The 13th Fellow: A Mystery in Provence (28 page)

Then, somehow, they got sucked up into the maelstrom of people around her and Audrey was falling in love with the woman the Baroness said was her mama: “She calls herself Miz Clara, but you can probably call her ‘Miz’ for short.”

Angie was trading wisecracks with some black guy— good-looking dude, way too handsome for Eddie’s taste— who was probably the poet’s boyfriend or husband or something, and he was forced to talk to the damn woman herself.

“Tell me something, Miss, um… Miss…” He’d forgotten her name.

“Why don’t you call me ‘Your Grace’?”

“Uh, tell me something. Where’d you go to school?”

“Harvard. I told you that.” She was laughing at him.

“Oh, yeah, Xavier. Ya graduate?”

She nodded. “With honors.”

“Well, you talk like an educated lady. Why ya write ya poetry in ebonics— idn’t that what they call it?” He was proud of himself for remembering.

“You really want to know?”

Not really, he thought, but he had to talk about something. “It just seems like kind of a waste of education.”

“I do it because that’s how I hear it.”

He thought she’d say more, but she didn’t. Superior bitch. He truly hated her.

Chapter 3

Before it was over, Talba had managed to get him together with Miz Clara. The Baroness might be too much for him— she was pretty sure she was— but no one, at least no one like Eddie, could resist Miz Clara when she was in church-lady mode. She came to Talba’s readings dressed to uphold the family honor in the face of her daughter’s outlandish persona, and that meant pantyhose, heels, tight little dress with peplum, and Sunday-best, not-a-hair-out-of-place-wig-hat-on-her-head. She worked as a housecleaner, which she would probably work into the conversation, just because she liked to get it out there in case it was an issue, and Talba figured that could work to her advantage. It would show that she came from modest beginnings and therefore couldn’t be too threatening.

Talba had kept an ear cocked while she talked to Eddie’s very hip daughter— whom she liked a lot— and heard Miz Clara going on about how honored she was that Eddie had come to hear her humble daughter and even brought his exalted family. She might not actually have used those precise adjectives, but Talba thought there was something downright Japanese about the way she carried on about the honor he and his were heaping on her and hers by their luminescent presence. Her mother must really want her to get a job.

Her brother Corey already held one of the three positions Miz Clara deemed acceptable for her offspring, the other two being president and Speaker of the House. Corey was a doctor. Miz Clara hadn’t signed up for a poet.

Worse, she hated most of Talba’s poetry, because it revealed too much about the family. What she did like was the adulation it got her daughter, which Miz Clara felt reflected so well on her it actually was hers. And so, gradually, ever so gradually, she’d become willing for Talba not to go off to Palo Alto and become an Internet millionaire, so long as she did some kind of honest work. Evidently, she’d liked Audrey enough to make Eddie okay with her. And okay in Miz Clara’s book meant she was going to stay on Talba’s back— and maybe Eddie’s— till Eddie hired her.

That morning she had knocked on Talba’s door, and shouted, “Girl, who you think you are? Queen of the May?”

Talba smiled. “Come on in, Mama. I’m sorry you hate that poem so much.”

“Hmmmf. Describe you, all right. Got coffee made.”

Talba had stayed out late with Darryl after the reading— she found it took her hours to wind down from these things— and had slept much longer than usual, too long to join her mother for coffee, as usual.

When Miz Clara had left, and she had drunk her coffee and worked up her nerve, she took a breath and called Eddie. “Mr. Valentino? I just wanted to thank you again for coming to my reading. I was really very touched and just wanted to say…”

But he interrupted her. “Ya busy this morning? Why don’t ya come on in?”

For what? she thought. Am I hired? But she didn’t ask. What the hell, she wasn’t busy. She put on her one good suit.

Eileen Fisher looked up only briefly. “He said to send you right in.”

Talba thought he looked a little better this morning— maybe a little less tired. Probably a load off his shoulders, knowing he was about to get such a competent assistant.

“Ms. Wallis, ya got an investigator’s license?”

“License? Well, no, I thought if I worked for you… why? Do I need one?”

“To be an investigator ya do.”

Fool. She hadn’t checked that out.“What do I have to do to get one?”

“Ya gotta go to Delgado or UNO and take a course. Take ya coupla weekends. But you gotta wait till they give the class.”

“Oh.” She sat still for a moment, taking it in. Finally, she said, “Well. I’m in your office. There must be some reason for it.”

“I’m willing to take you on as an apprentice while ya get ya license.”

“I see.”

“And I was wonderin’. You’re so good with the computer— ya got a program for keeping books?”

“You want me to keep the books as well?”

He shrugged. “Not that much to do. It’s just a pain in the ass if ya don’t have the software.”

“You want me to do two jobs? Is that it?”

“Well, ya won’t be doing that much investigating— mostly just tagging around with me and learning. With your skills, the bookkeeping won’t take ya more than a few hours a month. I’d say it’s about three-quarters of a job, really.”

“Wait a minute. None of that’s my real job— what you really want’s a computer jockey, right?”

He leaned forward, getting aggressive on her. “That’s nothin’. That’s like a hobby for ya.”

She was considering flouncing out of the office when suddenly she noticed something she’d never seen in this man before. Somewhere between the lizardly hoods of his eyes and the purple luggage below was a glint of amusement. He was playing with her.

She reached for the file she’d withheld from him the day before, the one that held his financial report, setting it provocatively on his desk. “You’re right. Piece of cake for a hotshot like me. But you don’t know me— how come you’d trust me with the books?”

“I wouldn’t. I’m gonna micromanage ya until I’m sure ya’ve got the hang of it.”

“I mean, how do you know I’m honest?”

“Are you serious, young lady? You should never have introduced me to ya mama— you don’t do right, Miz Clara’ll be the first to know.”

If he was the laughing type, he’d be roaring at this point.

She concealed her irritation. “What kind of salary did you have in mind?”

“Tell me what ya lookin’ for.” He looked like a buzzard circling prey so helpless it already stank.

She said, “Oh, about eighty grand.”

He did a histrionic double take. “Grand is right, Your Majesty. We’re talkin’ grandiose.”

“Your Grace will do.” She gave him a full-wattage smile.

“I was thinking more like twenty-five.”

Good, she thought. Excellent. He was probably really thinking about seventeen.

She opened the folder. “Well, now, I’ve already given a little attention to your books.”

He snatched the folder out of her hands. “Where’d you get this?”

“Same place that high-priced service of yours gets it. You’ve got one, don’t you? You probably pay them twenty-five a year. I can save you that much just by doing your financial checks for you. So look— take that twenty-five and the twenty-five you just offered— I’ll do it for fifty.”

The amusement was gone now. He was starting to look dangerous. “You got some nerve, ya know that?”

Talba was wondering if she’d gone too far when a timid voice spoke behind her. “Mr. Valentino?”

“What is it, Eileen?” His voice was furious. Talba could see the woman wince, bracing for a temper that he probably didn’t bother controlling if he didn’t feel like it.

“I’ve got a call for Ms. Wallis.”

“Ms.… Ms.…” He seemed to be struggling to remember who the hell Ms. Wallis might be.

“May I take it here?” Talba asked coolly, and picked up the phone.

“Did I get you at a bad time?” It was Darryl.

“Couldn’t be worse. How’d you find me?”

“Took a chance. Listen, there’s no time to talk. I’m sending you a client. You got the job, I presume.”

For the benefit of Valentino, who was hanging on her every word, Talba said, “I see. You’re sending us a client.”

“Look, it’s a lady whose kid goes to another school. She just made a scene in the counselor’s office, and I thought of a brilliant way to get her out of here.”

“Uh-huh. What was that?”

“Suggested a hotshot P.I. Oh, shit, she’s yelling again. Listen, I’ve got to go.”

Talba set the receiver down, wondering what this was going to do to her negotiation. She decided not to go the apologetic route. Instead, she smiled and held out her hands. “Well. Looks like I’m a rainmaker.”

“You’re mighty damn big for ya britches, you know that?”

“Actually, I’m a little embarrassed about that— I didn’t solicit it; it just happened.”

“And how exactly would you define ‘it’?” he asked.

“A friend said he had a client for us. No details; no nothing.”

Valentino shook his head. “Well, I can’t pay you fifty thousand dollars.”

He damn sure could, she thought. She knew exactly what he was taking in. But she said, “Okay. Forty-five.”

Eileen Fisher appeared again. “Another call for Ms. Wallis.”

Again, Talba picked up. “This is Aziza Scott. Darryl Boucree called about me.”

“Yes, Mrs. Scott. He called, but he didn’t tell me what it was about.”

“I’m calling from the car. See you in ten.”

Valentino seemed hardly to notice the interruption. “Twenty-seven tops,” he said.

Tops, my ass, Talba thought, and tried not to think about what Darryl was sending them. She was starting to perspire, partly from fear, and partly from the realization that she was doing it, she was going to get what she wanted. “Forty plus benefits.”

“Of course benefits,” Eddie said. “Think I’m a piker? Twenty-seven and benefits.”

Several thousand dollars later, when they had finally shaken hands, a well-dressed woman arrived, nervously twisting the nice-sized diamond she wore. Talba breathed a sigh of relief— apparently, she was able to afford an apprentice hotshot.

Valentino was suddenly the perfect host. “Come in, come in, Mrs. Scott. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

The woman was tall, African-American, straight-haired, straight-nosed, and probably, if her clothes were any indication, straitlaced. She was dressed for the business world, and from the looks of her gray suit and gold jewelry, high up in it. Talba thought she looked like a bank officer.

The woman addressed herself to Talba. “Mr. Boucree seemed to think you’d be able to relate to my daughter.”

“Mr. Valentino and I work as a team. Excuse me a moment, will you? I’ll get another chair.” She was making it up as she went along, but it seemed to be working. The woman relaxed and sat.

When Talba came back with the chair, Eddie was already talking. “What can we do for you?”

“My daughter’s been molested.”

Talba gasped, but she kept quiet, taking a cue from Eddie, who shook his head slowly, murmuring, “Mmm. Mmm. Mmm.”

“The thing is, no one will do anything!” Scott sounded whiny and at the end of her rope.

“I’m so sorry.” Talba said, no longer able to contain herself.

“She still has braces on her teeth.” The woman was twisting a tissue, but maybe, just maybe, she didn’t seem quite as anguished as Miz Clara might have been in her situation.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” Eddie said quietly.

Aziza Scott took a breath. “I read her diary. I don’t like to admit it, but I didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t acting right. Nothing made her happy all of a sudden— she was sullen and pouty all the time instead of only three-quarters of it.” She tried out a smile on this one, but none of the three of them had the stomach for it. “I thought maybe I could find out what was bothering her.”

Talba didn’t think this was a first, the thing with the diary.

“It was in there.”

“That she’d been molested?”

“That she’d had sex. Here. You read it.” She handed it to Talba, opened to a page with a section marked in yellow highlighter, and Eddie had no choice but to wait until she’d read it.

***

He picked me over Shaneel! Bet that’s never happened to her in her whole life. “You,” he said. “Come with me.” Just like that. As soon as we were in the bedroom, he said, “Baby, you beautiful. Anybody ever tell you that? You got a bottom like somethin’ out of the movies. You want me to rub your back? Come on. Let’s go over to the bed.”

Well! I’m embarrassed to write what happened next— stuff I never even heard of. Wow. I can honestly say he taught me things about my body I never suspected. Oh, yeah— all right! That part was real good. But it still hurt when we did it.

Why doesn’t anyone ever tell you it’s going to? I asked Shaneel and she just laughed at me. I wonder if it always does— every time, I mean?

At first I wasn’t going to do it. No way, José! Cassandra Scott from Catholic School? I don’t think so. But then, while I was lying there feeling like that, I just thought, why not? Why not do it with him? I’ve got to do it with somebody sometime, and he’s a grown man— been everywhere, done everything. Why not find out what it’s all about?

Anyway, I made him wear a condom.

***

Talba handed the diary to Eddie, and asked, “How old is she, Mrs. Scott?”

“Fourteen. And you see what she says about him.”

Talba said, “Statutory rape.”

“Not exactly,” Eddie said, “Louisiana law is tricky. Here, it’s called ‘carnal knowledge of a juvenile.’”

“But it’s still a crime. Why not go to the police?” asked Talba. Eddie gave her a look that told her not to rush things.

“Cassandra says she doesn’t know who the man was. I tried to get it out of her, and I did go to the police. They say they can’t do a damn thing without a name. Then I went to find that little bitch Shaneel, and the idiot counselor wouldn’t even let me talk to her. Goddammit, you see how frustrated I am? No one will do anything!” Talba remembered what Darryl had said about her causing a scene in the counselor’s office. She hoped it wasn’t going to be repeated.