Louisiana Bigshot

disgusted with him he never spoke to Donny again.” She sniffled and cried some more.
    “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Troxell.”
    “And now I’m going to lose two of ’em in one week.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “My husband’s got diabetes. He’s not expected to live out the week.”
    Again, Talba gasped, and again she didn’t have to fake it. “Already lost both his legs.”
    “Oh!”
    “But I got the satisfaction of one thing. At least he and Donny made up. That’s another thing that was going right for Donny. She cleared his name. Finally.”
    “Wait a minute; I’m not following.”
    “She came to see my husband and told him Donny didn’t do it. And then Ralph asked to see Donny—for the first time in sixteen years.”
    “You mean the girl? The girl who got scalped?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Ms. Clayton Patterson herself came to see my husband.” Talba’s mind was falling all over itself, putting pieces together. Donny Troxell had appeared once and only once in Clayton’s datebook. What if he’d called her to beg?
Clayton, my dad’s dying. Tell him I didn’t do it. What can it hurt? Please. I’ve served my time. Just tell my daddy I didn’t do it!
    All the newspaper articles about the trial had been clear on one thing: Clayton never accused Donny. She said she never saw her intruder. How likely was that? Talba wondered.
    What if she did know who attacked her, and she told Ralph Troxell? The statute of limitations was probably up, anyway—or maybe her real attacker, if it wasn’t Donny, had died in the intervening years. What if she’d broken a sixteen-year silence and started a chain of events that led to her death? And Donny’s.
    Mrs. Troxell said, “I went home for a bite to eat and some rest. When I came back, he told me she’d been there, and he’d called Donny.”
    Talba could barely contain herself. “You’re sure she told him Donny didn’t do it?”
    “I sure am. That’s exactly what she did tell him. And then the next afternoon he slipped into a coma.”
    “What a horrible story! I mean… wonderful, too. At least he and his son made up.”
    Troxell squeezed her wadded-up tissue and began to tear at it. She didn’t say anything.
    Finally, Talba said, “Was it all on the phone—or did Donny come over to see his dad?”
    She raised her face, and it was almost radiant. “Oh, he came over. I thank God for that. They were actually able to see each other after all those years. Lord, I wish I could have been there! But I know Ralph. I knew I had to give him some privacy. So I stepped out of the room. And when he told me about it, he cried. Said he should have trusted in his son—said somebody was going to pay, and he was going to make ’em. That’s why I thought he was going to live. He had some thing to live for.”
    “You think the girl—what’s her name?”
    “Clayton Patterson.”
    “Odd name. You think she told him what really happened?”
    “I know she did.”
    “And your husband told you?”
    “No. He didn’t tell me. Later that night, he was in terrible pain. He couldn’t really talk much. And then the next day he was as good as gone. Like that. Just like that.” She fluttered her hand.
    “Like a leaf that flutters in the wind,” Talba said before she caught herself.
    The woman looked at her oddly. “Beg pardon?”
    “Uh… bad poetry. It’s what someone said about life.”
    Troxell nodded vigorously. “Well, they could say it again. I’ve buried my boy, and before long I’ll bury my husband too.” Her jaw set hard.
    “But he didn’t go into the coma till the afternoon?”
    Troxell shook her head, concerned with her own tragedy.
    Talba wasn’t about to say what she thought.

Chapter Twelve
    Eddie was glad he didn’t have to hear the damn story on an empty stomach. By the time he got out of court it was time for lunch, and he’d snagged a couple of old cronies and headed for Venezia. He’d had a glass of wine with lunch, but, still, the thing was making him cranky.
    “So what ya think,” he said, “is that the old man was gonna blow the whistle on the scalper and the scalper killed two people to stop him, but neither one of the victims was the whistle blower. Doesn’t make sense, Ms. Wallis. Make it make sense for me.”
    “He didn’t
have
to kill the old man. Ralph was already in a coma.” She spread her hands. “Look, for all I know, the guy induced the coma.”
    “Right. Right. Get it out ya system. Go on ahead.”
    “Ralph had