Now Let's Talk of Graves (46 page)

“Not bad. And what were we going to eat?”

“Oysters, for starters.”

“Then—”

“Shrimp remoulade.”

“And—?”

“And then a bunch of other stuff, and after coffee I was going to waltz you into one of those hotels.”

Sam laughed. “I love it. Did you have some sort of line in mind—‘That was good grub; now let's go make love'?”

“I never quite worked it out that far till last night.” He reached over and gave her a big snuggle. She gave him one back. And then there was some other sweet silliness. Finally, he said, “Well, it worked, didn't it?”

“What worked?”

“We ended up here, didn't we, after the cops came, G.T. and Lavert threw Billy Jack in G.T.'s ambulance, drove him to the hospital lockup—”

“Boy, Ark was mad as hell Lavert pushed him out, so
he
could go with G.T., wasn't he?”

“Ark'll get over it. Then they booked Maynard—”

“You think that'll stick? Attempted murder?”

“Uptown lawyer against a redneck unemployed pipe-handler? Are you kidding? No way. Bet Maynard's already home having lunch.”

“You don't think he's out at the lake?”

“Now, why would he be there?”

“I thought he was the promoter behind Jimbo's flying lawn chair.”

“Well, he is, or was, but I don't expect what with one thing and another he's going to—on the other hand, you know, I bet you're right. What time is it?”

Sam felt around under the bed, came up with her watch. “Could this be right? One o'clock? I've got to call the airlines.”

“Do
what
?”

“Call about a flight. I've got to get home. Gotta get back to work at that damned paper.”

Harry switched on the TV behind him. “Not today.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“But it's the weekend.” He was reaching for any straw in the wind.

“Jesus!”

“That's right. Jesus, Easter, Easter Parade. We do all that this time of year.”

“No, no, look at that! I can't believe it.”

Harry turned around. No, he
couldn't
believe she'd go home just like that. They'd only gotten started. He stared blankly at the picture on the TV screen. Then slowly the images began to make sense. Or not.

That
looked like
Maynard Dupree in a white linen suit with a pale blue shirt and a gold watch chain, every inch the Southern politician, yelling “Up, up and awaaaay!”

Up stepped a woman, a redhead, could that be Chéri? It
was
Chéri in a tight white dress, or what there was of it was tight and white. She was cutting the last tether with a pair of silver scissors, and off flew Jimbo in his green-and-white striped lawn chair. The gray weather balloons bobbed like crazy. Jimbo let loose a rebel yell. The lawn chair soared out over the lake, headed out to the Gulf and the wild blue yonder.

“Who's that?” Sam asked, putting her finger on the screen.

“Holy shit, that's Joey! The one with his arm around Chéri?”

“And those little kids?”

“Must be Maynard's. Yep, that's Maynard's wife, all right.”

“Is that fat blonde with the screaming baby who I think it is?”

Harry squinted at the screen. “You bet. That's old Teri. Just one big happy family. Good God!”

Sam had seen enough. She stood, slipped on Harry's shirt, stepped out onto the balcony, and inspected the cloudless blue sky. “It's a beautiful day. A great day for flying.” Then she turned. “Too bad about the Lees, though, isn't it? No happy endings for them.”

Harry threw an arm around her waist. “I think Madeline will get in touch with Zoe. Things'll get better.”

“I hope so.”

“Don't you think you ought to stick around for at least a couple more days? Say good-bye to all of them? To Ma Elise? Stay at least through the weekend?”

“Go to Easter services at Sister Nadine's?” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Think she'll preach, her son in jail?”

“Prob'ly. Boy's gonna need a lot of praying. And you could hang out a little longer with Kitty. Roll some eggs around the lawn.”

Sam rumpled his curls, gave him a little push back through the balcony door, back toward the bed.

He gave her a wink, punched on a Preservation Hall tape. Allan Jaffe's tuba burped “Saints.”

He took her hands, pressed them to his chest. He had lots of curls there too.

“After a while we can go on over to Galatoire's, grab some late lunch,” he said. “Maybe see if Lavert and G.T. want to join us.”

“Thought lunch was supposed to be
before
.”

“Darlin', don't you know
order
don't make no never mind, not about some things. Not when you're having a good time.” He was waltzing her toward the bed, whistling the opening bars of “Lay, Lady, Lay.”