my best, Dominique.” I put the contract back into my briefcase and stood to go.
    “Talk to Mark.” She said as she led me to the door. “He’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Chapter Two
     
    Attitude PR’s office was just around the corner from Domino’s, on St. Ann.
    The Pub and Oz stood on opposing corners of Bourbon Street where it crossed St. Ann. The façades of the large clubs seemed to glower at each other in the sunshine as their rainbow flags waved in the breeze. I stood there for a minute, and stared at first one, then the other. Oz was getting a beer delivery.  The afternoon bartender—a gorgeous Cajun looking man with black hair and muscular forearms stood in the doorway and talked to the delivery man, who was smoking a cigarette. There were several people drinking and talking in the Pub, and I heard a Christina Aguilera remix.
    How could there not be room for another dance club at this end of Bourbon Street? Both bars, despite their closeness, did good business. It always seemed to me they benefited from their proximity to each other; most people paid cover at both places and wandered between the two all night long. On holiday weekends, the street between them was bumper to bumper men. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to have another club just a short walk away? People wouldn’t choose one over the other—they hadn’t so far. Besides, a lot of people I knew stayed away from the crowds during the holidays. Another bar might just lure more of the locals to come down and party.
    Attitude’s office was in a Creole cottage about halfway up the block in the direction of Dauphine Street.  Unlike the other buildings on the block, it wasn’t on the sidewalk. Instead,  it was set back behind a small yard, and blocked off from the sidewalk by a shoulder-height brick wall with broken glass imbedded in cement along the top. Just inside the wall, a huge flowering magnolia was visible through the wrought iron gate, which opened under a roll of a razor wire.  I was just reaching for the buzzer on the gate when the front door opened.
    What on earth is Paul doing here? I wondered as he shut the door behind him and came down the steps at a brisk clip. He stopped for a brief moment when he noticed me outside the gate. But then a big grin spread across his face. “Hey honey,” he said, opening the gate and kissing me on the cheek.
    “Hey.” I brushed his arm with my hand. He was wearing a nice pair of pleated khaki shorts with a black ribbed tank top. Curly black hairs sprouted at the base of his throat. An errant black curl hung down on his forehead.  He had a strong nose, and bluish black shadow on his cheeks and chin from not shaving that morning. He has the most beautiful blue eyes, I thought. “What are you doing down here?”
    “Oh.” He said.  He glanced back over his shoulder at the door. “The guy