Big Easy Bonanza

didn’t know whether she’d call or not, but she knew he was a complication she couldn’t deal with today—and maybe not tomorrow. Romantic attractions—and yes, she admitted, she was attracted to him—took up a lot of psychic energy. She couldn’t spare any just now, even for a less complicated relationship than Steve Steinman offered—one in which she wouldn’t have to worry about being anyone’s dolphin.
    She walked to St. Philip, suffering in the unaccustomed shoes, which she kicked off the second she walked through the door.
    Quickly, chomping at the bit to get to work, she folded up her unmade sofa bed, changed into jeans, made herself a glass of instant iced tea, and settled down with her Rolodex.
    “A” for Albert—was Tolliver a possibility? She didn’t think so. If he knew Chauncey had a mistress, he’d announce it when all ten of his fingernails had been pulled off and both knees broken. She needed someone with no discretion and no brains. Cookie Lamoreaux! No—if he knew he’d already have told her.
    She dialed Alison Gaillard, one of her long-lost Kappa sisters.
    “Officer Langdon! I read all about you in the
Picayune
this morning. I was so proud of you! I’m nothing but a little housewife now, and look at you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they write a TV series about you.”
    “You’ve got a little girl, I hear.”
    “Looks just like her daddy, thank God. I couldn’t have stood it if she’d come out lookin’ like pitiful ol’ me.”
    Skip took a deep breath. Alison could be on the cover of
Vogue
, if
Vogue
got lucky; her husband had the thickset body and dumpling features of the Scotch-Irish (as everyone knew, he was from Georgia).
    It was a shame about the baby, but Skip didn’t think she should say that. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure.
    This was one of the many southern styles that left her panicked, searching desperately for the proper response. The practitioner put herself down in what seemed a completely insincere way—indeed an inexplicable way—while extravagantly complimenting someone who didn’t deserve it. So was Skip supposed to heap reassurance on her? (“Alison, you’re not all that ugly. Really. Just a little eye makeup and you might have gotten a good-looking husband.”) Or was she supposed to ignore Alison’s self-deprecating protests and go to the heart of the matter. (“Oh, that poor little baby. There’s just no justice, is there? Well, I hear they’re doing wonders with plastic surgery these days.”)
    She finally said, “I’m sure she’s a doll.” But that didn’t seem to solve the problem completely—she still felt Alison had fished for a compliment. She followed up with, “Nothing wrong with your genes, though. Your Levi’s anyhow, when you’re in them. That’s what all the guys say.”
    Alison’s laugh was a silver flute. “Skippy, you are the
craziest
thing! You’re just a nut, you know that? What can I do for you, any-old-how?”
    “Well, it’s kind of confidential; you won’t tell anyone, will you?”
    “Of course not, Skippy.”
    Of course not. And the sun would be setting in the East tonight. “I’m kind of new in the department and, you know, some of the guys don’t like me very much.”
    “Skippy, I’m sure that can’t be true. You’re just imaginin’ that.”
    “No, really. They think I’m a snob.”
    Alison laughed the silver laugh. “You! You a snob! The same person who used to wear jeans and T-shirts to rush parties? Who wanted to pledge a black girl? Skippy, they just don’t know you very well.”
    “Well, they do know I’m a Kappa.”
    “Oh, I see.”
    “They think because of that and because my daddy’s a doctor and everything—well, you know how it is. I get, like, hazed.”
    “Oh, yeah. Like they don’t really accept you as one of them.”
    “Mmm-hmm. So they never let me work on any good cases. Anyway, the point is, what I’m going to have to do is prove myself. See, if I can do some, like, free-lance detective work that’s really good, and maybe I could get Mimi Jurgenson to put it in the
Picayune
, well, I could prove I’m really cop material and maybe my career would advance like it’s supposed to.”
    “Oh, Skippy. Chief Langdon! I like the sound of it.”
    “Right now I’d settle for ‘sergeant.’ And I heard a rumor I thought you might be able to help me with.”
    “Have you come to the right place!
Rumors-R-Us
.” She played her silver flute. “Nothing’s changed,