P.I. On A Hot Tin Roof

by Julie Smith

  Or so she and Eddie rationalized it.

  She found two suits filed against LaGarde, Inc.—both involving hotels LaGarde wanted to build that preservationists had sued to stop. Both had been settled in LaGarde’s favor. And both had been heard before Judge Buddy Champagne. Technically, she supposed, there was no conflict if Buddy and Kristin had begun their relationship after the cases were settled, but who cared now? Talba added the case names to the client’s file and called Lucy.

  “Hi, it’s Sandra.”

  Lucy sounded drugged. “Oh. Hi.”

  “I want to see you. Can I come over?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “That means ‘yes,’ right?”

  No answer.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Adele would be the first hurdle, of course. She answered the door herself, wearing one of her too-fancy dresses, this one black. “How dare you show your face around here?”

  “Kristin said you’d see me.”

  “You’re a plague on this family.”

  “Well. You’re right—I know I have been. Kristin said you’d want to tell me so yourself.”

  “That poor child has had nightmares every night.”

  Talba apologized for what she’d done, and finished with, “Look, I hate what happened—especially to Lucy. The only thing I can do now is try to find out who did it. I owe that to your family.”

  To her surprise, Adele fought tears, something she didn’t think happened often. “I’m going to tell you something. Buddy was a plague on us, too. We might have not known it—or maybe we just didn’t want to admit it—but he was, and he was going to bring us down eventually, whether you or someone else was the instrument of it. Think I didn’t know he was skipping court? Didn’t know who those people were from Nicasio’s office? Come in, and let me talk to you.”

  Kristin had been right. Adele had been more or less lying in wait for her. She took Talba into the sunroom, explaining that it was “just about the only room I can stand anymore.”

  The house seemed bereft in a physical as well as spiritual way. Crumpled napkins lay forgotten on the dining room table, and in the kitchen languished half-read newspapers. Dust you could write in covered the surfaces. Small, stray bits of paper and detritus like bottle caps and pencils—even a Ritz cracker—had been dropped on the floor and abandoned by a family too demoralized to bother bending over to retrieve them. Instead of furniture polish and the lingering scent of the morning’s bacon and eggs, sour mildewy smells pervaded the entire first floor—the odors of neglect. Apparently, the Champagnes hadn’t replaced Alberta.

  “Sit down. I’m seeing you for Lucy’s sake. You almost killed her.”

  Talba obeyed. “You mean because of what happened to her father?”

  “Because of what happened to her. Do you understand what a hard thing that was for a child? To learn what her father was—and have the whole world know?”

  “And then to lose him.”

  “Her world is in ashes, and you lit the fire that made it happen. You betrayed us, Sandra.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been worried about her.”

  “Like I said, she’s been having nightmares every night since Buddy died. And you made it happen.” She twisted jerkily, seeming to come to some kind of decision. “You know what? This idea of Kristin’s is crazy. I’m sorry I ever agreed to it.” But Talba didn’t think so. Adele was a shrewd woman. She wouldn’t have agreed without reasons of her own. Talba wondered what on earth they were.

  “Well, yes and no,” she said. “About it being crazy. She guessed right about how badly I’d feel. She knew I’d work harder than any other P.I. in town to find out what really happened.”

  “You’re being well paid for it.”

  “Well, I wasn’t paid for exposing Buddy. I did it because it needed to be done.”

  She was testing the waters. To her surprise, Adele didn’t jump on her. “Buddy was a wicked man. Living with him was hard on all of us. But that doesn’t excuse you.”

  Talba had the sense she was just saying what she thought she ought to say. “Well, enough about me,” she said. “May I see Lucy?”

  Adele shrugged. “Up to her.”

  “Can you ask her?”

  “I’ll ask her. But I want to be with y’all when you talk to her.”

  “Fine with me.”

  Adele disappeared and came back with the girl, who looked as if she hadn’t washed her hair since her father’s death. She had lost weight; actually looked better in one sense. But Talba felt terribly for her; she’d suffered a monumental loss, and it wasn’t only her father’s death. It was dealing with who he was, and with school, after everyone found out. She wondered if the girl was still at McGehee.

  She knew she was going to have to go through the same thing with Lucy as she did with Adele—a million apologies and a thousand recriminations. And in this case, tears.

  “Hi.”

  Lucy said nothing.

  “You hate me, right? I don’t know what to say, baby. Except that I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not good enough.” And so it went.

  But, as with Adele, she didn’t get the feeling Lucy really blamed her. She took a chance. “There was a piece of you that knew all along, wasn’t there? About your father?”

  Water pooled in the girl’s eyes. “No! I thought my father was a god.” It came out as a sob.

  Talba had enough sense not to mention the way the girl had treated him—more or less as if he were a loathsome insect. That was just hormones, she supposed.

  “Baby, I—”

  But Lucy interrupted. “Do you know what it means to worship someone, really worship him—and discover he’s a crook? I mean, your parents are the ones who teach you how you’re supposed to act—what are you supposed to think when—” It seemed for awhile she couldn’t go on, but she finally said, “When you find out it’s all a farce? All lies!” She lowered her voice. “Everything falls apart, that’s what happens. The world turns upside down.”

  Talba started to apologize again, but thought better of it. What had happened to Lucy—the loss of innocence—had to happen to everybody. It was the first sad thing in the average kid’s life, but every kid had to work through it. Talba hated being the instrument of it, but she couldn’t take the rap for Buddy. “Can I ask you something, Luce?” she asked. “Just to clear the air between us? Would you agree that when all this started, I wasn’t even around? That your dad’s own actions set it in motion?”

  “Somebody killed him! Am I supposed to like that?”

  “Neither of us likes it. But I like you. And I wouldn’t have had this happen for anything. You know that, don’t you, baby?”

  That started another flood. But before the tears spilled over, the girl said softly, “Yes.” Adele tried to hold her as she cried, but Lucy resisted, and when the tears stopped, Talba spoke to both of them, very softly, “Can we talk about who might have wanted to kill him?”

  “It was that lawyer bitch,” Adele said.

  “You know it wasn’t, Adele. She didn’t hate Buddy. She was doing her job, too. Listen, I’ve been to that marina. The neighbors have a point. The place stinks like a sewer.”

  Lucy nodded. “I’ve been trying to look at things from her side. Daddy hated her, but that doesn’t mean she hated him.” Not until he planted the drugs, Talba thought. That kind of changed things. But they didn’t need to know about that.

  “But there were people who did,” she said.

  Lucy nodded. “You know a boy died out at the marina, don’t you?”

  “It was an accident, I heard.”

  “Yeah, but his family hates us. Just hates us. Like Daddy hated the lawyer.”

  Talba took out a notebook and wrote in it. She wasn’t likely to forget, but this whole interview was a performance in a sense—on both sides, she suspected.

  “What’s their name?” She already knew, of course.

  “Dorand. Faye and Billy Dorand. The boy was call
ed Jimmy.” Lucy turned her face toward the just-budding garden. “I knew him.”

  “You knew him well?”

  “No. But I liked him. I was sorry for what happened.” And that explained a lot, Talba thought, about why she was there. Lucy, at any rate, understood her position. “I wanted Daddy to do something for them. But he wouldn’t.”

  “Did they file suit against him?”

  Lucy looked confused. Adele nodded. “They did.”

  “You think they might have killed Buddy?”

  “Yes!” Lucy said. Adele remained silent.

  “Anyone else?”

  “I guess,” Lucy said, “it could have been someone involved in a case. Someone that he…” She couldn’t bring herself to go any further.

  There might be hundreds, Talba thought.

  “All right. Can both of you stand to talk about that night?”

  “You mean the night he was killed?” Adele said, ever the bluff Texan. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

  Talba nodded, keeping her eyes on her notebook. “Did he have dinner at home that night?”

  “Yes,” Adele said.

  “And then what happened?”

  Lucy said, “I went upstairs to do homework. And then I went to bed.”

  Adele said, “I went into the den to watch TV—by myself. Royce and Suzanne were out or something. Buddy went up to his office—he’s got his own TV up there. Maybe he had calls to make; I don’t know.”

  “Did either of you see him again that night?”

  Grandmother and granddaughter looked at each other. Finally, Lucy shrugged. “I didn’t,” she said.

  Adele shook her head.

  “Hear anything?”

  Again, they exchanged glances; then both shook their heads. They might be checking each other out, Talba thought, or they might be lying. Either idea was interesting.

  “Okay, that’s all for now. Mostly I came by to see you, Lucy. Listen, whatever happens, I want you to know I’m not your enemy. Or yours, Miss Adele. I was Buddy’s, yes, but I’m not yours. We’re in it together now.” She looked at Lucy when she spoke; that was the person she wanted to get through to. “Okay?”

  Adele nodded. “Fair enough. I might not like it, but I’ve agreed to it.”

  Lucy looked relieved. “Sandra,” she began.

  “Call me Talba.”

  “Oh. I forgot. You’re a poet. Wasn’t there a real Baroness de Pontalba? Why do you call yourself that?”

  The original was a New Orleans historical figure, an intrepid nineteenth-century woman who’d developed and built the Pontalba Apartments at Jackson Square despite being, on one occasion, pumped full of lead by her own father-in-law. She’d survived with two fingers missing and two bullets in her chest. But all that had nothing to do with why Talba had become a baroness. “I stole her name,” Talba said, “because somebody stole mine a long time ago. When I was born, my mother asked the doctor what she should name me, and you know what he said? ‘Urethra.’ It’s on my birth certificate.”

  Even Adele registered horror. Lucy’s was mixed with bewilderment. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “He thought it was a joke. And when I grew up, I just declared myself a baroness—because I wanted to be one. And she was the only one I’d ever heard of.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Lucy said. “That’s…inhuman.”

  Talba smiled. She’d long since come to terms with it, partly by writing a poem about it. “Water under the bridge,” she said.

  Lucy seemed hugely embarrassed, as if she herself was the perp. She seemed to be searching for a bone to throw. “Hey! I just had a thought—can you come talk to my class?” She paused. “I mean if I had a class. I guess I’m changing schools.”

  “Lucy may be going away to school,” Adele interjected. “We have to decide if that’s the best thing.”

  Lucy put on her sullen look. “It’s not my idea. How’s Raisa?”

  “She’s fine. She talks about you all the time.” Not strictly true, but close enough. “And I borrowed her a camcorder for Mardi Gras. She got some great stuff.”

  “Ooh, could I see it? I mean, could I see her? I’m a little short on friends right now.”

  “How about Danielle?”

  “Her family won’t let her come over any more.”

  An interesting irony, Talba thought. And a pity the girl had to resort to a ten-year-old for a friend. “Sure, you can see her,” she said. “I’ll set it up.”

  Talba left and went home to her mama. It would be a good night to chill and read a book—she had a heavy day tomorrow, beginning with a drive to the marina. She wanted to know more about the kid who’d been killed there.

  ***

  She checked into the office first and arrived at Venetian Isles about ten. Both Royce and Brad were in the office. Royce didn’t speak to her; left when he saw her. So much for Kristin’s diplomacy.

  Brad shrugged. “He’s not talking to anybody much these days. He’s sad about his father and he feels bad about”—he paused—“some other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “Goddammit, I’m trying to be patient here. Listen up: Royce is one of the good guys. He didn’t like a lot of the stuff his father did, but he was trapped, you understand? He couldn’t do a damn thing about it, and he’s like, all messed up inside. About his daddy dying and—shit!—just the way things work around here.” Talba didn’t know if he meant the marina or Louisiana, or maybe the world. “His daddy’s dead and he’s stuck with the mess he left and he’s trying to figure his life out. Give him a break, okay? Back off.”

  Good idea, Talba thought. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess we got off on the wrong foot. Do you know what I’m here for?”

  Brad had been sitting at a small table that served as a desk. He stood now, apparently unable to tolerate being shorter than she was. “Yeah. Stupidest thing I ever heard of. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Royce think so too?”

  “Royce is more or less still in shock. I don’t know what he’s thinking anymore.”

  “His daddy treated him pretty badly.”

  “He was still his daddy.”

  “Brad, you saw Buddy a lot, right? Who wanted to kill him?”

  Brad walked out onto the pier, looked off into space, making her follow. A power play. “You, maybe.”

  “Uh-uh. I already had what I wanted. Tell me Buddy didn’t have enemies. He was a judge, and he was dirty. A lot of people must have thought they’d gotten a raw deal.”

  Brad picked up something, maybe a stick, and threw it into the water. “Ben Izaguirre hated him—the guy was trying to close down the marina. But you already know that.”

  “How about the Dorand family?”

  Brad turned to face her. “Now you’re onto something. They sure made enough threats.”

  “Oh, really? What kind of threats?”

  Brad laughed. “Not death threats. Just that they’d see the Champagnes in hell if they didn’t pay up. All they wanted was a settlement. Didn’t give a damn about their kid.” He turned away. “Trash,” he muttered.

  A man in an aluminum flatboat chugged toward the pier. He cut his engine and hailed Brad. Up close, Talba could see that he was dressed like a shrimper, in a flannel shirt thrown over an old T-shirt and a pair of jeans. “I’m here for my money.”

  “Excuse me,” Brad said to Talba, which she took for a dismissal. She turned away but didn’t leave.

  “You remember me? We had a deal. I give you shrimp, you give me money. Simple, yeah? Where’s my money?”

  Brad glanced at Talba, who noticed that Royce was running back down the pier, apparently sensing a need for damage control. “Bob, it’s not a good time. We’ve had a death in the family.”

  “Well, I’m ’bout to have one in mine—from starvation, I don’t get my money.”

  Brad glanced nervously at Talba. “Eddie, give us some privacy, will you?”

  “Sure.” Talba walked back
toward her old Isuzu.

  She waited in the car, bored out of her mind, and finally reached forward to turn on the radio. Just as she was fiddling with the dial, she was sure she heard something, and it definitely wasn’t music. It was like a…there it was again: A definite “meow.” And rather authoritative.

  She opened the car, got out, and nearly stepped on a kitten that looked like it would fit in her pocket. “Well, hello, baby.”

  The kitten arched its back and crab-walked. She knelt. “You must be Royce’s little friend. You don’t look so bad.” It was small, but its coat was healthy, and its ribs didn’t show. It spoke to her again. She spoke back. “Come on, sweet pea. You look like you need a square meal.”

  But it had a lot better sense than to come on. Uh-uh. This thing with the big feet was going to get it vaccinated and make it suffer the indignity of a cat box. Talba figured its long-gone mama had explained that it must never, ever fall into that trap.

  “Suit yourself,” Talba said, and looked up to see the stranger turn his boat around and head out of the canal into the pass. When he was gone, she went back to tackle Royce and Brad again.

  Royce gave her a hostile glance, again walked away. She yelled after him, “Hey, Royce, I found your kitten.” No answer. Brad sighed. “Guess I’ve been elected troubleshooter. Surprised he didn’t answer, though. He loves that little thing, but Suzanne won’t let him bring it home. He’s been feeding it shrimp.”

  “Why not?”

  “One thing we got, it’s shrimp.”

  “No, what’s the problem with Suzanne?”

  “She’s afraid of cats.” He looked disgusted. “You beat that? A grown woman.”

  It was funny about animals. Talba figured he was sufficiently softened up by the kitten to be civil. “Tell me more about the Dorands.”

  He snorted. “Trash. Mean bastards. What more do you need to know?”

  “Okay, let’s leave that for a while. Tell me about yourself.”

  “Why the hell should I?” His face was red, and his scalp was reddening as well. Civil indeed.

  “You’re close to the Champagnes, aren’t you?”

  “What the fuck is it to you?”