PI On A Hot Tin Roof

nefarious hands that record might fall into? And then everyone would know her daughter had actually been out of work for a big three months.”
    “So what’d she put?”
    “‘Foreign correspondent.’ Thought I’d die.”
    “Oh, God—seen one mom, you’ve seen ’em all. Listen, I’ve got to go—I think I feel a poem coming on.”

Chapter 4
    “You look all right.”
As good as a baroness can in scruffy old jeans,
Talba thought.
And I’m early, you happen to notice?
The woman who’d answered the door ought to know exactly how she looked by now. She’d certainly taken a thorough enough gander. Talba half-expected her to inspect her teeth.
    This woman couldn’t be the judge’s lady friend—she was old enough to be his mother, and if she was, Angie must be a secret druggie, because he was bound to be innocent. Nobody who’d been raised by this one could possibly get away with anything. She was tall and erect, with wavy white hair in a short, severe, and way too sensible haircut that still managed to be flattering. And she was wearing a dress. Who wore dresses any more unless they were going to work? And Talba certainly couldn’t see this one working. Maybe a volunteer job.
    Stranger still, the dress was mauve; vaguely dressy, with a fluttery skirt. She had on earrings and makeup that didn’t hide a face full of wrinkles. Her shoes had tiny stacked heels. She was something from another era, and not at all what Talba expected. She’d thought Champage would be something of a redneck, but if this woman had raised him, he could at least be depended on to have decent manners.
    But despite her attempt at elegance, the woman didn’t achieve it. She spoke in a blustery, semi-country fashion that didn’t sound like New Orleans at all.
    “I’m Adele Reedy,” she said, not bothering to offer her hand. “You’d be Alberta’s niece.”
    Talba did offer to shake, and was not rebuffed. She got the impression Reedy was impressed with her politeness. “Sandra Corey. Aunt Alberta said she’s sorry she had to be away.”
    “Hope it’s not too serious. Come on in, let’s get acquainted. You’re going to be working with me, so I may as well tell you what’s what.”
    Yeah,
Talba thought.
Tell me everything.
    Reedy led her into a kitchen that was blessedly marble-free, and had a long table in it instead of the usual island. Kind of a beat-up table, the sort that had either been in the family for generations or scavenged from a European monastery. “Sit down. You want coffee?”
    “Please, ma’am,” Talba said, causing Reedy to raise a stiff gray eyebrow.
    “You’ve got good manners for a maid.”
    Alberta didn’t?
Talba wondered. She said, “Guess my mama raised me right,” hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick.
    “Guess she did.” Reedy handed her a cup, and took a seat opposite her new employee. “You got experience?”
    “Oh, yes, ma’am. Worked my way through Xavier cleaning houses. I worked for a service.”
    “Oh, those things.” Reedy wrinkled her nose. “We’ve had some very bad experiences with services. Xavier, did you say? You graduate?”
    “Yes ma’am. Degree in social work.” (The Xavier part was true, anyhow.) “This is just a favor for Aunt Alberta.”
    “What about your regular job?”
    “It ended about six months ago—agency funds got cut off. I was looking for another, but then this came up and I can use the money.”
    “I hope you’re good at laundry. You iron?” Score one for Miz Clara.
    “Happy to. You like your sheets starched?”
    To her surprise, Reedy laughed. “Alberta
hates
to iron sheets. We might have to keep you. Listen, laundry’s the main thing around here.”
    Talba groaned inwardly. The house was as big as three houses—how was she going to clean it, much less iron sheets?
    “There are five of us living here.” Reedy paused. “Well, six if you count Kristin, my son-in-law’s girlfriend. But you can’t because she has her own place—she’s just around so much it seems like she lives here. You don’t have to do her laundry.”
    “Your—uh—son-in-law?”
    “My daughter passed away a few years back, leaving him with two children. Royce is grown and married, of course, but Lucy’s fourteen. We’re just one big happy family, all thrown together by a legal dispute.” Talba had no idea what she meant by that, but she decided now wasn’t the time to ask. She heard clattering on the stairs.
    “Ah, there’s Lucy now. She goes to