Imogene in New Orleans (21 page)

Jackson couldn’t believe his eyes. He walked closer to the painting that depicted a field of sugarcane with dozens of people working at the harvest. The men in the wagon- obviously meant to be the overseers- were Neil and Allen. Glenway hadn’t even disguised his friends. He’d only put them in nineteenth-century clothes. Allen was pictured chewing a piece of sugarcane while sitting on the back of the old wooden wagon, his beard just as wild as in real life. Neil had been placed beside the wagon, one hand touching his mustache and the other raised as if directing the workers. “I’ve never seen this picture. Not ever. That makes me wonder how long you’ve been friends with Neil and Allen.”

“I know of them, Jackson, but I don’t know them, per se.” Thurston fidgeted with his hands.

“That’s what you said about Buddy and Glenway, but that was a lie. You were shaking Neil’s hand just a while ago and…” Jackson let the sentence trail off when he saw a pile of the postcards of Buddy as Bacchus on a nearby table. He flipped them from the table, scattering them on the hardwood floor. “And Buddy told me you were chummy with—”

“You should go,” Thurston said.

“I’m not leaving until you’ve told the truth, Thurston. What were you doing on the night Glenway Gilbert was killed?” Jackson walked over and towered over the ottoman and the man.

“I was…I was at the ballet.” Thurston leaned back, pressing his legs against the base of the ottoman.

“Did you see Glenway there?”

“Of course I saw Glenway there. He was usually there a couple nights a week.”

“What time did you see him on Thursday?” Jackson squeezed the handle on the cane.

“I don’t know. It must have been around midnight.” Thurston looked tired and irritable, rolling his eyes at Jackson, just as Imogene did to Billy when she needed to take her medicine and didn’t want to.

Jackson didn’t care. “Was Buddy with Glenway? How about Neil and Allen?”

“Not Buddy. But I do seem to remember Allen.” Thurston turned his head toward the tapestry.

“Are you sure? This is important.” Jackson looked at the man’s sleepy eyes.

“I don’t know. My memory’s failing.” He stared at the wall.

“That’s a bunch of rot. Your mouth’s failing, not your memory. I need to know if Allen attended the ballet the night of the murder.”

Thurston sighed, looked around, then back at Jackson. “Okay. You want to know about me and Glenway? We were lovers long ago, when I was a prettier man.” Thurston traced the lines on his face and then patted his scabby legs.

Jackson shivered. He didn’t know what caused the scabs, but he knew he didn’t want to touch them. “Thank you for your honesty. Now answer my other question. Did you see Allen on Thursday night or not?”

“Yes, I’m certain I saw Allen at the ballet that night.”

“Why are you certain of it now when moments ago you were unsure?”

Thurston sat up straight in his chair. His face became flushed. “Because I don’t like your question or your accusatory tone, Jackson Miller. I did see Allen the night Glenway died. I spoke to him briefly, and I saw him on the mezzanine overlooking the dancers.”

Jackson’s phone rang. “Shoot.” He glanced at the screen. “What did you talk about that night? Was there any reason Allen came alone?” His phone rang two more times. “Hold on, Thurston.”

He answered it. “Billy? Hey…What do you mean, the room’s been destroyed...? Oh… broken into. They’re gone? Are you sure? You checked the safe…The door was open. I see. Yes, I’m fine. I’m with Thurston, at his place on Royal Street, two blocks down from Glenway’s studio.” Jackson glared at Thurston, whose ears perked up at the conversation. He leaned forward. “Wait there. I’m on my way back.” Jackson stood up to leave. When he got to the heavy door, he turned around and tossed the cane at the old man. “Whatever you’re hiding, Thurston, I will figure it out. Don’t think for a minute that we’ve finished our conversation.” He headed outside, leaving the door to Thurston’s apartment open, and before he reached the stairwell, he heard Thurston bolt it shut.

Twenty

“I told you not to leave them here, Jackson.” Billy threw his hands in the air. He walked around the mattress, which leaned against their bed, creating a sort of tepee. Suitcases had been overturned, clothes were everywhere, and Billy’s backup blood-pressure cuff had been tossed into the corner on Goose’s pallet. Billy picked it up. “The figurines are gone, and the worst part is that someone knows you took them. Or worse yet, they’ll think I took them.”

“You were supposed to be keeping guard, Billy.” Jackson surveyed the damage.

“Yeah, I was ‘keeping guard.’” He jammed the device’s battery cover in place. “I stayed there at the pool waiting and I never saw Hill again. And when my feet turned to prunes and the cocktail party started out there, I came back up…with Goose.” Goose looked at Jackson, as if he, too, had some accusations of neglect. “Where were you this whole time?”

“I told you. I went to Thurston’s place. He lives near Glenway’s studio.” Jackson watched Billy adjust the mattress, then fall on the bed in a pile of Imogene’s clothes. Billy flipped his hair with his hand and scowled.

“I’m sick of this. Sick of it, Jackson. I wish you’d stop playing Hercule Poirot and let the police do their job. It’s not your business.” Billy wrapped the blood pressure cuff on his arm and battened it down.

“The police aren’t doing anything, Billy. I just want to know what happened to our friend. It’s been more than twenty-four hours since we found him, and the likelihood of us catching the killer decreases with each moment. Don’t you want to know who did it?” Jackson cleared off the shoes, clothes, and toiletries from Imogene’s bed and sat down.

“Of course I want to know. But I don’t want to be caught in the middle with these creeps. Look at us. Look at what happened. And Mother is with Lena and Neil, two people who had every reason in the world to kill Glenway Gilbert. And you…you’re off chasing shady characters…people you don’t know.” Billy ripped the Velcro and readjusted the cuff on his arm. He grunted. “Why are you rubbing the back of your head?”

Jackson stopped massaging the place he’d been struck. “Thurston snuck up behind me and whacked me.”

“That’s exactly my point. If you don’t cool it, you’re gonna get whacked for good. Come here and let me see it.” Billy began a full-scale nursing evaluation. “You need to take that ice bucket and fill it up.” Jackson did as he was told, and when he returned, Billy removed the cold compress from his satchel.

There was a knock at the door. Jackson jumped up to look through the peephole and then ran back to the bed. Billy stopped unscrewing the lid on the compress.

Jackson said, “Oh, man. It’s Rogers. Did you call the police?”

“Of course I called the police. We were robbed, Jackson.” Billy threw the compress at Jackson.

“But he chased me uptown and downtown this morning, Billy. You—”

“Open the damn door. I hear you in there, Detective Miller.”

Jackson felt an icy chill run over his skin. It made the compress he held feel tepid. He dashed for the balcony doors, which caused Goose to bark violently. Goose’s ears were pinned back in a defensive stance, clearly upset at the commotion. “Shh, Goose. Cool it….Billy, I’ll be out here until the lieutenant leaves. Try to act like nothing’s happened.”

Billy’s face was pale. He tucked the blood-pressure cuff under his arm and walked slowly toward the door like he was about to visit the gallows. Jackson waved him onward and then hurried onto the balcony, pulling back the curtain just enough to see into the room. He closed the French doors just as Billy let in Lieutenant Rogers.

Rogers stormed inside with his hand on his revolver. “Where’s Jackson Miller? And what did you do in here?” He surveyed the mess. “Y’all are a magnet for trouble.” He straightened his starched collar. Two officers crept in and stood beside the entrance.

Billy glanced at the balcony. “We didn’t do anything, Lieutenant. Someone ransacked the room. Jackson’s…not here.”

The hulking officer crossed his arms and belted a question. “Where were you during the robbery.”

Billy zipped up his satchel with force and swung it over his shoulder. “We were at the pool. You can ask your hotel pal Hill, the manager. He saw us there.”

Rogers put his hands on his hips, peering at the corners of the room, as if searching for Jackson. “What did the burglars take? Looks like they left you something to wear, at least.” He pointed at the clothes thrown everywhere.

“I don’t think they took anything, Lieutenant.” Billy opened his mother’s medicine dispenser and counted the pills. Goose sauntered over to the French doors to check on Jackson. Jackson waved him away, but Goose stood there sniffing the air, apparently trying to comprehend the situation. Billy saw the dog and moved between the door to the balcony and Rogers. “Why are you here? You seem to always show up when there’s trouble.”

“You’re the one who called the police, Billy McGregor. And it’s my job to stop trouble in this city.” Rogers stepped over a suitcase and came closer to Billy. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s out with a friend.”

“Ah, I see...She and the praline woman are getting along fine.” Rogers studied his interviewee.

Jackson could hear the conversation from the balcony. The curtains still swayed from his slamming the door and Goose pushed one to the side. Jackson made eye contact with his dog, who stuck his lower teeth out further.

Billy clutched his satchel so tightly that Jackson saw his knuckles going white. “How come you know so much about us and what we’ve been doing?”

“I make it my business to know.” Rogers snapped his fingers, and the accompanying two officers took a few steps farther into the room. One of them handed the lieutenant a sheet of paper. “I heard Jackson Miller’s voice in here a moment ago. Where did you say he is?”

“I…I didn’t.” Billy stammered.

Rogers turned and looked at the French doors.

Jackson stepped out of the line of sight, and breathed deeply. Hopefully, Rogers had not seen him. Suddenly, he heard a loud commotion inside. Billy yelled, Goose barked, and Rogers yanked open the balcony door. Jackson saw the meaty arm reach outside and before he could stop it, the lieutenant grabbed him by the collar.

“Hey, wait, what—”

“Shut up, Detective Miller. You didn’t think I’d forget about our little chase today did you? I’m sick of your antics.”

Rogers was not gentle. Jackson felt like a Mardi Gras feather boa being tossed about in the wind as he was whisked from the balcony. “Let me go, you meathead.” Jackson’s feet scraped the ground and then crashed against the table. Goose was in the midst of a wild set of canine screeches. He was poised for battle, aiming his snout at the lieutenant, who twisted Jackson like putty.

Billy stormed toward Lieutenant Rogers and tried to pry Jackson loose, but Rogers would not let go. Billy pushed harder and all three of them crashed to the floor.

Jackson landed on Rogers and Billy amid the splintered legs of the table. Jackson felt the vibration of Goose’s barks. He tried to put his hands on the floor to push himself upright, and accidentally brushed a heavy lump in Rogers’ coat pocket. He patted it again and felt the outline of something familiar. Could it be?

Rogers pushed Jackson’s hand away from his pocket. His nostrils flared as he shoved both Jackson and Billy off of him.

Jackson grabbed for the object again. “That’s a figurine in your pocket, Rogers.”

Billy wiggled on his side, struggling to get free. “What did you say, Jackson?”

The two officers accompanying Rogers grabbed Jackson and Billy.

Jackson swung around, fighting against the cop in order to face the lieutenant. “I said, I think Rogers here knows what was taken from our room, Billy. Look at his pocket there.”

Rogers jerked the bottom of his blazer to straighten it and took a deep breath that made his broad chest look even more like a barrel. He straightened his back. “Nonsense. I’m here to help find out what happened in this room.”

“Sure you are. A regular hero, you are, Rog.”

Rogers started shifting clothes around the room and suitcases, suddenly having a great deal of interest in their personal effects.

Jackson mouthed the word “listen” to Billy, and then he started following Rogers’s shifty movements, hoping to see the outline of the pieces. “Rogers, have you done anything on Glenway Gilbert’s case, besides arresting my friend Neil, chasing me around the city, and taking certain things from our hotel room?”

“I didn’t take anything from you.”

Jackson and Rogers had a momentary stare-down, then one of the officers asked if he should arrest both the boys for assault. Rogers hesitated and then turned to his subordinates. “No, it was a misunderstanding. Just take their statements.” Rogers nodded at the men in uniform.

Jackson wished there was a way he could check the lieutenant’s pockets. “Glenway was a celebrity. What else could you possibly be doing that would supersede this investigation?” Jackson paused a moment then added,, “At least you could tell us the exact time of Glenway’s death. Was it Thursday night or Friday morning?”

Rogers crept toward the bathroom. “We know he died that night.”

“No kidding. Bar patrons saw him around midnight at the ballet. He even left a message on Neil’s voice mail that afternoon, canceling their usual dinner plans.” Jackson looked at his partner.

“Yeah, well.” Rogers spoke over his shoulder. He walked past the clothes hangers near the front door.

“That’s it? That’s all you have? Billy, my partner here, is a nurse, and he believes Glenway stopped breathing sometime between midnight and three a.m.”

“That’s right. Coroner believes Gilbert died between one a.m. and three a.m. on Friday.”

“Thanks Lieutenant, seeing as how it’s a day and a half later. No telling how long it’ll take to know what killed him, much less who.”

Rogers tilted his head. “Your partner there was close. A little too close. What time did you say you arrived in New Orleans?”

“We’ve been over this, Rogers. We didn’t get here until Friday afternoon, apparently more than twelve hours after Glenway died.”