“In her early thirties, with long, thick auburn hair, she had clear, smooth skin the color of white porcelain. I could see blue veins in her long throat. She was short, barely five feet tall, with a tiny waist and ample hips. She looked as though she weighed less than a hundred pounds. Given the size of her frame, her breasts seemed almost too large to be real underneath her green Tulane T-shirt. We were sitting in a gazebo behind the Sheehan mansion on St. Charles Avenue. A ceiling fan whirred ...overhead, but it wasn’t providing enough breeze to keep me from sweating, and the glass of iced tea wasn’t helping any more than the fan. My shirt was soaked. Janna had led me out here so we could speak without being overheard by anyone. I’d thought it odd, but acquiesced. She blew a cloud of smoke out of her mouth and gave me a brittle smile. “Of course she killed him,” she said. “But how would I know why? Cordelia doesn’t share that kind of information with me.” “Just tell me what happened the night of the murder.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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