Imogene in New Orleans (33 page)

Thirty-One

“I tell you, I didn’t kill Glenway,” Thurston said, struggling to hobble away from Jackson. They stood beside the dipping pool in the Royal Street condo, surrounded by the green lushness in the courtyard and the sound of water flowing from a lion’s mouth. Thurston scooted over to some chairs in the shade.

“You made the arrangements for us to stay at Chez Hill so you could keep an eye on us. You knew we were friends with Glenway and you knew we would try to figure out who killed him. That we would make trouble for you and your cohorts. Everyone, including you, had something to gain from Glenway’s death. We just had to figure out who would be willing to kill.” Jackson felt Neil staring at him. Neil and Billy stood under some giant palm fronds. They were surrounded by the sandy brick of the 1830s building. Ivy grew toward the second and third floors.

Jackson glanced at the locked door leading into the courtyard. He felt paranoid, but he continued. “You told me you lived on a ‘government check,’ but judging from the looks of your apartment, you have a taste for fine things. And Glenway was your ticket to fine things. You must’ve known about his generosity to everyone. Here’s what we’re about to do. We’re going upstairs to get the rest of the figurines.” Jackson tugged at the old man’s floral shirt. “We’re standing two and a half blocks from Glenway’s studio. You had the motive, the means, the proximity, and the opportunity. You beat Glenway and then slipped home before anyone saw you.”

Thurston whipped his body around and grabbed the cane from Billy. “Okay. We can go to my apartment. You can search the entire premises. I did take that
one
figurine, because I found it today, but I didn’t take the rest.” He put both hands on the cane and stood up straight. “And this is not mine.” He raised the antique cane.

“You’re a liar. You walked out of the private booth at the ballet with that cane and you had it the day I first saw you in the park near Café du Monde.” Jackson moved closer to the man.

“Yes, you did see it. I use it there and everywhere, but it’s not mine. It was given to me Friday morning.” Thurston looked tired. He repositioned himself in his chair beside the pool. Cool water from the lion’s mouth splashed his shoes.

“Friday morning? The day after Glenway was killed?” Jackson looked at Billy, but Billy stared at Neil.

“That’s correct.” Thurston scratched his legs. “I’ll tell you whose it is.” He shifted his weight.

Just then they heard a loud banging at the locked doors to the courtyard. Jackson hurried over to see who was there. He got on his hands and knees and saw Goose’s four paws on the Royal Street entrance. “It’s Goose and Imogene.” He opened the gate. “And Lena. What are y’all doing?”

Imogene and Goose shuffled in first. Imogene hurried over to Thurston. “What are y’all doing with him?”

“He took the figurines from Glenway. We’re making him show us where they are,” Billy said, helping her to the wicker chairs.

“Aww, he ain’t done it, son. Shoot, y’all know that gruff lieutenant took them pieces belongin’ to the Gilbert boy.” She sat down beside Thurston and stretched out her legs, grimacing at the pain and stiffness.

“You haven’t taken your medicine, Mother.” Billy opened his satchel.

“Aww, devil my medicine. I ain’t studyin’ it.” Goose walked over to the pool and took a few gulps of water.

Jackson sighed. “Imogene, we know the lieutenant had an accomplice and Thurston fits the bill.”

“Shoot, I’m gonna tell you who fits the bill, son. It’s that cockeyed Thomas Hill. The ugly-actin’ hotel man. Just listen at Maw-Maw before you start hollerin’. You know Catfish, Lena’s boy, Leonard? He knows this fellar from the swamp who helps the hotel man sell them figures. A real shade-tree fellar, Catfish says. And he tells Catfish that Hill was huntin’ prices on the Gilbert boy’s stuff all summer. Said he called a dozen times just this week.” Imogene turned to Thurston. “Naw, this fellar here ain’t took ’em. If this is where he stays, well, y’all can go look, but they ain’t at his place, boys.”

Thurston’s eyes brightened. He patted Imogene on the shoulder, and she grabbed her hat, as if she didn’t want it to fall in the pool behind her. Goose splashed water on her as he enjoyed more of the cool refreshment.

“One thing I do agree with y’all on, is that the man who whooped the poor Gilbert boy is the same one that stole them figurines. And it’s the Hill fellar. I didn’t take to him from the minute I laid eyes on him. Me and Lena done some diggin’. That Hill fellar had the reason for the Gilbert boy to die.”

“What reason?” Jackson asked, crossing his arms.

“Hold tight and I’ll tell ya. Y’all know that place we stayed at was called Chez Hill. That irked me from the time I learnt it. ’Course, if it was up to Imogene Deal McGregor, she would’ve just named it Hill House ’stead of Chez anything. But no matter. Thomas Hill inherited that hotel from his people and you know what the devil done? Lost it. All of it. He spent ever’ dime of the money he had until he didn’t have a hat to wet in nor a window to throw it out of.”

Imogene looked at the boys. Billy asked her to tell him what she meant, but Lena interrupted. “Baby, what your mama is saying is that Thomas Hill bankrupted that place. He don’t own the hotel no more.”

Imogene shook her head and continued. “Exactly. She told it right. Maybe that’s why he walks around like he don’t wanna be there. ’Cause he’s gotta work at a place his people once owned.”

“Okay, that’s fine, Mother. Even if Hill is bankrupt, that doesn’t mean he killed Glenway.” Billy hurried to get her medicine together, as if her lack of pain pills was producing the wild theories.

“Just remember what Buddy, the fellar with the wolf tattoo and the fast feet, told to Jack. He said…what was the words he told, son?”

Jackson said, “Hill was obsessed with Glenway.”

“That’s it. He was sweet on the Gilbert boy in a bad way. More than sweet…crazy for him. Like he couldn’t live without him. And get this. That devil Hill moved over near the Gilbert boy three months back, didn’t he, Lena?” Imogene pointed to the papers in Lena’s hand.

Lena took up the story. “That sweet man who tends bar at Lafitte’s, the redheaded boy, he found where Hill fetches his mail. The house over in Algiers where he lives don’t belong to Hill. It belong to another who rents it out to Hill. Got his number right here. You call ya’self if you like. Hill sold his family place in Feb’uary to pay debts. He gotta rent now. He don’t own nothing. Here the records from the courthouse.” Lena handed the documents to Jackson.

“What’s your proof of murder, though?” Billy asked, his voice echoing in the courtyard

Imogene piped up: “We just told it to ya. I didn’t see him kill Glenway, but he done it, sure’s my name’s Imogene Deal McGregor.” She winked at Thurston.

“But what about the murder weapon?” Jackson said, walking toward Thurston, who rested a hand on the cane. “This here is the implement Thurston used to kill Glenway.”

Imogene scooted over to the man and perused it. “Yeah, that’s probably what killed him, but it don’t mean Thurston done it.”

“It doesn’t mean Hill did it either.” Jackson had his hands open.

Lena stepped forward. “Baby, y’all don’t listen to your mama enough. She tellin’ the truth. Now, listen at Lena Ward. One thing that’s true as swamp water in Louisiana is this. Glenway Gilbert got hisself killed, his thangs was stole, and we tryin’ to learn who done it. The only thing mattering is we find who done it. Not who got ev’rthing right.”

Imogene nodded. “I ain’t tryin’ to be right, sister, but I am right. Thomas Hill done it. He’s ‘Blue Moon’ and ‘TH’ all in one.”

Jackson’s mouth gaped open. “TH? Thomas Hill. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Imogene winked at Lena. “And that ain’t all. You see this cane here? Me and Lena can show you another hund’rd of these fancy sticks just like this ‘un. But we’ll have to go ’cross the river.””

Lena eased over to the pool, holding both hands out to stay upright. She whispered something in Imogene’s ear. Imogene nodded, and then said, “Yeah, yeah. Good thinkin’, sister. We’ll do it.” She turned to Jackson and Billy. “Boys, y’all follow us. We’re gonna take you to ’em.”

Imogene stood and led the way to the front, holding Goose’s red harness in one hand and Lena’s loose sleeve in the other. She was ten steps away from the Royal Street entrance when someone outside began pounding the doors like a jackhammer. She stopped and whispered, “Lord, God, sounds like a band of goats has got loose and are chargin’ us, boys. Jackson, go see who the devil it is.”

Jackson didn’t even have a chance. He heard a voice boom over the transom. “Hey. You in there. Thurston and all of you. Open this damn door.”

Another voice joined the thunderous lieutenant’s. “Uh, yoo-hoo, Canebrake. I know you’re there, holding something that belongs to me, and if you don’t open this gate at once, you’ll not see one hot cent from the proceeds.”

Jackson recognized the high-pitched, fussy tone of Thomas Hill. He turned to Thurston, who stood behind the group, looking the very picture of a pasty white apparition.

Imogene said, “Son, you so pale, if they chopped your head off, you wouldn’t bleed a drop.”

Thurston didn’t respond. He just tapped his foot on the mossy brick to get the others’ attention and motioned for them to follow. Jackson attempted to corral them away from the entrance and toward the back of the building, where Thurston pointed with the cane. There was so much movement and scurrying of feet that it sounded as if a shuffleboard convention had broken out in the courtyard. Jackson could barely hear Rogers and Hill telling them to stop. From outside the complex, the lieutenant and the hotel manager hammered against the locked entrance.

The group hurried straight through the expansive space with all its lush foliage. Jackson turned around to see if Rogers had made it into the courtyard. He saw a gun dangling between the metal bars above the door.

“I think that’s Hill’s Colt Peacemaker, the one he had stuffed in his pants the day he chased Thurston from the hotel.” Jackson told them to go.

Billy asked, “How do you know that’s Hill’s gun?”

“Because I’ve only seen guns like that in the movies and on Thomas Hill.”

Hill screamed, “Stop or I’ll shoot every last one of you cretins.”

“I told you. He’s probably on Rogers’s shoulders. That’s too high for him to reach even with a ladder.” Jackson pushed them toward the opposite end of the courtyard, hurrying them to the back exit. The last thing Jackson saw before stepping out through the back was Rogers’s meaty arms groping the top bars. The door shook. Rogers and Hill were about to get inside, and Jackson wasn’t going to be there to see it.

Thirty-Two

Lena led the charge to Algiers. Imogene and Goose sat up front in her Seville. In the other car, Billy rode shotgun with Neil, because Jackson wanted to speak with Thurston. “So, Hill doesn’t use canes, then, is that what you’re saying?”

Thurston wiped the sweat from his eyes. “He collects them. He likes the handcrafted ones. He goes to the antique stores and estate sales. He’s got collectors all over the state who help him. And like that wondrous woman Imogene McGregor told you moments ago, he’s got a black market dealer in the swamp.” Thurston rubbed his fingers over the antique in his hand. “This one’s made from a felled cypress found in the bayou.”

“Thomas Hill let you borrow it?” Jackson asked. He braced himself with one hand on the back of Billy’s seat as the car bumped along the road.

“He gave it to me. Made me take it, actually.” Thurston sighed. “I’m often weak…too weak to walk sometimes.” He paused and wiped his face. “Much less kill a man.”

“Shoot, you were sprinting a minute ago, man. Not only that, but you laid a pretty good lick on me last time I visited your condo.” Jackson rubbed his head. “I still have the bump.”

“I only did that because you were chasing me. But think about it. The blunt trauma Glenway suffered was inflicted by someone stronger than me.” He held out his frail arms for inspection.

“How did you know about the blunt trauma?” Jackson asked.

“I have friends.” Thurston glanced at Neil, who sped through the narrow streets of the Quarter, following Lena’s Seville.

Jackson looked at him suspiciously. “Did you know the hotel manager lived in Algiers, Thurston?”

Neil peered at Jackson through the rearview mirror.

“Of course I—”

Neil interrupted. “I never knew such characters lived over there. I’ve only attended parties across the river.”

“All sorts of people live in Algiers,” Thurston said, staring out the window.

“When’s the last time you saw your friend Buddy?” Jackson studied the lines on Thurston’s face.

“He’s not my friend, but I expect most of us have seen Buddy recently.” He raised one eye at Jackson. His furry eyebrow looked odd in such a position, as if he knew about Jackson’s afternoon with the hustler.

“Do you know where he lives, Thurston?”

“I know many things. And, yes, I do happen to know where Buddy lives, even though he thinks it’s a secret.” Thurston rubbed the fleur-de-lis pattern in the cane.

“Not Buddy. I’m talking about Hill. Thomas Hill,” Jackson said, gritting his teeth. Thurston nodded without making eye contact.

Neil had both hands on the steering wheel, trying to keep up with Lena, who zoomed across the bridge to Algiers. She turned at the first road on the left, where Jackson remembered seeing Buddy on his motorcycle. They accelerated toward his house. Jackson felt his heart beating.

When they got to the street where the hustler lived, Lena turned. They followed the curve in the street until it merged into another. Thurston pointed at a nondescript home nearly hidden from the road. The yard and the driveway were surrounded by trees. “This is it.”

They watched Lena pull in front of the secluded house. “We’re close to Buddy’s…and Glenway’s.” Jackson scanned the neighborhood.

“Indeed we are.” Thurston struggled to scoot out of the car. Billy saw him and helped.

He hobbled up to the front steps toward an enormous flowerpot.

Lena rolled down her window. Imogene nearly smothered the woman trying to stick her head out the same window. “Boys, the key’s on the back side of that big ol’ pot with them yella flowers.”