Jazz Funeral

inside, everything we needed—everything rented in advance. All we had to do,”—he gestured— “me and all the others, was go in and get what we needed.”
    “But who was going to set up?”
    “Me! That’s why I came early. Well, technically my boss—she was hired to do that and supply me, but she had another job.” He shrugged again. “I did the best I could—positioned everyone—I mean, the other caterers, and all that sort of thing, but—” He threw up his hands.
    So Ham had enlisted Melody to help him. It made sense—Ariel probably worked for the Jazz and Heritage Foundation, and if he wanted to keep it clean, he wouldn’t use her for personal business. Ti-Belle was out of town—or something. And he himself couldn’t be spared during the festival. What better helper than Melody? She’d probably been thrilled to be delegated.
    Now, which of the stragglers looked “flighty”? The one talking to Steve Steinman, she decided. Short and slightly plump, with the big-hair look, ill-considered atop such a small body. It was very pretty hair, chestnut-colored and wavy, but if she wanted people to take her seriously, she should probably stop gelling it out a foot on all sides. She was probably anything but flighty. She’d have to be damn good at her job to keep it.
    The question was, how to approach her with Steve Steinman there? She wanted to tell him to go home, not to wait for her, to apologize for forgetting him, but she couldn’t in front of a witness. She’d have to be dismissive; she hated that.
    “Pardon me,” she said. “Are you Ariel Burge? Could you excuse us, Mr. Steinman?”
    Apparently, he was amused. She hoped Burge hadn’t caught the wink he gave Skip. Skip showed her badge. “Skip Langdon. Could you—”
    “Ham’s dead?”
    “What makes you think that?”
    “I heard Ti-Belle yell it out to George. But I was trying to play hostess and got stuck in the back. I couldn’t get close enough to talk to her. Did he have a heart attack or what? What happened to him?” She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, had obviously come straight from work.
    It was always a problem, trying to get information without giving any. Oh, well, the coroner’s wagon would arrive momentarily anyhow.
    “I’m sorry. He is dead.”
    Skip waited while Ariel fumbled with a tissue. “I knew it. It had to be something. He didn’t come to work this morning. Just didn’t come in at all. Only everyone was so busy no one noticed till about noon. He was never where he was supposed to be—always late, half the time didn’t remember. So that’s what we thought. I mean, everywhere he was supposed to be, whoever was there thought he was just somewhere else—do you understand?”
    She was gibbering a bit, but it almost made sense. “You mean if you were supposed to meet him at the office and he didn’t show up, you just thought he was probably at the fairgrounds?”
    She nodded. “And vice versa. I knew he was missing appointments—oh, yeah, and his father and stepmother were calling about every ten minutes, but things just get crazy at the last minute. I looked for him, of course. But that isn’t unusual. He disappears and I cover for him, you know? Track him down and light a fire under him. He’s like that.” She didn’t even notice she was using the present tense.
    “Like what? Irresponsible?”
    “No! Just overworked. He gets involved in things. He forgets what time it is.”
    “And misses appointments.”
    “Well, not usually, but it’s happened. He gets way behind schedule. He’s—he was—kind of a dreamer, the kind of guy who gets interested in something and forgets everything else. He’s not really …” She seemed to think better of finishing the sentence.
    “Not really what?”
    “Well, you wouldn’t call him a ball of fire. You kind of have to keep after him or his whole schedule falls apart. Anyway, it was about lunchtime that I kind of caught on he hadn’t been anywhere he was supposed to be that day.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Well, I was so worried, I drove out to his house, but he wasn’t home. I mean I guess he was… already dead.”
    Skip spoke quickly to stem that train of thought. “So the last time you saw him was when—quitting time yesterday?”
    “There is no quitting time during the festival. We kind of work around the clock if we have to. But this party—this Second Line Square thing—it’s kind of his pet project. It’s—it was—really, really