Read Murder in the Rue St. Ann for Free Online Page A

polyester pants. Her feet were in sandals. She turned her head and faced me. Her face was round, her cheeks full with deep dimples, and her eyes were round and black behind severe black plastic framed glasses. She was also smiling. “Hey, come on in!” she said.
    My eyes wandered to the walls. They were covered with framed posters, which were actually blown-up attitude magazine covers. I recognized a hot muscle boy who’d been on The Real World ; a muscular young Hispanic soap star; and an adorable young guy I’d seen dancing on the bar at the Pub a few times. He had almost tempted me to break my long standing rule about not tipping dancers. There were several others I didn’t recognize, but they were all young and beautiful and shirtless.
    “Our past covers.” Said the guy who’d let me in. “My name is Zane Rathburn. I’m the artistic director. That’s Ghentry Rutledge, who’s the editor of the magazine, “ –the man in glasses nodded— “and Julian Eastwick, our sales director.”
    “Eastwick as in Witches of ,” she said in a girlish voice. She couldn’t be much older than 23. Her nose, lip and tongue were all pierced, and I spotted a tattoo of Wile E. Coyote on her unshaved calf.
    I nodded to her. “Nice to meet you.”
    “I’ll tell Mark you’re here,” Zane said,  He then walked across the room and knocked on a door, and walked into another room.
    I sat down. “So what’s it like working here?” I asked Ghentry and Julian, just to make conversation. It was better than just sitting there staring at each other.
    Julian tossed her dreads with a grin. Silver braces shone on her teeth. “ I like working in a queer environment. I like having a job where my boss doesn’t expect me to take out my jewelry, wear my hair in a certain style, or keep my tattoos covered.” Her blue eyes were serious. “I have a college degree, man, in English. And the only job I can get is being a salesperson. Wasn’t what I was expecting when I was paying my tuition.” She shrugged. “I could have gotten this job without a degree—but it’s fun working here.”
    “Yeah.” Ghentry leaned back in his chair and his hands behind his head. Nicely shaped muscles moved in his arms. “I’ve had a lot of shitty jobs I hated that paid better than this, but we have a good time—I don’t mind coming to work, if you know what I mean.”
    “Cool.”  I said. I’ve always thought enjoying your work was a lot more important than money. I’m not cracked out to be an employee, which was why I was self-employed.
    The door opened again. Zane came back with another man. I stood back up.
    “Mr. MacLeod?” A blue-eyed man stepped forward with his hand extended for a shake. He had thick dark blonde hair clipped about an inch above the top of his head. His eyebrows were brown, and had been shaved apart over the bridge of his straight nose. There were some tell-tale lines starting to show around his eyes and mouth, but they were hardly noticeable. His cheeks were dimpled, his lips full and thick, and his teeth straight and white. He was a little over six feet tall,  and probably about 190. He wore a tight black T-shirt with attitude printed on it. His tight faded jeans had a rip at the left knee.
    I shook his hand. His grip was fraternity-trained strong. “Call me Chanse.” I said.
    “And you call me Mark.” He clapped me on the back. “Come on into my office so we can talk.”
    He shut the door behind me. His office was completely different from the outer one. It was decorated in mahogany, brass, and glass. The walls were painted a dark green. There were no posters on the walls. The large desk was immaculate—everything was neatly stacked and carefully ordered. He sat down in his chair, leaned forward, and cupped his chin in his hands. “What they’re doing to Dominique is terrible, isn’t it?” he said, shaking his head slightly.
    I sat down, pulled a notebook from my briefcase and flipped it open. “Just who is