by Julie Smith
Mary Ann did a double take. “You’re that poet! I looked you up on the Internet, but I didn’t recognize you.”
Talba figured they’d appreciate her Baroness routine. “The Baroness de Pontalba, at your service,” she said. “But you can call me Your Grace.”
Wesley raised a bemused eyebrow, but decided to go with it. “Okay, Your Grace,” he said, “you want to hear my story, right? Who are you working for?”
“That part’s usually confidential, but in this case, it’s not. I’m working for the judge’s fiancée.”
“Never met her,” Wesley said. “I just came at night and did my rounds. Place stinks like hell, doesn’t it?”
“Was there ever any activity there—at night?”
“Just me. Otherwise, quiet as a tomb. Why?”
“I think Buddy was buying shrimp from poachers,” Talba said.
“Ah. It’s not shrimp season, is it? I should have thought about that. Well, if he was doing it, he was doing it in the daytime—which you’d have to at Venetian Isles. Quiet place like that, night work’d be even more noticeable. Damn!” He seemed to be kicking himself. “Well, I was about to quit, anyhow. The judge’s death kind of turned the trick. But anyhow, I was embarrassed—people aren’t supposed to die when you’re looking out for their property.” The average person might have looked suitably grim at this point, but Wesley didn’t. He seemed to be enjoying the diversion.
Mary Ann patted his knee. “I need you home at night. It wasn’t a job that really used your talents.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Hubba-hubba,” he said.
“You two need some privacy?” Talba asked.
Mary Ann blushed. “Sorry.”
“Listen, it’s the damnedest thing,” Wesley said. “Somewhere around midnight, the judge called and told me I could go home. Left a voicemail while I was on my rounds.”
“Did he say why?”
“Said he was headed out there for a meeting.”
“Voicemail,” Talba said. “You sure it was him?”
For the first time, Wesley looked chagrined. “Ever since then, I’ve asked myself that a hundred times, but at the time, I had no reason to doubt it.” He gave Mary Ann a glance. “And as you can see, I’ve got a lot to come home to. Here’s the bad thing—I erased the voicemail.”
“Oh. Did he tell you to?”
This time he looked downright ashamed. “No. Just habit. Hell, it was his marina. I figured if he wanted me to leave, I’d be glad to. Wouldn’t have to smell that place all night.”
It was a pretty pat story. Talba asked if he knew the judge before he took the job.
“Nope,” he said. “He ran an ad on the Internet. Didn’t know him or Royce or Brad. Didn’t have a clue the place was controversial. Course, I heard about that kid being killed. But, hell, accidents happen. Between you and me, though, they do run a pretty loose ship.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Tell me, did you get the sense they were doing anything illegal? Besides that poaching thing, I mean.”
“What kind of illegal?” Talba could have sworn he looked a little wary.
“Like drugs, maybe.”
He shrugged. “All I ever saw was a closed-down stinky old place.”
“The neighbors said shady characters hung around there.”
Wesley laughed. “Probably meant me.”
“Oh, yeah? You’re a suspicious character?”
“Mary Ann does call me Slim Shady.”
It took Talba a minute to get the reference. “You two,” she asked incredulously, “are into rap?”
“Not by choice,” Mary Ann said. “My grandson’s an Eminem fan, more’s the pity.”
“I hear you,” Talba said.
She asked Wesley if he’d left right away (he had) and if he had any idea who Buddy might be meeting (not really), and what he thought of Royce and Brad (they seemed like pretty good guys), and then she drank her iced tea and stood to leave, wondering why Buddy had wanted to leave his property unguarded, even for a short while.
She thought of one last thing. “Was there anything odd about Buddy’s voice? Anything to indicate it wasn’t him?”
“Well, he had that redneck thing going. ‘Hey-Wes-ol’-buddy-why-don’t-you-head-on-home?’ kind of thing. I don’t know anybody else who talks like that. Do you?”
It occurred to her the whole interview had gone way too smoothly, been far too civil. She tried out one last thing. “In your heart of hearts,” she said, “do you think it was him?”
“Well, I’ll say this—it didn’t cross my mind that it wasn’t. Hell, it was midnight. Figured he got to drinking, wanted to bring some woman out there.”
“To that place?”
“It was private, anyhow. He brought women there all the time.”
“Even though he was engaged.”
Wesley laughed. “I’ve been working there almost a year—don’t think he’s known your client that long.”
“Did he bring them out there to…uh…”
“Naah. Not even Buddy was that crude. Place is nasty. He just showed ’em around. If they were impressed, God help ’em.”
“Well, look. Can you think of anything—any incident, anything at all—that gives you an idea who’d want to kill him?”
“Lots of ’em. You name somebody, they’ve got a motive.”
Talba pursued that for a while, eliciting only a list of the same old names, and advice to go through Buddy’s court cases. Wesley’s theory was, someone out there had a grudge.
Chapter 15
The trouble with the same old names was that none of them belonged to anyone Buddy would leave the comfort of his home to meet in a dark, deserted place. Ben Izaguirre? Hardly. The Dorands? When pigs flew. Someone he’d ruled against in court? Sometime around the year 3000.
But if Burrell was to be believed—and Talba decided for the moment to believe him—Buddy had gone there to meet someone. That tryst thing—maybe that was something. Maybe it was a former lover who’d heard about his engagement. Someone with something on Buddy, maybe.
A woman, come to think of it, would be a great suspect. Buddy wouldn’t have been afraid of her.
That made Talba think of Suzanne. She didn’t seem to like anybody very much. That ought to make for very loose lips. But she had to be approached correctly, and Talba knew exactly the way to her heart. She called her on the cell phone.
“Suzanne? Talba Wallis.”
“Oh. The snitch. Thanks for everything.”
This was one difficult case.
Something occurred to her for the first time—maybe the real reason Kristin had hired her was that she thought it was one of Buddy’s nearest and dearest who’d killed him. After all, they could hardly refuse to let her do it, or they’d tip their hand. And contrary to the story she’d been given, they were resisting like Talba worked for the IRS.
She went into her apology routine again—she had it down pretty well by now—and concluded by saying that wasn’t what she was calling about, anyhow. (Well, it almost wasn’t.) “I do need to talk to you about the murder, just to cover my bases—you know what I mean—but the thing is, you got me curious, so I bought this book on feng shui—”
“Oh! Don’t you love it?” All seemed to be forgiven.
“Adore it. Crazy for it. I want to do my office right away, but I’m confused about something. My door’s kind of at a funny angle—I’m not sure how to place the bhagwa. I mean, if I get it wrong, I reverse my marriage and money corners, right?”
“Oh, sure. And there are different schools of thought on it, anyhow. You really have to be careful.”
“I mean, like, when you’re standing in the doorway, you have to turn to—”
“Look, does your desk face the doorway?”
“Well, sort of, but—”
“You want me to come take a look? I have some time tomorrow if you like.” Eager as anything. A fish on a line.
Oh, yeah. Come to me, baby, Talba thought. “Oh, g
osh,” she said. “You aren’t too expensive, are you?”
“If your office is small enough, I could do it for about a hundred dollars.”
“I don’t know, I—”
“Look, I’ll do a free consultation. Then you just refer me to somebody and we’re square.”
“Really? Okay, that’d be great. Tell you what, let me at least take you to lunch—are you free?”
“Let me see.” Suzanne paused, evidently consulting her date book. “I could rearrange something.”
“Done deal,” Talba said. “Come about noon.” She knew earlier wasn’t going to fly.
Suzanne might not like people much, but she was in love with her job.
Time to knock off and go home, after a quick stop for kitten food, cat box, and litter, none of which escaped Miz Clara’s notice. “Why we need more cat stuff?”
“We don’t,” Talba replied, “but Darryl’s going to. I got Raisa a kitten.”
“Ya what? Ya went out and bought a kitten?”
“Rescued it. Want to see?”
“Whatcha mean, do I wanna see? Ya brought another animal in this house? No wonder the Queen and the Duchess actin’ so strange.” Miz Clara pretended to hate Koko and Blanche, but they were getting fat from the treats she slipped them. “They hidin’ under things, makin’ noises like they a couple of toms.”
“Well, Gumbo’s in their territory. They’ll live; it’s just for one night. I’ll take it over tomorrow. You want to see or not?”
“Last thing I wanna see’s another damn cat in this house.” But she trudged after Talba to her daughter’s room and followed her in. “Where’s it at?”
“Hiding, probably.” They lured it out from under the bed with an open can of cat food. The kitten looked like a tiny, skinny, cat-shaped canvas upon which an artist had painted an intricate design in white, black, and gold. It had a white background and an all-white belly, with meticulously applied spots and patches on its back, one black leg, one gold leg, three spots on a white leg, and a face out of a Kabuki play—matching black spots like kohl around its eyes, and four black spots on its nose, spaced like a lopsided cross.
“Lord, that ain’t no kitten! It’s a Rembrandt.”
Talba considered. “Picasso, I think. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“That’s the most beautiful animal I ever saw in my life—’cept for bein’ so scrawny. And it ain’t no bigger than a minute. Gumbo? That thing’s named Gumbo?”
“Nickname, I think. Nobody knows its real name.”
“Well, it oughta be Cleopatra or somethin—that’s one pretty kitten. Raisa’s gon’ love that—mmm mmm. Don’t know ’bout Darryl, but—”
She was interrupted by the sound of galloping, then a great hissing and spitting that caused the kitten to go Halloween on them.
“Omigod, Mama,” Talba yelled. “Get Blanche and Koko out of here!”
“Scat,” Miz Clara yelled. “Y’all wanta traumatize that baby? All Darryl needs is another psychiatrist bill—that daughter of his is gon’ cost him plenty down the line. Come on, y’all—scat!” She raised her arms like a grizzly bear, causing poor Koko and Blanche to turn tail and run, in the certain knowledge that their best friend had just flipped out.
Suzanne arrived at noon the next day with four potted plants and assorted mirrors. “Hmm, this doesn’t look so bad. But this is an office, so you’re going to need plants in your career, helpful people, and money corners. And I brought some mirrors just in case—but your desk does face the door, that part’s okay. Tell you the truth, I expected a lot worse.”
Talba didn’t inquire as to the reasons for all these things, but she got told anyhow, and in little more than half an hour, her office was ready for anything. Suzanne wanted to do the reception area, too, but Talba called a halt after a while—the last thing she needed was Eddie’s post facto input.
There was a newish Thai place in the neighborhood, and, remembering how much Suzanne liked her food, Talba eventually enticed her pad thai-ward. “I don’t usually drink at lunch,” she said, “but I’m feeling kind of reckless today.”
“Kind of light and airy? A lot of people report that after getting feng shui’ed. Let’s celebrate. Go ahead—have a glass of wine. Or maybe some beer.”
“I will if you will.” Anything for the cause. But Suzanne refused, so Talba got to keep her head clear.
Talba asked her how Adele and Lucy and all the gang were doing and Suzanne said they were muddling through, except for being in shock and everything. “And you?” Talba asked.
“Well, Royce is taking it pretty hard; I’m just trying to help him get through.”
“He must be a difficult man to be married to.”
Suzanne seemed surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“May I speak out of school? Sometimes you just don’t seem happy, that’s all.”
“Well, uh—I’m having kind of a hard time getting my business started.”
Talba said, “It seems like he drinks a lot.”
“Oh. He does,” Suzanne admitted. “I’m terribly worried about him, if you want to know the truth.”
“I was wondering about Brad. He can’t be a good influence.”
“Oh, Brad,” was all Suzanne said.
“I get a weird vibe about him. Do you happen to know if he’s gay?”
Suzanne looked at her quizzically. “You must be very perceptive. He’s so macho and everything, hardly anyone ever guesses. But of course Royce has known him since fifth grade—pretty hard to be in the closet with your best friend.”
“I see what you mean. But I’m wondering—did Buddy know?”
“Oh, sure. He just accepted it, like we all do.”
“Suzanne, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but Buddy seemed awfully prejudiced. I mean, something like that…”
“Oh, it never bothered him at all. Old redneck that he was, that didn’t stop him from being crazy about Brad—damnedest thing. Sometimes I used to think he loved him more than Royce. You ever read that book, Rich Dad, Poor Dad?”
Talba shook her head. “Is it a novel?”
“No, it’s about a kid whose best friend’s father kind of took him under his wing and taught him things. Daddy Buddy was like that with Brad, only he didn’t teach him things about money, like the kid in the book. Brad was like a second son, that’s all. The favorite son. Sometimes I think that’s the root of Royce’s problems.”
“His problems?”
“Oh, you know—his insecurity. You’ve noticed it, right?”
“This stuff is hot!” Talba interjected. “I think I’ll have a beer after all. Sure you won’t have one?”
“No, I—can you keep a secret?”
“I’m a P.I., remember? Secrets-R-Us.” She hoped Suzanne wouldn’t remember that she’d just spilled more secrets than the Champagnes knew they had. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well—there’s a reason I’m not drinking. Think about it.”
Talba remembered how Suzanne was hungry all the time, and seemed to sleep a lot. And all of a sudden something fell into place. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
Suzanne giggled. “Maybe just a little bit.”
“Hey, congratulations.”
“Keep it quiet, though—I don’t think this is exactly the time to tell Royce.”
“Oh. Maybe not.”
This was a weird development, but Talba couldn’t see a reason in hell why it should stop her. “Well, that’s a relief,” she said. “I thought maybe Royce and Brad were—you know…lovers or something.”
Suzanne laughed. “Royce? Omigod, that’s a major hoot! Royce! Royce is usually way too drunk to be interested.”
“But—uh…” Talba was confused about the pregnancy, but it seemed indelicate to mention it.
“Well, usually he is,” Suzanne said. “We did it on Lucy’s birthday a couple of months ago.” She patted her stomach. “No drinking at the party.” She looked slightly bleak. “I still haven’t decided whether
to have an abortion or not—I’ve still got a few weeks to make up my mind.”
“Oh. Why would you have an abortion?” It was way too personal a question, but Suzanne didn’t seem to notice.
Suzanne put down her fork, making Talba think she was getting somewhere. It took a lot to kill this one’s appetite. “The drinking, like I mentioned. Also, I was doing quite a bit of it myself till I found out I was pregnant—I worry about the baby, you know? Also—” She stopped and stared at the food as if trying to figure out what it was. “There’s another reason I know Royce isn’t gay. Or anyway, isn’t involved with Brad.”
“Yes?”
“He—uh—gets tired of people fast. Believe me, if they’d been lovers, Brad would be history.”
“You mean he fools around.”
“Yeah. He fools around. Would you want to bring a kid into that?”
Talba suddenly felt sorry for her.
***
“Eddie, tell me something—you’re a guy.” Ms. Wallis had just regaled him with her latest adventures. “How likely is it that a macho straight guy would be best friends with a gay guy?”
Sometimes she could be so naive she floored him. He shrugged, getting ready to educate her. “Could happen, Ms. Wallis. Anything could happen. Been in this business long as I have, ya seen everything.” He paused. “Specially if the straight guy didn’t feel threatened.”
“That’s what I mean. Royce seems like the type who would feel threatened.”
“Maybe Brad’s got a boyfriend—ever think of that?”
“Let me get my notes.” She stood up and left the room. But she was back in half a minute, staring at a printout. “He lives alone. At least, there’s no one else at his address.”
That was worth another shrug. “What, ya staked out his place? He pays the rent, the other guy might not be in that database ya patronize.”
“Boy toy-type thing?” She chewed on her lip. “Could be.”
Royce’s sex life interested Eddie not nearly so much as a salient point she seemed to have missed—and he did love to catch her missing something. “Know what’s bothering me—how come nobody heard the shot?”
She thought about it. “Well, maybe somebody did. But I think I see what you’re getting at—it would be odd if they hadn’t. Better canvass the neighbors, huh?”