Big Easy Bonanza

has it?”
    “I hope not, Alison. Listen, what I heard was Chauncey was cheating on Bitty.”
    “Well! I wouldn’t be surprised, poor man. Has she got a problem, or what?”
    Skip let out her breath. She thought she’d set up the whole thing so perfectly. All that effort for nothing? “You mean you don’t know about it?”
    “Well, there was that little thing a few years back with that girl that does PR for Jazzfest. You know her name—Stephanie something. She went to Sacred Heart. But everybody said it was just a flirtation. He got cold feet and wouldn’t really do anything. I never thought it was out of loyalty to Bitty, though. I thought he was scared shitless of old man Mayhew, and why wouldn’t he be? Whoever heard of the St. Amants anyway? Chauncey wouldn’t have existed in this town if it hadn’t been for Haygood Mayhew. His good looks were only going to take him so far.”
    “Seems like they took him far enough. He got Bitty, didn’t he?”
    “Oh, you nut! You’re so baaaad! Hey, listen, officer, speaking as a policewoman—what’s the inside track? Who did him in? One of those dope-fiend musicians he was always helpin’ out?”
    “Alison, can you keep a secret?”
    “Of course!”
    “Well, I think he was having an affair with someone he didn’t want around anymore. And she didn’t want to be dumped.”
    “Ooohhh. The plot thickens.”
    “So who should I call? Who do you think would know?”
    “Well, let’s see. Remember Annette Alexander? Her husband’s been working over at the Carrollton Bank—or there’s that little girl from St. Francisville—Bella? Can that be right? Tell you what, Skippy, let me make a couple of calls myself.”
    “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I don’t want you to go to any trouble—uh-uh. I can do it myself. No problem.”
    “No trouble. Really. I’ll enjoy it. Call you right back.”
    She hung up, Skip knew, to stem further protests, which even Skip, so socially inept she thought of herself as socially diseased, knew she was obliged to keep making. Alison certainly
would
enjoy it. And Skip had no doubt she’d get right to it. But just to be on the safe side, she applied herself to the Rolodex.
    Francie Holloway wasn’t home … Marigny Pecot’s line was busy … she got Barbara Lee Lipscomb’s machine … should she call her brother? He might know. But was it worth the aggravation? She’d almost rather talk to her father.
    She dialed Jo Jo Lawrence and got his wife, Baby. (It was said, Jo Jo’s IQ being what it was, that he’d married her so he’d never have to trouble his pretty head remembering her name. In intimate moments, he could just holler, “Baby, Baby, Baby,” and call it a day.)
    “Baby? Skip Langdon.”
    “Skippy. Jo Jo said he saw you today.”
    “Yes. At the St. Amants’. I missed you, though.”
    “I know. I stayed home with the baby.” (Oh, God, Jo Jo probably called it Baby too.)
    “You and Jo Jo know the St. Amants pretty well, don’t you?”
    “Jo Jo does, I guess.” Her voice sounded slightly sad. “He used to date Marcelle, you know.”
    “A long time ago. I remember.”
    “Not long enough.” Skip could swear she was starting to cry. “Did you want Jo Jo? He’s still at work.”
    “What firm is he with now?”
    “Haw—” She was blubbering, outright blubbering. “Haw—Hawkins—”
    “Baby? Are you okay?”
    She pulled it together, speaking quite coherently before she hung up. “Hawkins and Sneed.”
    Skip dialed Jo Jo, wondering if she should say anything about Baby’s weird behavior. “Hi, baby,” he said when she’d identified herself, causing her almost to laugh out loud.
    “I just talked to Baby.”
    “How’s she doing?” he said. “She was pretty weirded out when I talked to her about an hour ago.”
    “To tell you the truth, she sounded upset. Is something wrong, Jo Jo?”
    “Ah, no, no big deal. Somebody told her some crazy story, that’s all.”
    “Is there anything I can do?”
    “No thanks, baby. It’ll blow over. No biggie. But, hey, what can I do for you?”
    “To tell you the truth, I’m interested in idle gossip.”
    “Hey! Don’t believe a word you hear! Absolutely untrue! Every word.”
    Not for nothing, Skip mused, was Jo Jo called Dodo Lawrence behind his back. “Not about you, silly. About Chauncey.”
    “Chauncey? But Chauncey’s dead.”
    “Well, listen, I was thinking about solving the murder.”
    He laughed. “Oh, I get it. Like Jessica Fletcher. Hey,