PI On A Hot Tin Roof

falling for such a simple con was one of life’s great mysteries.
    Warren was divorced, too, and Kristin’s mother now ran a little antiques store in Covington, which had more than once made it into some kind of local story.
    Adele was from Texas, which explained, to Talba’s mind, why her manner and accent were somewhat more bluff than that of the average Uptown lady. Her husband, Hollis, who’d founded a company that sold supplies for oil rigs, had died a few years back. That, Talba thought, might explain the fancy house.
    She added the background files to the one she’d made on Buddy, which was unremarkable (law school, law practice, judgeship) except for the fact that his wife hadn’t died a natural death. Celeste Champagne had been killed in a hit-and-run accident, which might or might not be suspicious.
    Talba couldn’t yet piece together how Buddy and Adele happened to live together, but her bet was that it had something to do with Celeste’s and Hollis’s wills—especially since Celeste had died suddenly. Or maybe it was simply an accommodation for Lucy’s sake.
    She would have done a little work on Farley, to help Eddie out, but that was as far as she could go for one night, and anyway, Miz Clara was calling her to supper. Once more, Miz Clara’d taken pity on her and made her a hot meal—red beans and rice, with some leftover greens on the side. Since Miz Clara hadn’t been able to stew them forever, she’d decided to sauté them in bacon grease after steaming. But this was no time to register a heart-healthy protest.
    “Thanks, Mama,” Talba said as she sat down. “Listen, what can I make for lunch tomorrow? Judge Champagne wouldn’t eat my famous chicken stir-fry.”
    Miz Clara all but curled her lip. “Mmph. Cain’t blame him. Why don’t ya take the leftover beans for tomorrow? Meanwhile, I be thinkin’ o’ some things that make up easy.”
    “Really? You got enough?”
    “What I’m gon’ do with those beans? Can’t feed ’em to the rats—give ’em gas.” She bent over to pet the black cat. “Idn’t that right, Koko? Ya want some chicken, baby? I berled some up for you and that white gal.”
    Once again, Talba was in bed by eight, rattling pots and pans eleven hours later.
    Once again, Kristin took Lucy to school after a couple of sassy exchanges, and the morning’s fight took place between Adele and Buddy, who said he couldn’t see a reason in hell why the kid was so bratty, but maybe if somebody just paid her a little attention once in a while…Adele said okay, she’d take the kid shopping, maybe some new clothes would help, and Talba rejoiced.
    With luck, she’d be alone in the house that afternoon.
    She tidied the kitchen, getting ready to make the second-floor bedrooms look like they’d just come back from the laundry, while Adele worked the phones in her kitchen office—ordering liquor from Martin Wine Cellar and checking up on an order from a caterer. No surprises there, she thought, with the Champagnes practically on the Mardi Gras parade route. A party was no doubt in the offing.
    When Adele had finished, she confirmed it. “Whew! Bacchus party Sunday. I’ve got a million errands—you be okay while I’m gone?”
    “Sure. Anything I can do?”
    Adele sighed. “We’ve got food for a hundred coming in two days, but in the meantime, I guess the rest of us have to eat. Could you look around, see what we need, and run out to Langenstein’s for me? I hate to make you do that, but they just
will
not deliver any more.”
    “Sure; be glad to. Anything else?”
    “Work on Buddy’s bedroom, will you? He loved the job you did in his office. Anything to keep him happy.”
    “Glad to, Miss Adele.”
Just get the hell out and let me rifle some files.
She had a new cell phone with a camera in it; if she found anything good, she could photograph it.
    Adele left, but Suzanne was still around, Royce having left early for his brand new job at his daddy’s marina. Talba made her grocery list and went upstairs to clean Adele’s mirrors, a casualty from the day before. No sooner had she gotten into a rhythm than the doorbell rang. She found the intercom and spoke to it: “Who is it?”
    “Delivery from Langenstein’s.”
    “I’ll be right down.”
    Puzzled, she descended and opened the door, already talking. “I don’t get it, I didn’t order. Anyway, I thought Langenstein’s didn’t deliver.”
    The delivery guy smiled. He was a white guy, a little