Louisiana Bigshot

it.”
    “No, Eddie, I don’t.” She shrugged as if he were wasting her time. But he hadn’t been a cop and a PI his whole life for nothing. She was holding something back. “I’m gonna tackle Calvin first thing tomorrow.”
    “I don’t b’lieve I’d do that if I was you. He might not appreciate it.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s Saturday, that’s why. Let the man have the weekend in peace. Ya been working too hard on this anyway, what with that funeral last week and everything. Give it a rest, Ms. Wallis. Go home and go out with that young man with all the teeth.”
    “Eddie Valentino, is that a racist remark?” There was no fire in the words, but he supposed she felt she had to say them.
    He sighed. “No, Ms. Wallis, it isn’t. I s’pose it’s jealousy.” Audrey and Angie had way too much to say about Darryl Boucree. All of it good.
    ***
    In fact, Talba had forgotten it was the weekend. She did have a date with Darryl, though it was for the next night, and it wasn’t a date so much as a forced march—Raisa would be along. She also had another date, if not with destiny, at least with herself, to work on her own case. But not till tomorrow.
    She called Miz Clara, who answered gruffly, as usual. “Mama, you sound like you’re expecting the IRS.”
    “Ummph.”
    “You want to go see Michelle and the baby? I can come get you and take you over there to the hospital.”
    “They went home yesterday.”
    “Oh. Well, how about we go by Corey’s?”
    “All right. If it won’t put you out.” Miz Clara tried hard, but she couldn’t keep the pleasure out of her voice. She was dying to see her grandchild.
    Talba took her by, and they all got a basket of fried chicken to eat, and Talba felt downright kindly toward her brother’s wife. Sophia Pontalba was just a tiny brown sweet thing… toffee, she thought, with amazement.
Toffee.
It was the way she’d described herself in her most famous poem, the one about being named Urethra.
I was right on the money that time. What a little brown sweet thing!
    On impulse, she said, “Mama, was I ever that sweet?” and everyone laughed.
    “Lord, no! You was a mess from the minute you came into this world.”
    Somewhere,
she thought,
I’ve got a little sister. Maybe she’ll appreciate me.
    When she got home, it was still early enough to call strangers. She got out her list of Winterses and took up where she’d left off—at Dennis.
    She hit paydirt on Kiana, who spoke almost as gruffly as Miz Clara. “This ain’ Mozelle house.”
    Something about the way she said it telegraphed that she knew Mozelle. “Oh? You have her phone number?”
    “No.”
    “Miss Winters, it’s important. I’m a lawyer representing an estate—do you know what an estate is?”
    “Yeah. I think I do.” Talba was willing to bet she did—there was a definite softening in tone.
    “I wonder if you could help me find her.”
    “Mozelle my mama sister. She don’t have nothin’ to do with us no more. She married to a doctor.”
    “Oh. I see. Do you happen to know his name?”
    “I done forgot.” It was like pulling teeth.
    “Well, actually, we’re trying to trace all the relatives of a Bartholomew Winters, who left quite a considerable estate—did your mother and Mozelle have the same father?”
    “They sure did.” Considerably more interest. Warmth, even.
    After that it was easy. Her mama’s name was Leticia Hooks, and Leticia knew exactly what the doctor’s name was—Matthew Simmons. She even supplied his phone number.
    Talba didn’t ask for his address—she was betting it was in the phone book, and she was half right. His office address was. Well, no problem, she had her trusty computer handy.
    She certainly wasn’t going to call—by now it was almost ten—but she was dying to know more. So she backgrounded him.
    On paper he was exactly as advertised, a pediatrician who’d gone to LSU med school, owned two cars and a house in a good neighborhood, and had no liens or bankruptcies in his closet. She felt slightly let down, though she couldn’t put her finger on why she was disappointed. Surely it meant her sister was being well cared for. The thought crossed her mind that he might know her brother, Corey—in fact maybe it was inevitable, given the worldwide rule of six degrees of separation, which in New Orleans was more like two.
    The girl would be Corey’s sister too. What if they were friends, Matthew and Corey? What if Corey already knew his own sister