Few
cities capture the writerly imagination like New Orleans, and all it takes is
one visit to understand why—as settings go, it’s an embarrassment of riches.
Sultry
and gorgeous and ripe with various temptations, New Orleans is a sensory
overload, especially as spring warms into summer. The rising heat will set your
blood on a slow simmer and make every horizon shimmer like a mirage. The air
smells of river water, beignets, jasmine, and last night’s beer. The sound of a
second line jazz parade competes with the laughter of Bourbon Street tourists
and the clip-clop of carriage horses. It’s sex and death, brawl and languor,
high passion and low company.
I
thought of all this as I strolled through St. Louis Cemetery #1. Famous for
being the final resting place of Marie Laveau—the celebrated voodoo queen—this
cemetery is now off limits to anyone not a part of a tour group after someone
vandalized her tomb with pink latex paint. The bill to repair the damage came
to around ten thousand dollars, and to prevent further destruction, the
Catholic Archdiocese of New Orleans, which oversees the cemetery, created new
rules governing how and when tourists could visit.
Luckily
for my family and me, one part of the prohibition was dropped while we were
still in town—visitors could once again tour at dusk. We were the only group
there that evening, and we got to see the cemetery in the warm, honey-colored
glow of sunset. During the day, the white above-ground tombs reflect the light
and heat with merciless ferocity. As the sun sinks, however, the graveyard
takes on a different flavor. The dead feel even closer, friendly even, and the weathered
beauty of the brick and wrought iron can be fully appreciated.
It
feels timeless there, liminal, as if the veil between this world and the next has
thinned. New Orleans is said to be the most haunted place in the US. One of its
rumored supernatural residents is Pierre, who has a table set for him every
night at Muriel’s restaurant. Pierre supposedly died by his own hand, distraught
that his gambling debt meant that he would lose his beloved home. He committed
suicide as a way to avoid eviction, and according to the legend, succeeded in
staying put for over a century now.
I
understand Pierre’s reasoning, I really do. For even though New Orleans is not
my own, it is magnetic in its pull. I’m a Lowcountry girl, but I know I’ll be
back to the Big Easy. It doesn’t feel as if I have a choice.
* * *
Tina Whittle
writes the Tai Randolph mysteries for Poisoned Pen Press. The sixth book in
this Atlanta-based series—Necessary Ends—is available now. Tina is a proud member of Sisters in Crime and
serves as both a chapter officer and national board member. Visit her website
to follow her on social media, sign up for her newsletter, or read additional
scenes and short stories: www.tinawhittle.com.