Lousiana Hotshot

well, never a prophet, she thought— or perhaps it was Tony’s choice. Maybe he didn’t want to fling his long-lost self in his parents’ face.
    Parents.
Maybe it wasn’t both of them. Maybe it was Eddie only.
    Still, why didn’t Eddie know where his only son lived? He might hate the Internet, but he was on it every day of his life. Why the hell wouldn’t he type in his son’s name and see what came up?
    Maybe he had. Maybe he’d lied about not knowing.
    Her doorknob rattled. “Ms. Wallis, what’s this closed door stunt? What ya doin’ in here?” She barely had time to get out of Tony’s website before the elder Valentino came crashing into her office.
    “Thought you were going to call me Talba,” she said, and then was sorry she hadn’t been more respectful. Eddie looked like hell, his face pinched with pain. “Eddie, what’s the matter?”
    “Ah, it’s nothin’, I just got one of my headaches.”
    “Headaches,” she said. “Have you had that checked out?”
    He swatted the air in front of his face, indicating his disdain for the question. “The driver was a black male.”
    “Damn! Do you think we should tell Aziza?”
    “Oh, yeah. Hell, yeah, I think we should tell Aziza. But she left this morning on a business trip, and her office won’t say where she went.”
    “What about Cassandra?”
    “She didn’t go to school today, and nobody’s answering the phone at home. For all I know she was in the car with the hit-and-run artist.”
    “Is there any description on him?”
    “Uh-uh. Just black, average build, probably in his twenties. Two of them in one car, which was a medium-sized beige job.” He paused and rubbed his head. “Cassandra might be staying with one of her little girlfriends— maybe we could get their numbers from her school. Ya want to call ‘em for me?”
    Talba looked at her watch. “School’s already out.”
    Eddie shrugged, but she thought she saw a tiny tightening in the lines between his eye. “Oh, well. Maybe her mama’ll call me.”
    “Are you going to tell the police about Cassandra?”
    “I don’t think yet. It’s a long way from havin’ sex with a teenager to killin’ somebody. Think about it— you ever have sex when you were fourteen?” He looked horrified at what he’d said. “I mean, uh, excuse me, I was thinkin’ out loud.”
    Talba had to laugh. “Sixteen. With a boy who was nineteen. My mama found out about it, and there was hell to pay. And then, what do you know, the same thing happened all over again, with another boy.”
    “Anybody go to jail or get killed?”
    “Uh-uh. It was more like a tempest in a teapot.”
    “Yeah. So I think maybe we’ll leave the police option up to Ms. Scott, if we ever find her. Ya get anything on Rhonda?”
    “Just a DUI. I printed out the stuff on her and everybody else I could think of.” She handed him the package.
    He nodded briefly, letting her know he’d heard and wasn’t much interested. “I need ya to do something for me.” He looked like he was about to fall over.
    “Sure, Eddie. Look, you think you should go home or something?”
    “I’m goin.’ Oh, yeah, I’m goin’. Headache like this can last two days.”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “I need ya to go to the funeral. And the visitation if there is one.”
    “Me? Without my license?”
    “Ehhh, maybe it’ll come tomorrow. I probably crossed the line
already
lettin’ you make that appointment with Ms. Terrell. But it’s the same thing again— you’d fit in, I’d stick out.”
    She couldn’t resist interrupting him. “How on earth did you get along without me?”
    He didn’t dignify that with a response, not even a tilt of an eyebrow. “You won’t be workin’, if you catch my drift.” He held out a pair of palms-up, innocent hands. “Anybody can go to a funeral.”
    He didn’t come in the next day. A great day, she thought, to work on his website— she’d surprise him when he came back. Not that that’s all there was— Eileen popped in about ten with an armful of files. “Mostly employment checks,” she said. “He said to have you work on them. Oh, and Angie called for your address— I said I’d call her back. Okay if I give it to her?”
    Talba was puzzled. “Sure, but why would she need it?”
    “She wants to send you an invitation to Eddie’s sixty-fifth birthday party. Are you free Saturday after next? March twentieth, I think it is. Angie’s throwin’ it, so you
know
it’s gonna be