Jazz Funeral

her much. There’s a lot of difference between eleven and sixteen.” Mason rummaged in her bag—a black leather one, as sleek as the rest of her outfit—came up with cigarettes, and stared at them apologetically. “I still do this. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “Of course not.” What’s another dry-cleaning bill?
    As Mason lit up, Skip segued into the delicate part of the interview. “I’m wondering what your relationship with Ham was like.”
    She blew smoke. “Fine. Very good. What’s not to like?”
    Skip smiled. “I keep hearing everybody loved him.”
    “Maybe they did. I didn’t—after a while.”
    “Oh, really?” Why not ? seemed too rude, even to Skip’s ears.
    “He was a nice man. A very nice man. Just a little maddening to live with, that’s all. There were times when I could have killed him—is every marriage like that?”
    Skip remembered the reports of Ham’s and Ti-Belle’s fights.
    “While we’re on the subject, could I ask what you were doing Tuesday afternoon?”
    She started. “I was here.” As if as an afterthought, she said, “Are you asking if I have an alibi?”
    Skip smiled again, hoping she didn’t seem so smarmy Mason would smash her teeth in. “I guess I am.”
    The gray eyes narrowed. “From when till when?”
    “Oh, say noon till six or seven.”
    Mason checked her calendar. “I had lunch with Belinda Causey and got back here about two. I had a client at three—do you want his name?”
    “Please.”
    “My God.” She sat back in her chair. “You’re really serious.”
    “Just routine. As they say on television.”
    “Okay. Gray Paulson. He left at four-thirty. Then my secretary, Elise, left about five-thirty. I stayed till six and then went home.”
    “Do you still have your house key, by any chance?”
    “A house key?” And then the light dawned; or else she was a good actress. “Oh, you mean to Ham’s house. You know, I haven’t the least idea.” She shook her head. “I honestly can’t remember giving it to him.”
    Skip nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” She paused, sizing Mason up. She was tougher than Ariel and hadn’t recently been in love with Ham. “If everyone loved Ham so much, why did someone kill him?”
    “Why are you asking me?”
    “Because I think you probably knew him better than anybody.”
    Mason was silent. “I probably did,” she said finally. “I probably did.”
    “I mean, you said there were times when you wanted to kill him. Was he pushy? Was he aggressive and abrasive?” Ariel had called him a take-charge guy—Skip had never known such a person who didn’t have enemies. “How did he push people’s buttons?” This was a key question, she thought: Ham had been killed in anger.
    Mason ground out her cigarette, slowly, thoughtfully, obviously not in pique. “He certainly wasn’t aggressive or abrasive. Quite the opposite.” She gave Skip a good hard stare out of eyes that were starting to have a nasty glint in them. “He was such a goddamn wimp, I could have bashed his head in.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    She sighed. “You wouldn’t unless you had to live with him. Listen, I can’t imagine why anyone who didn’t would want to kill him. Who could be bothered? How could he raise that much emotion in anybody? Always trying to please, never wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings.” Her hands contorted like claws. “Aaaargh!”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Skip got to Country Day just after school let out. If she hadn’t had a watch, she’d still have known—carpooling moms clogged the street; kids swarmed like puppies and were just about as cute.
    She tried to picture Melody here. The Brocatos had given Missing Persons a picture and description—black curly hair, blue eyes, medium height, slender build. In the picture—which they’d passed on to her—Melody’s nose looked a little longer than teenage girls usually wanted, and she looked more skinny than slender —especially her face, which was almost pointy. She probably thought she wasn’t pretty; it was a rare kid her age who thought she was. Melody wasn’t, quite, though what she was missing had nothing to do with nose or figure. She had masses of gorgeous hair, and with a little detail work, was easily capable of being a knockout. What she didn’t have was self-confidence. She looked scared. On the other hand, her vulnerability made her attractive in a way—made you want to protect her. But it might not have that effect on everyone. There would be