“Maybe Comeaux got caught in traffic, or something, and didn’t actually see the accident. But it does seem strange doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. Or, maybe he’s as blind as a bat.” Billy Joe stared at the printout in his hand. “Lilah, you said you found Duffy’s luggage, right?”
“It slid off the truck and under my van.”
“Did you notice anything of value inside?”
I almost mentioned the money but didn’t. After talking with Jay last night, I figured Dan eventually unlocked Gambrini’s safe and removed the cash, then replaced it with Tom Duffy’s diary, but I didn’t have any proof of this, and I couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing. So, how could I possibly explain all of this to Billy Joe who was bound to question me and my motives for hiding the money.
“To tell the truth, after someone tried to break into my van and then frightened me at the Belle, I decided to store Dan’s suitcase in a bank vault.”
Sis cut her eyes around and pursed her lips, looking as stern as I’d ever seen her. “You said, ‘to tell the truth. Is dat the truth, Lilah?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Why would you put a suitcase in a bank vault?” Billy Joe asked.
“It was the only safe thing I could think of doing until Dan Duffy recovers, but to answer your other question, I did find some things that troubled me...” I told him about Dan’s journal, then I mentioned my dinner with Jay and what he said about the safe and how he and Dan lifted it from the stolen Gambrini car.
“They never told anyone?” Billy Joe asked.
“They were kids, and you can imagine how scared they were. It would serve no purpose to squeal on them now.”
“I agree,” Billy Joe said, to my relief.
“I’m glad because I think the John Gable angle is much more interesting. Gable worked with Tom Duffy--Dan’s father. And weeks before Dan flew into New Orleans, Dan wrote Gable’s office inquiring about the Vice President’s New Orleans schedule.”
Billy Joe raised his eyebrows and his voice. “Are you saying John Gable’s involved with this crap?”
“Very definitely. I researched Dan on the internet and found a picture of Gable. He was identified as Mr. Duffy’s law clerk. Also, Jay Cascio, Dan’s best friend, confirmed that Gable worked for Mr. Duffy. And like I said, in Dan’s suitcase, I discovered a letter to him from Gable’s staff regarding the Vice President’s schedule.”
“But John Gable wouldn’t have any reason to investigate Dan Duffy, would he?” Billy Joe shook his head as if answering his own question. “There’s no way I’m believing he paid a sleaze like Comeaux.”
“I’m not implying that he did, Billy Joe. I’m thinking Dan thought Gable could lead him to his father’s murderer.”
“Slow down, Miss Lilah. You’re losing me.”
I tried to explain. “It was reported that Dan’s father, Tom Duffy, killed himself, but Dan never believed his father committed suicide. And I think, when he found his father’s diary, he discovered the truth. Whatever that is.”
“Did Dan’s dad die after Gambrini was murdered?”
“A week later.”
“And was he still alive and well when Dan and Jay found the stolen Gambrini car?”
“Yes. Mr. Duffy convinced police his son and Jay didn’t steal the car.”
“Did he know the boys had taken the safe?”
“Apparently not.”
~ * ~
“Lilah, why don’t you let me pursue this with Comeaux and you stay out of it. From what you’ve told me, organized crime could be behind this mess.”
“You mean, the Mafia?”
“That’s kind of an outdated term. Nowadays, organized criminals try to blend into the woodwork of acceptable society. They join chambers of commerce and contribute large sums of money to social and charitable events, want to be thought of as good guys while they rake in all that drug, gambling, prostitution, extortion dough and launder the money through what appears to be legitimate businesses. It’s complicated and I hate to think of you in the middle of it.”
“If organized crime considered me or Dan Duffy a threat, we would have been bumped off by now.”
“Like I said, these boys keep a low-profile when it comes to bad publicity. Maybe they aren’t convinced you know anything. And Dan Duffy certainly isn’t talking ‘cause he’s in a coma. Besides, gunning somebody down, gangland style, isn’t the way they operate now. This day and time it’s less obvious, but more sinister.”
“How do you mean?”
“They might make it seem like an accident or like you disappeared from the face of the earth without a trace. That’s why I want you to stay clear of it.”
“From what you’ve said, Dan Duffy could be in more danger than I.”
“Think it’d be a good idea to have an officer stationed outside his room,” Billy Joe said. “I’ll talk to the chief about it.”
“Billy Joe, before I wash my hands of this, I need to fly to Baltimore, take some pictures of the house where Gable grew up and interview people who knew him back then. It’s for the Politics Today article, and while I’m in the vicinity I might as well see if I can find the diary Dan drew in his journal.”
Billy Joe cast out his line again. “When are you planning to do this, Miss Lilah?”
“I thought I’d fly to Baltimore early Monday morning and fly back late that afternoon. Would it be all right if Angela stayed with Melissa while I’m away?”
“You know she’s welcome. But that’s the craziest thing I’ve heard of anyone doing, flying to Baltimore and looking for somebody’s personal diary, not really your business. And it’s smack dab in the middle of Mardi Gras season, the day before the President’s talk at the Cathedral.”
I held up the tear-shaped stone still tied around my neck, hoping to pique Billy Joe’s memory in case he’d forgotten. “Remember Martha, the graveyard psychic? She said I must find the diary before Monday passes.”
Billy Joe looked as if he’d swallowed a worm. “Certainly you don’t believe all that mumbo jumbo. Do you Lilah?” He searched my face while Sis recoiled at the mere sight of the crystal. “That thing no good, Chile, no good at all. It be the devil’s work to wear it.”
I slipped the necklace inside my purse as my cell-phone rang. I reached for the phone, but it fell from my hand.
A sleepy Angela caught it. “Hello, fishing central... What...? Who did you say this is...? Oh...” She giggled. “This is Angela, her daughter... Hold on...” Angela handed me the phone. “It’s Jay. He had a terrific time last night.” She giggled again.
I could feel my face burning. “Hello.”
“Lilah?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you’re really you?”
I laughed. “Last time I checked.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. It happens all the time. Our voices are similar.”
“I just called to thank you for the terrific evening.”
I felt weak-kneed but tried to appear strong since Angela was staring at me, measuring my response. “I should be thanking you. Dinner was delicious. I almost licked my plate.”
“Oh-h-h, don’t tease me like that,” Jay said. “What are my chances of seeing you tonight? Do you think you’ll be able to stop by the club later?”
“Perhaps after the costume party.”
“I’ll reserve a table. Give the doorman your name. We usually have a crowd Saturday, especially during Mardi Gras. I’ll be on the lookout, won’t be able to think of much else. Can’t seem to get you out of my mind.”
I was speechless.
Jay attempted to fill the conversational void. “Guess what? Duff spoke to me today.”
“That’s wonderful. What did he say?”
“Something about some money and a diary, and I thought about those pictures he drew in that book you showed me, but when I tried to talk to him about them, he didn’t make much sense.”
“But it sou
nds like he’s making progress.”
“Does seem that way, and speaking of progress, my Mom and Dad are looking forward to meeting you. Dinner on Sunday is at seven. So, I’ll pick you up around five, if that’s okay.”
“Five, Sunday is fine. My daughter and I will be ready.”
Angela looked shocked. “What? Nobody told me anything. I plan to go parade hopping Sunday with Melissa.”
I started to ask Jay for a rain check. “Angela has just informed me she has other commitments, and I’m...”
“If she changes her mind, there’ll be plenty. Mom’s fixing barbecued shrimp unless you’d prefer something else.”
“Shrimp sounds wonderful.” Billy Joe reeled in another big bass, and I described it to Jay.
Jay laughed. “I better let you get back to your fishing.”
“Thanks for calling, Jay.”
“See you soon, hopefully tonight.”
After Jay and I said good-bye, Angela pressed me. “What’s this thing going on between you and what’s his face? Don’t you have some explaining to do?”
“We seem to be reversing roles here.”
“Billy Joe, what do you think about Mother getting toasty with a musician?”
Billy Joe winked at Angela as he filled a bucket with water for the fish. “You want me to check him out make sure he passes inspection?”
“Good idea,” Angela said.
“And if he doesn’t act like a gentleman I’ll straighten him out like I did Bubba Johnson.”
I was horrified. “Oh, no you don’t.”
“Who’s Bubba Johnson?” Angela asked.
“A creep your mother dated when she was sixteen. He bragged that he got to first base with her.”
“Mother!!!”
“Billy Joe how dare you tell Angela that.”
“I didn’t say it was true, Miss Lilah. I figured he was lying ‘cause I give you credit for having better taste. I was surprised you even went out with Bubba. Your dog Jack would have been a better choice.”
“Did you threaten him, Billy Joe?” Angela asked.
“Yes, he did, told Bubba if he ever spoke to me again, his balls would be sliced open with a razor blade.”
Angela laughed.
“Watch ya mouth.” Sis warned. “I’s surprised at you, Billy Joe.”
“I didn’t tell Bubba that.”
“You did too Billy Joe.”
“Didn’t.”
“Did.”
“Shhhhhh. You scarin’ away the fish an’ actin’ like babies,” Sis grumbled.
“I told Bubba in a very dignified manner that if he didn’t stop making up stories about Miss Lilah he might end up like one of his daddy’s male pigs.”
“Bubba related the story differently, and he never asked me out again.”
“Was certainly to your advantage,” Billy Joe said.
Chapter Thirty-five
“They’re here. Hurry,” Angela commanded from the hallway as I struggled to secure my top-knot with hair pins. Undecided about Martha’s crystal I’d taken it off a number of times before deciding it suited my green taffeta ball gown.
The gown itself, though spectacular, revealed a large part of my breast, and I kept worrying that if it crept down any lower I’d be completely exposed. If Sam saw me, he’d give his best Groucho imitation, “Ummmm, what nice ski slopes you have, my dear.”
I smoothed the lace, side godets, billowing to the floor before slipping on the long green gloves. After I tied on the eye mask, I looked like a stranger smiling at myself.
“Mother, they’re waiting.” Angela shouted, impatiently. She pulled up her frilled train and rushed into the Napoleon room. Watching her and the way she scurried about, I worried she might snag the train everywhere she walked, but, in spite of that, she looked perfectly beautiful with her hair rolled up in a horse-shoe braid. Her off-the-shoulder, pink taffeta gown and mask were similar to mine, only a different color.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” I warned.
We rushed out to the gallery and greeted Kern McIntoch. He was dressed as Dracula complete with fangs. McIntoch tried to assist us down the stairs but found it less hazardous to stay clear of our crinoline supported skirts.
“No room for me and your gowns,” he joked, while helping us into the stretch Cadillac.
Angela looked at me critically as we headed to the Garden District to pick up Melissa, Fernando and Javier. “Mother, why did you bring that gigantic purse?”
I didn’t want to explain my paranoia. “I wasn’t thinking,” I said, glancing at Angela’s small evening bag.
Seconds after the stretch pulled up in front of the Harris’, Melissa, Fernando and Javier ran out. Javier looked like the Lone Ranger. Fernando wore a Castro mask with a suit and tie. Melissa was either a clown or Harpo Marx.
Billy Joe followed asking about the “secret” location of our destination.
“The deal is, we must wear blindfolds,” McIntoch said, not really answering Billy Joe’s question.
“Come on, Lilah, tell me where you’re going?” Billy Joe sounded worried.
“I have no idea,” I said. “But I have my cell phone if you need to call.”
“I want her back by midnight,” Billy Joe told the driver while patting Melissa’s curly red wig.
“Daddy,” she protested.
“You heard me. And Lilah I’m counting on you to keep an eye out.”
“Okay. Try not to worry.” I waved at him as we drove away, but he didn’t wave back. He stood in the driveway looking stern, hands on his hips.
The limo driver, a young, unsmiling man, handed McIntoch six, black blindfolds and we were told to put them on.
In five minutes, I heard a cheering, screaming crowd and a marching band’s cadence, then the limo stopped at what I soon learned was Gable’s townhouse, somewhere on St. Charles Avenue.
Two Secret Service agents greeted us and took our blindfolds. I allowed them to store my purse rather than search through it. Afterwards, McIntoch led us upstairs to a second floor balcony where we watched some of the parade. I was amazed at the throngs of people lined along the street, seven deep, with outstretched arms. The high-stepping St. Augustine High School marching band passed, blasting out Born in the U.S.A.
A float decorated in giant magnolia blossoms followed. Gable sat in the center of a throne looking exuberant, waving and tossing beads to the excited crowd. His blonde hair, usually immaculate, was windblown as he blew kisses to the crowd.
I was surprised to see him so casually dressed in a blue, open-collared shirt with black slacks. The Secret Service agents flanking him wore pall-bearer suits.
Gable’s float paused for a moment in front of the balcony where we stood. He looked up at us with his movie star smile and blew what appeared to be a private kiss, his hand swept upward from his lips as if tossing it to us.
“The Vice President will be back here in an hour and a half,” McIntoch said, looking at his watch as Gable’s float pulled away.
Angela looked amazed. “He’s coming to the party?”
“The Vice President is giving the party,” McIntoch answered. “But the rule is, everyone must be disguised, no one can reveal his or her true identity. Except, of course, the Vice President.”
“We know who you are, Kern and you know us,” Angela countered.
“True. But you are my guests.”
In the formal dining room of Gable’s townhouse, three young men in suits and bow-ties fussed over a long walnut-stained antique table under the supervision of a middle-aged woman wearing an apron. McIntoch introduced her as Annie Turner, “the most important woman in the Vice President’s life outside of the President.”
“His most valuable slave,” Annie said as she placed a large tray of shrimp and lobster tails on the highly-glossed table, already crowded with a smorgasbord of fried chicken, beef filets, cucumber salad, steamed vegetables, sliced meats and cheeses, home-made bread, squash casserole, spaghetti and meat balls
, gumbo, rice, watermelon balls, crab pie, sugar coated beignets, lemon pie, coconut cake, fudge brownies and King Cake.
“Is the Vice President a slave driver?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“He’s a perfectionist,” Annie answered.
In minutes, the doorbell rang in succession as elegantly clad and outlandishly costumed guests invaded Gable’s house. One man came to the party wearing only a tie, black hat, sunglasses, black shoes and socks. Fortunately, his red tie was long and wide enough to conceal his genitals. I noticed it narrowed to a thong between his buttocks. Another guest was painted like an alligator. From her neck up, she wore an authentic alligator’s head. Otherwise, she was completely nude although her painted body made her appear clothed. The woman’s
brown pubic hair blended with her tinted skin, almost as part of her costume.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. The alligator woman gulped down martinis of gin and vermouth until she was drunk enough to become a reptile, crawling across the Oriental carpet in the living room. Incredibly, her body paint remained intact.
Unlike the tie man and the alligator woman, most of those in attendance wore elegant ball gowns or tuxedos, but masks hid their identities.
“Mama, I bet this place is packed with movie stars,” Angela whispered.
I agreed and thought the woman I’d been talking to might be one. She was dressed in a sequin gown and admired, as I did, the many busts and pictures of Presidents Washington and Lincoln throughout Gable’s large living room. I tried to guess the woman’s identity, but couldn’t. She wore a gigantic mask, hiding most of her face and nose.
While I chatted with the woman, Harry Connick, Jr.’s piano rendition of Rhapsody In Blue filtered through the piped-in stereo system as the clocks chimed nine times.
A woman miming the tin-man character from the Wizard of Oz yelled. “The Vice President has arrived.”
The crowd fell silent until Gable started making his rounds of handshaking and greeting.
“You can eat crackers in my bed any time,” said a British lady who wore a white silk gown with point d-esprit lace. The woman lightly kissed Gable’s mouth when he took her hand.
“Thank you so much for coming, dear.” He gave her the famous Gable wink then turned to me because I was next in line.
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