PI On A Hot Tin Roof

family.”
    “Think it’s a coincidence?”
    Langdon hit her with a hard stare, then gave it up and sighed. “Offhand, I’d say no.”
    “What kind of progress are you making on Buddy?”
    “Why do you care, Baroness? I don’t get it. And anyhow, you know I can’t talk about an open case.”
    “Okay, forget Buddy—I was out of line. I’m here for the family. Can you give me details about Suzanne? Like, do the police have anyone in custody?”
    “Nope. That much I can tell you. No witnesses so far.”
    “I was afraid of that,” Talba said. “Suzanne was at odds with the rest of the family—did you know that?”
    “More or less,” Skip said wearily.
    “And she was pregnant.”
    “Shit! How do you know?”
    “She told me.”
    “You’re getting around, aren’t you, Your Grace? I smell a little rat here.”
    “Yeah, well, nothing wrong with your nose. But it’s not my place to tell you about it.” Meaning her own embarrassing status. “You’ll have to ask the family. But I have a bad feeling about this.”
    Langdon gave her the stare-sigh routine again. “You think her death is connected to Buddy’s?”
    “Yes, somehow or other. I just don’t know how.”
    “Okay. I’ll take that as a tip. What else do you know about it?”
    “I’m not sure, if you know what I mean. I know a lot about the family, but who knows at this point if any of it means anything?”
    Langdon sighed without the stare. “Fair enough. What do you want from me?”
    “Just don’t let them treat it as a routine mugging, that’s all.”
    “It’s not routine; it’s murder.”
    “You and I both know—”
    “Let’s not get into that, okay? She was the daughter-in-law of a prominent judge, however crooked. Also of a murder victim. Nobody’s going to let it slide.”
    Talba stood. “Let me know if I can help you.”
    “Can
you help me?”
    “Maybe. Depends where this leads.”
    “Baroness. Listen to me—if you know anything, give it up.”
    Talba was slightly offended by her tone. “I will when I do, okay?”
    “Immediately. I mean that.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “And lose the ‘ma’am’ routine.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Talba said, and left. She’d gotten the last word, but she felt unsatisfied. She had what she came for—as much information as the cop was going to give her—but it wasn’t going to make anyone feel any better.
    There were a few things she could do to make Lucy feel better, though. She stopped at the F&F Botanica on Broad Street and bought a St. Expedite candle for swiftness in solving the case, plus an orange candle for healing. It might or might not be the right color, but it would probably do. Adele had had Kristin order food, so maybe it wasn’t necessary, but she went home to fry some chicken and put together a salad just the same.
    Miz Clara was already busy frying. “Figured you’d need somethin’ for the family.”
    Her mother could be a pain, but on this case she’d been a peach. “Thanks, Mama. I really appreciate it. I’ll make a salad.”
    “You read the Bible with that girl?”
    “Yes’m. It helped her a lot.” Thank God for Eddie’s lying lessons.
    “Hmmph. Probably didn’t hurt you none either.”
    “No, ma’am.” She freshened up, loaded her food, and drove back to the Garden District, where she found the kitchen full of women fussing over still more food, and the living room filling up with friends. Lucy was nowhere in evidence.
    “She’s upstairs,” Adele said. “With the cat. Talba, thank you for that. I don’t know how she’d have gotten through without it.”
    “I’ll see how she is.”
    She found Lucy cuddled up with Rikki, staring blankly at the television, which was playing
Buffy
reruns—maybe a tape or DVD.
    Talba sat on the bed and stroked the cat, not touching Lucy but trying to lend a little warmth. “I’m so sorry, sweetness.”
    “I didn’t love her. I didn’t even like her. I don’t know why I feel like this.”
    “’Cause you’re human, that’s why. She was here and now she’s not, and it’s not fair.”
    Lucy made a sound like a whimper.
    Talba brought out her candles. “Look. You’re a witch. Why don’t we do a little magic?”
    “I don’t believe in magic,” the girl snarled.
    “Okay, then, I’ll read you the Twenty-third Psalm.”
    “I don’t believe in God, either.”
    Talba was irritated, making her wonder what kind of mother she’d make, but she kept her voice gentle. “Lucy, that’s what