“We’ve already checked in. Look, I have the receipt here…” Jackson handed Hill the paperwork.
Hill grabbed it, crumpling the edges of the paper. He jerked it close to his face to read it and then pursed his lips as he said, “Mr. Miller, we’ll offer you a full refund and direct you to other accommodations, I assure you. But one thing is certain. You will not stay in this hotel with that beast.” He slammed the paper in Jackson’s chest, spun 180 degrees on one loafer, and stormed back toward the lobby.
Six
Jackson felt as if he had been kicked in the teeth. Imogene put her hand on her hip and turned toward the boys. “Y’all see what happens when you start accusin’ folks of things they ain’t done? It comes back and bites you on the end. Y’all are just reapin’ what you sowed.” She brushed her hand through her hair and watched the fussy little man hoofing it to his office.
Jackson hurried after Hill and caught up to him right as he was opening the back door to the lobby. “Mr. Hill, please, we’ve canceled our other reservations and it’s Friday night. As you can see, we’re traveling with an old woman, too. She needs her medicine. She’s tired. Her bones hurt, and she must rest.”
Jackson was really trying to sell it, but unfortunately, Imogene was laughing at Goose as he backed his butt up to her leg to get scratched. She didn’t look nearly as pitiful as Jackson needed her to look. She stood on one leg and scratched Goose with her foot, cackling at the beast. “Gooey, looks like your end’s itchin’. Lord, you a mess and Maw-Maw loves you.” She bent down and rubbed his belly.
Jackson frowned. “Sir, it’s getting late. My dog is completely house-trained…hotel-trained too. You won’t regret letting him stay.” Hill’s expression remained one of irritated stubbornness. “Look, we didn’t book your hotel in the first place. We planned on other accommodations. If I had known we were staying here, I would’ve called weeks ago to ask about the dog.”
“You should have kept your other ‘accommodations,’ Mr. Miller.” Hill put his nose up in the air.
“A friend booked your hotel for us. His name’s Neil.”
Hill took a step back. He looked Jackson up and down, as if he were inspecting a show pony. Jackson reached into his pocket and again offered the receipt printouts to Hill, who grabbed them. He tossed on his reading glasses to peruse the documents. He had not been using his glasses on the first round, but the mention of Neil’s name appeared to have changed him. As Hill read the papers, he absently clicked his ballpoint pen on and off and on and off. The noise was irritating, but Jackson kept silent.
Hill twisted his hips from side to side and then grumbled as he flicked the papers back at Jackson. He pursed his lips before saying, “If there is one bit of unpleasantness associated with that dog of yours, you’ll be out of my hotel immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, of course I do. Thank you, Mr. Hill.” Jackson neatly folded the receipt.
Hill pointed his index finger toward the sky above the courtyard, and in a voice that was one level below a screech, he said, “No pissing, no shitting, no barking, and no eating the linens. Your room better look like the queen of England’s when you check out.” Hill said it so high-pitched that Imogene turned and looked at him and waited to see what Jackson would do.
“Mr. Hill, I can assure you that we will leave the room as we found it.” Jackson walked over to Imogene, took the leash, and gently tried to pull Goose behind him. Goose growled. “Shhh. Come on.”
Hill stuck his hands in the air, as if he were asking the universe how he was supposed to cope with such people. “I mean it. I don’t care if your granny here bites the dust. You take care of your room. Capiche?” Hill snapped his fingers toward the group and then turned around in place, as if he were on a swivel seat. He mumbled as he walked away, “This place is insufferable.”
Jackson held his breath as Hill swung the door open and stomped down the back hall, disappearing into what looked like an office.
Imogene limped up to him. “You done good, Jack. Better than Imogene Deal McGregor could have. Shoot, I was ’bout ready to shut his lips myself, but I knowed it would only hurt us. That fellar was a donkey, wadn’t he? I reckon if we stuck a piece of coal up his tail, we’d have a diamond in ’bout three days.” She shook her head and grabbed the leash. “Well, boys, come on, ’fore that fellar comes back with a changed mind. Wait till Neil gets out of jail and hears about that fuss-butt. He won’t stand for it. He’ll straighten it out right quick.”
Imogene hobbled over to the elevator as Jackson wheeled the luggage cart behind her. “Come on, Maw. Go on. Pick up the pace.” She gripped her purse and hustled down the hallway. Billy held open the door to the room as Imogene and Goose trotted inside.
Imogene bolted the door and used both chains to secure it. “Boys, this ain’t been no vacation yet, I tell ye.” She limped to the corner of the room and sat in a chair. “The Gilbert boy’s dead, Neil’s in the can, and we hardly got a roof over our heads.”
She held her purse tightly over her shoulder, almost guarding it, as she had done since leaving the crime scene. It was unusual for her to take such care with it. Jackson watched as she removed her shoes and sunglasses without ever relinquishing the bag. She even visited the bathroom with the purse around her shoulder.
As soon as she closed the door, Jackson turned to Billy, who was sprawled out on the bed near the balcony door. The bed felt like feathers and was as lush as anything Jackson had ever seen. He belly flopped beside Billy, shaking the frame, and scooted up to him while his mother was in the bathroom. “Hey, sweetie, have you noticed your mother holding that purse closer than usual?”
“Yes, of course. She’s acting crazy ever since she saw Glenway’s body.” He put his wrist above his eyebrows. He looked a bit like a fainting Southern belle. “She thinks she’s Miss Marple. I really wish we’d go back to Harristown.” Billy’s face was flushed.
“We can’t leave now. Not with Neil in jail and Glenway dead and that Lieutenant Rogers apparently ‘in charge’ of the case.” Jackson massaged Billy’s arm.
Billy sighed. He had his eyes closed and his arm strapped into the blood pressure cuff. “I knew you would say that. You’re just like Mama. Always up for an adventure. But this isn’t an adventure, Jackson. This is serious. We should’ve gone to Florida like I suggested.” He pressed the start button on the monitor.
Jackson kissed Billy’s rosy cheek. “Something doesn’t seem right to me about that lieutenant. Do you know when he stormed into Glenway’s studio he was holding a duffel bag? When he saw Neil, he threw the bag in the corner.”
Beep, beep, beep. Billy glanced at the monitor. “That reading’s elevated for me. See what y’all have done?” He sat up and took a sip of water from a bottle on the nightstand. “Goose, your daddy and grandmother are stressing me out.” Goose waddled over to the bed and sniffed the vanilla-scented air of the room.
Imogene swung the bathroom door open, still clutching her purse, and walked over to sit down on the bed opposite the boys. “Y’all already goin’ to sleep? It ain’t even dark yet.”
“No, Imogene, we’re just resting.” Jackson stretched.
“Shoot, that’s all y’all study. Restin’. You two oughta be in a rest home. Shouldn’t they, Gooey?” She leaned over to the beast as he sauntered toward her. She reached in one of the bags they’d carried in and removed a beefy dog bone and dropped it in his mouth. “Come on, Goo. Let’s go see this here balcony.” She walked to the French doors, which were secured by a lock and two latches, one at the floor and one in the top corner. She grunted to undo the first one, and as she did, the binding of a leather book became visible over the flap of her purse. It almost fell out. Jackson saw it and sat up on the bed.
She tried for the tall latch but couldn’t grasp it. The heavy curtains on the doors shook as Imogene stretched against it, so Jackson helped. As he reached over her head, he got a closer look at the mysterious leather book, but she saw him and stuffed it back
in the bottom of her purse. He unlocked the door anyway, and she hurried out with Goose.
“Boys, this is fine livin’ here.” The balcony ran the length of the hotel above Toulouse Street. Two other rooms shared the space. Below, the valets popped their heads out from the covered parking area. Imogene looked to her right. Cars streamed by on Rampart Street a few blocks away. Below the balcony, Toulouse Street ran one way toward the Mississippi River. Jackson looked over her head into one of those famous New Orleans courtyards, full of lush foliage, mossy brick, secrets, and wonder.
Imogene found a patio chair and settled into it. Goose scooted beside her, readying himself for one of the morsels in her pocket. She dropped one to him and then rummaged through her purse. Jackson saw her glance to one side and then the other. She carefully removed Glenway’s book, opened it, and began studying. Jackson pushed back the curtain to relay her actions to Billy. “Hey, your mother’s hiding a leather book in that purse.”
Billy had the pillow over his face. He pulled it down. “What do you mean?”
“Your mother’s flipping through a leather-bound notebook, which I think she picked up at Glenway’s studio. Surely it’s not hers.”
“No. She’s not much for keeping a diary.” Billy stretched. “Come over here and rest a minute on the bed.”
Jackson was more focused on Imogene, though. “I want to see what it is. Why don’t you come out here with me? The sun’s going down and there’s nothing like a sunset in New Orleans. They say every woman looks beautiful by candlelight, and I say every city looks beautiful by sunset. This one’s glorious.” He couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as he swung the doors open, Imogene flinched, sitting straight up in the iron chair. She thrust the journal in her lap. “What are you doing, Imogene?”
She glanced down Toulouse Street and started petting Goose. “Aww, nothing, shug. What you doin’?”
“What do you have there?” She tried to return the item to her purse. “This? Just some book. Nothing, really. Got scribbles and such in it.”
“You mind if I have a look, then?” He held out his hand.
Imogene glared at it. “What you want it for?” She shot a look inside, as if she figured Billy had put him up to the takeaway. “I found it at the Gilbert boy’s place, and I was just havin’ a look-see.”
Jackson grabbed it from her lap.
“Hey, that ain’t right, son.” She frowned. “You and Billy won’t let me live for nothing.”
“Is this what you took from Glenway’s, Maw? Underneath his desk?” She crossed her arms. Jackson peeled back the pages. He recognized the handwriting from the calendar. “This is definitely Glenway’s journal.” Jackson sat down in the other patio chair. “Did you see these names in here? It looks like he was describing people, maybe for his paintings. See here: Buddy, rough, wolf tattoo, muscles. Good for Bacchus. Unmannered. Works street for money. ‘Dating’ ad in the back of the paper.”
Jackson flipped a few pages, going through the notes and sketches of Glenway’s Bacchus painting. Glenway had sketched an arm by itself on one page and the wolf outline on another. Jackson dog-eared the entry with Buddy and moved backward. Next he found “Blue Moon,” “Canebrake,” “Catfish,” “TH,” and “Pirate.”
There were several pages dedicated to “Pirate.” Jackson saw some sketches of an old vessel, a ship crashing through waves in a rough sea. “What do you think this means?”
“You got me, son. Me and Lena was perplexed ourselves.” Imogene watched as a man on a bicycle rode past on the street below. She patted down her gray hair.
“You showed this book to Lena?” Jackson leaned over to see what she was looking at.
“Of course, honey. She’s from New Orleans, and I figured she’d know more about them names and folks the Gilbert boy knew. More than us anyhow.” She dropped a treat in Goose’s mouth. “Seems to me them names there is boys that Glenway was sweet on. Lena thinks so too, but she don’t recognize a one of ’em.” She put her hand over her lips, as if to stop her mouth from saying something.
Jackson carefully watched her. “Or Lena just said she didn’t recognize any of these men.” He rubbed his scruffy chin.
Imogene grimaced, but she continued looking at the road below. She pointed at a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and using a cane to keep his balance on the sidewalk. He had a completely bald head.
“Lord, he ain’t got a hair between him and God.” She slapped her leg, apparently amused with herself. Jackson ran inside, grabbed three bottles of soda from the cooler and a notebook of his own and returned to the porch. He left the door open and made Billy follow.
Billy said, “I just called Allen. Neil made him contact the friend from the city council. Said he would be out of jail in the next few hours.”
Imogene’s face lit up. “I hope he comes over. That sweet Neil told me he had some treasures from them parades.” She took a big swallow of root beer. “Son, come out here and let Jack tell you about the boys Glenway’s sweet on. Got a whole list of ’em in that book there.”
Billy took the journal. Jackson told him to read aloud from the pages he’d dog-eared. “All right, then, you ready?” Billy waited for Jackson to get situated with his notebook. “Let’s see. There’s Buddy. That’s the Bacchus guy from the postcard, right?”
Jackson nodded and motioned for him to turn the pages. “There’s ‘Blue Moon’… ‘Canebrake’…’Catfish’…umm, ‘TH,’…” and that looks like it. So why are you writing these down? They probably don’t mean a thing.”
Jackson glanced up from his scribbling. “They may mean everything, my turtledove. Neil’s in jail and Glenway’s dead. I have a bad feeling about that Lieutenant Rogers, not only because he got to the studio so quickly but because he brought a canvas bag, which he dumped immediately. If Rogers has any say, Neil may stay in jail longer than he has to, and that journal could be our best start to finding out what happened to poor Glenway. Know what I mean?”
Billy shrugged.
Imogene said, “You missed one, son. Didn’t he, Jackson? There’s a fellar in there named ‘Pirate.’ I know ’cause we was just discussin’ him. The Gilbert boy drew a picture of a boat in that book near his name.” Imogene held her hand out so she could see the book again.
“Hmm. I don’t see it.” Billy flipped through the pages.
Imogene grabbed the book and immediately flipped to the page of the entry.
“There it is. ‘Pirate.’ He don’t seem like a type that Maw-Maw McGregor would take to. Naw, I like them sweet folks with good hearts. Now your daddy, Virgil, he woulda loved meetin’ a pirate. He was a mess, boys, and I miss him. He told many a tale of visitin’ New Orleans, especially when he was in the service.” She gazed out into the purple air of the city. It was that magical gloaming, the time between dusk and darkness, when the last light of the orange sky turned the rooftops a deep shade of red and made each moment feel meaningful. “Boys, this here’s a pretty city, ain’t it? Rough, though. There’s scoundrels in these Quarters, sure as my name’s Imogene Deal McGregor.” She took another pull from her root beer.
“I feel for that poor Gilbert boy, gettin’ beat like a varmint. It ain’t right.” She shook her head and then looked at the boys. “I guarantee you there’s trouble afoot in these parts when night comes. And I do believe we’ve found us a handful of devils in that book.”
Seven
Billy said he didn’t sleep a wink. He said he kept seeing Glenway dead with the dried blood on his head. Jackson wiped his eyes and removed the list of persons of interest from the nightstand. “I went to sleep thinking about Glenway and those names from his book.”
“Shoot, boys, I slept like a fat baby. Like Goose sleeps. Him’s a fat baby, and Maw-Maw loves him.” Goose greeted her as she came out of the bathroom with the shower steam filling the hotel room. She wore a matching set of pants and shirt with seersucker blue stripes. She put her Marilyn Monroe shades in her purse and grabbed her sun hat.
She and the b
oys walked out on the balcony and greeted the morning sun as it beamed toward the river. “Whoo-wee. Gonna be a scorcher, boys.” She slid her chair against the wall to get some shade. It was nine thirty on a Saturday morning in New Orleans, and they watched the leisurely pace of it below.
They had the balcony to themselves, so Jackson got to walk from one end to the other without hindrance. After pacing for a few moments, he sat down and studied the list. “Let’s see…Buddy, Blue Moon, Canebrake, Catfish, TH, and Pirate.”
The boys had returned the book to its rightful thief. Imogene was flipping through the pages. She came to the part on Catfish. “Boys, I love to fish. You know me and Virgil, we used to go fishin’ all the time. Matter of fact, we’d take whole vacations down at the river. We’d sleep wherever we pleased. On the riverbanks, picnic tables, tents we made ourself, and the car. We didn’t have nothing fancy like all this.”
She pulled her sun hat down on one side of her head because the sun had broken over the building next door and was hitting her squarely. “If Imogene Deal McGregor had her choosin’, she’d first figure on who this Catfish fellar is. The Gilbert boy liked ’em rough, according to Neil and Lena.”
“Mama, I don’t really want to discuss Glenway’s preferences with you.”
“You ain’t got to, son. Shoot. I’ve lived in this world a long time, and you can’t change what you like, even if you’d want to. And ’pparently, Glenway liked the rough trade. That’s all I’m sayin’. Catfish is a rough ’un, and we need to get after him.”
Billy shook his head. “We don’t know enough about him. Where do we start?”
“You just go and try, son. That’s all you can do. We got the daylight on us, and we all loved that Gilbert boy. We gotta hep him, even if it don’t seem right to do it on vacation. Lord, there’s one thing me and you got in common, son, and that’s seeing the poor boy lying there on his belly with his pretty red hair and his freckled face all dead to the world. We felt for him. At least I raised you to love people, Billy McGregor. You and me and Jack’ll figure out who wronged him, if God wills it and the creeks don’t rise.” She smacked the outside of the journal and Goose barked. He couldn’t stand any sudden noise, and he always sounded his growly alarm at the slightest notion of it. “Sorry, Gooey. Come here.”
Imogene in New Orleans Page 6
