Imogene in New Orleans

by Hunter Murphy

  Rogers slammed on the brakes and yanked the gear shift into reverse. He unloaded six rounds in the direction of the unseen shooter. The sounds of guns firing cracked and pierced the air.

  “Dammit, Rogers, get us out of here.” Neil tried to scrunch lower on the floorboard.

  Rogers reloaded and reached his hand out the window. He fired his weapon in the direction of the shooter.

  “We need to do something, Jackson. We’re about to die because of this lunatic.” Neil rose up a bit and peeked over the seat, yelling at the Lieutenant. “Rogers, I’m calling 911. I’ve got my cell phone out.”

  Neil’s hands were bound, so he couldn’t reach in his pocket, but Rogers didn’t even respond. The bluff didn’t work.

  Another bullet hit the trunk. Rogers cussed and then pulled his arm back inside. He stepped on the gas and tore down the alley in a fury, the car swerving back and forth until it bumped out onto the road again.

  Once the shooting stopped, Jackson took a deep breath of relief. Neil’s bravado returned. “I doubt those figurines are really in the bag,” Neil said. “You probably created that elaborate shoot-out as a ruse.”

  Rogers drove on.

  Neil shimmied his way up in the seat and encouraged Jackson to do the same. “Come on, Jackson. Sit up like a normal human in a car, not like pitiful stowaways.”

  They approached the bridge to New Orleans. Rogers stopped the car, grabbed the duffel bag, and chunked it into the back seat. “Go ahead, Neil, unzip the bag and check the figurines.”

  “I would, but my hands are tied. How quickly you’ve forgotten that.”

  Jackson could almost see the sarcasm dripping from Neil’s words.

  Rogers reached in the glove compartment, removed a knife, and came over to open the rear car door.

  Neil’s eyes got big, and he scowled at Rogers. “What are you doing with that weapon?”

  “Shut up. I’m not gonna cut you. Just get out and turn around.” Neil did, although he twitched nervously. Rogers snipped the cords binding him. Rogers then walked to the other side of the car and unlocked Jackson’s handcuffs.

  Neil shook his hands a few times, then got into the car and grabbed the duffel bag, extracting the figurines carefully. “Hey, Jackson, I bet the lieutenant hates to lose these. They would’ve fetched a hot nickel.”

  Rogers huffed as he got back into the driver’s seat. “Oh, shut your trap.”

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Was I being rude?” Neil smirked as he continued, “Oh, I do believe acquiring these little pieces would be a good motive for murder. Gosh, there must be a quarter million dollars here. Look at this one, Jackson. It’s a voodoo queen. Look at those blue eyes. Glenway loved the vibrant colors of lapis lazuli. And this one, a trumpeter, with his instrument case open at his feet. These are amazing. Too bad for you, Lieutenant, they’ll be returned to Glenway’s estate…where they belong.”

  Neil leaned back in the seat as if he were a dandy out for a summer drive. He said, “Hey, Rog, take your time returning to the French Quarter. Let’s enjoy this government-issued car for a while.” He rolled down the window and very nearly beamed at the old roads near the Old U.S. Mint.

  The closer they got to Rogers’s home, the more the lieutenant squirmed. He sighed and grunted and twisted the steering wheel cover with his meaty hands. He finally spoke. “It’d be more beneficial if a man of the law held on to those pieces.”

  “I’m sure you think so,” Neil said. “Unfortunately, certain men of the law can’t be trusted.”

  The minute they turned into the lieutenant’s drive, Rogers reached in the backseat, grabbed the duffel bag, and jumped out of the car. He ran around to the back of the house. Jackson chased after him, running so fast that his nun’s coif fell into his eyes. “Ah.” He struggled to free himself from the costume.

  Neil caught up with Rogers, who had his keys in the back door.

  Neil said, “Forget trying to escape with that loot again, Rogers. It won’t do any good. We have enough information to take to police headquarters. Did I forget to tell you I have a picture of the broken curio you stole from Glenway’s? You know. The one right here in your backyard.” Neil pointed at the piece covered in a tarp. “And I’m sure they’ll be interested in the bullet holes in your car too. The authorities will sort it out for us.”

  Rogers stopped and stood for a moment on his steps and then turned to hand the bag to Neil, who grabbed it with both hands.

  Jackson threw the costume on top of the tarp.

  Neil unzipped the duffel bag and said, “Meet us back at my house tomorrow, Mr. Pirate. I still think you killed Glenway.”

  “I most certainly did not.” Rogers crossed his arms and stood as tall as he could.

  “Then come prepared to prove it and help us find the person who did. Be there tomorrow evening at eight fifteen.”

  Rogers huffed. Neil looked at him. “If you’re late or you don’t show, I’m not waiting. I’m making one phone call to my friend on the city council. You remember how to get to my house, don’t you? It’s the place uptown where you handcuffed me and chased Jackson. From my house, we’re going to the ballet and you’re going with us.”

  * * * * *

  After retrieving their car from behind Roger’s house, Neil and Jackson picked up Imogene and Lena and Billy at the Old U.S. Mint. Jackson noticed that they all were red-faced and dripping with sweat after the several hours of “shakin’ them bones, baby.” Billy looked worse than either of the women. He dabbed his face with a damp towelette on the way to Neil’s.

  When they got uptown they all went inside and saw Goose was shadowing Allen, following him around the big table, hoping that something delicious might get thrown his way. Allen had a bowl of chips, which he and Goose were sharing. “Come on up with us,” Neil said to Allen as they walked toward the stairs to the rooms above. “We have to sort some things out.”

  Allen and the dog followed the boys upstairs to the camelback room where Jackson started with the first question. “Allen or Neil, will you please tell me where Thurston’s from?

  Where he grew up?”

  Allan dropped a chip for Goose who was dancing around and said, “He’s got family in Demopolis, Alabama.”

  “That makes sense. It would take an Alabama boy like Glenway Gilbert to create the nickname “Canebrake.” The Canebrake area in Alabama is named for the thick patches of bamboo that once grew wild there. Glenway was a clever devil.”

  “Not clever enough, I’m afraid,” Neil said, as Jackson moved the piece of paper labeled “Canebrake” to the space under Thurston’s name.

  Billy shook his head. “I thought Thurston was TH.” Goose lumbered over to him and rubbed against his leg.

  “So did I,” Jackson said. “Until Rogers called someone named ‘TH’ for the figurines. And we drove to Algiers. Thurston lives on Royal Street near Glenway’s Studio, so he couldn’t be ‘TH.’ He has to be Canebrake.”

  Billy twisted the cord on his blood pressure cuff. “Unless he was hiding the art over there. Or he could have a place in Algiers himself. Everybody else does. Buddy, Catfish, Lena.”

  Jackson looked at him. “That’s true, but we didn’t see anyone but Rogers while we were there.”

  Neil said, “And we were parked behind Buddy’s house in that alley. What if it was Buddy who helped Rogers steal Glenway’s carved pieces? No way Thurston did that. He doesn’t…he wouldn’t.”

  Billy exchanged a knowing glance with Jackson. Neil always seemed to be defending Thurston. Jackson nodded, then turned to the other two. “Neil. Allen. You know we think the world of you, of your hospitality, and how good you’ve been to us and Imogene, but would you please come clean about Thurston? Why are you hiding your friendship with him? I saw the painting Thurston has of you guys in his house, the one where y’all are on the sugar plantation. I know it was framed by Allen. I know you’re closer than you’ve admitted. Allen, I think you hung out with him at the ballet the night Glenway was killed, d
idn’t you?”

  Allen took a step back and looked at Jackson over his glasses. Jackson felt like a cicada being studied under a microscope. Allen said, “I’ve not tried to keep our relationship with Thurston a secret. Neil has.”

  Allen touched Neil’s shoulder and whispered to him, “We don’t have anything to hide. They’re our friends.”

  Neil didn’t say anything, so Allen faced Jackson again and continued. “Thurston has been attending our Thursday-night dinners this summer, taking Glenway’s place. He was here at our house the night Glenway was killed.”

  “I see.” Jackson put his arm around Billy and tapped his shoulder blade. “We appreciate the deal Thurston got us at the Chez Hill, but was there another reason he recommended that particular hotel?”

  “Certainly not,” Neil said. He thumped the papers on the desk. “It was simply a kind gesture, Jackson Miller.”

  “Actually, Neil, it hasn’t been so kind. I mean, I’m not trying to complain. It’s just that we’ve had trouble at Chez Hill from the first day. We’ve been robbed. We’ve had our things and dog thrown on the balcony. We’ve had several run-ins with that ass of a manager, Hill. Then there’s Thurston and Rogers hovering around the place.”

  Neil remained silent, as did Allen. Jackson sighed. “You have to admit that it all appears a bit suspicious. I’m not implying that you and Allen have done anything wrong.” Jackson felt Billy pinch him on the back, but he didn’t stop. “I just wondered why you’ve defended Thurston this whole time. Now knowing that you are friends, it makes more sense. I would do the same if someone were accusing you.” Goose looked up at the humans and sniffed the tense air.

  Allen walked over to Jackson and put his arm around him. “I understand your concern, man. I know you’d take up for us and so does Neil. Don’t you, Neil?”

  “Yes, yes.” Neil looked like he was forcing his face to appear pleasant, as if he had just tasted a disgusting entrée at a friend’s house and didn’t want to mention it.

  Jackson patted Allen’s back. “Okay then. One thing we can all agree on is that we’re not totally sure who Blue Moon is or TH for that matter. Am I correct?” Jackson glanced at all of them.

  “Correct.” Allen massaged his beard and inched closer to the wall.

  Goose followed him, apparently hoping that one of those delicious chips might come hurtling toward his mouth. He had been unsuccessful at gleaning a morsel from the others.

  “Then, I think we’ll all benefit from a trip to the ballet,” Jackson said.

  Allen smiled. “A capital idea, my man. Nothing like a little culture to set the brain right.”

  “Yes, the ballet…with Rogers. It should be an adventure.” Jackson pointed at the word “ballet” on the wall, where most of the names—Canebrake, Buddy, Catfish, Pirate—had lines drawn to the establishment.

  Allen said, “Yes, we’ll be a bunch of sugarplums with Rogers…the nutcracker.”

  Twenty-Six

  Jackson couldn’t keep the nerves at bay, his right leg bouncing up and down as he thought about Lieutenant Rogers’s impending arrival. He sat at the table beside Neil’s locked office. When he asked Neil about the conspicuously locked door, which normally displayed the famed bead collection, Neil fidgeted.

  “Glenway’s figurines are in there.” Neil stood and walked to the front door and then to the back. He was as nervous as Jackson, expecting the gruff lieutenant at any moment.

  Jackson couldn’t even give his usual, undivided attention to the feast before him—the big pot of gumbo; the pan of jambalaya with a new pepper mix Lena had created; the shish kebobs with steak, fresh peppers, Vidalia onions; the French bread and steaming corn bread; and the chilled coleslaw made fresh by Imogene. He understood why Allen was urging Neil to sit down, but he too was watching and waiting and listening.

  Billy took a few bites of the gumbo and then started fanning himself. Jackson watched as Billy grabbed the medical pouch under the table and carefully pulled it to his lap.

  Imogene and Lena walked into the room and Neil stood, indicting with a wave of his hand that one of them could have his chair. Imogene shook her head. “Don’t get up, son. We’ll sit right here.” Imogene plopped down on the couch and left space for her friend to do the same.

  Billy started twitching, as if the pepper in the gumbo was coursing through his blood stream. Jackson barely glanced at Billy as he stood and excused himself, hurrying away with the satchel clutched to his side. Jackson turned his attention to his full plate, tasting some of the wondrous nourishment before him. Goose waited expectantly in front of Imogene and Lena, as if he knew they were the source of this aromatic bounty.

  “The lieutenant will be here any minute,” Neil whispered. Lena shook her head. “Y’all know it wouldn’t be no plan of Lena Ward’s to have that brute here, but y’all do what you please, baby. I tell you this. These eyes of mine is old, but they’ll be on that joker from the minute he step foot in da door.” In a quick, swooping motion, she ate a big spoonful of gumbo and rice, as if she’d just said the last and final word.

  “Where’s Billy,” Neil asked.

  “He needs a moment to himself.” Jackson glanced at the empty chair.

  Neil flicked his mustache with his finger. “Everyone needs to be here when Rogers arrives. We need a united front.”

  Imogene said, “Billy’s prolly havin’ a spell. I seen him holdin’ his bag of supplies and runnin’ out the room.” Neil stood up and hurried past the buffet toward the back of the house.

  Jackson stopped him. “Wait. I’ll go check.” He walked the long hall to the back of the house, peeking in their host’s bedroom and not finding Billy. Jackson continued on to the guest room behind the kitchen, where Billy liked to hide because it was so remote. Jackson cracked the door open and saw his partner sprawled out on the cotton bedsheets.

  “Come in and close the door,” Billy mumbled.

  Jackson sat on the edge of the bed, and Billy removed his arm from his forehead. “We’re about to go to some strip club, Jackson, to find suspects, when possibly the killer is sitting right here in this house.” Billy ticked off numbers on his fingers as he named names. “Neil or Allen or Lena, or even Rogers could’ve killed Glenway. Each one of them had plenty to gain from Glenway’s death.” Billy pressed the button on the blood-pressure monitor and the Velcro crackled as the cuff inflated

  “It’s all so confusing, but you could be right about any of them,” Jackson said, lying back on the bed. “But what do you want me to do?”

  Beep, beep, beep. The medical device flashed its results.

  “I don’t know. But there are some strange things going on. I just went upstairs and saw that Allen covered that wall with the names of suspects. They’re hidden under a white sheet. Now why would he do that?”

  Jackson knew that was a rhetorical question. He knew his partner well enough to realize that Billy had more to say. “And if you think about it,” Billy said. “The names we pasted on the wall don’t have motives as strong as the people down the hall from us. Not Buddy, Canebrake or Thurston. Not Catfish. Not even the lieutenant. And not TH or Blue Moon. None of them are as suspicious as the folks eating jambalaya beyond that wall.”

  “Billy, we don’t even know who TH and Blue Moon are yet.” Jackson picked a piece of rice from his pant leg.

  Billy adjusted the rubber tubing attached to the blood pressure cuff. “I know you don’t agree, but I think Thurston really is TH. You said that Thurston is Canebrake in Glenway’s book, but I still think he’s the mysterious TH.” Billy’s blond hair was sticking to his forehead because of the humid evening heat.

  “The lieutenant was speaking to someone he called TH on the phone just yesterday, and Rogers said it wasn’t Thurston.” Jackson combed his hand through Billy’s hair.

  “Okay. So maybe he’s not.” Billy shook his head. “But let me ask you. How come Neil knows all these people on the list? Him and Allen both. Shoot, they probably know who Blue Moon is. Regardles
s, I think we’re about to be chasing our own tails at the ballet. Didn’t you say Neil set up this plan to go with Rogers to the ballet? What if Neil and Rogers have been play-fighting, just for show? Maybe Rogers didn’t take him to jail that day. My God, who could head butt a cop and leave jail the next day?”

  Jackson frowned. “Have you been drinking coffee? Or eating sugar? You surely don’t believe what you’re saying.”

  “That pepper did affect me, but I’m absolutely serious. Think about it, Jackson.” Billy removed his pulse oximeter from his medical kit and stuck his index finger in it.

  “But Neil and Allen are our friends, Billy. They loved Glenway. Sure, they have something to gain from his death, but they don’t care about money.”

  “They didn’t care about money, Jackson, but maybe they care now.” Billy studied the tiny screen on the device, which displayed his oxygen saturation and heart rate. He shrugged.

  Jackson’s mind swam with all that Billy had said. It was so hard to think of Allen and Neil as killers. He rubbed his fingers in slow circles on his knee, as if doing that would bring clarity.

  A wild, ferocious knock sounded at the front door, breaking the lull in the house. Jackson sat up and tugged on Billy’s arm. “Come on.” Jackson ran out of the room, but Billy didn’t follow.

  He made it to the foyer just as Neil said, “I’ll get it,” opening the door to Rogers. The lieutenant, who clutched a briefcase to his chest, walked in by himself. He wore a short-sleeved, button-down shirt and boat shoes. He wiggled his broad shoulders in the short sleeves like he felt exposed and uncomfortable. He turned around to glance through the beveled fleur-de-lis glass in the door, as if he expected someone.

  “You nearly broke my door with the loud knocking, Rogers.” Neil closed the door as the officer edged into the foyer. A police patrol car pulled up to the curb outside the house.

  “But I didn’t, did I?” Despite his tone, Rogers walked into the house sheepishly, almost like he was worried someone might jump from behind a wall and attack him.