“Because she offed a rich guy, stupid,” Evangeline said as she walked into the kitchen.
“Now, Vangie, hush,” scolded Dora. “Louise didn’t off anyone. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Dora turned to me. “When police questioned people, someone said they saw her having a drink with the rich man on New Year’s Eve.”
“Mother was drinking with Mr. Hearne?”
“Was that his name?” asked Dora.
“Yeah,” said Evangeline. “Forrest Hearne.”
“Ooh, now that’s a sexy name. Was he somethin’ to look at?” said Dora.
“Picture in the paper looked all that. Said he was an architect and rich,” reported Evangeline.
“Now, why didn’t he come to the maison de joie to see the queen of green?” said Dora. “If he did, he wouldn’t be dead.”
“Dora, stop,” I said.
“Oh, sugar, I’m sorry. I’m just sayin’ that you shouldn’t worry yourself. After all, the police are questioning everybody now, aren’t they?” Dora raised her eyebrows slightly. Her sister, Darleen, had seen me in the police station.
“I guess.” I nodded.
She nodded back. “I’d be more concerned that Cincinnati might be comin’ back with her,” said Dora.
“Well, Louise is gonna have to stay up in the attic,” said Evangeline. “That room is mine now. I finally got the stink out.”
I got up to find Willie. Evangeline grabbed my arm at the door.
“Stay away from John Lockwell,” she whispered. An asterisk of spit shot through her teeth and onto my chest. She stared at the bubble of saliva. “Oh, look.” She grinned. “It’s raining.”
? ? ?
I knocked on Willie’s door.
“You shouldn’t be here” was the reply.
I walked in anyway. Willie sat fully dressed for the evening in her traditional black. Her hair was pulled up higher than normal, anchored with two diamond-encrusted fleur-de-lis combs. The black book sat open in front of her on the desk.
“I’m getting as bad as Charlie,” she said over her shoulder. “Last week I wrote down that Silver Dollar Sam likes Seven and Seven.” She made a correction. “It’s Pete the Hat that likes Seven and Seven.”
Willie’s black book was a card catalog. She listed each customer with a code name, what girl they liked, service preference, even what they drank and what card game they played. Silver Dollar Sam was really a car salesman named Sidney. But he had a tattoo of a silver dollar on his back. There was just enough information in the book for Willie to use it as an insurance policy. If anyone gave her trouble, she had a visit record she’d offer to share with his wife or mother. Before the action started each night, Willie would examine the list of any advance reservations. She’d make sure to remember their favorites while making it all seem natural and unrehearsed.
Willie appeared completely calm about the news of Mother. She always said she could make tea in a tornado. Her ease relaxed me.
I picked up a tube of Hazel Bishop lipstick from her bed and blotted some color onto my lips and cheeks. “So, what do we do?” I asked.
Willie turned a page in the book. “We’ve already discussed this. You won’t speak to anyone. You stayed in on New Year’s Eve. You saw nothing. You and your mother are estranged. When she gets back, you’ll go out to Shady Grove. You’ll be out of town for a while.”
“By myself?”
“What, you want Cincinnati to go with you?”
“No, but won’t it look strange if I’m suddenly out of town?”
“Oh, are you so important that everyone will notice? You said the police already asked you questions and you answered them. All the locals know your mother, and they know better than to mess with me and mention your name. No one will say anything.”
“But who will clean the house in the mornings?”
“What, Cinderella, you’re gonna miss your scrub brush?”
I leaned against the post on Willie’s bed. “No, I’m going to miss you, my wicked stepmother.”
Willie put down her pen and turned in her chair. “How do you know I’m not your fairy godmother?”
We stared at each other. I looked at Willie, dressed in all black, with chianti lips and eyes that would send a snake slithering back into its hole. I suddenly burst out laughing.
“Okay,” I said. “You’re the wicked stepmother with the fairy godmother heart.”
“I’d rather be like you,” said Willie. “Cinderella with the stepmother heart.”
Ouch. Was she joking? She acted like she considered it a compliment.
She turned back to her book. “Cokie will take you out to Shady Grove.”
“He’s just going to leave me out there, Willie?”
“You won’t need a car. You can walk to the grocer if you need to use a phone.”
“But what if something happens?”
“Salt the peanuts. I’m not worried. You’re a good shot. I’ll tell Ray and Frieda to watch the road for cars. You know they’re wide-eyed at night. Now, unless you want some old lech to pull the petals off your daisy, you better get out of here.”
I walked out to the street just as Cokie was dropping off a customer.
“I’d drive you, Josie girl, but I got to pick up a group of conventioneers and bring ’em over.”
“That’s okay, Coke. Did you hear I’m taking a trip?”
“Sure did. Willie don’t want you around for your momma to drag you into nothin’. She goin’ tell your momma that you’re in Slidell, helpin’ Mr. Charlie.” Cokie scratched at the back of his scalp. “Jo, I gotta ask you. How did you know that one of the wheels was off this thing? From day one, you were pushin’ me about the coroner’s report. Did you know somethin’ ’bout that Tennessee man and your momma?”
“No, I just . . . liked him. He came into the shop. He was so kind and treated me with respect. He inspired me, Coke. I don’t know many men like that.”
Cokie nodded. “Well, looks like we’ll be breakin’ in that thermos on our trip to Shady Grove.”
He drove off to pick up the conventioneers. I started the walk back to the shop, thinking about the watch. I had to get rid of it. I could throw it in a trash bin. I could take it out to Shady Grove and hide it. A car passed me. I heard the brakes hiss and the transmission shift into reverse. The shiny Lincoln Continental backed up and stopped in front of me.
“So did you get into Smith yet?” John Lockwell flicked his cigar ash out the window.
“I’m waiting to hear.”
“Still don’t know what that letter said.”
“It was very complimentary . . . and well written,” I assured him.
“I hope it mentioned your martinis.”
“No, but it mentioned my auto repair connections.”
“Running like a timepiece now. Would you like a ride? Charlotte would consider me a horrible uncle if I didn’t pick up her friend. Come have a drink with me. I have a private apartment in the Quarter now. More discreet.”
“No, thanks. I have plans.”
Lockwell smiled. “Maybe some other time.” He pointed his finger at me. “There’s something about you, Josephine. And I like the lipstick.”
He pulled away. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
THIRTY-SIX
I sat on my bed with the cigar box in my lap. I looked at Mr. Hearne’s check. Would his wife notice that it hadn’t cleared? If I put it through now, the cops might notice the transaction and come asking questions. I looked at his signature, confident, elegant. My mind traced back to Mother in the Meal-a-Minit, pulling the wad of cash out of her purse, bragging about going to Antoine’s for dinner. They were certainly a pair. Cincinnati in a dead man’s suit, Mother in a dead man’s wallet.