Louisiana Bigshot

Patterson also died a few days ago?”
    “I did.” He bit off the words, mad now, though Talba wasn’t sure why. The blood had come back to his face, which was fast turning red. “What does that have to do with anything?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. I was hoping to ask you what you remember about Troxell’s case.”
    “Young woman, do you think I don’t know who you are? Just what the hell are you trying to pull here?”
    He could have spoken to her in Chinese and she wouldn’t have been more surprised. He knew her? What a ludicrous idea!
    She said, “I think you must have me confused with someone else.”
    But he said only, “I have nothing more to say to you,” went into his office, and slammed his door.
    What the hell was that?
she thought, wondering how on earth she’d managed to blow it so fast, with so few words.
    It came to her on the drive home. He must have seen her before, at Clayton’s funeral. He was just another white face, while she was the all-too-obvious object of everyone’s scorn. It explained why he’d looked so familiar to her, but there was a lot it didn’t explain—like the way he turned white when she told him about Donny.
    Only one explanation, she thought. He sold Donny out.
    She wondered if she should try to get a transcript of the trial. But that would take a while and cost several hundred bucks. There were other people she could talk to—the judge, for instance. Also, everyone in the Patterson family.
    She could try, anyway.
    The day was shot by the time she got back to New Orleans. She didn’t even bother going back to the office—just checked for messages on her cell phone and headed for Baptist Hospital.
    Michelle was nursing the baby. It was the first time Talba’d actually seen her niece, and all she really saw now was the back of her head. But what a precious little back of the head!
    “Hey,” she said.
    Michelle raised her adoring glance. “Hey, Talba. Look what I’ve got.”
    To her extreme amazement, Talba felt herself start to choke up. “Not bad,” was all she said.
    “Did Corey tell you what we’re calling her?”
    “Uh-uh.” That had been the last thing on their minds the night before.
    “Sophia.” She pronounced it “Soe-fye-a.”
    “Sophia Pontalba.”
    “What?” Talba nearly jumped out of her skin. Surely they weren’t naming their baby for her—they didn’t even accept her name.
    Michelle shrugged. “Corey likes the name. I think it’s a little pretentious…”
    Of course you do,
Talba thought.
    “…but he likes it.” Michelle squeezed out a smile. “And we thought of you, of course.”
    “Well, that’s really nice of you, Michelle. I don’t quite know what to say.”
    Her sister-in-law looked gaunt after her ordeal. She wore no makeup, and for the first time since she’d known her, Talba felt as if she might be talking to a real woman, not a mannequin.
    But that might be me,
she thought.
Not her.
    “I’m real mad about one thing, though—I liked being the only baroness in the family.”
    The baby quit nursing, rubbing her head against Michelle’s breast, as if to say, “Take me away, now.”
    Michelle turned her around and held her up to Talba, who said, “Hello, Baronessa,” and held out her arms.
    “Woooo. This is one sweet baby.” Suddenly it really penetrated that she had a niece, and she was holding her.
    And that she loved her.
    Just like that she’d fallen in love. She was absolutely nuts about the soft little bundle without a bit of personality, and she didn’t even question it.
    The rest of the visit passed in cooing over the baby and getting used to Michelle—to the idea that she was going to be around the rest of Talba’s life, probably, and Talba actually preferred it that way. It was a little disconcerting, but it beat the alternative.
    The baby shook something loose in her, something that might not be resolved for many years, maybe not for the rest of her life. She knew perfectly what it was—it was some kind of hormonal thing. It was something that came over women from time to time and never left some of them. She sighed, wondering where it would lead, and vowing to open up a little toward Raisa.
    And out of the blue, as she was driving home, something else struck her.
I wonder,
she thought,
what my little sister’s like.
    How the hell did you find someone with a name like Winters?
    She went over what she’d done. Once she had the name, she’d started out by calling information in