PI On A Hot Tin Roof

who’d once won a science fair prize. (Indeed, most of the information about the Williamses had come from the article about the kid.) But they were in their late thirties. Tawahna couldn’t be the woman she saw. She was Roman’s mother, maybe, or Tawahna’s.
    Talba brought out the project she’d worked on the day before, a pretext survey. Taking a deep breath, she dialed the Williamses’ phone number. A woman answered.
    “Mrs. Williams?” she asked.
    “We got two of us here. Who you want—Tawanha or Alberta?”
    “Let me see—the name I have is…uh, Alberta.”
    “Just a minute,” the woman said, and another woman came on the line, one with an older-sounding voice. So far so good.
    “Mrs. Williams?” Talba said. “I work for a company that’s opening a restaurant in your neighborhood, and we’re doing a little demographic survey. We’ll pay you ten dollars to answer a few questions. The check is already made out and addressed to you—it’ll take no more than ten minutes of your time. That’s one dollar a minute. Can you answer a few questions for me?”
    “Mmph. More’n I usually make. Go on ahead.”
    “Okay, thanks very much. First of all, you have been selected at random. May I check your name and address?” That done, she said, “We’re trying to get a sense of the kind of neighborhood customer our client might have.”
    “Don’t see why.”
    “You know that new Wal-Mart? We did the same thing for them, and they found it very helpful. The idea is, how best to serve the customers.”
    “Better make it cheap,” Williams said.
    Talba laughed. “I hear you. Tell me—do you go to church?”
    “Yes.”
    “Where?”
    “First Evangelical Baptist.” She gave an address.
    “When you go to restaurants, what do you generally order?”
    “Never go to restaurants.”
    “Oh, come on—everyone does sometimes.”
    “Well…I like shrimp if it’s fried real good. Chicken. Barbecue.” She brightened. “Ain’t a barbecue restaurant, is it?”
    “Could be. The client’s trying to decide.”
    “That go over real good in this neighborhood.”
    “Do you drink alcohol?”
    “Once in a blue moon, maybe. Have me a beer or something.”
    “I see. Any particular favorite bar?”
    “No,
ma’am.
Never go to bars. Just have a beer at home now and then. Maybe at a picnic.”
    “Okay, do you like to dance?”
    “Way too old for that foolishness.”
    “Have any hobbies?”
    “I knit some; for my grandbabies.” So far absolutely nothing that could be done in public, where Talba could stage a chance meeting.
    “Belong to any social groups?”
    “Eastern Star; Ladies Auxiliary kind of thing at the church.”
    “Well, tell me about the rest of the family.”
    Williams described her son, daughter-in-law, and their children. No surprises there. They, too, if Williams was to be believed, had no particular interests outside the home.
    “Well, how about your job? Do you go to work?”
    “I’m a house cleaner. For a family Uptown. Been working there three years.”
    “You must like your job.”
    “You know anybody likes their job?”
    “I’ll take that as a no.”
    Williams laughed. “You shore catch on quick.”
    “Well, at least I hope the people you work for treat you well.”
    “Mmmph. Well, you can hope all the way home, Missy. Ain’ gon’ make it so.”
    “Are you well paid?”
    “Am I well paid?” Talba could hear her bristling, but she was ready. “Whose business that be?”
    “The survey is completely confidential, Mrs. Williams. Our client is trying to determine if the participants have the discretionary income to support an upscale restaurant.”
    “Beg pardon? Have the
what?”
    “That’s just a fancy phrase for excess cash.”
    That got a big laugh out of Williams. “Now, ain’t that a contradiction. Uh-huh. Excess cash. Sho’ do got excess cash.”
    “That means no, right?”
    “You one sharp little cookie.”
    “May I ask what your hourly rate is?”
    “You crazy? Callin’ up here axin’ how much money I make! Whatchoo think ya doin’?”
    “Well, actually, that was kind of off the survey. I just asked because my mama cleans houses for a living. She makes fifteen dollars an hour.” This was a blatant untruth, but Talba figured it might get results.
    “Well, I sho’ would like to meet
her
employer. My son ain’t well right now, and my daughter-in-law can’t even afford child care no more, him not workin’; she cain’t work but three days a