Jazz Funeral

didn’t.”
    “Let’s call Ti-Belle and ask her.” He started to dial, but Patty had stopped him.
    “George, wait. If Melody’s in New Orleans, we can communicate with her.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Let’s call the Times-Picayune and make a plea. Plead with her to come home.”
    He stared at her as if she had just grown horns. He thinks I’m stupid , she thought, and maybe he did, usually. Maybe that explained his dumbfounded expression.
    “That has some merit,” he said finally. “That really has some merit.”
    Patty fairly preened.
    “They’ll talk to us and they’ll run it—they’ve been pestering us all day. This way, we control the situation.”
    He called the paper. Without consulting Patty, he issued the statement:
    “Melody’s mother and I want to say something to our daughter. We love you, Melody. We miss you. Please come home to us. We need you.”
    Just those few simple words. Patty listened with pride as he evaded the inevitable questions: Was Melody’s disappearance connected with Ham’s death? Was there fear that she’d been kidnapped? Had she gotten along well with her brother?
    Everything short of, “Why’d she kill him?”
    “George,” she said when he had hung up, “we have to call that detective. Langdon—the one at Ham’s party.”
    “About Andy, you mean? No.”
    “No?” Patty didn’t get it. “But maybe he’s the one. Maybe he kidnapped her.”
    “We’re not leaving it to the damn cops.” He started to put on his shoes. “Call Ti-Belle, will you? Get his address.”
    Not sure what he was planning, Patty didn’t protest, didn’t dare confront him. She dialed Ti-Belle. “No answer.”
    He grabbed a phone book. “Here it is. Andy Fike—shit. Burgundy Street.”
    It wasn’t a terrible neighborhood, but it wasn’t the sort they’d normally visit. George looked at his watch. “I’ll be back in—” He stopped. “No. Come with me.”
    Patty couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Come with you?”
    “To drive. I don’t want to try parking there.”
    “What are we going to do?” But it didn’t matter, as long as they were doing it together. She had already pulled on jeans. She zipped up and looked for a T-shirt.
    They went downstairs and she watched George go into his study, take something from a desk drawer and pocket it.
    “What’s that?”
    “A gun,” he said casually.
    “A gun? For what?”
    “A gun, Patty. Did you think I said nun?” The old George. “You have one—why shouldn’t I?”
    “I just didn’t know you did.”
    “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
    He could say that again, and he probably would. He said it often. He seemed to like it that way.
    They didn’t speak on the way to the Quarter. When they had pulled up in front of Andy Fike’s building, George said, “Drive around the block until I come out. If she’s in there, I’ll have her in ten minutes. If I’m not out in fifteen, call Langdon.”
    George was a big strong man who could do anything, so far as Patty could see. If anyone could pull this off, he could. But if Fike had kidnapped Melody, he wasn’t your everyday business problem. Patty had a frisson . She said, “George. I love you.”
    He gave her a half smile and a chin chuck.
    “This guy might have killed Ham.” She didn’t know why she said it, she knew he had thought of it. It sounded like nagging, and she wished she could take it back.
    He was out of the car now, his back toward her. He made an impatient gesture at shoulder level. Quick, dirty, and eloquent:
    “Leave me alone .”
    That was George. Mr. Leave-Me-Alone. But right now she felt oddly bonded with him; they were in this together, rescuing their daughter. She drove.
    He was on the sidewalk the second time around, alone. He pushed her out of the driver’s seat, obviously having a need to control something, to assert himself with a piece of heavy machinery. He accelerated way too fast for the neighborhood.
    “God, what a dump!” he said.
    “She wasn’t there?”
    “Not now, and God help her if she ever was.”
    “Why’d the guy call us?”
    He shrugged. “He’s an addict. Maybe he was trying to get money. Did he ask you for any?”
    “No. George, maybe she was never there. Maybe Fike’s like one of those people who confess to crimes to make themselves feel important.”
    “Shut up!” His face was a study in dark fury, and suddenly Patty understood how much he had wanted Melody to be there,