Louisiana Lament

by Julie Smith

  Eddie and Talba exchanged glances. Finally, Eddie said, “We don’t know where he is. I told you that—you don’t remember?”

  Austin looked confused. “Uh, no. I guess I don’t. What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “He’s been missing since Monday,” Talba said.

  “Oh, man. He was the last to see her alive, you mean.”

  “Janessa said Allyson told you she wasn’t going to give you a penny of her money,” Talba said. “Why would she say something like that?”

  “Well, that was specific. It might sound like some empty threat to disinherit me, but it wasn’t. I came to get a loan from her. That’s what I was here for. One of my boats sank a while ago, and the insurance company’s stalling around about it, and the longer they stall, the more money I lose. But that’s not the problem—I’m a good fisherman. I could always make a living that way; I did it for a long time. Bet I’m one of the few laborers working in the Gulf who has a degree from Dartmouth.” He paused and looked around the table; Talba had a feeling their expressions didn’t disappoint him.

  “I used to work for that plant in Empire as a pogie boat captain—I’m pretty good friends with the owner, so he tried me out, and what do you know, I was damn good at it. I mean, look, it isn’t rocket science. And I got to know the menhaden business, so when the bait company came up for sale, I talked my dad into buying it. But not for me. I don’t give a damn. I could be happy just going out on a boat, or working on the oil rigs. I didn’t even like the responsibility of being a captain. But Dad’s getting on, and I thought it would be a great investment for him. The thing is, it’s starting to turn sour on us, and Dad’s sick; I mean, really sick. You know what I mean?” He glanced at each of them in turn, holding their eyes until they understood that his dad was dying. “So I asked Mom for a loan, and she pretty much hated Dad….” He got up and left the table, returning in a moment with a glass of water. But his eyes were slightly red. Talba suspected he’d been composing himself. “Anyway, she said she’d think about it and then when I acted badly, she decided to hit below the belt.” He looked at Angie when he said it, and Talba could have sworn there were tears in Angie’s eyes, but it couldn’t be. Angie was the toughest lawyer in the parish. She made a slight movement with her right hand, the hand closest to Austin, as if she wanted to touch him, but caught herself in time. “So that was what that was about,” he finished.

  Again, they sat quietly, embarrassed. Austin started up again. “That was the state of mind I was in when I rode off into a hurricane. Yeah, it was crazy; I admit that. But I was crazy; I didn’t care whether I lived through it or died. I just wanted to feel alive. Look, I don’t know whether you understand this, but there’s something really physical about working on boats, being in storms, battling it out with yourself. Do you understand at all?” They all nodded.

  “I wanted that storm. I just wanted it. It was like, ‘Bring it on!’ You know?” He shrugged. “Too bad if that makes me a murder suspect.”

  Up till that point he’d been doing fairly well getting Talba’s sympathy, and apparently very well at getting Angie’s, but he was lapsing into that six-year-old thing he’d mentioned. Okay, he was capable of acting like a child, Talba thought. Maybe it was a good thing they were actually seeing it. “But no way I’d hurt one crinkly hair on Cassie’s innocent little head. No way in hell.” He made no attempt to hide his tears.

  “Ya think Cassie and Rashad were involved?” Eddie said.

  “No way,” he repeated. “My sister liked older guys. Married, preferably. Rashad was her buddy. For all I know, she told him everything.” He brightened. “He didn’t kill her, I guarantee you that—but maybe he knows who did.”

  Maybe that’s why somebody took a shot at him, Talba thought. Maybe he’d gone to sleep in the carriage house and then seen something that made him get out of Dodge, to save his own hide.

  “How about ya mama?” Eddie said. Talba wondered if he’d made the question deliberately ambiguous.

  He shrugged. “Just about anybody could have killed her—I mean, could have had a reason to kill her. And Mother could have killed Cassie,” he said, looking again at each of them in turn, making sure they were getting it. “I’m gonna tell you something. She was completely capable of it.”

  “Why’s that?” Eddie asked quietly. Quiet like a snake, Talba thought.

  For the moment, Austin ignored him. “But she’d never have killed herself. She was too much of a bitch. She and Cassie, though—they went at it all the time. Fought and fought and fought about everything. She just destroyed my sister, man; kept her from being who she could be. Worked her self-esteem down to a little nub, and then worked it down a little more.”

  “Why didn’t she do it to Arnelle?”

  “ ’Cause Arnelle’s a bitch, too. That kind of stuff rolls off her; also, Hubby’s a buffer. But he’s got some bad investments. Arnelle needs money. According to Mother, I mean. Arnelle could have killed her for that.”

  “Burford Hale says she controlled Allyson’s money,” Talba said.

  “She might have. I don’t know because Big Sis and I don’t keep in touch. But she doesn’t have any herself. Maybe there was something from her dad, but she’s probably run through it. All I know is what Mother told me, and what she said was Arnelle was always after her for money. And there was no love lost between those two.

  “But I’ll tell you what—I don’t think Arnelle did it either, if only because it doesn’t explain about Cassie. And I’ve been thinking about this, believe me. Burford Hale, now—there was a man with a motive.”

  Angie said, “Why are you so sure Rashad didn’t do it?”

  “ ’Cause she was the goose that laid the golden egg, man. He got a lot from her. No percentage in it. And then there’s Cassie.”

  There was always that.

  “Y’all want some more coffee?” Without waiting for an answer, Austin left to get some, Angie’s eyes following him into the kitchen. Eddie’s mouth opened to say something, but either he never got it out or his voice was drowned out by the shrill one that tore through the relative peace of the patio. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Austin riposted.

  As one, the three others rose and raced into the kitchen. Arnelle had arrived. Her neat bob had gone limp, and she was wearing jeans. She looked like she was about to go for a knife. “You killed Mother, you bastard.”

  Austin’s face turned gray. “Hi, Big Sis, I’m fine. It’s great to see you.” He was trying for fake heartiness, but his voice sounded thin and forced, a little frightened. “Ever heard of the Prozac Nation? They could use you over there.”

  “Who are these people? Are you having a party, Austin? Wouldn’t that be just like you! Right on the spot where Mother died.”

  Talba stepped forward. “I’m Talba Wallis, Mrs. Halston. I came to see you the other day.”

  “Oh. You looked different.”

  Quickly, hoping to defuse the situation, Talba introduced Eddie and Angie, but Arnelle wasn’t up for polite conversation. “Just what are you people doing in my mother’s house?”

  Austin said, “Funny. I thought it was my mother’s house.”

  “Could you two play nice?” Angie said, and Austin flushed. His shoulders relaxed, and he turned to her.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll just show my sister to the door. We haven’t seen each other in a while, but we find the shortest reunions are usually the best. In our family, guests stink after three minutes instead of three days.”

  “Guests, hell! This is my house,” Arnelle said. “All four of you will leave now.”

  “Why, Arnelle? So you can loot Mother’s jewelry box?” Arnelle turned red, making Talba think Austin had something. “I bought this house for Mother, Austin. It’s my name on the deed.”

  Talba said, “Burford Hale didn’t mention that,” whereupon she turned redder still.

  “Look, if you want to throw me out, cal
l the cops,” Austin said. “And by the way, help yourself to the jewelry—I don’t want it. I don’t want a damn thing that reminds me of her.”

  Somehow, that cooled her out. Maybe the jewelry was all she really wanted. “You sure?” she said. “Look, we’ll divide it up later. I just came to take it to a safe place. I mean, I thought—with the house vacant and all—”

  “Sure, Arnelle, you go and take it somewhere for safekeeping. Just don’t try to throw me out of my own mother’s house.”

  Arnelle did a one-eighty and disappeared down the hall.

  Eddie said, “I’d follow her if I were you. Make sure that’s all she takes.”

  “Naah, the hell with it,” Austin said. “She can take everything in the whole damn house for all I care. Let’s go back to the patio.”

  No one moved.

  “Look, we were having fun, weren’t we? Let’s have a Bloody Mary.”

  Eddie said, “I’ve got a better idea. How about you and I go over to the cop shop and give ’em your statement?”

  “Monday, my man. Monday. You have my word on that. Just let me have the weekend to get used to all this.”

  “All right, we’re out of here.”

  “Hey! Tell me y’all aren’t going to leave me alone with the bitch.”

  Angie said, “I’ll stay and have a Bloody Mary.”

  “You will?” Austin looked as if a star had just fallen from heaven into his hand.

  Eddie said, “Angie.”

  His daughter patted his hand. “Dad. It’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll take real good care of her, Eddie,” Austin said. “Arnelle tries to kill her, I’m all over it.”

  Eddie raised an eyebrow at Angie, and she gave him a little reassuring nod. Talba hurried him out of the house. They walked to the sidewalk in silence, but when they got to Eddie’s car, Talba couldn’t resist a tiny dig. “So, Eddie, you satisfied? Guess Angie’s not a lesbian.”

  “I’d almost rather she was. He’s a murder suspect, for Christ’s sake.”

  “She can handle herself.”

  “I hope to hell ya right, Ms. Wallis. Can’t stop her; she’s free, white, and twenty-one.”

  “Real nice expression.”

  “You know it doesn’t mean nothin’, except that I can’t do a damn thing about her. I’d like to spank her little behind.”

  “Look at it this way. If she wants him to go to the cops, he’ll go to the cops.”

  Eddie popped his car lock with the remote, and put one hand on the door handle, as if he were about to go. Without turning back to look at Talba, he said, “Ms. Wallis, tell me somethin’. Ya don’t think she’s gonna sleep with him, do ya?”

  Talba couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Having screwed up his courage, he turned around and looked at her. “Eddie, you’re asking me? How do I know?”

  “You’re a woman, aren’t ya?”

  “Hadn’t thought of that. Well, I probably know the answer, then. No. She’s not going to sleep with him.” At least not today, Talba thought. Definitely not till he’s cleared.

  Angie was still Angie.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Talba figured the problem of whether or not Austin actually went to the police was out of her hands—if Eddie and Angie couldn’t handle it together, nobody could. And she had something important to do Monday morning. She was haunted by what Rashad’s grandfather had told her—about himself and Rashad’s father working on the docks.

  It was as good a lead as any. She couldn’t do twenty-four-hour surveillance at the Celeste Street Wharf, and her gut told her Rashad had left there for good, anyhow. If someone had really shot at him there, the place wasn’t safe for him. Besides, whether he was there or not, he’d still need money. The same thing applied if he was hiding out in some crack house. He’d also need money to get to North Carolina or wherever Kerry lived if he planned to stay with her. And something told Talba he wasn’t going to get very far with an ATM card. How much could a kid like Rashad—a poet who basically did odd jobs for a living—have in a bank account? Sure, Marlon or Felicia might be slipping him something, but if he was paranoid enough, he might assume the police were watching their homes. And they might be, Talba thought.

  The thing was, his grandfather had said where to find him—had told her. And no one else had. So why not take a chance? She opened the phonebook to “Employment” and noted several agencies that seemed like they might handle dock workers, or maybe other kinds of temporary help. The truth was, Rashad was a slight man, unused to manual labor. She could see him doing banquet or office work more easily than heavy lifting. Still, he wouldn’t have the nerve to go to white collar employment agencies. He’d go where people like him went—the down and out, the rap-sheet encumbered, the drifters, the desperate.

  And there was such a place with extremely high visibility. Furthermore, it was near the place Rashad grew up, and near the Celeste Street Wharf. It was a hiring hall on St. Charles Avenue, just upriver from Lee Circle.

  She’d never been in it, but she’d been by it many times in the early morning and seen the sidewalk jammed with men, mostly African-American men, dressed in work clothes. The overflow from inside, she assumed. She wondered if they placed women, too. Aha—there was her pretext.

  She dressed from her orphan third pile of clothes, Miz Clara’s famous “somethin’ to slop around in.” It was a day for what she thought of as the American uniform—jeans and T-shirt God, what she’d give for stock in Gap. Or maybe Wal-Mart or Target. Every American, despite age, race, sex, national origin, or religious preference had to have drawers and closets full of jeans and T-shirts. Miz Clara worked in them, and so did the guys down at the hiring hall. Even Eddie probably had a pair of jeans, and Angie probably lived in them when she was off work; Austin had them, Marlon had them, Demetrice had them, Darryl had them, presidents had them, and First Ladies probably had them.

  Damn, they were wrong for a Baroness!

  But, for anonymity, you couldn’t beat them. Today, she was a humble job-seeker. Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her. She drove past the hiring hall and parked her car on a side street, then walked back and began looking casually over the crowd of men on the sidewalk. She didn’t see anyone she recognized, but she didn’t tarry too long, so as not to stand out too much. She elbowed her way into the building, which housed a dreary room somewhat like an old-fashioned bus station, with rows of benches, a counter in front, and a sign announcing what kind of jobs were filled here. She was studying the sign when she became aware of movement somewhere to her right. Glancing casually over her shoulder, she saw that someone had stood and begun to push his way outside. She was almost sure it was Rashad.

  “Rashad! It’s okay!” she called, and he began to run.

  After all this time and effort, here he was. And the little shit was running away from her. Janessa had probably already told him, during one of his calls, that Talba was looking for him. Obviously, he’d recognized her, and he didn’t want to be found. Well, the hell with that. To hell with both of them.

  She chased him out of the building and through the crowd, her progress impeded by the sea of humanity waiting to be hired to move furniture and wash dishes. “I’m Janessa’s sister,” she yelled. “We got you a lawyer.”

  He didn’t even glance at her. He took off across Calliope, under Highway 90, and ran across St. Charles to Lee Circle, which was indeed a circle, with a statue of General Robert E. Lee in the dedication of it. The trouble was, Lee’s statue stood on a mound that was more like a small hill. Rashad bolted up the mound and over it.

  And once he was beyond the crest, he was out of sight.

  Talba puffed after him, turning her ankle slightly and muttering. When she reached the top of the mound, he was gone.

  She ran down the far side of it, crossed the street to the front of the Hotel le Cirque, and spied a dark alleyway where he could have easily disappeared. But he could also have run into a building, or behind one, or simply had such a head sta
rt that he’d gotten halfway down the block and found a hiding place somewhere in the vicinity. Without much hope, she entered the alleyway—and saw nothing. And nobody.

  Her ankle was starting to throb.

  Well, hell. Even if he’d gone this way, she’d never be able to catch him with a bum ankle. At least she could stop calling hospitals—obviously, he was in glowing health. Nothing to do but go back to the office and ice her injury.

  On the way, she called Janessa, but her sister didn’t pick up.

  She was good and angry. And disappointed. Even if they found Rashad again, what good was it going to do? If he didn’t want to be found by the good guys, she might as well call the cops and let them take over.

  ***

  Not even counting brunch with Austin, Eddie had a pretty eventful weekend. One thing, he received a call from his daughter Sunday afternoon saying she’d meet him at the Second District at nine a.m. Monday to take Austin in to give his statement. All Eddie had to do was call Crockett and tell him to be there. That and pick Austin up. “Okay, Ange, thanks,” he said. “Hope you didn’t have to do anything too compromisin’ to set it up.”

  “Since when’s a little blow job going to compromise me?” she said, and hung up, leaving her father staring at the phone. She was getting way too big for her britches. He should never have taken her along to those biker bars. Now she thought she could talk to him like he was her college roommate.