House of Blues

"Tiny, precious darling, why didn't you come over to
Dee-Dee's and cuddle up with a little white puppy? Whatever were you
thinking of, trying to go through a thing like that alone?"
    " I must have been crazy, Dee-Dee. Never again."
    " Certainly not, my angel. Certainly not. Come
tonight; now promise!" His voice was so stern she didn't dare
argue.
    Reed arrived looking like the restaurant queen of New
Orleans, in a wheat silk suit with cream blouse, silver Thomas Mann
pendant set with a carnelian, and matching earrings. She seemed to
have made quite a recovery. Skip wondered what it must have been like
coming home to a husband who'd become a heroin addict; a mother who'd
apparently decided to take over the job Reed had worked for her whole
life. She wondered if Dennis would clean up again.
    "Let's go to an interview room. I'll just get us
some privacy and we can do it pretty fast."
    "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not going to be able
to."
    " I beg your pardon?"
    " On advice of my attorney."
    Oh, boy. Here we go. "I see. Is he meeting you
here?"
    " Do I need him? He said just to say—"
    Skip didn't wait to hear the rest of the sentence.
She said: "You'd better call him."
    In the end it shook down this way: Reed was perfectly
prepared to tell the story of the Dragons lair, and adamantly
unwilling to talk about her father's death. Dennis must have done it.
He laid it off on Evie, and Reed wouldn't ga along with it. But she
won't incriminate her husband.
    Still, there was another witness.
    Evie had been taken to Baptist, rather than Charity
Hospital, probably at Reed's behest. Skip rounded up Abasolo—she
wasn't doing this without a witness—and paid her a visit.
    Evie had on no makeup, and her hair was matted, but
she must have gotten a night's sleep. She was pale and thin, but Skip
could see the beauty that had captured Dennis, and Maurice Gresham,
and Manny Lanoux.
    She introduced herself and Abasolo.
    "You're the one Anna locked up."
    "Don't remind me."
    "You saved us—Reed and me. And Sally too, I
heard. You know what? Anna Garibaldi always did scare the shit out of
me. Long before this happened. She fell for the kid, though—I never
saw anything like it. She was all gloppy and goopy around her—like
caramel sauce or something. You could throw up."
    Abasolo gave Skip an amused glance.
    " Is Sally okay?" Evie asked.
    Skip nodded. "Fine. How about you?"
    " My throat hurts like a son of a bitch. The
smoke, they said. I can talk, though, as long as I keep sucking ice."
She pointed to a glass of ice chips, and helped herself to one.
    "We want to talk to you, but I need to tell you
a few things first." Skip gave her the Miranda warning.
    "Am I under arrest?" Evie asked calmly.
    "Yes. Do you want an attorney?"
    Evie waved a hand, pursing her lips impatiently.
"Hell, no."
    "You're waiving your right to an attorney?"
    "Yeah. Later for that crap."
    Skip wasn't going to argue. "Tell us what
happened a week ago Monday night."
    Evie sat back and sighed, and blew out her cheeks.
"Do I have to? It's too embarrassing."
    That's the least of it. "I think you'd better."
    " That's the night I got drunk and decided to
reclaim my long-lost child. Pretty brilliant, huh?"
    Abasolo smiled. He had a way about him.
    "I don't know what got into me. I swear to God I
don't."
    " I do," said Abasolo. "I'm a drunk
from way back."
    "Oh, no. You're not going to give me that Twelve
Step crap, are you?"
    He shook his head. "Uh-uh. I mean, unless you
want me to."
    She hesitated, once again waved a hand. "Ehhhh,
save it."
    "What happened, Evie?"
    "They let me in, and I demanded my fucking
maternal rights."
    Skip could have sworn Evie's cheeks got slightly
pinker, as if she were blushing at the memory. "What was I
thinking of? I know less about children than W.C. Fields."
    I don't cure what you were thinking of. Just tell the
story, goddammit. Skip thought she was going to pop, but Abasolo
nodded and gave Evie a polite smile.
    Like he's flirting, Skip thought. God, he's good.
    She shrugged. "Dennis tried to get the gun away
from me. Do you blame him?"
    Very deliberately, Evie made eye contact with
Abasolo, who shook his head this time.
    "We struggled—little me and great big Dennis.
I mean, I was commode—huggin'. I probably thought I could win. And
to tell you the truth, I almost did." She hesitated. "It
gets a little fuzzy. Anyway, I thought I was winning, but somehow or
other, the gun flew across the room. I mean, flew. Like it was shot
out of a