PI On A Hot Tin Roof

McGehee.”
    A teenage girl entered the room in a school uniform—a girl a little too plump, too awkward to be popular, or even socially acceptable in the fanciest girls’ school in town. She had pink skin and pale red hair, nicely cut in a bob—Reedy’s doing, Talba was willing to bet. Her sullen look said she’d prefer a Mohawk.
    “Lucy, say hello to Sandra.”
    The girl looked at her without interest and said only, “You making pancakes?”
    “Sandra’s just getting oriented. By the way,” she said to Talba, “can you cook ?”
    “I think I could manage breakfast. But maybe not pancakes the first day.” This was good, she thought. If they ate in the kitchen, she might get to hear them interact as she cooked. She stood. “Shall I scramble some eggs?”
    “Ewwww,” Lucy said.
    Reedy looked at her watch. “Everybody’s late today. We usually serve breakfast at seven-fifteen—Lucy’s school starts at seven-fifty-five, so it’s a race. But nobody usually turns up except Buddy and Lucy—sometimes Kristin. How about setting the table and getting out stuff for cereal? Missy, you get your own,” she said to Lucy. “You’re ’bout to be late for school.”
    Talba heard more stair-clattering, heavier this time, and in a moment a man walked into the room who looked for all the world like a youngish Burl Ives—round belly, round balding head, bland, slightly red face. “You Alberta’s niece?” he said. “Welcome to the asylum. We think the world of Alberta, but that don’t mean we ain’ gon’ fire her ass if she don’t get back to work soon. Can’t cook worth a damn. Burns the bacon every time. Maybe you’ll work out better, honey, and we’ll just keep ya. You cook?”
    “Not this morning, Buddy.” Reedy’s voice was strained. “We’ve got to get her oriented.”
    “Sure, sure. I’ll find some roots and berries or somethin’. You show her around.”
    “Guess it’s that time,” Reedy said. “You dropping Lucy off?”
    “Goddammit, have I got to do everything around here?”
    “This is Sandra,” Reedy said. “My son, Buddy Champagne.”
    “
Judge
Buddy Champagne to you, Adele. You just call me ‘your honor,’ honey.” He winked at Talba.
    And I’m “Your Grace” to you, fatso.
    Lucy made a face Medusa would have envied. “Daddy, you are so queer!”
    “Queer? Who ya callin’ queer? Save that for ya brother, princess. Ya daddy’s anything but.”
    “Royce is not queer!”
    Oh, boy,
Talba thought.
    “Let’s go, Sandra. Let me show you where everything is.”
    “Yes, Miss—uh—do you prefer Mrs. Reedy or Miss Adele?”
    “Lord, honey, we don’t stand on ceremony around here. Call me anything—”
    “Except late for supper,” Lucy finished with a sneer in her voice.
    “Young lady, you are way too big for your britches. Now eat your breakfast and get on out of here.”
    Talba saw that both Lucy and her father had managed to find cereal and serve themselves. Good—they weren’t completely helpless.
    Reedy showed her the kitchen products, told her what to use on what (she’d never seen stainless steel cleaner before), and had just ushered her into a stately but somewhat dusty hall when a gorgeous young woman came running down the stairs in a black suit she’d probably bought in New York. Her golden hair glistened and her skin looked as if it had been scrubbed with stainless steel cleaner. She was the only one other than Reedy who deigned to shake hands with a mere maid.
    Once she stopped moving, Talba could see that she was really quite petite—but she had a presence, no question. “Hi. I’m Kristin LaGarde.”
    “Sandra Corey.”
    “Good to meet you. Gotta grab coffee and run.” She clacked into the kitchen and Talba heard her say, “Morning, Princess. Sleep well?”
    For the first time, Lucy showed signs of life. “Hey, great suit.”
    “We can’t exactly start at the top,” Reedy said to Talba, “because that’s where Royce and Suzanne live.” She pronounced it
Suzonne.
“They’re never up before nine or ten. So let’s start on the second floor.”
    As they climbed the stairs, she added, “Royce keeps irregular hours—he’s learning the seafood business, working for a friend of the family. And Suzanne’s a consultant.” She seemed a bit uncomfortable, as if feeling a need to explain their sloth.
    “Oh,” Talba said noncommittally, a word she used a lot when she wanted more information.
    She got it. “You ever heard of feng