Jazz Funeral

it’s not Ham. It’s Ti-Belle.”
    “I see what you mean. But she’s a new addition. He originally moved here with his wife Mason.”
    “Mason. That’s a weirder name than Ti-Belle.”
    “What do you expect? She’s from a good family. I guess they were your basic young affluent couple with a yen to send their kids-to-be to Country Day, which is right in the neighborhood.”
    “This is hardly the country, but you’re right—what should I expect? Uh, Skip, here’s what I didn’t expect—that little black and white bunny over there.”
    “Where?”
    “Oh, just hopping around on somebody’s lawn. With three baby bunnies. There it was another a block back.”
    “Look, there’s some more over there. They’re all over the neighborhood. Someone moved to Covington and let their pet rabbits loose when they left—I forget who—but they did what rabbits do.”
    Steve had lost interest. “What happened to Mason?”
    Skip shrugged. “What usually happens, I guess. Realized she got married too young. She’s been gone five years, and Ham just never moved. Then when Ti-Belle came on the scene, I guess—well, I don’t know. I’m seeing your point more and more. She’s like an exotic flower in a bed of busy Lizzie.”
    Steve spoke in a different tone, suddenly excited. “What’s going on?”
    They had just rounded the corner and come into view of Ham’s house. It was obvious it was Ham’s house because there was most assuredly a party in progress—but it appeared to be on the front lawn. “Must be damn crowded if they’re spilling out on the sidewalk.”
    She parked half a block away, and as they came closer, she noticed the noise seemed odd, unlike party noise. It was a little too shrill, a little uncertain. No one was eating, and stranger still, no one was drinking. The clump of guests clustered on the yard seemed to get quieter as she and Steve approached, to follow their movements visually. It made Skip self-conscious. What did they want? She thought she saw people she knew in the crowd, but she couldn’t be sure. No one spoke to her.
    Steve said, “Did someone die?”

CHAPTER TWO
    “Let’s go around back.”
    Good smells wafted. Ham had hired a lot of caterers, in keeping with local custom—the idea was to get a dozen or so crews from different restaurants to set up little backyard booths, each serving one dish so people could sample and stroll.
    A trailer parked in the driveway had put on vast caldrons of crawfish to boil. They’d be dished up in baskets and devoured at newspaper-covered tables. But the tables hadn’t been set up.
    The restaurant crews, who had portable cooking units, were trying to look busy, but mostly they looked simply forlorn. Some had set up and started cooking, some hadn’t; none was serving. A confused-looking bartender was surrounded by bottles, but had no table on which to assemble a bar.
    “At $250 a pop,” fumed a red-faced man, “you’d think we’d at least get a drink.”
    Skip saw her brother, Conrad. Not her favorite person, but a truly great information source. “Hey, Conrad. You remember Steve?”
    Conrad looked as if he cared for Steve slightly less than Jimmy Dee did. “Hey, Steve.” He didn’t bother speaking to Skip.
    “Where’s Camille?” Skip liked her brother’s new wife a lot better than she liked her brother.
    “Around front, I guess. Trying to figure out what’s going on. You seen Ham?”
    She shook her head. “We just got here.”
    “Well, looks like you beat Ham and Ti-Belle.” He looked disgusted.
    The shrill, uncertain buzz they’d noticed was developing a hysterical note. This was a party that wasn’t fun. Bemused, Skip and Steve worked their way back around to the front.
    “Ham I could see,” said Skip. “He could have had to work late—it’s his busiest time. But where’s Ti-Belle?”
    “Oh, ‘bout two houses away, I’d say. Approaching at a dead run, having just parked a Thunderbird with a squeal of wheels.”
    Skip had heard the squeal, but had paid it no mind. Now she saw a very thin woman coming towards them, hair flying, long legs shining brown, sticking out from a white silk shorts suit. Over one shoulder she carried a lightweight flight bag. Golden-throated Ti-Belle Thiebaud, the fastest-rising star on the New Orleans music scene.
    Steve said, “I’d know those legs anywhere.”
    She never performed in any garment that wasn’t short, split, slit, or halfway missing. Some said the whole country