Death Notes

for you, Miss...?’
    ‘Ventana. Ronnie Ventana. I’m a private investigator.’
    ‘Ah.’
    He raised his eyebrows in amusement. The smile deepened and he chuk-chukked himself into speaking some more.
    ‘Very interesting, that profession. Or so I would imagine. I hope you’re not bearing bad tidings.’
    The way he said it, I could tell he didn’t think anybody’d ever bring him bad news.
    ‘They’re good, as a matter of fact.’
    ‘Marvelous! That’s marvelous.’
    He acted like a kid about to receive a present.
    ‘It’s about some money you’ve got coming.’
    ‘Really? That’s wonderful. From whom?’
    ‘Match Margolis.’
    The name hit him like a blow. The beatific smile vanished as every line in his face sagged. His eyes teared up. For a minute I thought he was going to cry, but all he did was pull out a spotless white handkerchief and trumpet into it.
    ‘Forgive me,’ he said, after composing himself. ‘I suppose it’s the will?’.
    ‘The will?’
    ‘Match asked me once to be his executor. I told him it would be an honor. Of course, I had no idea I’d be paid for it.’
    I watched him fold the handkerchief up neatly and pocket it. ‘That is the money you’re referring to, isn’t it?’
    ‘Actually, no. I haven’t seen the will.’
    ‘You... oh, my... what? I naturally assumed... Pardon me.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Do go on, then.’
    The spirit in his hearty voice was subdued, just like the tune Match was playing on the tape in the background.
    ‘Mrs Margolis asked—’
    He bristled.
    ‘Sharon Margolis sent you?’
    ‘Yes, she... Her concern is that Match, er, Mr Margolis, owed you some money.’
    ‘Money? I just lost one of the finest friends I ever had, a true gentleman. Not to mention that the man was a creative genius. A musical genius! Yes, that’s what he was! His music was one of a kind. And she’s worried about money! Listen.’ He whipped a remote control device off his desktop and cranked up the volume on the tape. Match’s sax filled the room with a warm, sensual melody I recognized from my own collection. One of a kind. Buddha Teagues was right. ‘Money!’
    He jabbed a button with his fat fingers and the music stopped abruptly. His chin quivered with indignation.
    ‘Why, that’s absurd. It’s absurd and obscene.’ Chuk-chuk-chuk. ‘But that’s not what this is about, is it? She thinks I killed him, doesn’t she?’
    ‘I don’t know what she thinks, Mr Teagues. And to tell you the truth, I don’t care. I’m not investigating Match’s murder; the police are doing that. All I’m doing is getting the word out about his debts. That’s all.’
    Buddha started in again with more chukking noises. It was like I hadn’t said a word.
    ‘If anyone had a motive, it was Sharon Margolis, not me. I loved Match. I’ll tell you something in confidence - I spoke to Match on Saturday.’
    He nodded for emphasis.
    ‘If you’re looking into this, Miss Ventana, I think you should know Match was extremely nervous. I asked him twice why he was so anxious. He blamed it on the new compositions. Of course, I didn’t believe that for a minute. Match’s talent has been undisputed since the first day he picked up a saxophone. He is - was a professional. No, I think he suspected something. I think he knew someone planned to do him harm. And,’ he announced triumphantly, ‘Match told me Sharon took out a life insurance policy on him this past year - a very large one.’
    He sat there, jowls quivering, chuk-chukking, and staring at me like he expected me to run out the door and throw Sharon into leg irons.
    ‘Mr Teagues, I’m not looking for Match’s killer. I—’
    ‘Talk to his son! Have you spoken to him?’
    ‘Sounds like I should.’
    ‘Of course you should. He’s in Alameda. Clark didn’t want Match to resurrect his career. They were tugging at Match from either side. His wretched wife, pushing him, egging him on, and the boy telling him not to listen to her. Neither of them did him any good. But Clark had good intentions. Ask him about Sharon.’
    ‘What kind of good intentions?’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘The son. Why didn’t he think Match should play?’
    Buddha waved one of his big, puffy hands like he was swatting away a fly.
    ‘The music milieu - it could expose his father to unnecessary temptations. Match’s road to sobriety was a hard one.’
    ‘I thought Sharon helped.’
    Buddha’s jaw dropped.
    ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve