Imogene in New Orleans (8 page)

She tried for the tall latch but couldn’t grasp it. The heavy curtains on the doors shook as Imogene stretched against it, so Jackson helped. As he reached over her head, he got a closer look at the mysterious leather book, but she saw him and stuffed it back in the bottom of her purse. He unlocked the door anyway, and she hurried out with Goose.

“Boys, this is fine livin’ here.” The balcony ran the length of the hotel above Toulouse Street. Two other rooms shared the space. Below, the valets popped their heads out from the covered parking area. Imogene looked to her right. Cars streamed by on Rampart Street a few blocks away. Below the balcony, Toulouse Street ran one way toward the Mississippi River. Jackson looked over her head into one of those famous New Orleans courtyards, full of lush foliage, mossy brick, secrets, and wonder.

Imogene found a patio chair and settled into it. Goose scooted beside her, readying himself for one of the morsels in her pocket. She dropped one to him and then rummaged through her purse. Jackson saw her glance to one side and then the other. She carefully removed Glenway’s book, opened it, and began studying. Jackson pushed back the curtain to relay her actions to Billy. “Hey, your mother’s hiding a leather book in that purse.”

Billy had the pillow over his face. He pulled it down. “What do you mean?”

“Your mother’s flipping through a leather-bound notebook, which I think she picked up at Glenway’s studio. Surely it’s not hers.”

“No. She’s not much for keeping a diary.” Billy stretched. “Come over here and rest a minute on the bed.”

Jackson was more focused on Imogene, though. “I want to see what it is. Why don’t you come out here with me? The sun’s going down and there’s nothing like a sunset in New Orleans. They say every woman looks beautiful by candlelight, and I say every city looks beautiful by sunset. This one’s glorious.” He couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as he swung the doors open, Imogene flinched, sitting straight up in the iron chair. She thrust the journal in her lap. “What are you doing, Imogene?”

She glanced down Toulouse Street and started petting Goose. “Aww, nothing, shug. What you doin’?”

“What do you have there?” She tried to return the item to her purse. “This? Just some book. Nothing, really. Got scribbles and such in it.”

“You mind if I have a look, then?” He held out his hand.

Imogene glared at it. “What you want it for?” She shot a look inside, as if she figured Billy had put him up to the takeaway. “I found it at the Gilbert boy’s place, and I was just havin’ a look-see.”

Jackson grabbed it from her lap.

“Hey, that ain’t right, son.” She frowned. “You and Billy won’t let me live for nothing.”

“Is this what you took from Glenway’s, Maw? Underneath his desk?” She crossed her arms. Jackson peeled back the pages. He recognized the handwriting from the calendar. “This is definitely Glenway’s journal.” Jackson sat down in the other patio chair. “Did you see these names in here? It looks like he was describing people, maybe for his paintings. See here: Buddy, rough, wolf tattoo, muscles. Good for Bacchus. Unmannered. Works street for money. ‘Dating’ ad in the back of the paper.”

Jackson flipped a few pages, going through the notes and sketches of Glenway’s Bacchus painting. Glenway had sketched an arm by itself on one page and the wolf outline on another. Jackson dog-eared the entry with Buddy and moved backward. Next he found “Blue Moon,” “Canebrake,” “Catfish,” “TH,” and “Pirate.”

There were several pages dedicated to “Pirate.” Jackson saw some sketches of an old vessel, a ship crashing through waves in a rough sea. “What do you think this means?”

“You got me, son. Me and Lena was perplexed ourselves.” Imogene watched as a man on a bicycle rode past on the street below. She patted down her gray hair.

“You showed this book to Lena?” Jackson leaned over to see what she was looking at.

“Of course, honey. She’s from New Orleans, and I figured she’d know more about them names and folks the Gilbert boy knew. More than us anyhow.” She dropped a treat in Goose’s mouth. “Seems to me them names there is boys that Glenway was sweet on. Lena thinks so too, but she don’t recognize a one of ’em.” She put her hand over her lips, as if to stop her mouth from saying something.

Jackson carefully watched her. “Or Lena just
said
she didn’t recognize any of these men.” He rubbed his scruffy chin.

Imogene grimaced, but she continued looking at the road below. She pointed at a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and using a cane to keep his balance on the sidewalk. He had a completely bald head.

“Lord, he ain’t got a hair between him and God.” She slapped her leg, apparently amused with herself. Jackson ran inside, grabbed three bottles of soda from the cooler and a notebook of his own and returned to the porch. He left the door open and made Billy follow.

Billy said, “I just called Allen. Neil made him contact the friend from the city council. Said he would be out of jail in the next few hours.”

Imogene’s face lit up. “I hope he comes over. That sweet Neil told me he had some treasures from them parades.” She took a big swallow of root beer. “Son, come out here and let Jack tell you about the boys Glenway’s sweet on. Got a whole list of ’em in that book there.”

Billy took the journal. Jackson told him to read aloud from the pages he’d dog-eared. “All right, then, you ready?” Billy waited for Jackson to get situated with his notebook. “Let’s see. There’s Buddy. That’s the Bacchus guy from the postcard, right?”

Jackson nodded and motioned for him to turn the pages. “There’s ‘Blue Moon’… ‘Canebrake’…’Catfish’…umm, ‘TH,’…” and that looks like it. So why are you writing these down? They probably don’t mean a thing.”

Jackson glanced up from his scribbling. “They may mean everything, my turtledove. Neil’s in jail and Glenway’s dead. I have a bad feeling about that Lieutenant Rogers, not only because he got to the studio so quickly but because he brought a canvas bag, which he dumped immediately. If Rogers has any say, Neil may stay in jail longer than he has to, and that journal could be our best start to finding out what happened to poor Glenway. Know what I mean?”

Billy shrugged.

Imogene said, “You missed one, son. Didn’t he, Jackson? There’s a fellar in there named ‘Pirate.’ I know ’cause we was just discussin’ him. The Gilbert boy drew a picture of a boat in that book near his name.” Imogene held her hand out so she could see the book again.

“Hmm. I don’t see it.” Billy flipped through the pages.

Imogene grabbed the book and immediately flipped to the page of the entry.

“There it is. ‘Pirate.’ He don’t seem like a type that Maw-Maw McGregor would take to. Naw, I like them sweet folks with good hearts. Now your daddy, Virgil,
he
woulda loved meetin’ a pirate. He was a mess, boys, and I miss him. He told many a tale of visitin’ New Orleans, especially when he was in the service.” She gazed out into the purple air of the city. It was that magical gloaming, the time between dusk and darkness, when the last light of the orange sky turned the rooftops a deep shade of red and made each moment feel meaningful. “Boys, this here’s a pretty city, ain’t it? Rough, though. There’s scoundrels in these Quarters, sure as my name’s Imogene Deal McGregor.” She took another pull from her root beer.

“I feel for that poor Gilbert boy, gettin’ beat like a varmint. It ain’t right.” She shook her head and then looked at the boys. “I guarantee you there’s trouble afoot in these parts when night comes. And I do believe we’ve found us a handful of devils in that book.”

Seven

Billy said he didn’t sleep a wink. He said he kept seeing Glenway dead with the dried blood on his head. Jackson wiped his eyes and removed the list of persons of interest from the nightstand. “I went to sleep thinking about Glenway and those names from his book.”

“Shoot, boys, I slept like a fat baby. Like Goose sleeps. Him’s a fat baby, and Maw-Maw loves him.” Goose greeted her as she came out of the bathroom with the shower steam filling the hotel room. She wore a matching set of pants and shirt with seersucker blue stripes. She put her Marilyn Monroe shades in her purse and grabbed her sun hat.

She and the boys walked out on the balcony and greeted the morning sun as it beamed toward the river. “Whoo-wee. Gonna be a scorcher, boys.” She slid her chair against the wall to get some shade. It was nine thirty on a Saturday morning in New Orleans, and they watched the leisurely pace of it below.

They had the balcony to themselves, so Jackson got to walk from one end to the other without hindrance. After pacing for a few moments, he sat down and studied the list. “Let’s see…Buddy, Blue Moon, Canebrake, Catfish, TH, and Pirate.”

The boys had returned the book to its rightful thief. Imogene was flipping through the pages. She came to the part on Catfish. “Boys, I love to fish. You know me and Virgil, we used to go fishin’ all the time. Matter of fact, we’d take whole vacations down at the river. We’d sleep wherever we pleased. On the riverbanks, picnic tables, tents we made ourself, and the car. We didn’t have nothing fancy like all this.”

She pulled her sun hat down on one side of her head because the sun had broken over the building next door and was hitting her squarely. “If Imogene Deal McGregor had her choosin’, she’d first figure on who this Catfish fellar is. The Gilbert boy liked ’em rough, according to Neil and Lena.”

“Mama, I don’t really want to discuss Glenway’s preferences with you.”

“You ain’t got to, son. Shoot. I’ve lived in this world a long time, and you can’t change what you like, even if you’d want to. And ’pparently, Glenway liked the rough trade. That’s all I’m sayin’. Catfish is a rough ’un, and we need to get after him.”

Billy shook his head. “We don’t know enough about him. Where do we start?”

“You just go and try, son. That’s all you can do. We got the daylight on us, and we all loved that Gilbert boy. We gotta hep him, even if it don’t seem right to do it on vacation. Lord, there’s one thing me and you got in common, son, and that’s seeing the poor boy lying there on his belly with his pretty red hair and his freckled face all dead to the world. We felt for him. At least I raised you to love people, Billy McGregor. You and me and Jack’ll figure out who wronged him, if God wills it and the creeks don’t rise.” She smacked the outside of the journal and Goose barked. He couldn’t stand any sudden noise, and he always sounded his growly alarm at the slightest notion of it. “Sorry, Gooey. Come here.”

Jackson walked to the far edge of the balcony, closest to the river, and he leaned over it. From that viewpoint, he could see the road that dissected Toulouse and the other entrance to the hotel, which he noticed for the first time. He watched for a minute until he saw the shadow of a hulking man coming down the road. The shadow outlined a beefy person with sharp lines and a purposeful walk. He waited as the footsteps became more distinct. Lieutenant Rogers emerged from under the balcony and approached the side entrance.

“Oh.” Jackson scooted away from the edge but kept one eye on Rogers as he disappeared into the hotel. He tiptoed back to the others, and Imogene leaped out of her chair, hurrying to see what had caused his reaction. He blocked her from reaching the far end of the balcony. “No, no. Get back. It’s the man who arrested Neil yesterday.” He made her turn around and return to her seat.

She peeked around Jackson’s shoulder. “Shoot, he ain’t gonna arrest me. I’ll outfox him, Jack.”

“Imogene, he’ll arrest you before you can blink. He didn’t give Neil a chance.” Jackson held his hands out.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have head-butted a big ol’ boy like that. Neil should’ve kept his wits, boys. You don’t strike a constable, no matter how much they fire you up.” She stood tall to peek around Jackson’s arm.

Billy had a furrowed brow. “Was it really Lieutenant Rogers?”

“Absolutely it was.”

Billy jumped up and swung open the door, insisting they return inside. He didn’t even consider his mother’s protests about staying on the balcony. In fact, her huffs and puffs fell on deaf ears.

Goose needed no convincing. He shuffled inside first, happy to return to the heavy carpeting and the cool corner where he had a bone and a pallet.

Jackson tried to get Imogene’s mind off the lieutenant’s presence. “Imogene, you took some great pictures. Would you hand me your camera? We need to get them printed. I think they’ll help us see things we didn’t see in the shock of finding Glenway yesterday.” Jackson held his hand out, and Imogene, after a bit of “hemming and hawing,” gave him the camera. Jackson fiddled with the camera, then looked over at her. “You took five hundred pictures.”

“Yes, indeed. Like I said, I’ll be a regular, ol’ arteest if I stay here long enough.” Her eyes brightened.

“Mother, you don’t have to take so many.” Billy sighed.

“Hey, boss man, did you and Jackson buy that camera for me or for y’all?” She eyed them. “That’s what I know. We ain’t gotta print ’em all. ’Sides, Allen said he already put ‘em on his computer. Speakin’ of Allen, I wonder if he’s picked up sweet Neil from jail yet.”

“Allen says Neil will be out soon.” Jackson concentrated on the list of suspects. Buddy’s name stuck out to him much more so than Catfish’s. “Why don’t we take a visit out to Algiers? We can let Imogene ride the ferry across the river. Plus, I don’t feel comfortable staying here right now with Rogers in the building.”

“What’s that lawman gonna do to us?” She removed her cell phone from her brassiere and asked her son for Allen’s number. Billy lay on the bed, trying to calm himself. Goose rested on his pallet and licked Billy’s hand, which rested on the floor as Glenway’s had in the studio when they found him.

“What’s wrong with you, son? Havin’ a spell?” Imogene limped over to him. “You need me to bring you something? A drank, a nerve tablet?” He had his face covered in a pillow, as if to block out the sounds from his partner and mother.

“Should I call the amb’lance?” He waved her off and she tottered back to her chair. “Hey, Jack, quit worryin’ over that piece of paper and go check on your partner.”

“He’s just having a panic attack, Imogene. I think he’s worried about the lieutenant being here in the building.” He and Imogene heard a muffled sound from underneath the pillow.