by Julie Smith
“I don’t think so. I can’t seem to recollect seeing your mama with the three of you.”
“Well, I appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m still not getting why you’re so sure Miz Clara didn’t kill him.”
“I know what I know, girl.” A touch of the old fierceness had crept into his voice. “I can’t divulge your mama’s secrets, but I know what I know.”
There it was— the same old thing again. “What is this thing with secrets?”
“Now, hush, Sandra. You just hush now.” He spoke just above a whisper; Talba could imagine him speaking that way to his demented wife. “By the time your daddy died, your mama had moved on. She had other things on her mind. Yes, ma’am. Yes, she did.”
“You sound as if you remember when he died.”
For the first time, he seemed confused. “Well, now, I can’t say I do exactly. The service must have been somewhere else— maybe his woman’s church, or his parents’. But one thing I can say for sure. Miz Clara wasn’t studying on that man anymore. She had moved on from that.”
Suddenly the light started to dawn, so clearly she didn’t see how she could have been so stupid. “Are you saying my mama had a boyfriend?”
“Child, you know I can’t talk about something like that. You know I can’t. If Miz Clara won’t talk about her own life, far be it from me.” He stood up. “Let me just check on Ella.”
When he came back, Talba had readied herself to leave, a process that took only a little longer than leaving Lura Blanchard had. After many thank-yous and be-goods and take-care-of-yourselfs and promises not to be a stranger, they finally severed the connection.
Talba was a little disoriented, but otherwise okay. Feeling turtlelike, that was all. And utterly unprepared to see Darryl’s car in front of her house when she arrived. Darryl was coming down the walk, just leaving.
“How’s Your Grace this fine afternoon?” He was trying to be his old easy self, but there was something stiff about him.
“Embarrassed,” Talba said. “Humiliated beyond all imagining. Abject. Do you think you could possibly ever forgive me?”
He relaxed a bit. “Consider it done. But we do have to talk— I’m not kidding. I got worried when I couldn’t get you on the phone.”
“I was too embarrassed to call.”
“Can we talk?”
She shrugged, wondering what fresh hell this was. “If we go somewhere else. I’m not in the mood for Miz Clara right now.”
“Nor am I. Let’s take a walk, why don’t we? City Park, maybe. Or maybe not. Too many flying horses. Maybe out by the lake.”
Talba thought that ideal— the man was better than a doctor. She got in the car with him and started up again. “I don’t know what got into me— I swear to God I don’t.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it was frustration. You’re right. They’re all lying to you. They even kind of know they’re wrong, but they can’t not do it.”
She whirled toward him. “You know something I don’t.”
He laughed. “Uh-uh. Not till we get there. Think about something else till we get there.”
He thought that was funny. He didn’t have a clue how blank she could make her mind, how easy it was for her to settle back in her shell— the more stress, the easier. And this was stress. Smugly, she idled her mind, and not until they were walking did he speak.
“You’re not going to blink first?”
“You challenged me. But enough’s enough. Out with it.”
He picked up a stone and skipped it across the silvery surface. “Unfortunately, there is no it. Nobody told me what it is— -just that it is. Goddam, Baroness. Something’s funny in your family.”
“Come on— everything! Now.”
“Well, first Corey. Frankly, my dear, you were a tiny bit out of line.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“But did he get upset? No, he got protective.”
“Yeah, I noticed it too.”
“And there was Miz Clara, waiting up for us with hot milk… he’d called her, of course. But you’d have thought she’d be panicked. I mean, what it looked like, speaking from the outside, was that the very distinguished Baroness de Pontalba had just flipped her famous lid.”
“Oh, God, it’s going to get around town.”
He dismissed that one. “You’re a poet. You can get away with it. But Miz Clara almost seemed to be expecting it. And she did talk to me.”
“You’ve been holding out on me.”
“Uh-uh. I didn’t learn a thing, except that they’re holding out on you. She said I had to be especially nice to you, that you’d been a real nervous child, and the family was always ‘scared something would happen.’”
“Scared what would happen?”
“You got me. I asked her specifically. All she’d do is put her lips together and shake her head. So I got tired of it, finally. I said, ‘Look. Did something happen to Talba when she was little?’”
“Ha. What’d she say to that?”
“She narrowed her eyes and gave me the mother look— you know that look? All kids know that look. And she said, ‘Chew mean, boy?’ I know that ploy. I do it with my students all the time. And so, plunging boldly into the abyss, I said, ‘Did Talba see someone shoot her father?’”
Talba heard blood pounding in her ears. Whizzing through her temples. Zing. Zing! An artery was probably going to burst. “Oh, my God. I’ve got to sit down.” Instead, remembering the man who’d kept her from fainting, she leaned over and touched the grass, as if stretching her back. That was no good— what she needed was less blood to the head.
She did sit down, and Darryl with her, rubbing her back, sharing his warmth. Gradually, her runaway heart began to subside. “What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Oh, no. Didn’t see no such thing. Sandra didn’t see no one shoot her daddy— you crazy as she is, boy.’”
He did such a perfect Miz Clara that Talba, in the midst of a near heart attack, burst out laughing. “You shouldn’t make fun of my mama.”
He was laughing too. “I know. I hate myself when I do it. But you think maybe she’s protesting too much?”
“Sounds like it, doesn’t it? But I’m halfway relieved you actually asked her. See, Mama doesn’t lie.”
“She was lying. Maybe you had to be there— I was as sure of it as I am of… of…”
“Of what?”
“Oh, you know. Sky’s blue, water’s wet— that sort of thing.”
“Your baby loves you?”
“Does she?”
“Does he?” She was feeling better, but after the night before, looking for a little reassurance.
“Can’t. Sorry.”
The blood started to zing again.
“A common man is not permitted to love a Baroness.”
She relaxed. “How about if commanded?”
“Maybe if commanded.”
“I so command.”
He laughed. “Pushy, aren’t we? Listen, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Oh, God. I definitely need to lie down. Can I lie down for this?”
“No. Sit up, damn it. This is serious. I had kind of a revelation last night.”
“Oh, shit.” She put her hands over her ears. “I don’t need to hear this. Not today, Darryl.”
But when she looked at him, he was laughing. “Don’t be silly. I’m not trying to break up with you— is that what you think?”
She executed five or six whole-body nods.
“Well…no. Not that I didn’t consider it for a while— there in the restaurant. You know how sometimes you can think you know a person and yet…” He didn’t have to finish. She was doing nods again. It was exactly what she thought he’d be thinking.
“And then, one look at Corey’s face, and I knew something was badly wrong— and not with you. Your brother loves you very much, Talba.”
“He does not. If he did, he wouldn’t have married that… that marshmallow fluff.”
&n
bsp; “Oh, come on. Michelle isn’t so bad.”
“She is. You know she is.”
“Just because she doesn’t dress like a baroness…”
“Okay, okay.” She wanted to get to the meat of this, whatever it was.
Darryl stood up. “Come on, let’s walk some more. I want to walk.”
She sensed that he wanted her beside him, so that they weren’t looking into each other’s eyes. “Fine with me.” She dusted off her butt.
They were quiet for a few minutes. Talba was afraid to speak, but the suspense was so severe she had to take giant breaths to keep from hyperventilating.
It was getting late now, low sun glinting on the lake. The world was still, except for a faint lapping, and the occasional pelican’s dive. She tried to absorb the calm.
When the words came, they glided to her out of nowhere, seeming not to be in Darryl’s voice at all. “I wanted to protect you. I wanted you home with me.”
The sentiment was so unexpected she blurted “What?” in a loud, outraged-sounding whine.
He put his arm around her waist. “It’s okay. I’m not pushing you. I’m not asking you for anything. But I was thinking… maybe I will someday.”
Talba’s throat started to close. A turtle attack was coming, and she wasn’t sure why. She loved Darryl. Why should she be afraid of this? This was what women wanted.
Darryl said, “Hello?”
“I, uh… sorry. My software’s slow or something. I’m still downloading.”
She could feel him withdrawing from her, knew it was a response to her own aloofness. “Look, there’s a reason I’m saying all this.” He was nervous. She heard it in his voice, and it amazed her. By day, Darryl Boucree taught high-school kids and by night, he played music all over the city. It took a lot to make him nervous. “All this talk about secrets is starting to get to me.”
“Fine. I won’t talk about it. Forget I ever said anything.”
“Hold it; you’re not getting it. I want you to talk about what’s bothering you. Like I said…” He seemed to be having trouble getting it out.
“Yes?”
“I want to protect you. I want to help you. But I’ve started to feel like I’m not all there for you.”
Was it reassurance he wanted? “Darryl, no one could have been more kind and understanding…”
He stopped walking, turned toward the water.
He was standing with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, braced against the breeze. He looked like a god. She had an image suddenly of a man standing just like this, hands in pockets, the wind blowing as it was now, only he was a white man and so his hair moved when the wind blew, and he was smoking a cigarette and the wind blew the smoke as well. It was a kind of déjà vu, perhaps something she’d seen in a movie, and it was inexpressibly sad, the man remembering something he’d lost.
She knew in that moment that this was not the kind of sadness she saw in the eyes of men who could never be cheered up, that at least some of his sadness had been caused by her, and that she was capable of causing it again, and that any person who could cause this man to feel this way was not worthy of him.
“Darryl, I swear to God I’ll never be such an asshole again.”
“Get off that, will you? What I’m trying to say is that you were onto something the other night— there’s a reason you’ve never met my daughter.” He frowned. “How to say this? She’s kind of a handful.”
“You mean a brat?”
He looked hurt, and she remembered how she’d just seen him and what she’d realized. She could have kicked herself.
“It could be more than that— she’s being tested. For now, let me just say she’s difficult.”
Talba knew what she should say— even wanted to say— but now, under pressure, it was a fight to get the words out. “Could I meet her?”
He nodded, slowly, solemnly, then he grinned.
That gave her courage. “Do I have to?” she said.
He swatted her on the backside. “Yep. You do.” He was smiling like his old self.
Chapter 21
Eddie had it out with Angie over the weekend. She was tougher than Audrey, tougher than Tony. Hell, face it, she was tougher than Eddie.
But, knowing it was coming, he developed a strategy— he’d just say, yeah, yeah, she was right, and he didn’t know what got into him, and it must have been temporary insanity, and then when she ranted on, he could act hurt and say why was she so mean to him?
It worked, too, up to a point. At least it freed him for thinking up anything to say to defend himself. Because it wasn’t a strategy at all— it was really a decision just to lie down and take it. That was how it was with Angie. She wasn’t a lawyer for nothing. She had things to say, she was going to say them— usually two or three times. Listening was no picnic— but on the other hand, it was the only alternative to fleeing the country.
So that was how his Saturday went. Sunday, he went to Mass with Audrey, and, afterward, they took a drive. This was something they never did together. But he found himself suggesting it, and then there they were off to the Gulf Coast to have lunch. Audrey was like a girl, she was so happy— happy that the last ten years had been wiped out and things she’d thought were true weren’t and never had been. Happy that her baby boy was back. Even happy with Eddie. She had forgiven him big-time.
They ended up gambling in one of the casinos and-what-the-hell, spending the night there and, most amazing of all, having a nightcap and making love. Really doing it, not just Eddie getting off, which was what it usually felt like anymore— as if Audrey weren’t there at all. Like she was just a prop.
All of which is to say, that was how he missed the eleven o’clock news, which it was his religion to watch. He picked up the paper Monday morning with a twinge of guilt, but it was nothing to what he felt when he actually saw what he saw— a picture of Aziza Scott, missing person. She hadn’t come home from work Friday night; her ex-husband had reported her missing after his daughter called him, terrified. There was a picture of Cassandra on an inside page.
Eddie had dropped the ball.
He had let the case go when she fired him. Hadn’t followed up with Shaneel. Goddammit, what was wrong with him?
“Audrey, we’re going.” She was still asleep, still in the afterglow of the night before.
Eddie was in another world by then. Because he took confidentiality seriously, he couldn’t even tell her what was wrong with him, why his mood had suddenly turned demonic.
He had a very bad feeling about this. So bad he felt a tight metal band close on his midsection. He’d had this before; he knew all about it. It could be an ulcer symptom, but in his case it probably wasn’t— it was stress. And he lived his life under stress. It took an awful lot to cause something like this.
He dropped Audrey off without so much as going in to change his socks and underwear. It was nearly nine o’clock. He drove straight to the Scott house. A man answered the door, colored fellow, seemed nice, but a little sad. The kid’s father, in from Baton Rouge. Eddie explained who he was and said he had to see Cassandra.
She hadn’t gone to school that day. She was still in bed, probably crying. She got up and dressed to talk to Eddie.
He said, “How ya holding up?” and all the obligatory stuff, and then he got down on one knee to talk to her, just the way he had with his own kids when he had something really important to tell them. “I’m ‘on tell ya something. I’m gonna find your mama for ya— you believe that?”
She shook her head. Her father said they couldn’t afford Eddie’s services.
He ignored the dad and spoke directly to Cassandra. “Listen, honey, ya mama fired me. I’m not working for her or anybody else now. Just you. And I work for you for free, ya got that?”
The dad said, “We really don’t need your services,” but Cassandra said, “Daddy!” in that teenage way, and he shut up. The kid was scared spitless.
“Now I need ya to promise me some stuff.”
He said, “Certainly not. I’m your father. Anything you say to him can be said in front of me.”
He didn’t know about Toes. Eddie realized suddenly that Aziza hadn’t even told him— was probably afraid the whole incident would reflect badly on her. He said quickly, “It’s okay. Just stay with ya dad— will ya promise me that?”
“I have to go to school.”
“Just today, okay? Promise.”
She nodded, utterly miserable. The phone rang, giving Eddie, after all, a minute alone with her. He said, “You know Toes has her, don’t you?”
She screamed, “No!” so loud he saw he wasn’t going to get anywhere.
He left her and drove to the office, where he kept a few clean clothes he could change into. He’d just done that, and was coming back from the men’s room, when Talba came in fit to be tied.
“He’s got Aziza.”
“Yes, Ms. Wallis. I b’lieve you’re right.”
“Well, what if he goes after Cassandra next? Or Shaneel?”
“Now calm down, Ms. Wallis. Just try to be calm. Cassandra’s father is with her. And Toes can’t get Shaneel during school hours.”
“How about after school?”
“We’ll just have to get there first, won’t we?” He hoped he sounded calm; if he did, it was a front.
Her eyes were wild things, operating with a mind of their own; her voice vibrated with panic. “Shouldn’t we call the police? I mean, this is two murders that we know of…”
He sat down, moving slowly to calm her. He patted air, slowly. “Ms. Wallis, Ms. Wallis. For all we know, Ms. Scott took off with her boyfriend. We don’t even know she’s dead, much less that this is a murder. We had information about Rhonda Bergeron, and they weren’t even interested. Now, we could call the police again. We could. But what would we say?”
“How about if we just call the tip line and say check out Baron Tujague’s brother in the Scott case?”
“Now what’s that gon’ do?”
“I don’t know, but it’s something.”
