by Lisa Clancey
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I awoke without my alarm and lay there wondering what day it was. Wednesday, yeah that’s it. I have to go to Petunia’s house today and ask her relatives some nosy questions. Something other than that was happening today. Oh yeah, it’s whatshername’s day off. I’ll have to spend some time watching her too.
I climbed out of bed, made coffee, and got dressed in my usual jeans and sweater and jacket. I wore my cowboy boots. I love wearing boots.
Cheri wasn’t at the office. Huh, what’s up with that? I looked at my new watch and saw I was early. I didn’t take a shower that morning, so I was able to leave early. It felt so wrong to be first in the office. So I made coffee, typed up yesterday’s work and propped my feet up on my desk and watched the news on my computer. Maybe Cheri’d bring me breakfast. She hadn’t before, but there’s always the first time.
She walked into my office, looked at me surprised. “You’re early. What happened? Did you sleep with someone last night and snuck out early so you wouldn’t have to talk to him?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, crossed my arms and asked, “Does it look like I slept with someone last night? Is it so strange for me to come in early? I take my job seriously, you know.”
“Yeah, I can tell by the way your feet are propped up on the desk and watching the news on your computer,” she said sarcastically, walking to her office.
“Ha!” I answered. “I’ll have you know…forget it. It’s not worth it. You know me too well. And my ankle is still sore. I think it’s swollen,” I called after her.
I limped to her office, set a cup of coffee on her desk, and asked, “Did you tell Brent about yesterday?”
“Yes. He laughed so hard I thought he was gonna bust a gut, “she said laughing.
I stared at her a couple of minutes, and then asked, “What would you do without me entertaining you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, still grinning. “That’s why you have to stay in this office.” Cheri pays the rent. The least I could do is entertain her.
I drove to Petunia’s house and looked around at the surrounding houses. Her house was like the others: single story ranch style brick with a carport. In the south, you don’t have to worry about your house being snowed in. A large Magnolia took up most of the front yard. I knocked and waited.
Petunia answered with a big smile and dressed a lot like me—jeans and sweater but in tennis shoes. “Come in, sit down, and I’ll get you those addresses. I worked on them last night and this morning. I hope you can read my writing.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” I said as she walked off toward the kitchen. The furniture was a little worn but nice. The couch was a light brown cloth with a matching recliner. The TV in the corner was a flat screen but wasn’t so big it was offensive. I wonder if she picked it out or her husband. My parents don’t have a huge TV either, but that’s because my father’s so tight he squeaks when he walks.
“Would you like some coffee?” She called from the kitchen.
“No thank you, I’ve had plenty this morning,” I answered. I drank so much coffee my eye was starting to twitch.
She came walking back with the list of names. Dang, she had as many relatives as I had. Inerviewing them may take a while. Why couldn’t she be the only child of parents that were only children? If that were the case, she would know where the painting was and I wouldn’t be getting paid.
“Are there any on this list I should be worried about? You know, any that really don’t like strangers asking questions? I like to get to those last, I’ll work my way up to them,” I said, looking at her with a blank face. I paused then asked, “Unless you think those are the ones I need to interview first. Do you think any of those know something about the painting?”
She hesitated a bit too long, so I added, “I also come from a very large family. Not every one of them is a saint.”
She shrugged and said slowly, “You might want to start at the bottom of the list and go up.” Her eyes grew large. “Do you own a gun? That might help.”
I smiled and said, barely opening my mouth, “I have a permit to carry but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” A gun? Did she ask me if I had a gun? What kind of relatives did she have?
I thanked her for the list then limped out to my truck. I wondered if I should see Cody and ask him if he knows anyone on the list. It looked like all the ones I had to worry about were in Gardener. He couldn’t really help me, it wasn’t out of his jurisdiction, but he doesn’t go to Gardener much. I called him anyway.
“Hey Code-man, are you in your office right now?”
“No. Why? What do you need?”
“I was hired to find a painting, and I have a list of names I want you to look at, but it doesn’t matter they’re mostly in Gardener. You probably wouldn’t know them anyway,” I said. Putting him off like that is the best way to get something done.
“Swing by here this afternoon, and I’ll take a look at it.” Bingo. If I had just asked him to look at the names, he would have told me he was way too busy.
I went to the bottom of the list but started with ones in Alexandria. I would go to Gardener, tomorrow. Alexandria wasn’t a big city, but it was spread out and was rural in places. I drove to Bayou Bluff Road and found my first address.
The house was a small, nice looking, white, wooden siding house with a swing in the backyard. How bad could these people be?
I knocked on the door, and a dog, the size of a bear, came running around the house, snarling and growling. I froze. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Suddenly a child, much smaller than the dog, walked around the house and asked, “Who you and what you want?”
What a lovely little boy. He saved me from getting eaten by a bear.
“Tell me,” he ordered. “Or I’m gonna let Sweet Pea eat you.”
“Sweet Pea? That beast’s name is Sweet Pea?”
“Yeah.”
This kid had no manners, and he was going to let his beast eat me. “Where are your parents? I need to ask them a question,” I said smiling without taking my eyes off the beast.
“Cain’t, Daddy’s asleep. If you wake him up, he’ll be mad. He works nights.”
“Okay. Where’s your mother?”
“She’s at work.” The boy didn’t blink. He might have, but I was afraid to take my eyes off Sweet Pea.
A baby started crying from inside. “Look what you did. You made my baby sister wake up. Now Daddy’s gonna be mad you woke ‘em up,” said the smart-mouth, ill-mannered, life-saving kid.
“Okay, now that he’s awake why don’t I ask him a question? Can you go in there and tell him I’m out here?” I asked, trying my best to smile. I don’t think it was working.
“No, I don’t think I will. You’ll just have to leave. We ain’t payin’,” he said unblinking and blank faced.
“Oh, please! I’m not a bill collector. I just need to talk to him.” I wasn’t begging; I was getting pissed off. He had to be all of five years old but acted like he was at least twelve.
All he did was stare at me, so I turned and knocked on the door. I don’t know why I didn’t do that in the first place.
The door was answered by a man that looked young, maybe twenty-five, several inches shorter than me, a stunning hundred ten pounds, holding a shotgun. My heart stopped. Okay, it started beating again but almost beat out of my chest.
“Whoa,” I said holding my hands up. “I’m just here to ask you a question, I’m not a bill collector, I promise. I’m Chloe Babineaux. Are you Tommy Jackson?”
“Yeah. What you want?” I know where junior got his manners from. I hope he doesn’t help him with his English homework.
“Can you put down the gun or at least point it down?” I asked still holding up my hands.
“No.”
“Okay. I’m a private investigator and was hired to locate a missing painting. Do you know anything about a painting that has been in the Foyt family?” I still had my hands up, I tried to bring t
hem down, but he waved the gun up. I speak gun language.
“No.” Obviously, he didn’t believe in using all the words he knew in one sentence.
“Have you ever heard of the painting?” I tried.
“Yeah, but I don’t know where it’s at.” Alright! He used more than one word in a sentence.
“Okay, thank you for your time. If you think of anything, will you give me a call?” I said, handing him one of my cards. He finally let me put my hands down and luckily I had put cards in my pocket before getting out of the truck.
I didn’t make eye contact with Sweet Pea, otherwise known as Satin, or Satin’s owner, the manner-challenged kid, and limped very fast to my truck.
I shut the door, locked it and took several deep breaths. I crossed off his name and shook my head. Unbelievable. This was not going to be fun. This job wasn’t usually life threatening. I mean, cheating spouses can get crazy, but that I can handle. Something told me it was only going to go downhill from here.
The next one on the list wasn’t that far away, in fact right next door. Great. It was probably his brother. I took my .22 out of my purse and switched pockets with my cards. If in a hurry I needed to grab my gun not throw cards.
This house didn’t look quite so well kept. I limped confidently to the door; if someone was looking out, I didn’t want to look like someone they could take advantage of. I like to keep happy thoughts while risking my life.
I knocked loudly because there was loud music playing inside. The door was opened by a man a little older than Tommy and a little taller.
“Yeah?”
“Hi, I’m Chloe Babineaux, a private investigator…”
“I don’t want nothin’.” He cut in and started to close the door.
“I’m not selling anything. Are you Tim Jackson?” I said sharply.
“Yeah.”
“I was hired to locate a missing painting. It’s been in the Foyt family for years, if you have it that’s fine, you can keep it. Do you know anything about a Foyt family painting?” I was talking fast; I wanted to tell him why I was there before he could shut the door.
“Yeah. I know there’s supposed to be a picture that’s worth a lot of money, but I don’t know where it’s at.” A better conversationalist and he didn’t hold a gun to me. This was better, even if he didn’t know anything about the painting.
“Thank you; if you think of anything can you give me a call?” I handed him my card and limped back to my truck. Not bad; two down in less than twenty minutes. I can do this.
The next one on the list was located a mile away. I found my way to the address via GPS and sat looking at the house. It was located in a neat neighborhood with cars that weren’t brand new but were kept looking nice. I was feeling a little better, but I didn’t know why. There could easily be a gun-toting, crazed dog owner, toothless maniac behind these doors. Chances were the people who lived here were perfectly nice. The mansions protected by alarms and with crazed dogs were people I most probably had to worry about.
I took a deep breath. I noticed I did that every time I exited my truck, but it seemed to help. I limped to the door, rang the bell, waited and listened. The only thing I heard was the TV, but then it was turned down just before the door opened. In the doorway was an average height, average weight woman with big blond hair. She must originally be from Texas.
I smiled and gave her my spiel about being a private investigator.
She straightened her mouth and rolled her eyes and said, “I know who hired you. My cousin Petunia,” she shook her head and said. “I don’t have any idea where that cotton pickin’ paintin’ is. I wish I did, ‘cause then I’d shove it in her face and say I have it so stop botherin’ everybody.” Well, gee, I wish she would tell me how she really felt.
“Well, if you think of anything here’s…”
She cut me off and grabbed my card and asked, “Why does she want it so bad? Nobody really knows.”
“She just wants to know if it’s safe that’s all,” I said with a slight smile. I was hoping she didn’t have a 12 gauge sawed-off shotgun hidden in that hair.
“I don’t know where it ‘tis,” she said, shutting the door.
I looked at the closed door and said thanks anyway and limped to my truck. I looked at the list and then at my watch. Eleven thirty was close enough to lunch time, and my ankle was starting to throb.
