House of Blues (29 page)

"
Why are you making me do this?" Sugars
face turned ugly and liquid; her voice was harsh.

"
I'm sorry. I know its hard for you. But I think
if you mull it over, you'll understand why its important." She
couldn't see trying to explain something so obvious. "Is Nina
here?"

"Nina? What do you want Nina for?"

She stood up. "I'd like to talk to her. Excuse
me, will you?"

She found Nina in her own office. "How come
nobody told me about Evie?"

"
Evie?" Nina sounded hurt and puzzled.
"What does Evie have to do with anything?"

I guess thats my answer.
"She may. It turns out she may."

"Oh?" Her face was a mask of curiosity.

"Do you have any idea where she is?"

Nina shrugged. "No. I don't think shes been
heard from in a couple of years."

"Think back carefully to the last time you saw
her. I need to know anything you can remember—"

Sugar barged in, interrupting: "I remembered
something. She was born again—that must have meant she was a member
of a church."

She looked extremely pleased with herself.

"
Ah. Did she happen to say what church?"

"Why, no. She didn't."

Nina said, "Something with 'lamb' in it."

"
Good. Mrs. Hebert, does that ring any bells?"

Sugar looked disconcerted. She spoke to Nina: "She
told you that?"

"You mean the name of the church?" Nina
shrugged. "She hardly talked about anything else."

Sugar said, "I don't believe you."

Nina didn't speak. She sat impassively waiting for
more.

"If she'd talked to anyone, it would have been
me. I mean, I am the girl's mother."

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, she did tell me."
Her tone said:
This woman's going to drive me
crazy if I don't kill her first.

Skip said to Nina. "Do you remember anything at
all about the church? What denomination, for instance?"

"Not really. I have the impression it was
something kind of off-brand. I don't even know where it was."

"
You mean, whether it was in New Orleans or
somewhere else?"

"Uh-huh. I realize I don't even know."

And she was the one who knew the most.

Skip left, thinking it was a hell of a family she'd
gotten involved with.

Oh, well. Mine's no great shakes either.

Her dad hadn't spoken to her for nearly two years
after she told her family she was going on the job; her brother
Conrad sold her information in return for fixing his parking tickets
(actually she paid them herself); and her mother judged herself, her
husband, and every member of her family by what she thought other
people thought of them.

Naturally, since Skip didn't have a high-status job,
she was usually found wanting. On the other hand, whenever she got in
the paper over some case or other, she enjoyed a brief flurry of
maternal popularity.

But at least we don't
murder each other.

* * *

She went back to headquarters and looked in the phone
book. Dozens, probably hundreds of churches. She started scanning for
"lamb" names.

In the end she had a list of five. She could call
them, but a little background wouldn't hurt. She dialed the
Times-Picayune
and
asked for Eileen Moreland.

"Skippy Langdon. You must want something."
Moreland had the world-weary air of a reporter from Central Casting.

"You know me, Eileen. I'd never take advantage
of our friendship. "

"What friendship? You ask me for clips and I
give them to you. You make me promises and you don't deliver."

"Let me say the magic word. 'Arthur Hebert'."

"Arthur Hebert what?"

"I don't know yet. But something when the case
breaks. Something for your column. I'll take notes."

"Oh, sure. Just like always."

"Lunch, then."

"How about fixing my parking tickets?"

"
How about lunch?"

"
Oh, forget it. You'd probably stand me up. What
do you want anyway?"

"Clips on five churches."

Eileen sighed. "Shoot."

As it happened, there were clips on only one: Blood
of the Lamb Baptist, which was renowned for its fine Gospel choir.

Skip said, "Maybe you could introduce me to the
religion editor."

"Stanley? Oh, all right."

She could tell Eileen was done with her. One day she
really would have to give her a decent news tip.

There were a few seconds of silence, then some rings,
and finally a high male voice. "Detective Langdon, this is an
honor. How may I assist you?"

A godly man indeed. I wish more people thought it was
an honor.

She asked for a rundown on the five churches.

Three—including Blood of the Lamb—were
established neighborhood churches. The other two he knew nothing
about.

"
But I've got a hunch about Great Mount
Precious." (Full name: Great Mount Precious Lamb of God.) "Why
don't you check it out?"

"Check it out for what?"

"What are you looking for?"

"A recent convert. A born-again who may have
pretty much devoted her life to the group."

"
Oh. That kind of church. More or less a cult."

"
I'm not sure."

"Check out the Precious one. I don't think it's
what you want, but it might be something you never saw before. Maybe
they pray to St. Expedite." He chuckled delightedly. "I
know I do."

"I'm going over right now and light a candle to
him."

She hung up, thinking she would if she knew how. She
could use a little help of the sort he was said to supply. St.
Expedite, unknown to the Vatican, had arrived in New Orleans in a
box, some time long ago. That is, a statue in a saintly robe had, and
the box was stamped "Expedite." The polytheists who passed
for Catholics in New Orleans had clasped him joyously to their bosoms
and the statue stood big as life, even now, in a church on North
Rampart Street.

Having been brought up Episcopalian, Skip didn't
quite know how to pay homage to him. In lieu of a candle, she wrote
the word "expedite" over her list of lamb churches and
started phoning them.

The first three were the ones Stanley had known
about. At all three she talked with a nice machine that said its
owner would call back.

At Great Mount Precious she got another machine:
giving only the time of Sunday's service.

At the last one, Blood of the Lamb Divine Evangelical
Following, she talked to a woman who said she'd get back to her.

By the end of the day, calls had been returned and
she was singularly unimpressed, as Stanley had predicted, with the
first three. Nice church ladies had looked up records and said no
Evelyne Hebert had ever been a member, and furthermore, two out of
the three had said they'd have known her if she had. The third one
indicated that if Evelyne were white, she would probably have been
pretty conspicuous and might not have even been welcome.

All three could have been lying, but the last two
churches looked a great deal more promising.

She never did get anyone at Great Mount Precious.
That made it attractive, like ice cream on a diet.

And the church lady at Blood of the Lamb Divine
Evangelical Following hadn't been nice. That made her attractive.

Besides that, she wouldn't give out even the tiniest
bit of information, would only make Skip an appointment to see the
pastor—Sunday at three.

Skip went home feeling almost relaxed—it was Friday
and she was about to have a day off St. Expedite could take over for
the next twenty-four hours. When she had sworn to learn to meditate(a
task at which she'd been less than successful), she'd also tried her
hand at visualizing. That was easier. In fact, she could do it with
her eyes open and her mind on her driving. She tried it now, seeing
the gentle saint's foot come slowly back, disappear behind his robe,
then come forward quickly, displacing the robe, causing it to flip up
unabashedly—delivering a good swift kick to the butt of her
problem.

"
Steve? Oh, Steve, " she hollered,
unlocking the door. She wanted some kicks of her own—dinner and
some music, say. Or skip the music, maybe just a walk by the river.

No one answered. Maybe Steve was at the Big House.

Jimmy Dee answered the door. "Darling! Thank
God. I've been dying of boredom. Your bear took the kids and the
animal out for a romp. The quiet is piercing my eardrums."

"Shall I shriek and bark a little?"

"If I'd known you were into leashes, I'd have
gotten you one with rhinestones."

"How about getting me some lovely white wine?"

"Well, aren't we the libertine."

But he got it, and a glass for himself as well.

"Let's go in the front parlor, shall we? Geneese
never dusts it, but on the other hand the monsters never enter it—an
excellent trade—off in my opinion."

The curtains were drawn. It seemed almost gloomy, a
word she'd never associated with the Big House.

"It's deathly quiet."

Dee-Dee sighed. "How values change. I was
actually lonely, can you fathom it? You'd think I would have been
thrilled."

"Where's Layne?"

"
Damn that man-mountain of yours! He's ruined my
life."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Dee-Dee."

"
Well, he has. He brought that wretched animal
into the house, and the minute he did, my whole world disintegrated."

"Oh, no. You mean the allergy."

"Kenny adores the dog. He's a new child—a dry
child, I might add, if you take my meaning. Sheila adores the dog as
well. For once they agree on something. They're almost civil to each
other, they're so pathetically eager to feed the little thing and
take care of it, no doubt proving themselves worthy so nasty old
Uncle Jimmy doesn't send it back to the pound where I cordially wish
it had met its demise."

"
Dee-Dee!"

"
It's ruining my house! All my beautiful
renovations—gone. Chewed to rags and ribbons."

"
Well, they were just for the kids anyway."

"I am a homosexual, in case you haven't heard. I
need smothering, fussy decor, or I swoon."

Usually he only did the swish act when he thought
Skip was depressed. Today it had a different quality—she thought he
was avoiding something.

"
I have this weird feeling there's more."

"
You asked where Layne was?"

"
Oh, no. I don't think I can stand it."

"
Well, he hasn't dumped me yet. But he may—over
that precious little Angel."

"He's really, really allergic?"

"Yes. He has to take about four pills even to
come over here, and by then he's so loaded he falls asleep over
dinner. Do you know how rare it is to be allergic to a dog? Cats, no
surprises. But hardly anybody's allergic to dogs."

"
You'd think he'd have noticed it before."

"Oh, he's not allergic to dogs. Never been
allergic to dogs in his life. Only Angel."

"
The name stuck, I guess."

"I guess. Nobody's come up with anything else."

"Oh my God, if you haven't, you must be
depressed."

He grinned ever so slightly. "Well, Angel kind
of fits her."

"How serious is this Layne thing?"

"I guess it's too soon to tell. We've only had
the damn dog a couple of days. He's called an allergist, but he
hasn't seen her yet."

"That wasn't what I meant."

"Oh. You mean Layne and me. Do I ask you
personal questions?"

"
Now and then. Whenever the laryngitis clears
up."

"Remember that time I said you'd never seen me
in love? I warned you, didn't I? It's not a pretty sight."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. If it can't conquer
an allergy, it's not love."

"Well, listen to the expert. Miss
Give-Up-Your-Career-and-Come-to-Me-or-Else. "

Skip felt the blood come to her cheeks. "Go
ahead, Dee-Dee—bring up the stupidest thing I ever did in my life."

"You didn't do anything I'm not capable of. You
were afraid you'd lose him—it's a feeling with which I'm familiar."

"So I dumped him so he couldn't hurt me first."
Her face felt like a griddle. "Brilliant."

"Not to mention kind, understanding, and loyal."

She winced. "Dee-Dee, don't. The wound's too
fresh."

"I'm sorry, Tiny One. I forget you're only tough
on duty."