P.I. On A Hot Tin Roof

by Julie Smith

  “You’re exotic,” Lucy said. “Do you know what that means?”

  Raisa said nothing, her brows meeting in the middle and almost, but not quite, covering the frown that brought them together.

  “It means you’re really unusual. I’ve got to get my camera.” The girl turned tail and raced up the stairs.

  “Lucy! Luuuucyyy!” Adele called after her, to no avail. Shrugging, she said, “Raisa, would you like a piece of king cake?”

  At least that was a sure thing. “Yes, ma’am,” Raisa said, turning her attention to the gorgeous spread laid out on the dining room table.

  But Adele wasn’t a grandmother for nothing. “Maybe a ham sandwich first.” Raisa’s face fell, but she could see she was going to have to eat ham to get cake. Darryl grinned at Talba. Things could be worse.

  The kid was spreading mustard when Lucy returned with her camcorder. “Hey, Raisa, look at me. How’s the ham?”

  Raisa frowned. “Haven’t tried it yet.”

  “Well, eat some. Let me get you eating some.” And Raisa started performing.

  She circled her mouth with the sandwich, popped it in, and said, “Mmmmm,” which made everyone laugh.

  “Great,” Lucy said. “Fantastic.”

  “Now say. ‘Thank you, Miss Adele,’” Darryl admonished.

  Raisa turned to her hostess, “The baroness myself thanks you, Miss Adele.” And she curtsied, in perfect imitation of Talba taking a bow.

  Even Adele cracked up. “Where on earth did she learn to do that?”

  Talba cringed. What if the child blurted out the truth?

  But she said, “Saw it on television.”

  “Fantastic,” Lucy said. “Want to see yourself?” She played the tape back, and Raisa laughed delightedly.

  “Did someone mention ham?” Adele asked, and Talba realized for the first time that Raisa had a sense of humor: She’d simply never bothered to display it before. But the thought of herself in a movie had made her drunk with power.

  “Hey, Lucy, want to see me eat king cake?” she said.

  Talba stared at Darryl, who shrugged. “There’s nothing like an audience. You and I both should know.” He had spoken low, but Adele heard it. She looked from one to the other. “Do you two moonlight as actors or something? You’re attractive enough.”

  Talba felt blood rush to her face, but Darryl laughed. “I’m a musician,” he said smoothly, “and Sandra sings with the band sometime.”

  Suzanne came running down the stairs. “Are the caterers here yet? Ohhhh.” The last part was about Darryl. Talba was so used to him she tended to forget how good-looking he was. He was coffee-colored, tall, reedy, a little bit devilish (as befitted his night job), and a little bit professorial (ideal for his day gig). With fabulous teeth, close-cropped hair, and an appealing, wiry energy, he made a really great first impression, and an even better second one.

  “Darryl Boucree,” he said. “Sandra’s friend.”

  “Oh. Well, I just need to check on the vegetarian stuff.”

  “Come on,” Adele said. “I’ll get you two set up. You’re so attractive—do you mind passing hors d’oeuvres?”

  “Darryl’s the showman,” Talba said hastily. “I’m clumsy as an ox. Why don’t I just stay in the kitchen?” She’d called Jimmy Houlihan, but if Patsy came with him, all bets might be off.

  “Nonsense. I don’t trust these people.” Meaning the caterers. “Sandra, I really don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  Darryl barely had time to roll his eyes before the doorbell rang: the first guest.

  It was five minutes before the next one, but after that, they came thick and fast. In no time, the place was so full that Talba figured she could always duck behind somebody if she spotted the Houlihans.

  But in about an hour, they were the least of her problems. Lucy had disappeared with Raisa, happy to have a new black friend, since Danielle had been disinvited. Darryl was having a ball pretending to be a waiter—and carrying it off beautifully. Talba passed hors d’oeuvres and smiled and even made the occasional joke, not particularly worried about being recognized unless she did see the Houlihans. It wasn’t really a poetry crowd.

  She picked out Brad Leitner, talking to Adele and a guy in cutoffs, various celebrities lite, like local pols (all white, which excluded the mayor), and a few blue-collar types she thought might be cops.

  Automatically, her head turned at the sight of fellow African-Americans, checking out members of her tribe, and indeed there were quite a few more than she’d seen at the Houlihans’ party. Political buddies, she figured. But she almost dropped a tray of Louisiana wild-caught shrimp when she found herself face-to-face with her own brother.

  He nabbed a plump crustacean and let his face crack in a wide grin. “Moonlighting?”

  “Omigod, Corey, think of a cover story, quick. How about this—I used to work for you, okay? Best housekeeper you ever had. If anyone sees us talking. Is Michelle here?”

  “Housekeeper?” he guffawed. “Are you kidding?”

  “Jesus, here comes Kristin. My name’s Sandra, okay? Darryl’s who he is, except not a schoolteacher.”

  “Who’s Kristin?”

  “Quick. Go warn Michelle.”

  But it was too late. Kristin was upon them. Ignoring Talba, she stuck out her hand in Corey’s direction. “Hi, I’m Kristin. Hope you’re having a good time.”

  “Corey, uh, Wallis.” He looked at Talba uncomfortably. They hadn’t consulted about last names.

  Talba nodded at him briefly, to signal it was okay, and got out of Dodge, weaving through the crowd in search of her sister-in-law. She spotted Michelle across the room, taking a cheese puff from Darryl. The bad news was, Suzanne was talking to her. This thing was going south fast.

  Worse, she wondered how the hell her own flesh and blood knew the Champagnes.

  She was trying to get to Darryl for a quick conference when a bell rang, loudly and insistently. Silence fell.

  “Now that I have your attention,” Buddy intoned, causing a few sycophants to titter, and Talba to wish for a law against saying dumb stuff. If one more person mentioned the “see-food diet” to her, she was going to have to smack him. That “attention” thing was just about as bad.

  “I just wanted to welcome y’all all here and let you know that Zulu came early this year. Look what I got!” He held up a coconut decorated with gilt and glitter and feathers and one other thing.

  Zulu, the most venerable and far the most colorful black krewe, traditionally parades on Mardi Gras morning, hence the “early” part. The coconut was a reference to the most prized throws of the season, the krewe’s decorated coconuts. And the other thing on the coconut was a name, spelled out in glittery letters: kristin.

  “Looks like this is for my good friend, Kristin LaGarde. Honey, would you come here and get your present?”

  Kristin, dressed like Lucy in a short skirt, had topped the skirt with a rose-colored sweater that picked up the color in her cheeks. She looked like a movie star at play. “Buddy, you shouldn’t have,” she cooed, slinking forward to receive her prize.

  “Hey, let’s make sure everybody’s here—Lucy, where are ya? Royce and Suzanne?

  “And there’s Adele over there. Come here, y’all, and check this out. Lucy, ya got ya camera on?” He turned back to Kristin. “It’s a magic coconut, honey; it opens up like a box.”

  Kristin looked up at him quizzically and then pulled at both ends of the coconut. Nothing happened.

  “You’ve got to twist it.”

  She gave it a dainty twist, then a harder one, and the two halves came apart. One half had been fitted out with a little center-slit black velvet cushion, the sort used to display rings. And it did display a ring, set with an emerald-cut diamond the size of a knuckle.

  “How ya like that?” Buddy asked.

  The crowd had begin to ooh and ah and buzz.

  Kristin seemed to have lost the power of speech.

  “Kristin La
Garde,” Buddy said, “will you be my wife?”

  And the corporate vice president squealed like a sorority girl. Then, throwing herself around his neck, she spoke huskily, choked with tears. “I can’t believe it! You mean it, Buddy?”

  “Never meant anything more, sweetheart. It’s a cold world out there. I finally found out what makes a house a home and I gotta make sure she’s gon’ stick around. By the way, you accept, or what?”

  Kristin had stepped away from him, eyes wet. “I thought I was going to have to ask you.”

  “Okay, folks! We got a meetin’ of the minds, and we’re headin’ for a weddin’!” He planted a big one on his intended. “Want to try the ring on?”

  She nodded, and someone stepped forward to offer a tissue for her tears. Delicately, she held out her hand, amid the requisite cheers and applause, as Buddy slipped the ring on.

  Once again, she hugged the groom-to-be, who kissed her again and broke off to say, “Does this mean we can go on ahead and do it now? How ’bout if you quit your grinnin’ and drop your linen—right about now?” A shocked silence fell, broken by nervous titters.

  Kristin blushed. “It’s going to be uphill work civilizing you.” At that, the cheering began again, and a man stepped out of the crowd, one about Buddy’s age, but much better looking. He was tall and prematurely white-haired, with a longish face; very distinguished looking. He wore a striped shirt and khakis.

  “Let me be the first to congratulate my little girl!”

  Kristin fell upon him and clung. “Daddy, I’m so happy!”

  Warren LaGarde, Talba realized. After him came a woman who looked to be even younger than Kristin, and resembled her. After she’d hugged the bride-to-be, she leaned possessively against LaGarde, who put an arm around her. Talba saw that she wore a ring much like Kristin’s and a gold band as well. Apparently, the May-September thing ran in the family.

  “Lucy, where are ya?” Buddy said. “Let’s get everybody up here. Hey, Adele, Royce, Suzanne, let’s pose for our first official family video.”

  Lucy was in her element. She’d captured the whole coconut thing on tape, and she was still at it, Raisa at her heels, her tiny face lit with excitement. Both girls looked happier than Talba had ever seen either one of them.

  But as the family came forward for an engagement toast, Talba noticed that the LaGardes’ smiles seemed tense and forced. Royce raised a go-cup no doubt filled with beer, but his hand was shaking. Suzanne looked as if she might bite, but managed to compose herself in front of the camera. Only Adele and Lucy seemed genuinely happy.

  Something’s wrong with this picture, Talba thought. Big surprise.

  She was a little nonplussed herself. She liked Kristin. The last thing she’d wish on her was Buddy Champagne and his coming downfall. The upside, though, was that the bride-elect had time to find out before the wedding who her fiancé really was.

  If Jane Storey moved fast enough.

  Lucy was playing the part of reporter. “Kristin, are you surprised?”

  “Surprised? Hey, I thought I was going to have to tackle him.”

  “Daddy, did you really think a great person like Kristin was actually going to say yes?”

  “Young lady, go to your room. Next question.”

  “Tell us the story of how you met.”

  “She found me drunk in a gutter and saved me from three approaching muggers.”

  “No, really.”

  “We met in court,” Kristin said. “Where else?”

  “And was it love at first sight?”

  “For me it was,” Buddy said. “The minute she set foot in my courtroom, I thought, ‘Buddy Champagne, you’re going to stop your tepee-creepin’ and marry that li’l ol’ gal.’”

  “Oh, Buddy, come on. You gave me such a hard time!”

  “Well, that was just to get your attention. Hey, ya know what I hear? Sirens. And y’all know what that means.” It meant the parade was approaching. “Y’all go on and enjoy the parade now. And thank you all for being here on such a memorable occasion.”

  Memorable was right, Talba thought. She was pretty sure nobody there was ever likely to forget it. She checked out the family again. LaGarde was at the bar, reaching for something amber that wasn’t beer. I’d drink heavily, too, she thought. Suzanne was leaning on Royce, who was whispering to her. She was as pale as shrimp meat.

  Warren LaGarde drained his glass and walked out the door, his young wife scurrying to catch up. Whether they were going out to see the parade or making a hasty exit, Talba didn’t know. But she was betting on the latter.

  Chapter 9

  Lundi Gras dawned cloudy and threatening, and by the time Talba got to the Champagnes’, the rain was so heavy she got soaked running in from her car. “Look at you!” Adele said. “I’ll get you one of Suzanne’s sweat suits.” And she headed upstairs. The house was a shambles from the night before and Lucy and Buddy were in the kitchen with Kristin, who was wearing sweats herself, evidently intending not to go to work that morning.

  “Thought I’d stay home and help clean up,” she explained. “We’ll just have cereal this morning so you don’t have to cook. Oh, and Adele says, after seven days straight, she’s giving you the afternoon off.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. I’ve been working so hard I feel like I’ve been in a wreck.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” Buddy was wearing jeans himself. He must be calling in court that day. “You’re a drowned rat,” he said. “You can’t work like that.”

  She was surprised he’d noticed. “Miss Adele’s getting me some clothes. That was beautiful last night, Your Honor. Congratulations.”

  “Can you believe this ol’ gal’s really gon’ marry me?”

  Lucy sidled up to Kristin and put an arm around her. “She wouldn’t leave me alone with Suzanne, would you, Kristin?”

  Kristin nuzzled her head as if she were a pet.

  “Hey, Sandra, Darryl’s really handsome,” Lucy said. “Was he married to a white woman? I mean, before?”

  “Lucy!” Kristin was horrified.

  Lucy flared. “It’s a reasonable question.”

  “It’s okay, Luce. You mean the blonde hair? No, Raisa’s just a freak. Pretty freak, though.”

  Buddy said, “Prettiest little freak I ever saw in my life.”

  “She’s really a great little kid,” Lucy said. “I taught her how to work the camcorder and she went crazy with it. Smart as anything.”

  “You bring out the best in her,” Talba said, and meant it. She’d never seen Raisa take to anyone the way she had to Lucy.

  Adele came back with the sweats. “I’ve got to get Lucy to school. Did Kristin tell you? Half day’s enough for today—and Mardi Gras off, of course.” Talba hadn’t even considered coming in the next day. Mardi Gras in New Orleans was like Christmas anywhere else—business as usual was cancelled. “Clear off the tables, will you? And get a load in the dishwasher.”

  Talba went to the downstairs powder room to change, and came out like a powerhouse. Today she had a concrete, manageable chore, and help. At noon, she’d be free. Nothing was going to stop her.

  She and Kristin worked together like a machine, not talking, just clearing and cleaning. When Adele returned, she joined them with a merciless efficiency. Buddy disappeared to his office.

  There was no sign of Suzanne and Royce till ten-thirty. By then, most of the heavy work was done, which was “a blessin,” as Miz Clara would say—Suzanne tried to pitch in, but she didn’t have a clue how to make things happen, and she sniped at Kristin every chance she got. Royce grumbled for a while, then repaired to the den with a cup of coffee. Business as usual.

  By noon, it was all done but rearranging the furniture. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” Adele said. “I’ll get Buddy and Royce to do it after ’while. Let me pay you, and then you just run on home and have a happy Mardi Gras with that man of yours—and that cute little girl.”

  Decent woman, Talba thought, and regretted, not fo
r the first time, what she was about to do to the household.

  She intended to put the unexpected afternoon off to good use. But first, she went home and made herself some tomato soup and an egg salad sandwich, reading the paper as she ate. The bad news was the weather: The storms were going to get worse that afternoon, and Mardi Gras was a crapshoot.

  She listened to the morning tapes before going into the office, and what she heard was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. Buddy had made one important call—to Funky Farley, asking why he still hadn’t seen anything in the paper about Angie’s arrest.

  And he’d received a call from a man who identified himself as Mac Boudreaux: “Hey, your honor. Just wanted to make sure everything worked out. I got a little worried ’cause I didn’t see nothin’ in the paper about it.”

  “Everything’s fine, Mac. I’m gon’ take care of ya. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  “Well, I wasn’t worried for myself, but my buddy Frank’s got some medical bills—”

  “You boys did just fine, Mac. I’m gon’ get ya checks off today.”

  “Uh—if you don’t mind—would cash be possible? I mean, nobody wants no records.”

  Buddy’s voice was impatient. “You come by the house Wednesday. I’ll take care o’you boys.”

  “Everything gon’ work out at the marina?” Boudreaux sounded tentative. “I know a lot of guys who’d sure enjoy doin’ business with ya.”

  “Ya brother-in-law brought me a load of shrimp just last Friday. You tell him things are fine—we got ’em on the run—not a peep out of ol’ Ben since last week.”

  “Shame about the Chief, though.”

  “Ah, he’s just another nigger likes his drugs. Bound to go down some time for somethin’.”

  Bingo, Talba thought.