PI On A Hot Tin Roof

that way, because I’m doing it. My mind’s made up.”
    Eddie sighed. Those were the four words she’d never go back on. He could fire her and she’d still do it.
What the hell?
he thought.
The worst she can do is plant bugs and get thrown in jail and get me sued and fined ten thousand dollars.
The thought gave him a stomachache. And yet, when all was said and done, he’d rather go down than see Angie burned at the stake in the
Times-Picayune.
But, come to think of it, that wasn’t the only news organization in town. “What about television? How ya gonna stop those guys?”
    “I told you,” his daughter said. “Farley’s in Champagne’s pocket. You can bet he’s got an exclusive. I mean, anyone could find the arrest records, but they’d have to know they were supposed to look for them. Somebody tipped Farley. It’s the only way he could know—and whoever tipped him planted the drugs.”
    Wheels were turning again. “Okay, I’ll work that part of it. If Farley’s in Champagne’s pocket, it’s got to have something to do with a case; I’ll find the damn case. Could be pending, or maybe this is payback. Or maybe Farley’s a relative. It wouldn’t be a bribe—if ya gon’ be a reporter, it ain’t bucks you’re after.”
    “And if it is a bribe, I might be able to pick it up over at the house,” Ms. Wallis said.
    “What makes ya think they need a maid?”
    “Don’t you worry your pretty head,” his associate said.
    “Here’s the question,” said his daughter. “Do you know Jane Storey well enough to call her on a Sunday night?”
    “Watch me,” Ms. Wallis said, and plucked her cell phone from her purse.

Chapter 3
    “Jane, I’ve got a great story for you.”
    “Well, if it isn’t the Baroness de Pontalba.” The reporter used her nom de plume. “Hello, Your Grace. What, if I may get to the point, is up? For once I’m not alone on Sunday night.”
    “Off the record?”
    “Sure, off the record. I’m at home, in case you haven’t noticed.”
    “You know Angela Valentino, right?”
    “Your boss’s kid. Sure. Aka the meanest white bitch in Orleans Parish. That isn’t racist, is it?”
    “I’m gonna let it slide. Did you know she was arrested yesterday?”
    “No. For what?”
    “Drugs.”
    “Now that’s a story.” For the first time, she heard enthusiasm in the reporter’s voice. Angie was a pretty prominent lawyer.
    “And not just Angie. She was with Alabama Brazil at the time. They both got popped.”
    “I’m missing something here. Why are you tipping me? You ought to be on their side.”
    “’Cause somebody else already has that story—Evan Farley.”
    “Oh, shit. Funky Farley.”
    “What? He smells?”
    “Damn right. Only not in a literal sense. Something’s really wrong about that guy.”
    “Are you the only one who thinks so?”
    “Let’s just say he’s not real well thought of at the paper.”
    Talba began to relax a little. “Okay, here’s the gist. An extremely prominent citizen set Angie up. Alabama just got caught in the crossfire. That same prominent citizen then proceeded to tip Farley, and the story’s going to run tomorrow. Could you get it stopped?”
    “Hell, no. Not unless it’s not true. And you just told me it is.”
    “Maybe we could make a trade. I could offer you a much better story on the prominent citizen.”
    “Who is?”
    “A judge.”
    Talba sensed tension at the other end.
    “Buddy Champagne,” the reporter said.
    “You were pretty quick with that one.”
    “Baroness, tell me the truth. Have you really got something on Buddy Champagne?”
    “Swear to God,” she lied. “Why?”
    “He’s one of those guys everyone thinks is dirty, but nobody can get anything on.”
    “How about the marina?”
    “Yeah. That’s the thing: Someone from the Venetian Isles neighborhood group called a press conference, which some kid reporter got sent to, and Funky Farley asked to follow up on it. Said the kid’s story was under-reported, almost got him fired. But then the spin Farley put on it, sounded like somebody was persecuting poor old Buddy and all his vendors. David doesn’t trust him.” David Bacardi, she meant, the city editor. Jane had once confided to Talba that she’d had an affair with him. It was long over, but it had come out of a professional closeness that was still bound to be there. She had the feeling Bacardi trusted Jane.
    “Look, can you talk to David? Get him to hold the story just one day. Then