Louisiana Bigshot

Majors on Pearl Street, and she was willing to bet he was married to Betty.
    It was Betty who answered the door, still in her white uniform—the woman Talba had picked out at the cemetery. “I know you. You the detective.” She was more or less scowling, but her voice held no malice.
    “Yeah, but I’m not really so bad.” Talba gave her a winning smile. “I was Clayton’s friend. Maybe you were too.”
    “I been workin’ there a long time.”
    “Listen, Miz Majors, I heard what that preacher said, and that wasn’t the Clayton I knew. Something’s rotten in this town. Something’s wrong here. You know that, don’t you?”
    The older woman opened the door. “Come in, child,” she said. “Come on in.” She had a round sweet face, and only three or four gray hairs right around the part. She didn’t really look old enough to have worked in one place for sixteen years.
    “Would you like some iced tea?”
    “Thank you. I b’lieve I would.”
    Talba used the few minutes it took Majors to get the tea to take in her surroundings. They certainly supported the cobbler’s children cliché—the place was a mess. Dust was everywhere, and so were old newspapers, even a few dirty dishes.
    Majors came back with one glass of tea only, held in her hand, not on a tray. She gave it to Talba and looked around herself.
    “Lawd, lawd, I’m embarrassed. My girl Amber’s s’posed to take care of this house”
    “Oh, please,” said Talba, unsure how to reassure her. “You’re nice just to see me.” She sipped the tea and nodded to show that it was good. “I saw you at the cemetery.”
    “Saw you too. Couldn’t miss ya. You and the boyfriend everybody hate.”
    Talba risked a chuckle. “He’s not half as bad as the husband was.”
    Betty made a noise like a squawk. “I heard that.” She nodded and rocked her body. “I sure heard that.”
    Talba wondered if she’d established enough rapport by Eddie’s standards to proceed. Betty had an expectant look, as if she were wondering when this show was going to get on the road. She was the one who broke the ice. “People are sayin’ you don’t think Miss Clayton killed herself.”
    Talba tried to hide her surprise. Her efforts at discretion were evidently laughable. “Do you?” she countered.
    Majors answered without hesitation. “I know she had reason to.” She let a beat go by. “They was mean to her, Ms. Wallis.”
    “Talba.”
    “I ain’t never seen people be so mean to they own flesh and blood.” She teared up and pulled a tissue from her uniform pocket. “I tried to he’p. I did the best I could, but ain’t nothin’ could he’p that child but another family.”
    “You tried to help recently? Or—”
    The woman shook her head before she could finish. “No’m. I ain’t see Clayton for years, bless her heart. I tried to he’p then. When she was growing up. Somethin’ bad happened to her, and I don’t mean just that scalpin’ thing. Mmmph, mmmph. Lot more to that than meets the eye.”
    Talba kept quiet, hoping for more. But Betty Majors only cried quietly into her tissue. Finally, Talba said, “What do you mean by that?”
    “Wish I could tell ya, I surely do. I don’t know exactly. But I sure do know there’s somethin’.”
    Talba smiled. Time to play the maid card. “My mama does what you do.”
    “She somebody maid?”
    “Lots of people’s. She does day work. And she always knows everybody’s business. Says people don’t care what they say in front of the maid.”
    “Oh, she right about that. Most of the time they most certainly don’t. I know when Mr. King got a new little chippy, I know how often he come home drunk, I know how many fish he catch over the weekend. Why, he don’t even censor his nigger jokes in front of me. Now and then, when he tellin’ one, he say, ‘Now, Betty, you know I’m not a racist,’ when I know good and well he is. He stupid enough to think I believe him, but most of the time he don’t even bother. He just go ahead, tell his jokes, don’t pay no attention to me.
    “And I know all the same stuff about Little King—I ain’ gon’ call him Trey—and he drink nearly’s much as his daddy and chase tail twice as much.
    “I know when Deborah got her period and when she stop havin’ her period once and for all. I know who she mad at and who she havin’ a fight with, and usually it’s two-three people at once. Ain’t nothin’ I don’t know ’bout those people.
    “And they give