No. 7

Mrs. Lafayette to Detective Quinn (Cold Cases)

Detective Quinn

908 E Jefferson

Louisville, Kentucky

June 19, 1940

 Dear Detective,

About this time Julien was becoming famous for his illustrated songs in theaters with opera companies, traveling in Detroit, Chicago, and Memphis. His success was interrupted by the death of his father. This brought him home to Louisville, where we met and started to perform in the same circles.

Julien was an only child. Although they had means and servants plus a live-in-mother-in-law, Julien had to take care of his unraveling mother. This gave him time to assess the estate. He found the hidden money. After he blew through it, he took a job as a clerk with an architect. You might ask: What does this musician have to offer an architect? But his energy, as if he was being chased, was off the charts, literally: he could draw, chart, and design anything from nothing.  He was intoxicating. He took risks. His periotic bursts brought friends, money, music, and only the occasional collapse.

When he left me, the show was over. I was not shocked—angry, afraid, yes—for the children and our lack of resources, but I could not rightly say I was surprised that he would get bored with me. When he offered me the way, I took it, this temptation to perform with him was a way to leave the circus that was Mother.

My younger brother, Lawrence, was like Julien in his internal drive. From my brother’s depression, I could adjust myself into playing nurse. When the Lord decided that I needed an adjustment, He blew me off that part.

Oh my, goodness. See how I go on about my life? But I would like to hear more about your work, Detective Quinn, and your other cold cases. Were there others who were like Julien? Who were his friends? Did he have any? Will your wife consider writing to me? Thank you again for allowing this visit between us.

I think your wife might like for me to tell the story about how I found Julien’s other family.

I drove down there, ignorant of the bad weather. The moment I arrived moment the farm it was hit by a tornado. They knew what was up—this yellow wind—and hurried me into the house as soon as they saw me pull into the driveway, being neighborly. This horror, though, killed his widow. It destroyed my car.  I stayed on the farm until I could get out. For 33 days I tried to help the wife’s sister, Minnie. Later I learned that some called Minnie “Win”, and it was there, during her recovery, that I experienced the old silence.

I will get to “Win” along the way as I can learn to trust you. I do want to trust you. Her story is more important than mine, you see, and I cannot do my chores if I write about “Win” for it sets me down and I stare into space. When the time is right, I will get to it, if you might need more distraction from your condition.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Lafayette

Copyright 2025 Christine Friesel