Death by the Riverside (28 page)

“Can I leave now?”

“No, I’ll have Hutch come and move you. That’s my cup.”

“They’re all your cups.”

“I always drink my coffee out of that one.”

I got up, dumped out the coffee I had just poured myself, then washed and dried the cup. I filled it with coffee and sat it in front of Ranson. She already had another cup of coffee in front of her.

I sat back down, turning my chair so I couldn’t see her.

“Don’t sulk,” she reprimanded me. “I’m not in the mood for your shit this morning.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean it. No more shit.”

Both Ranson and I were raw and angry this morning. I wanted something, anything, to break the tension too much to avoid the fight that was brewing.

I got up, left the kitchen, and found my Scotch bottle. I sat on the couch and started drinking again. If I couldn’t drink coffee, I might as well drink whiskey.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ranson demanded from the kitchen door.

“I’m real good at retaining shit when I’m drunk.”

“It’s seven o’clock in the morning, for God’s sake. Will you ever grow up?”

“Leave me the fuck alone. You sound like my Aunt Greta.”

“Give me the bottle,” she demanded, coming over to me and holding out her hand for it.

I looked at her. There was about an inch left in the bottle.

I downed it. Then I handed the bottle to Ranson.

Her anger was palpable, but she said nothing. She took the bottle without a word and went back into the kitchen. I heard her throw it across the room, glass shattering and hitting the floor.

She didn’t speak the whole time she was getting dressed.

“Joanne, I’m sorry,” I said as she was about to leave.

“No, you’re not,” she replied, slamming the door on her way out.

“Fuck yourself,” I said to the closed door.

I sat staring at it a long time after she was gone, wondering what the hell to do next. A cloud of failure seemed to be hovering over me. I hadn’t saved Barbara, or Frankie, or Ben. Or my father. Maybe that was why Ben killed himself; he couldn’t stand the ghosts anymore, their constant companionship. And if I kept messing up with my friends, I would soon be left with only the company of my ghosts. I got a glimpse of how Ben could have put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

I stood up, somewhat unsteadily. The Scotch was affecting me.

I cleaned up the glass from the broken bottle. I cut myself doing it, because I was drunk. I swept the floor over and over again to make sure I got all the glass. Then I scrubbed it several times to make sure no whiskey smell remained.

I spent the rest of the morning cleaning the whole apartment, including changing the paper on the kitchen shelves and defrosting the freezer. In the afternoon I washed and sanded her back porch steps. She had wanted them painted, had even bought the paint for the project, but had never gotten around to it. I had heard her mention to Alex that she liked the dark blue, but the light blue would go better with the apartment. Alex had suggested compromising and using both colors, making a design. Ranson had laughed, saying she couldn’t draw a straight line, let alone a design.

Well, I could. My dad had put a paint brush in my hand when I was five and had me out there helping paint the boats. I painted the risers light blue with the steps dark blue. By the time I had made sure I’d cleaned up everything, it was dark.

Hutch arrived and told me that he was going to baby-sit me because Danny had to go to Baton Rouge and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow or the next day.

I nodded and got my duffel bag. “Wait,” I said as we got to the door. “I have to leave a note for Ranson.” I went back to her kitchen and got a pad, trying desperately to think of something to say. “I’m sorry,” I wrote, “Someday I will grow up.”

Then I left, following Hutch out the door.

Chapter 23

Time passes like the evolution of the brain when you can’t do anything but wait and wait some more. Hutch and Millie are very nice people. Really. Some of my best friends are straight. But two days spent in someone else’s domestic bliss can be quite boring to someone of my temperament. By the second evening, I was getting quite restless.

Millie and I were watching television, mostly for lack of anything else to do. Hutch was reading the paper. When the phone rang, he answered it. He came back with a puzzled expression. “Ranson wants you moved to Slidell,” he said.

“My favorite place on the planet,” I commented. The women’s penitentiary was beginning to look better and better.

“But that wasn’t her on the phone,” he continued.

“Who would know I’m here?”

“No one besides us, I thought. But it was our boss on the phone.”

“Who’s her boss?”

“Lt. Raul Lafitte. He says Captain Renaud ordered it.”

“Does Renaud like jazz?” I asked.

“I think so. Why?”

“Something Frankie told me.” Hutch and I looked at each other. “I’m not going to Slidell.”

“Let me try to get hold of Ranson,” he said. He picked up the phone.

“Any chance your phone is bugged?” I asked.

“Shit.” He slammed the phone down.

“Something the matter?” Millie asked.

“They know I’m here now,” I said.

“They may know,” Hutch added.

“You willing to risk leaving me here?” I said, looking at Millie but talking to Hutch.

“No,” he answered. “You got any suggestions? I need to find Ranson, but it won’t be safe for you to come along.”

“She can stay here,” Millie interjected.

“No,” both Hutch and I said at the same time.

“I have an idea,” I continued. “Milo isn’t an equal opportunity employer. Only male goons need apply.”

“Yeah?” Hutch prompted.

“Drop me off at a women’s bar. Even Milo’s boys couldn’t get past the bouncers at some of them. Besides, it will be so much fun to watch Ranson, in the line of duty, come into a lesbian bar and get me.” Actually, it would gain me another hundred years on her shit list, but it was the safest place I could think of. I doubted she was very far out of the closet at work.

“Let’s go,” Hutch agreed.

I grabbed my jacket and we hurried out to his car.

“I think we’re being followed,” he said after several blocks.

“Can you lose them?”

“Maybe.” He gave me a little-boy-with-toys grin, then turned on the siren and put his flashing light on the roof. We took off.

After running two red lights and making three illegal left turns, he pulled over, turning off the light and siren. We watched the passing cars.

“I think we’ve lost them,” he said.

“Let’s hope so,” I agreed.

I gave him directions to my bar of choice, The Cunning Linguist. It used to get raided every few years, whenever someone figured out what the name really referred to. Rosie and Mae, two of the bouncers, were in my karate class. With their help, I had a chance against Milo’s goons.

Hutch dropped me off, watching while I entered.

Rosie was on duty. She waved me through. “It’s your birthday tomorrow,” she gave as the reason for not charging me cover.

“Sort of. Thanks, Rosie.” Not paying the cover meant that I could drink Scotch and not beer. Not too much, Mick, this could be a long night, I told myself.

The Cunning Linguist was the way I remembered it. Dark, smelling of beer, with sawdust on the floor and a fight about to break out at one of the pool tables. I nodded to a few acquaintances. Some woman I didn’t recognize smiled and waved at me. I had probably slept with her a few years back. Sometimes it’s hard to look at a woman’s face when you’re busy looking at her body.

I went to the bar and got a Johnny Walker. The fewer I had, the better the quality. I wandered around, sipping my drink, enjoying being surrounded by women. Who would I pick up if I could, I wondered. Maybe Ranson will show up and tell me she caught them and it’s okay for me to go home to my own bed, I thought as I appraised the women on the dance floor. Then I remembered that Ranson might not want to talk to me and that there was only one woman that I wanted to sleep with and it wasn’t likely that she would show up here tonight or any other night. At least Johnny Walker still made good Scotch.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite girl detective.”

“Nice to see you too, Karen,” I replied.

“You’ve cost me a lot of money. All I have now is my trust fund.”

“Shouldn’t have bounced that check on me. Evil deeds have a way of coming back to you.”

“It shouldn’t have bounced. The bank messed it up,” she lied.

“Aww, that’s a shame. All this trouble for nothing,” I commiserated. “Just view it as an act of generosity to the Confederate Daughters.”

“They didn’t get the estate.”

“Who did?”

“Cordelia. That bastard changed his will again. She got everything. House, money, the whole lot. And she’s the queerest one of us all.”

“I guess decency counts for something these days. When did he change his will?”

“Two weeks before he died. I was beginning to get back on his good side when he kicked off.”

“What’s Cordelia going to do with the plantation?” I asked. She was out of my league before, now she was way out.

“She could sell it and earn lots of money, but she’ll probably do something stupid like turn it into an orphanage or some charity dump.”

“Has she mentioned anything?” I didn’t really want to talk to Karen, but I did want to know about Cordelia, what was happening to her. I wasn’t sure she would call anytime soon and tell me.

“What are all these questions? I’m tired of questions. If I don’t get the money, I don’t want to talk about it. Like I told Mr. Korby this afternoon, since Cordelia’s healthy as an ox, the likelihood of my getting any of it in time to do me any good isn’t likely.”

“Mr. Korby?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, Alphonse Korby. He was a friend of Grandpa’s. He took me to lunch today. If I had gotten the plantation, I would have sold it to him. He really wants it, he seems to think that if he buys Holloway land he can get our social standing. I doubt that Cordelia will sell it to him.”

“But you inherit if something happens to her?”

“Harry and I. At least until she writes a new will, which she’ll probably do once she marries that jerk.”

Well, fancy that, Karen Holloway and I agreed on something.

She continued, “Why is everybody so interested in Cordelia and her will? Don’t you want to hear how much money you’ve cost me? How about a little compensation?”

“Who’s everybody?”

“Korby and some friends of his. Some cop who kept trying to pick me up. All during lunch. It really got pretty boring.”

“Some cop?” I asked.

“Yeah, Captain, somebody. Or was it Lieutenant? Maybe Sergeant. I never pay attention to stuff like that. He did most of the talking, since Korby was on the phone half the time.”

“On the phone?”

“Sure, he always has a phone around. What do you care?”

A lot. I cared a lot. “Who was he talking to? Did you catch any names?”

“No, I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Milo?” I persisted. “Any chance he mentioned that name?”

“Maybe,” Karen answered as she leaned in closer. “There was some M name. Oh, I know, that’s what Korby calls his pilot. For his private plane. But his lawyer was explaining the paperwork to me then.” Her hand brushed against my knee.

I was so busy trying to figure out Korby’s interest in all this, that it took me a while to catch on that Karen was propositioning me. But I wanted more information, so I had to play along for a while.

“What paperwork?”

“Just an agreement that if something happens to Cordelia that I’ll sell to Mr. Korby. He even paid me five thousand for it. Didn’t make sense to me, but he said he had developed quite an affection for One Hundred Oaks.” Now her knee was pressing against mine. “My car’s parked on the street out back.”

“Where…?” I started.

“Middle of the block,” she answered with a smile.

“Where’s Cordelia now? Do you know?”

“Out at the house sorting through all that old junk. What’s-his-name is out there with her. Korby wanted to know that, too. Why’s everybody so interested in Cordelia these days?”

“What did you tell him?”

“What I just told you. He seemed very anxious to get in touch with her.”

I’ll bet. I didn’t like this one bit. “You have to excuse me for a minute. I have a few phone calls to make,” I said, starting to make my exit.

“What about sex?” she inquired.

“I’ll tell you what, Karen, buy me ten drinks in the next hour and it’ll be a possibility.”

I quickly ducked into the crowd, hoping to be out of earshot when she caught my meaning. I got a couple of dollars’ worth of change from the bartender, then headed for the pay phone.

First I tried Ranson, but I got no answer at either her home or office. I decided not to leave a message. I didn’t know who might be listening in. Then I got a handful of change and called out to One Hundred Oaks Plantation. The phone rang. And rang. It might be Thoreau and Cordelia having adequate sex and not wanting to be disturbed. But it might not.

Where the hell was Hutch?

I called Alex Sayers hoping that Ranson was with her. I could be interrupting sex all over southeast Louisiana.

“No, Micky, I haven’t see or heard from her all day,” she answered in a sleepy voice. “Why, is something wrong?”

“A hunch. It’s probably nothing. I left something at her apartment,” I finished up, evading her questions. It suddenly occurred to me that Ranson could be in trouble. Alex didn’t need to start worrying until there was something to definitely worry about. “Go back to sleep, Alex. I’m sorry I woke you for nothing.”

“Okay, Micky. Good night. Oh, by the way, she liked the steps.” Alex hung up.

I wandered over to Rosie, looking out the small window that she sat next to, wondering for the hundredth time where the hell Hutch was.

Rosie and I chatted for a while, gossiping about karate—who had gotten what belt and who was sleeping with whom in class.

I saw Hutch pull up. About time.

If I hadn’t been watching, staring so intently out the window, I would have missed it. Hutch never got out of the car. A shadow passed between him and the street. When the shadow moved away, Hutch was slumped down in the seat. He could have been a drunk sleeping it off, save for that passing shadow.

“Call the police and an ambulance, now!” I ordered Rosie. She looked at me for a moment like I had just said I was from Mars. “That man,” I pointed to Hutch, “is hurt. He needs help. Now. Call,” I demanded.

The shadow was joined by some more shadows. They were coming down the street to the bar.

“And don’t open the door. Those are not nice men.” I pointed out the window at the silent shadows.

Rosie had already picked up the phone and was dialing 911. I slipped the bolt on the door, then moved back out of sight of the window. I couldn’t do anything for Hutch, except get myself killed, by going outside.

Where the hell is Ranson?
I thought angrily, moving farther back into the bar. Those men couldn’t go on a mad rampage, shooting everyone in the bar to get to me. I hoped. This was a raunchy lesbian bar. Who would miss a few dykes? And Ranson might have floated out to the Gulf by now. A wave of nausea swept over me.
Damn it, Joanne, don’t die before I get a chance to apologize to you. Cordelia.
Another wave of nausea hit me.
Where were you the night all your friends got killed, Micky? Hanging out in a bar, getting drunk.
No. No more ghosts.

Luck, bad, would cause me to bump back into Karen. She was sitting on a bar stool with one foot stuck out to intercept me.

“Actually, you were a pretty lousy fuck, Michele,” she said. “Worst one I can remember.”

Karen had a car. Not that she would lend it to me at this point.

“It’s true I never made your cunt turn green with envy,” I replied, “or at least food coloring, but I couldn’t have been your worst fuck. Not someone like you.” I got some small satisfaction out of her reaction. Half of her drink spilled down the front of her silk shirt.

“That bitch! She told you, didn’t she?” Karen sputtered as she got up. “Where the fuck is she?”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Cheryl?” Karen demanded imperiously of the bartender. The bartender pointed off somewhere in the direction of the dance floor. Karen shot off in search of Cheryl, muttering obscenities. She left her purse dangling on the back of the bar stool.

I casually leaned against the stool and asked the bartender for another drink. When she turned away to make it, my fingers were in Karen’s purse. It was one of those small fashionable ones and the keys were the largest item in it.

I got my drink, left a big tip, and headed for the back of the bar. I took one sip of the drink, then put it down. I didn’t need it.

I went into the bathroom. There was a small window over one of the stalls. There was a line of about three or four women waiting to use the toilet and a couple of hand washers. I didn’t have time to wait for it to clear out.

“Shit!” I exclaimed. “There’s a rat crawling across the ceiling! Two of them! One’s falling.” You would have to be butcher than butch to risk a rat in your hair. Both the stall doors flew open. I had found Cheryl for Karen. She jumped out, rabbit fashion with her pants down around her ankles. The bathroom cleared out quickly.

I jumped onto the toilet that Cheryl had just been using. Then put one foot on top of the tank. With a fairly long stretch and a jump, I got my other foot on the metal partition. From there I could reach the window. It was small and covered with metal grating, but latched, not locked. I pushed it open, hoping that the goon squad hadn’t thought to cover the back. I heaved myself through, then dropped down between trash cans in the alley. So far, so good. I scurried through the alley, keeping low. A siren wailed in the distance.
Get here in time for Hutch
, I told it.