Louisiana Lament

color of a lemon pie, exactly matching her form-fitting plus-size suit, which was smartly trimmed in black. Her skin color was light—the word
camel,
for some reason, came to mind. Her cheeks were round and heavily rouged; her voice was at least as imposing as her form. It seemed to come from her solar plexus rather than her larynx. Word got to her before Talba did. “I hear you are looking for Miss Lura Jones.”
    The woman was such a diva Talba almost forgot she was a baroness. “I… uh…”
If it’s all right with you,
she thought.
If not, I’ll just be going now.
“Yes,” she finally managed.
    “Speak up, child, I don’t bite.”
    Ouch, you just did.
“I’m looking for someone named Lura. I’m not sure about the last name.”
    “You are not a relative?”
    “Not a blood relative, no.”
    “I am sorry to tell you that Miss Jones passed away some years ago.”
    “Oh. Well.” Talba pretended to rethink the whole thing. “But there was a daughter,” she said slowly, as if it were just dawning on her. “Wasn’t there a daughter?”
    Sister Eula drew up herself up another four or five inches—as if she could be more intimidating. She made Miz Clara look like a pussycat. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
    “Oh, there was. There was a baby, and I’m pretty sure it was a girl.”
    “You got good news for that girl? You a detective or something?”
    Talba was taken aback. Did the woman know her? What the hell, why not go with that idea? She almost produced her license, but thought better of it even as her hand rummaged her purse for her wallet—the woman might recognize her last name. She finally opted for a friendly smile and a cocked eyebrow. “I didn’t know it was so obvious.”
    “Who are you, girl?” Miss Eula was getting hostile, and Talba wasn’t sure why.
    “I’m trying to find her for a relative. My client believes she may be a cousin by marriage.”
    Talba suddenly found her heart was beating as hard as it had when the five-hundred-pound sergeant threatened to throw her in jail.
    Sister Eula stared a hole through her. “Mmmm-hmmm,” she said, and Talba had the sense that she knew exactly who she was. If her father Denman had come to this church with his woman, they’d remember. Or Sister Eula would. She looked at Talba as if she could penetrate every secret she had just by thinking hard enough. It was the look Miz Clara had used when she was a kid and she was lying.
    Talba didn’t know what to do but stare back at her, trying to keep her heart from breaking through her ribs and making a mess in this fine church.
    Finally, Sister Eula said, “You all right, child. You all right.”
    Are you a doctor?
Talba thought.
What’s the deal here?
    “I recollect Miss Lura had a sister. Mozelle Winters, her name was. I b’lieve she moved to Memphis.” And Sister Eula turned her back and flounced away, as if she were offended.

Chapter Ten
    What was that?
Talba thought.
A gypsy fortuneteller or a church lady? Sergeant Rouselle’s mama, maybe?
    She couldn’t wait to go home and get online. But in the end, what she found for Mozelle Winters was absolutely nothing.
    And then an axiom of Eddie’s came back to her: always call information first.
    I’m an idiot
, she thought, and dialed impatiently. But so far as BellSouth knew, there was no Mozelle Winters in Memphis.
    She had heard Miz Clara come in from church. With the afternoon stretching before her—and a brand-new car—maybe she could persuade her mother to go for a ride. “Mama? you here?”
    Miz Clara didn’t answer. Having a nap, maybe. The Sunday paper was strewn all over the living room, as if she’d had a luxurious Sunday read.
Why not me?
Talba thought. She got herself a Diet Coke and settled down in a mountain of newsprint. In time, she even drifted off herself.
    When the phone rang, she heard it but made no effort to answer. She had voice mail—hell with it. She took a deep breath, fell back into semiconsciousness, and couldn’t have been further away when a banshee keening debouched from Miz Clara’s room.
    “Mama? Mama, what is it?” Talba flew into her mother’s bedroom, screaming, wondering if something had happened to her Aunt Carrie, her mama’s only sister.
    Miz Clara shushed her, still listening, still keening. Talba heard her say, “I’m comin’ right on over soon’s as I can get a cab. No, honey, don’t you worry about it. I’m sure I can get one.”
    Honey? She never called anyone