Jazz Funeral

she always took my father’s side.
    “He doesn’t know what happened,” Patty said. “He just knows I killed Ham. I told him that.”
    Her hair was the hair of a woman used to having others groom her; it was sticking out all over, stiff with spray and sweat. Crying had eroded her makeup. She looked haggard and beaten.
    Renegar said, “Patty, I have to advise you—”
    “Shut up!”
    His eyes were the color of his name, and hard. “Could we just get it on the record, please?”
    She kept quiet while he told her again to keep her trap shut. And then she said, voice dripping with sarcasm: “May I start now?” A lot of anger was about to come out.
    “He turned my own child against me—and now my husband. My own husband would rather see me in jail than … oh, never mind.
    “He threatened me—he threatened to tell George and Melody if I didn’t vote to sell the business. They only needed one vote, you see. But I couldn’t do that, it wasn’t what George wanted, so of course I wasn’t about to.”
    “And what did he threaten you with?”
    “Oh, about being Melody’s father.” She seemed distracted, wanting to get on with it—she’d already told this story.
    Renegar looked as if he were going to have a cow.
    “I thought he’d forgotten.”
    “Forgotten!” Skip blurted it, unable to keep quiet.
    “Well, it only happened two or three times. I mean, I just—waited until George was out getting drunk and Ham was asleep. Then I’d take off my clothes and get in bed with him. He didn’t say a word. He was seventeen—would any seventeen-year-old boy in the world say no?”
    Still a child.
    Skip wondered if she’d let him down easy or even mentioned the fun was over. Probably not, she thought. And of course she’d have been sure to seduce George around that time—or told him she had if he was the kind of drunk who wouldn’t remember.
    “We never said a word about it.”
    “You and Ham?”
    She shook her head. “Until the other day. I really thought he—I don’t know—didn’t even know, maybe. Thought he was dreaming or something.”
    Oh, sure.
    “Anyway, she was really George’s baby. Ham’s genes were his genes.”
    Renegar cleared his throat. “Can we get on with it, please?”
    Skip said, “So Ham threatened to tell George and Melody he was Melody’s father.”
    “He called and asked me to come over—I knew it was going to be bad, I knew it. He’d asked me before, about the vote. He’d been begging me. The bastard, it was none of his business. And then he sounded so serious on the phone. He said, ‘Look, it’s to your advantage to show up.’ So I had some wine before I left, and then I had some with him. I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
    “What did you do when he threatened you?”
    “Nothing. Melody just came out of nowhere and started beating me. He pulled her off, but I realized what had happened—he’d turned my own child against me. The lowlife, scum-sucking bastard! I work all these years to raise this beautiful little family, and along comes Ham and poof—my own child tries to kill me. I could just—”
    “And you did, didn’t you?”
    “Yes, goddammit! I did. I didn’t even think. I was in a white-hot rage—I can get in it again just thinking about it—and I picked up the knife before I thought. I don’t remember stabbing him, but I must have because—” She stopped, sobered for the moment, color draining.
    “Because what?”
    “He made a horrible noise.”
    “Like a scream?”
    “Like a snuffle. And the knife was in him.”
    He’d probably been dead before Melody hit the sidewalk.
    Later, telling Steve about it, Skip said, “So Renegar asked, ‘How’d you feel then, Patty? Sorry?’ And do you think she took the hint? Oh, no. Poor man. It didn’t even occur to her to pretend she knew she’d committed a tiny little sin against society.”
    “What did she say?”
    “She said she was scared so she left. Just drove aimlessly for a while, but did the horror of what she’d done take hold? Hell, no. She remembered she was supposed to pick up Melody, and then she caught on she could be in big trouble. So she coolly goes back—goes back, can you believe it?—to wash the glasses and wipe the knife. Then she drives over to Blair’s, saying she’s late because she stopped at the store to get something for dinner. And then she actually does go shopping so the story will check out. Arrives home with a pound and a half of