Big Easy Bonanza

you’re all right, man.”
    “I mean it. That’s some bad shit. Excuse my French.”
    “Well, it still ain’t the half of it.” He leaned confidentially close and whispered in Eddie’s ear, his breath warm and fume-laden. “My sister was murdered last week.”
    Eddie turned a shocked face to him. “Did you say what I think you did? Ya sister was—”
    Trey held a finger to his lips. “Shhhh. Quiet, man. We’re not supposed to talk about it. They all say she committed suicide.”
    “But you think she was murdered.”
    “Hell, I know it.”
    “Hey, man, you’re giving me goosebumps. Next, ya gonna tell me ya know who did it And let me tell ya something, if you do, don’t even stop for those cigarettes. Just get in ya car and start drivin’.”
    Trey pulled himself back and looked into Eddie’s eyes, searching for truth. “What you talking about?”
    Eddie shrugged. “Whole thing sounds dangerous, that’s all.”
    “What you mean?’
    “Well, ya did say she’s dead, right? And now you’re tellin’ me there’s some kind of cover-up?” He shook his head like there was no hope in the world and he knew it. “It don’t sound good, man. What the hell happened, anyhow?”
    “I don’t know. I swear to God I just don’t know.”
    “Thought you said—”
    Trey put up a placating hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know what I said. Well, let me tell you somethin’. Anybody in this whole goddamn town could have killed her.”
    Eddie took a long pull on his beer, feigning disinterest.
    “I’m not kidding, man. You know how many people wanted to kill her? My dad; my mom. Old Sheriff Ransdell. Just about everybody their age. I’m tellin’ you, Eddie…” He hiccupped, and Eddie was terrified he was going to stop there, maybe just pass out cold. “I’m tellin’ you… it’s like a goddamn conspiracy.”
    “Come on, son. Why would they want to kill their own daughter? Don’t make sense, what you’re sayin’.”
    “Why? I’ll tell you why. She knew too much, that’s why.” He polished off his own drink in one huge gulp. “Whole damn town’s in on it. With their goddamn high and mighty goddamn Baptist goddamn…”
    Eddie’s heart was beating fast, and he was perspiring. He felt like a poker player holding four aces and going light—desperate to hold out just a little longer, keep them all convinced of his harmlessness just long enough to…
    He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Eddie Valentino, from N’Awlins.”
    It was a voice he knew. “Sheriff Brashear, as I live and breathe.” He turned around to face him. “Hey, Junior.”
    “What you doing, talkin’ to this ol’ boy here?”
    “Ya mean my friend, Trey? Well, we were just—”
    Eddie had his back to Trey at this point, didn’t have any idea how he was taking all this, but Junior Brashear interrupted him. “Hey, Trey. This guy mention he’s a private eye out of Noo Orleens?” Junior paused, reading Trey’s face. “Didn’t think so.”
    “Goddamn it to hell.” So that’s how he was taking it. Eddie felt the back of his head and neck go wet, as the kid’s drink hit it. An ice cube slid down his collar. Trey passed him on his way out.
    “Junior, you better stop him. He’s too drunk to drive.” Junior swiveled his head, confused, and Eddie reached into his pocket.
    He caught up with Trey and pressed his card into his hand. “Call me when you sober up.”
    Sure, the kid hated him now; tomorrow he might not even remember him. But Eddie’d found out one thing—he had a rudimentary conscience.

Chapter Twenty
    Talba had a friend in the police department, and it was a high-up friend—Homicide Detective Skip Langdon. Actually, due to the departmental policy of decentralization, the homicide division had been dissolved and Langdon now worked out of the Third District. But she was still a homicide detective. And she carried a lot of weight. Talba phoned her first thing Monday morning.
    “Hey, Skip, it’s Talba.”
    “Baroness! How’s the PI business?”
    “Be great if Eddie weren’t such a grouch. How’s the police business?”
    “Be great if people weren’t so rotten to each other. What can I do for you?” She sounded distracted.
    “You know a policeman named Calvin Richard?”
    “Calvin Richard… hmmm. Calvin Richard… Is he a short white guy with—”
    Talba interrupted. “Different Calvin. This one’s black. And a sergeant.”
    “Well, I can figure out where he’s