Rampart Street (Valentin St. Cyr Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

wrought iron. The windows were tall for light and ventilation. Each one sat on a large plot of land with gardens in front and large yards behind the houses, some of which backed up to the line of yew trees that defined the borders of the Jockey Club. There was not quite so much attention to family tradition here as in some older sections of town. Those who had the funds could take their place, and those who couldn't were not welcome. In fact, it was uniquely democratic in that way, though, of course, no one of color need apply.
    As lovely and secure as the streets appeared, and no matter how sweet their beds of roses and camellias, Valentin knew too well what kinds of corruption dwelt behind some of the facades. He'd seen it firsthand; and it was one such scandal that had brought him there this morning.
    He arrived at the Benedict address on St. Philip, feeling something like a beggar as he stepped under the balcony to knock on the heavy oak and cut-glass door adorned with a wreath of somber black roses. It gave him a long moment's pause.
    The door was opened by a young mulatto girl. Though she was dressed down in black, she regarded him with bright, curious eyes and a smile that was almost impish. His first thought was that she looked familiar, and he was trying to place her when an elderly and elegantly attired Frenchman came to the foyer to greet him.

    "Mr. St. Cyr?" he said, offering a thin hand. "Maurice Delouche. The Benedict family attorney." His posture was bent and his features narrow, an aging fox. His eyes were a light blue just a shade away from transparent. He glanced at the detective's worn ensemble and sighed in disappointment. Valentin guessed that the fellow had expected a Pinkerton in a three-piece suit.
    The attorney bent his head to whisper. "The late Mr. Benedict's wife and daughter have requested the services of an investigator to look into his unfortunate death." He sniffed disapproval. "You should know that it was over my objection. I don't see what's to be gained. But they insist." He regarded the detective for another troubled moment, then gestured with one of his frail hands. "They're waiting in the sitting room."
    With the colored maid following behind, he ushered Valentin along a corridor. The detective took a quick look into a living room and dining room and saw an assembly of white people standing around in suits and dark dresses, holding cups and glasses and little trays of food and talking in low voices. If the mourners saw him at all, they ignored him.
    Delouche led him into a small parlor, where four armchairs were arranged around a coffee table and the two women were waiting.
    The attorney murmured the introductions. "Mr. St. Cyr, allow me to present Mrs. Grace Benedict, the widow, and Miss Anne Marie Benedict, his daughter." He looked from one woman to the other. "Mr. Valentin St. Cyr is a private investigator referred to us by Alderman Badel." Neither the name Tom Anderson nor the word Storyville was mentioned.
    Finishing his little speech, Delouche invited Valentin to take one of the vacant chairs while he took the other one.
    Mrs. Benedict cleared her throat and asked in a low voice if their guest would like some refreshment. The maid who had greeted him at the front door was waiting. When Valentin shook his head, the widow flicked a hand and the girl faded away.

    The detective took the moment to study the widow and the deceased's daughter. Both women had regal profiles, patrician noses, full lips, striking blue-green eyes. They were dressed alike as well, with their black skirts draping to the floor and black shirtwaists buttoned at the neck. The widow's visage, though haughty, was somehow blurred, as if out of focus. At a second glimpse, Valentin noticed that her face was hollow beneath the powder, as if she was made of fine china, and dark shadows curved under her eyes. He had seen it before and knew what it meant. By contrast, the daughter's posture was stiff and her gaze intense,