Jazz Funeral

could have had a little more time, but I had a client I couldn’t cancel. I lent her my car to go get the medicine, thinking that would show I trusted her, hoping maybe she’d—”
    Skip was losing patience. “What on earth made you think she’d bring the car back?”
    “She wanted to take a shower.”
    “A shower. We’re talking life and death here!”
    Richard’s smile turned very cold. “Well, I expect it felt like that to Melody. Detective Langdon, have you ever had crab lice?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “That was Melody’s medical problem. Would you agree that’s none of your business?”
    “So she did tell you she had no place to take a shower.”
    “Yes, but that’s about all. Except that she was in love. It’s her second guy since her boyfriend dumped her the day she ran away.”
    “Why’d she run away?”
    “That’s what she wouldn’t say.”
    “But she’s got a guy with no shower.”
    “And she sang with a band once or twice. She didn’t say much about that either.”
    “What’s the time frame?”
    Richard shrugged. “She was only here about half an hour. My client came, Melody left, she didn’t come back, and you showed up. That’s about it.”
    “Do you have any idea who’s chasing her?”
    “I’m afraid I think the same thing you do.” The worried look came back.
    “If she gets in touch again, get her to come back; or at least find out where she is; get as much information as you can and call me.”
    “I’ll do everything I can,” Richard said in a peeved tone, and Skip knew she had a right to it.
    “Look, I’m sorry—I know you will, and none of what I asked is going to be easy. But I can’t stress how important this is.”
    She liked Richard. Watch out , she told herself, and went back to headquarters to check her record. Richard had no Louisiana criminal past and she did own the Honda, which was her only car, according to the DMV. Still, she could have borrowed the dark car. Could she have chased Melody herself?
    Skip called the dispatcher to see if anything had come of her bulletin. Nothing had.
    As she hung up the phone, Frank O’Rourke strode in. “Frank. I thought you’d be at JazzFest.”
    “Some of us have to work, Langdon. Listen, what do you have on the ex-wife?”
    “Ham never got around to making a new will. She does inherit.”
    “Goddammit! She could have the kid, Langdon. She could be holding her. Have you checked out her house?”
    “She doesn’t have the kid. I saw Melody myself this morning.”
    “You what?”
    “She seems to have stolen a car.” Unhappily, she told him the story, knowing it didn’t make her look great.
    True to form, he didn’t miss an opportunity. “You lost them? You didn’t get a license number? What the hell are you telling me?”
    “Listen, I could eat my gun about it. I’m worried as hell about that kid.”
    “I swear to God I don’t know why we keep you around, Langdon.”
    She turned back to the computer and began calling up some imaginary record, anything so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, so he’d get the idea of shutting his obnoxious trap and going away.
    But he said, “Find out if the ex-wife needs money.” She nodded very slightly, grudgingly, still staring at the screen. “And do it now.”
    She stared at him. How dare he?
    “Report to me in an hour,” he said, knowing it was Saturday and she had very little chance of finding out any such thing.
    Cappello, goddamn you! I could kill you for getting hurt.
    She sighed. Well, hell, consider it a challenge. Show the bastard.
    She called her favorite twenty-four hour, full-service information spewer—Allison Gaillard.
    “Skippy, I’m so worried about that poor little girl.”
    “Me too, Allison. Just about beside myself. Listen, she’s changed her hair—she’s a blond with a purple streak if you hear anything.”
    “Want me to call around?”
    “I’ve got something a little more pressing, if you don’t mind. But listen, this is very, very confidential—it’s about Mason.”
    “Mason! Omigod. You don’t think she did it, do you?”
    “Well, look. I need to know if she needs money, and I’m afraid I kind of need it right away.”
    Allison laughed, a smug laugh, Skip thought, and that delighted her. “Have you come to the right place. I had lunch with Temple Becknell yesterday, who’s Kitsy Coignard’s realtor, and she said Kitsy just heard Mason’s putting her house on the market.”
    “Maybe she’s buying