Imogene in New Orleans (22 page)

Rogers flinched and then buttoned the top button on his coat. “I think that’ll do for now. Just let the officers finish the paperwork.” He took one step forward and opened the door.

Jackson said, “We know where to find you if we think of anything.”

“I’ll get a patrol officer to cruise past the hotel more than usual.” He jangled the keys in his pocket.

“I’m sure you will.” Jackson motioned for the lieutenant to leave. Rogers disappeared, and the boys had to complete an official report of the break-in. It was another twenty minutes before the uniformed officers left and the boys could speak freely.

“Not that it’ll help, but I do have a plan, Billy. You and I are going to catch Rogers with all the figurines.” Jackson picked up a shirt from the floor, folded it and put it in his suitcase. “We know he has them, but we’re going to prove it.”

“Why didn’t you just grab them while he was here?” Billy sorted the contents of his satchel, which had been tossed during the scuffle.

“Do you think I really could have wrestled Rogers to get the figurines out of his pocket? He would have arrested us for sure.” Jackson picked up another shirt and folded it. “No. I want to get more than those few pieces he took today. I’m talking about all the ones that have disappeared from Glenway’s studio. We’re going after the whole haul. And maybe…just maybe we’ll find out Rogers killed Glenway himself.”

“Really? A cop?”

“Really.”

* * * * *

On their way to Neil’s house, they stopped at the pharmacy so Billy could get replacement batteries for the blood-pressure monitor. Jackson didn’t fuss about the delay, because he knew it would be useless. As they exited the parking lot and headed uptown toward Neil’s house, they noticed an old Cadillac Seville rumbling down the street. An elderly African-American woman was driving the car and an elderly Caucasian woman sat in the front seat, wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat and a pair of shades. She and the driver were laughing hysterically about something. The woman in the passenger seat took pictures as the Cadillac rolled past the boys.

“Is that Mama?” Billy asked, halfway finished installing the new batteries.

“I think it is, but I can’t turn around. I’m hemmed in by two cars on each side and one behind me.” Jackson swerved as he craned his neck.

“What are they doing heading for the French Quarter?” Billy turned around to see the car fading down the street. “Oh, I will ship her back to Alabama as soon as I see her.” He jammed the last battery in the back of the monitor.

“Calm down. Let’s go see what Neil says about everything.” Jackson stared at Billy as his face turned from pink to red to crimson. He pressed the button on his monitor and after it finished the reading, he did it again and again. He fidgeted in his medical satchel in between vital sign checks. He threw things out into the floorboard, fastened and unfastened his seat belt, mumbled to himself, and told his partner how to become a more effective driver.

By the time they arrived at the house, Billy had worked himself into something of a state. He popped out of the car with more than a little oomph and walked straight to Neil, who sat with Allen on the porch, enjoying sundown. He stamped his foot near the herb garden.

“What on earth were you thinking letting my mother leave here with Lena? I thought you said you were watching her for the afternoon? We just passed them driving through the Business District toward the French Quarter.”

“Billy, what’s the matter with you?” Neil asked, standing up.

“What’s the matter? Our friend Glenway’s been killed. Jackson chased a hustler and then got beaten by an old man that you know, and now Mother’s in a car with one of the suspects in Glenway’s murder. What’s the matter, you ask?.” Billy sputtered for a moment before gaining words again. “Everything’s the matter. There’s too many secrets and shady dealings here, including what you two have done.”

Jackson grabbed Billy by the arm, mouthing an apology to Neil and Allen, who stood on the porch with their eyes wide as silver dollars. Jackson put his arm around his partner and walked him into the house. Billy swung his arms, fighting all the way to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Jackson hurried his partner into the back room behind the pantry. Billy collapsed on the bed.

“Mercy.” Jackson rubbed his face, trying to think of a way to smooth things over with Allen and Neil. “Listen. You can’t be accusing our closest friends of the murder, not even if you believe it.” Jackson picked Billy’s short legs up and put them on the cool bedspread. “You just lie down for a minute while I go try to explain.” Billy nodded in defeat. He looked like he could cry. The sides of his mouth were crumpled up. “I know you’re worried, but Imogene can take care of herself.”

“Yeah, just barely.” Billy let Jackson kiss his forehead before leaving.

Jackson turned the light off and gently closed the door. He headed for the front and met Neil in the foyer. Neil looked piqued, standing there combing his mustache and tapping his foot on the hardwood floor.

“Let’s go outside and leave him alone for a minute. He didn’t mean what he said.” Jackson led Neil to the lawn chairs on the front porch and took a seat. “It’s been a rough day. We’ve lost Imogene once—well, twice if you include passing her just now in Lena’s Cadillac. I think that’s what set him off. Plus, I followed your friend Thurston, who was being chased by Hill, the hotel manager. I ended up speaking with him at his place on Royal Street. When Billy returned to our hotel room, he found it had been ransacked. We were robbed.”

“Oh…oh. I’m so sorry, Jackson,” Allen said, sitting up in his chair.

“What do you mean, you were robbed?” Neil asked.

Jackson told the guys what happened. Allen’s face turned from a tense mash of whiskers and frowns to a more relaxed look. “I understand why Billy’s upset. I’d be upset too.” Allen stroked his beard.

Jackson didn’t want to throw a cannonball in the suddenly calm waters that were Allen and Neil, but he couldn’t
not
mention Rogers and the figurines. He tried to slip the occurrence in, the way Billy sometimes slipped a nerve pill to Imogene when she wasn’t paying attention. “And then Rogers attacked me. I imagine he was attempting to arrest me, but I felt one of Glenway’s carved figurines in his pocket, the ones I took from Buddy’s house…But anyway, Neil, how do you know Thurston?”

Neil jerked to the front of his chair. “What did you say?”

“I asked how you know Thurston.”

“No, not that, dammit. The bit about Rogers.” Neil grabbed his cap.

Jackson lowered his voice and said, “I think Rogers took the figurines from our room. I think he’s the one who ransacked it. Either him or his subordinates. But either way, he ended up with them. I know he had one in his pocket. I felt it and he realized that I recognized the shape and size. I think that’s why he let us go.”

“Son of a bitch. That’s why he was carrying that duffle bag to the crime scene and that’s why he refused to help Glenway with the thefts this summer.”

Allen put his arm on Neil’s shoulder, apparently trying to keep him from exploding. It didn’t work. Neil’s mouth convulsed as he spoke. “He could have killed Glenway, for all we know.”

Jackson considered the possibility. “It may turn out that the person who stole the pieces also killed Glenway.”

“Of course. By shutting up Glenway, Rogers could easily make a quarter million dollars from that art. Allen tried to get Glenway to hire a detective, but he wouldn’t do it. He did what he wanted to do and now look at him.” Neil hit the armrest on the lawn chair. The sun was going down over the park across the street from their house. “I’m calling my friend on the city council.” Neil picked his phone up, and Jackson grabbed it from him.

“Not yet. Let’s not give the lieutenant any reason to think we suspect him of more than theft. Maybe we can figure out a way to use his theft to our advantage.”

* * * * *

The minute Imogene returned to Neil’s house in Lena’s Cadillac, Billy screamed at her in front of everyone. “You can’t go running off like that, Mama.”

Without giving her a chance to say anything, the boys hauled her from the porch in a whirl. They all piled into the car and drove off.

On the way to the hotel, she pouted. “Y’all are wrong to mistreat Mama like this. And in front of Neil and ’em. I ain’t done nothing but tried to help the Gilbert boy.”

After they put the room in order, Imogene went to bed mad, pulling the fluffy covers in her Chez Hill bed so tightly that she looked like a mummy. She didn’t ask what had happened and wouldn’t touch the room service food Jackson ordered. She mumbled a lot when the boys explained that they were taking her to the Louis Armstrong second line parade in the morning. Not even the mention of Lena’s attendance would get her to look at them or her food. She went to sleep early while the boys watched television and fed Goose some very fine pieces of grilled chicken. Her early bedtime didn’t faze the bull one bit. Through every morsel, he remained unconcerned.

After they finished eating, Jackson watched Billy pace the room, peek out the heavy curtains on the French doors, and then return to the peephole at the hotel door. “Billy, please take a nerve pill. The doctor prescribed them for times like these.”

Obviously, Imogene running off and the thought of blackmailing the lieutenant had put Billy into a state. Stress pinched his face and he twitched when he sat on the edge of the bed. In just a moment he jumped up and paced again.

“Will you quit worrying? If you don’t settle down, you’ll wake your mother.” Jackson fetched a glass of cold water and the pill bottle. He talked Billy into taking the pill and then tucked him into bed.

It was a good thing Billy went to sleep, because Jackson woke up at 1:45 a.m., hearing what sounded like the door handle jangling. Wondering if someone was trying to break in again, Jackson hurried out of bed and peered out the window. All he saw was Lena’s Cadillac rumbling down Toulouse Street, away from the hotel entrance. He looked over at Imogene’s bed. A pillow stuck out from the sheets, where Imogene’s head should have been. He walked over and saw that she had bunched up the comforter in the shape of a body.

Goose and Billy snored on, and Jackson saw no reason to wake them yet. Hearing more noise at the door, he tiptoed over and looked through the peephole. Imogene stood in the hallway, struggling to put her plastic card into the electronic lock.

Jackson opened the door and spoke in a harsh whisper. “Where have you been, woman? It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning.”

“Shut your mouth, son. Y’all don’t listen to Maw-Maw McGregor, but you ain’t the only ones in this city. I got people.” She scooted past him. He saw Glenway’s journal protruding from the top of her purse. She clutched her camera, holding it the way a running back holds a football, high and tight against her chest. He grabbed at the camera, but she went straight to the bathroom and closed the door. Jackson waited. Once he knocked softly, but she wouldn’t open up. In the night stillness he heard the crinkle of paper from inside the bathroom, then he heard the distinct whirr of the camera turning on and her trying to operate it by pressing several buttons.

She mumbled, “This cockeyed contraption.”

Jackson said, “What are you doing? Let me help you.” She didn’t answer the question or the six more he posed. He finally tired of the standoff. He crawled in bed beside Billy, thankful that his partner slept through it all, and waited there, ready at any moment to see her emerge.

Twenty-One

The first thing Jackson did upon opening his sleepy eyes was to sit up and look at Imogene, who lay in the other bed snoring, as if she had the cleanest conscience since Job. He snuck past her to the wall between her bed and the bathroom. He saw her suitcase zipped up in the small space beside the bed. He crept toward it and reached inside to pull out her purse. She flinched under the covers and he jumped back. He froze, completely still against the wall. She didn’t wake fully, so he removed the camera from her purse, which she had been clutching so fiercely when she reentered the hotel in the middle of the night.

He tried to put all her stuff back the way he found it and then tiptoed over to brew a cup of coffee. When it was ready, he walked quietly toward the French doors, opening and closing them without anyone else stirring. He sat on the balcony, scrolling through the pictures she’d taken. “Are you kidding me?” He saw pictures of a dimly lit establishment and men dancing in their silk briefs, their glistening beach bodies on display. “Imogene Deal McGregor…”

Jackson could tell his mother-in-law wasn’t as interested in taking pictures of the dancers but rather the people watching the dancers. He saw a guy in a mesh hat standing at the opposite end of a long bar. In one picture the man was clutching dollar bills and in another he was drinking beer from a tall cup. “Catfish,” Jackson said to himself.

Imogene had also taken pictures of the second floor, the mezzanine, and the familiar faces of Buddy and Thurston, who leaned over the ledge and peered down at the dancers. The second floor was divided into two sections. The best seats were on the right side of a partition in a darkened room, directly above the performers. He couldn’t see any of the faces on that side, even though Imogene had tried to take a picture of the area. He held the camera to his face as the early-morning sun beamed down on him. He heard the French doors open, and he crammed the camera in his pocket just as Billy and Goose stepped out onto the balcony.

“What are you doing?” Billy wiped his eyes, and Goose barreled out to give Jackson a morning sniff.

Jackson took a sip from his coffee cup and said, “Admiring these courtyards.” He looked over into the enclosed space across the street. Dew hung on the ferns, sparkling in the morning sun.

“Mama said someone’s stolen her belongings. She’s up and on a tear. I reminded her about the room being ransacked, but she’s not listening.” Billy sat down just as Imogene hobbled through the door to the balcony.

“Boys, have y’all been goin’ through my thangs?”

“How could we, Mama? We’ve been asleep.”

Jackson met her angry glare. She studied him as if he’d just slapped her and run away. He glanced down and saw the strap to her camera dangling beside his leg. He jammed the strap in his pocket, but too late. When he looked back up, he realized she had seen it, too.