PI On A Hot Tin Roof

confidential, but where Darryl was concerned, Talba took the notion of secrecy as more of a guideline than a rule. What was the point of having a job if you couldn’t share it with your boyfriend? But not even Darryl knew about her penchant for illegal listening devices (the prohibition against which she also viewed as a mere suggestion).
    “Sounds,” he said, “as if you’ve got enough to keep Jane Storey busy for a month.”
    “Oh, man, is she going to owe me. That’s got to be a good thing.”
    “Bringing down a crooked judge could be even better.”
    “I just have to get Angie off, that’s all. And then I can go back to my cushy job as a computer wiz and brilliant poet.”
    “How’d the reading go, by the way?”
    “I killed.
I
am a baroness.”
    “Uh-huh.” He’d only heard the line about a thousand times.
    “A nearly dead baroness.”
    “Would Your Grace agree to be tucked in?”
    “My Grace would more or less demand it.”
    They were awakened at 8 a.m. by an easily identified flying object—a hungry ten-year-old landing between them. “You keep sleeping,” Darryl said. “I’ll feed her.”
    But Raisa’s oatmeal was too lumpy, and when Darryl made her some eggs instead, they were too runny, as she so elegantly put it. It was going to be one of those days.
    Talba heard it all from the bedroom. Unable to sleep through the ruckus, she dragged her bones out of bed. She was sure Raisa heard her feet hit the floor, because the next thing out of the kid’s mouth was this: “Daddy, why does that lady always have to be here?”
    Talba stumbled sleepily into the kitchen. “I don’t have to be here, sweetheart. I’m here because I love you.” She had her fingers crossed. The kid wasn’t all that lovable.
    “Well, I don’t love you,” Raisa volunteered.
    “You will, though. Everyone does.
I
am a baroness.”
    “You are a baboon.”
    So Talba had little choice but to do an ape impersonation, which would have made her niece Sophia Pontalba fall down laughing, but Raisa, as always, was unmoved.
    “Oh, hell, I need coffee,” Talba said. Darryl handed her a cup.
    “I’m gonna tell my mama you used a bad word,” Raisa said. Darryl glowered at her. The last thing they needed to do was give Kimmie ammunition—lately, she’d been telling Raisa she didn’t approve of Darryl, and because of their situation, he didn’t have formal custody rights. Exactly what she found of which to disapprove, Talba couldn’t imagine. Darryl was an English teacher at a public school, which made him practically a saint in Talba’s opinion, and he was a well-known musician as well, which made him a catch. But then, Kimmie was a whack job.
    “Guess what we’re going to do today?” Darryl said. “We’re going to a party.”
    “Don’t want to go to no party.”
    “Any party,” Talba said automatically, and Darryl said, “You’re turning into your mama.”
    “You ain’t got no mama,” Raisa said, to which Darryl retorted, “You don’t have any mama.”
    “That’s what I said.”
    “Well, she has. You even met her once, at a crawfish boil at Mr. Valentino’s house.”
    “Don’t know no Mr. Valentino.”
    “Well, you met Miz Clara at his house, and she’s one of the great cooks of the parish. Some day, maybe, if you’re good, we’ll take you to see her and you can try her fried chicken.”
    “Hate fried chicken.”
    “You like mansions?” her father said. “You want to see a mansion?”
    “What’s that?”
    “A really, really big house. And beautiful. This one’s beautiful, right, Talba?”
    “It ought to be. I just spent a week shining it up.”
    “Is it your house?” Raisa asked, interested for the first time.
    “No, I just work there. And tonight your daddy and I are going to help some folks give a party. And you know what we’re going to do?”
    The girl was silent.
    “We’re gonna have fun!”
    Raisa made her patented you’re-an-idiot face and left the room.
    “That’s it,” Talba said as they pulled up to the Champagne house.
    “Now that,” Darryl said, “truly qualifies as a mansion. What do you think, kiddo?”
    “That’s a house?”
    “A big one.”
    Raisa, for once, was speechless.
    “You cleaned
that
?” Darryl asked.
    “Tell my mama, will you? Listen, Raisa, your daddy’s got something to tell you.”
    This was the tricky part. “Raisa,” Darryl began, “can you keep a secret?”
    “How much ya gon’ pay me?”
    Darryl was ready for that.