House of Blues

his God, first of all—he thought
he just had to be religious, when he was really a brutish old bastard
who didn't have a spiritual bone in his body. But most of all trapped
by being an Hebert—life was running the restaurant, and you didn't
ask questions about it.
    "Of course, Sugar just made him feel more
trapped than ever—she never saw anything like him in her life. Had
a blind date with him while she was at Sacred Heart and married him
just as soon as she could get herself pregnant. Poor man never knew
what hit him."
    "Is she the jealous type?"
    "Now that I wouldn't know. I don't really know
her personally."
    "She seems to have the idea that you and Arthur
were lovers."
    "Lovers!" She hooted. "Lovers!"
She leaned back in her chair and laughed until she actually had to
wipe away tears. "Oh my God, I'd rather go to bed with Ross
Perot. Can you imagine what kind of little skinny thing he's got down
there? Oh, my God. Lovers! Let me tell you something—I'm sure the
only thing he ever loved was his damned restaurant."
    Skip laughed. "Are you saying you weren't
lovers?"
    "I'm saying if he'd touched me, I'd have broken
out in hives." She checked her skin, as if the mere thought
might cause eruptions.
    Skip was trying hard to retain a professional
demeanor. Anne Ebanks was lively, bawdy, and funny—somebody she'd
love to be friends with. But she might be a liar. Fighting hard not
to smile, she said, "You were his lawyer. Do you know if he had
any enemies?"
    "He had hundreds of them. I'm sure his wife must
have thought the world of him—there's no accounting—but aside
from Sugar, I can't think of a soul who could stand him."
    "I meant the sort who'd have reason to kill
him."
    She opened her arms, causing a great jangling of
bracelets.
    "Cast of thousands."
    Skip waited, trying to set a tone: This is no time
for horsing around.
    "But I don't know of any who actually threatened
his life."
    Ebanks spoke more quietly, perhaps having gotten the
message.
    " I'll try to make my next question as general as
I can—were you and Arthur recently working on something requiring
long, confidential phone calls?"
    Ebanks swiveled jerkily, raising an eyebrow; the
effect was curiously like a stage double-take. "Why, no,"
she said, sounding unsure of it.
    Skip was silent, giving her time to process it.
    "So there were phone calls—that must be where
she got that ridiculous idea." She drummed pink, perfect nails,
staring into space. "Another Anne, maybe. Anything's possible,
but I can't imagine who'd put up with him." She refocused on
Skip. "Oh, yes, I can—somebody young and dumb. These old coots
can always get them.
    "Tell me something—why can't women? I'd just
love a strapping young creature myself, wouldn't you? Oh, no, you're
young, you've probably already got one. I'd like a zookeeper, say;
someone who's kind to animals. I've got plenty of money and tons of
energy—why can't I have one?"
    Skip gave up the struggle not to laugh; Ebanks
probably carried on this way in court, and maybe at funerals. "I'm
sure you'll get whatever you want. Mind telling me about the will?"
    "Arthur's?" She inspected her perfect
nails. "I guess I can. It hasn't been admitted to probate yet,
but it became an operable legal document when he died. Sure, I can
tell you—simple usufruct, with the children as naked owners. Don't
you love the way we talk in this garne? It means Sugar, as
usufructuary, can use the property till she dies or remarries; after
that, it goes to the kids." She shrugged. "How conventional
can you get? I'm falling asleep just thinking about it."
    Skip left, feeling buoyed by the sheer exuberance of
the woman. From what she'd heard of Arthur Hebert, Anne probably
wasn't kidding around—he just didn't sound like her type. She was
right about somebody young and dumb—if Arthur had a lover, it was
almost certainly someone like that.
    Or someone young and grasping.
    She hit the streets and showed her pictures at more
hotels, once again striking out.
    Then she headed back to the office. It was nearly
time for the lineup. Two of the men in it had prominent lower lips,
like the kid she'd seen at the Iberville. Two others didn't, and
these she quickly eliminated.
    The first two were the right height and build; in
fact, they looked so much alike they could have been brothers. She
searched both faces, looking for nuances she remembered, clues that
would jog her memory.
    But in the end she couldn't be sure. She beat her
fist against her