Now Let's Talk of Graves Page 11

Harry gave his watch a long look, as if to say it had been only about eighteen hours since they’d last spoken, and he’d had a few other things to do, including sleeping.

  Sam registered the look. It meant he didn’t have jack. That was too bad. He was awfully cute, and it would have been fun, working with him.

  Then he said, “I checked with the cops, Blackstone and Shea. Nothing new. Not a peep on the car. You know, Sam, this town, family like the Lees, they give the impression they’d just as soon let it lie, the cops aren’t gonna do a lot with it.”

  See? In her head she went over the list of people she wanted to talk with, wondered how long it would take her to get loose from Harry, get on with it.

  He was still talking. “But I did find Madeline Lee. Zoe’s mom, Church’s ex, Madeline Lee Hebert.”

  Well, now. She sat up.

  Harry was giving her his slow smile, like he’d been reading her mind, holding his ace.

  “So she’s remarried to somebody named Hebert?”

  “Seems that way.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Just checked with the DMV.” He shrugged. “I had ’em run her name Madeline Lee, nothing. Then I looked up their marriage license, hers and Church’s. Her maiden name was Villère. I had the DMV try it that way, Madeline, middle name Villère, and it popped.”

  “Aren’t you the clever one?”

  “You ought to know finding folks is mostly knowing how to use the public records.”

  “I do, but you get a gold star anyway.”

  He grinned, then flashed a notebook in front of her. The address on Madeline’s driver’s license, recently renewed, was in a town called St. Martinville.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Couple of hours drive from here. It’s a pretty little town in Cajun country.” He stirred his coffee for a minute. “So, you wanta take a ride over there?”

  “I might.”

  Clearing his throat a bit, he said, “I thought we might. It’s a nice trip.”

  She nodded, thinking it might be fun, but who had time for fun? “A couple of other matters might have a higher priority.”

  “Like what, the malpractice case?”

  “Cole Leander. That’s the man’s name.”

  “I know. I was going to tell you that.”

  She watched Harry’s shoulders sag. Damn. One of these days she was going to learn that being faster and smarter than the next guy was not necessarily the way to go. If she were even remotely interested in the next guy.

  “The ladies told me,” she said, as if getting it from the horse’s mouth weren’t as big an effort as his sniffing it out. She was trying to give him back his points.

  It sort of worked. “His warehouse is on the river end of Julia, if you want to talk with him,” he went on gamely. “What else did they tell you?”

  She filled him in on what she’d learned about the feud between Church and Maynard Dupree, their dueling over Madeline, Church winning her. Harry shook his head.

  “So you never heard this story?” she asked.

  “Like I said before, I just didn’t hang out with that crowd once I started to shave. I wasn’t interested in their internecine spats.”

  “I keep wondering why, after Madeline and Church got married, the trouble between Church and Maynard didn’t stop there.”

  “Beats me.” And then, as if seized—which he was—with a compulsion to prove to her that he had some other cards in his hand, Harry was spinning out that afternoon he’d followed Chéri to the Pelican.

  “Wait a minute,” she said when he finished. “So yesterday, when we talked about Maynard Dupree, and you said remember the conversation Tench and Church had about Maynard at the Sazerac, you had this in your back pocket. You knew that Maynard had been joking around about killing Church, for chrissakes.”

  “Maynard wasn’t doing the joking. Calvin was.”

  “Who the hell’s Calvin?”

  ‘The bartender.”

  “So why was he joking about it? Did he just pull it out of thin air?”

  “Look, all I’m doing is giving you further substantiation that there was bad blood between Maynard and Church.”

  “I already knew that.” She could hear herself. Oh, God. “You’ve been holding out on me, Harry.”

  He grinned. “But honest, that’s all I’ve got.”

  “Sure, sure. Like I can believe you now.” She pushed her advantage. “Who else was there?”

  “I told you. Jimbo King, a dude I used to see out on the rigs—”

  Oil rigs? That was sort of sexy. “You worked on a rig?”

  Harry nodded. “A while ago.”

  “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

  Why, he’d be proud to. He’d heard that little dingdong note of curiosity in the voices of smart women before, real smart women who carried tan briefcases and wore navy blue suits and lusted in their hearts after guys riding Harleys .

  “It’s not likely Jimbo and Maynard would be friends, is it?” Sam asked.

  “Hardly. But that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t stand around shooting the breeze.”

  “Who else was there in the bar?”

  “Some strangers, guys who were listening a little, but mostly minding their business. And Chéri, of course. She was there for part of the conversation. That’s why I was there, following her.” Then he told her about Chéri’s tobacco-brown Mercedes and her make-believe neck injury.

  “What day was this?”

  “The same day, that Monday, right after I saw you at the airport.”

  “Is Chéri a redhead? Bright red hair, brighter than Kitty’s?”

  “That’s right. You probably saw her at the gate. She came in on the flight from New York just after yours.”

  “She’s a pretty woman; I remember her.”

  “Not bad.” A little flashy for me, he wanted to say. My taste in women runs more toward classy brunettes—like you, for example.

  Sam was running the redhead around in her mind. “Actually, I saw her later, outside. In fact”—she was warming to it now—“she was the one who was getting into a long white limo with this slick-looking man, probably mob—”

  “Joey the Horse.”

  She gave him a look. “Joey the Horse, when that crazy little blond guy who was in the crosswalk got cut off and he started banging on the limo. The driver opened the door and knocked him down. Then the little guy reached into his jacket and—” She paused, realizing she’d gone too far.

  “And what?”

  The best defense was an offense. “Where were you?”

  “Hiding behind a luggage cart. I told you I was tailing Chéri, snapping pictures of her without the neck brace. But have I missed something here? What does any of this have to do with Church or Maynard?”

  “I don’t know. Now I found out you’re holding out this whole thing on me, where Maynard’s joking about killing people—”

  “I told you it wasn’t really May—”

  “I figure we might as well go back over the whole thing. You might have missed something.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Another viewpoint couldn’t hurt. You know what I mean.”

  “Your call, lady.” His hands were out flat, fanning sideways. “Whatever you say. Okay, so we’re at the airport. The guy reaches in his jacket—”

  She hadn’t meant for him to go back that far.

  “I’m waiting,” he said. “What happened next?”

  She might as well go for it. He said he hadn’t seen what went down anyway. “The little guy got shot.”

  “Good God! Really?”

  “Yeah, we just barely got out of there in time, would have been held up by the cops as witnesses the rest of the day. We decided to let some other citizens do their civic duty.”

  “In time for what?”

  “To make lunch at Galatoire’s.” Then Sam was laughing, remembering herself and Kitty hightailing it, heads down in the taxi.

  “Some re
porter you are.”

  “I was on vacation. I didn’t have time.” Then she caught the look on his face, the sly smile. Uh-oh, he knew something she didn’t.

  “Well, Ms. Bigtime,” he was saying, “for your information, the blond guy didn’t get shot.”

  “No? Did you see it?” she wasn’t giving in that easily.

  “Not exactly. Chéri was talking about it at the Pelican.”

  “And—?”

  He told her: What sounded like a car backfiring was a car backfiring. The little guy fainted. Then Chéri and Joey waited for the ambulance.

  Then he said, “That was how they got to the killing part, I mean, the joking-about-killing part in the Pelican—talking about that incident and the ambulance. Chéri said something about the ambulance driver being a black woman.”

  “Was it G.T.? G. T. Johnson?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. A real piece of work, G.T. You know her?”

  “Her great-grandmother Ida works for the Lees. Or used to work for them; she’s as old as Ma Elise, has been with her forever. Mostly the two old ladies just hang out together. Kitty says they shoot pool. Anyway, what did they say about G.T.?”

  “Jimbo was complaining about her. It seems as though G.T. is his next-door neighbor over on General Taylor.”

  “That’s her name.”

  “What?”

  “That’s G.T.’s name, General Taylor.”

  “She’s named General Taylor and she lives on General Taylor?” Harry asked.

  “Listen. It’s your city. I’m just visiting.”

  “Anyway. Jimbo was pissed off because G.T. had stepped in when he was beating up on his wife.”

  “I like him a whole lot already. He sounds like my kind of guy.”

  “You know—” Harry stopped and stared off.

  “What?”

  “When I was waiting for Chéri at the airport, when you were waiting for Kitty, there was this blonde wearing a necklace that spelled out her name. You know what I mean?”

  “Tacky gold necklace with the big letters.”

  “Right, T-e-r-i. I can see it clear as day, which is the name of Jimbo’s wife, that’s what he said, and this blonde I saw had a baby and a shiner.”

  “And?”

  “Well, that could have been Jimbo’s wife running away. You know, I think I put it together when I heard him talk about her in the bar, and then it just fell out of my mind.”

  “Harry, we’ve lost our way here. We’re way off track. What difference would it make if it was his wife?”

  “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but wouldn’t that be weird?” He couldn’t seem to let the thought go.

  “It would be a coincidence. I’m very big on coincidences. That’s why I’m such a good reporter. Things just fall in my lap. But let’s go back here. You said this guy Jimbo was talking about killing G.T. Is that where we were?”

  Harry explained how Jimbo had said he was thinking of killing G.T. because she kept butting in when he was beating up his wife and somebody, Maynard, he thought, no, maybe it was Jimbo again, said to throw Chéri in, too, kill Chéri too. Make it a two-for-one deal.

  “Why Chéri?”

  “Because she’d pissed Maynard off, hocking him about his hating Church and being captain of Comus but not having the guts to stop Zoe from being queen. Then Calvin threw Church into it too. Said they’d kill all three.”

  “Who would?”

  “Well.” Harry scratched his head. “Nobody, exactly. It was all bull anyway. At least it sounded theoretical. You know, drunks talking, being stupid. Macho. But I can tell you this. The conversation made Maynard awfully nervous. He was squirming, saying they ought not to be talking like that. But the other guys, Calvin and Jimbo, they were just pulling his chain. Fat Uptown lawyer, you know, he was fair game.”

  Sam was thinking. She pointed a finger. “You know, G.T. was at the accident when Church was killed.”

  “She was? You mean she was driving the ambulance that picked Church up? I don’t know, maybe the name of the service was in the police report, I didn’t notice.”

  “Wait.” She closed her eyes, thinking. “Yes, she did eventually drive Church to the hospital. His body. He was DOA.”

  “I know that.”

  “Okay, but she was already there. She happened on the scene just as it went down.”

  “Like a—coincidence.”

  “Yes, but I—well, I never got a chance to talk with her about it. Except we both saw the driver’s face—the mask, rather. We both gave statements, but I had to get back to Atlanta. They certainly didn’t need a houseguest in the middle of the funeral and all—anyway, the point is she was there. In fact, the Buick hit the ambulance too. At least once. Maybe twice. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Is it possible?”

  “You mean that this was supposed to be a two-for-one, kill Church, then G.T.?”

  “Well?”

  “How’d he get them both to the same place at the same time, by ESP?”

  “Arranged it.”

  “He made a date with them? He said, Church, no matter how drunk you are, you be on the corner of St. Charles and First Street at quarter of three, Ash Wednesday morning, and G.T., you be there too. That’s your theory?”

  “Or maybe Church just got in the way. G.T. was really the target, but the driver missed. You know, Harry, you’re never gonna amount to spit if you don’t learn to consider all the possibilities.”

  “Amount to spit? Spit?”

  “Shhhh. People are staring.”

  Actually, he was even cuter when he was mad, sort of like a kid with a busted train. And he’d be even madder if she told him that.

  “So exactly where does this line of thinking lead us, Miz Adams?”

  She spread her hands as if she’d delivered him a fait accompli.

  “To Maynard, that’s what you’re saying?” Harry asked.

  “To Maynard or Jimbo. Or Calvin.”

  “Not Calvin. No way.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s not the type.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Just trust me. I’ll humor you with Maynard or Jimbo, but forget Calvin.”

  “Humor me?”

  “Humor you. As a guest, on foreign territory. I’ll give you the benefit of my considerable doubt. Now, do you want to go grab a bite at Galatoire’s?”

  “It’s only eleven-thirty. I just had breakfast.”

  “Forget I ever mentioned it. Now, would it interest you to spend a few minutes speculating about motivation here?”

  “We know Maynard’s motivation. He had a hate-on for Church for about a zillion years.”

  “I’ll grant you that. Now, what about Jimbo?”

  “I don’t know about Jimbo. Maybe Maynard paid him. That’s why we’ve got to talk with him.”

  “Okay. Now, as I, in my poor, benighted way understand it—”

  “You’re leaning on that awfully hard.”

  “—we need to talk with a bunch of people. Madeline, Church’s ex-wife, who might have suddenly decided after all these years to kill him. Cole Leander, whom Church blinded, who’s pressing the malpractice suit. Maynard Dupree, of course. Jimbo King—”

  “Yes, even if it was drunk talk. And I want to talk with G.T.”

  “You don’t suspect her?!”

  “No, of course not. But she was at the crime scene, her ambulance did get hit, and Jimbo had been talking about killing her. But I’m leaning real heavily toward Maynard right now, because their thing goes back so far.”

  “I can see that. You want to talk with anybody around him? His wife?”

  “Maybe. Who’s she?”

  “Marietta Duchamps Dupree. Former Comus queen.”

  “Of course she is. Why didn’t I think of that? Yeah, probably. How do you feel about it being Maynard?”

  “Seems most likely. Him or Cole Leander. But we’ve got ourselves quite a list here of people to interview. Anybody else leaps to mind we ought to check o
ut? Chéri? Joey the Horse? The little blond dude trying to cross the street at the airport? Joey’s driver? Teri?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Just because I wanted to explore all the possibilities. God, and I thought I was going home tonight.”

  Harry grinned. “Looks like you’re gonna be here for a while.”

  Sam ignored that. “Though, you know, if Jimbo makes any sense in this—like maybe Maynard hired Jimbo to do his dirty work—Teri just might know something—”

  “Right. And what about Zoe?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s her supplier, if we take that angle.” She checked her notebook. “You know somebody named Billy Jack?” Then to herself: “I wonder if that’s really his last name.”

  “Billy Jack? Doesn’t mean a thing. Any idea where we can find him?”

  “Zoe said he’s a waiter at Patrissy’s on Royal.”

  “Good. Anything else related to the family? What about Ma Elise or Kitty?”

  “Nooo…. Though I don’t think either of them’s telling me anywhere near the truth about what happened between Church and Madeline. I think Kitty would have leveled with me if there were anyone trying to get at her for some reason through Church. And let’s don’t forget what I told you Kitty said about Church’s seeing someone, someone he kept secret. I want to know who that is. And Ma Elise? I can’t imagine. Zoe? We’ve got Billy Jack. Oh! They were telling me this story about Church getting mugged.”

  “When?”

  “Back in the fall sometime. Zoe said the beginning of the deb season.”

  “That’s six months ago.” Harry sounded skeptical.

  “That long ago. You’re right, it’s probably nothing. Zoe said Church got a burst of testosterone, outran the mugger, who came up empty. Didn’t even get his wallet.”

  “Too bad Church couldn’t outrun a Buick.”

  Sam gave him a look.

  “I know. Bad joke.” He pushed back from the table. “Okay, so where do you want to start? There’s a lot of talking to be done here. You want to split it up?” Of course, he wanted to hang out with her. He was hoping she’d say no.

  “Sure. I don’t want to start with Maynard, though.”

  “Fine, I’ll take him.”

  “No way. Maynard’s mine.”

  “Did I miss something? Didn’t you just say—”

  “I meant, I want to work up to him. I want to know more before I go barging in on the most likely suspect.”