PI On A Hot Tin Roof

was the one who bothered her. Lucy and one other person, whom she called that night.
    “Alberta, it’s Talba Wallis. Look, it’s happening. We got what we need. Are you okay with it?”
    “Okay with it? I’m happy with it. Got me another job with a real nice family. Lady’s an artist; orders me sushi for lunch—whatcha think o’ that? You ever had raw fish? Yes,
ma’am
—let hell come down on those people. I’m just glad I don’t never have to go back in their mean, back-stabbin’, unhappy house again. Miss my Lucy, though. How my baby is?”
    “Mean as ever, as Miz Clara would say. Wish it was me that never had to go back.”
    But she did have to go. For one thing, to retrieve the bugs she’d planted; for another, to keep suspicion to a minimum.
    Ash Wednesday went fine, or the first half of it did. She busied herself upstairs, catching up on ironing mostly, so she’d have an excuse to hang around downstairs after lunch. In the course of it, she got the bugs.
    At twelve-thirty Buddy came home, and just after lunch two men showed up and talked to him at the door.
    But Talba couldn’t get anywhere close.
    That was a bummer, but an even worse one occurred after school, when she regaled Lucy with Raisa’s Mardi Gras exploits.
    “Three coconuts!” Lucy squeaked. “I’ve never even
seen
Zulu. Take me with you next year—promise?”
    “Sure. If it’s okay with Judge Buddy.” She hated saying that. If ever anything wasn’t going to be okay, that was it.
    She couldn’t wait to get the reports from Eddie and Jane Storey. In the car on the way home, she accessed her messages: The good news was, they’d gotten the transaction on film. The two men had come in a police car, and they’d gotten the plate number: It was registered to Mac Boudreaux. They’d filmed the conversation at the door, and they’d seen Buddy hand each of the men something, but what it was, no one could say. This was the bad news.
    They had enough to file a report with Public Integrity, the department’s version of Internal Affairs, but not enough to clear Angie outright.
    Talba got Jane Storey on the horn: “Hey, brace yourself, Baroness. There are going to be at least three stories. The first one’s running tomorrow. We did it! We really did it.”
    “Yeah, but what about Angie?”
    In her mind’s eye, she could see the reporter shrug. “Nobody’s going to believe a word out of Buddy’s mouth when I get through with him.”
    Next, she called Angie. Who had one word for the situation: “Shit!”
    “You’ll be okay, Ange. Jane won’t let it go. Don’t worry.”
    But she couldn’t shake her disappointment.
    The first story, which Talba read the next day in her own kitchen, was about the illegal marina, the boy who’d died working there, the opposition from the neighborhood group, and the fact that Evan Farley had been dismissed from his job after it was discovered he’d covered stories about the judge in his own custody case.
    It pointedly named Angela Valentino as the lawyer for the neighborhood group (neatly setting the stage for later revelations) and ended with a teaser mentioning chumminess with a bail bond firm “and other improprieties.”
    Jane Storey called before Talba left home. “Keep an ear out today. I’ve got the other stuff, or I will by the time it runs. I’m calling today for Buddy’s side. Maybe you’ll hear something good on the speakerphone.”
    “I don’t think so,” Talba said. “I’m working downstairs today.” It was too bad the bugs were gone, but if ever Buddy was going to look for them, this would be the day.
    She arrived to find the family in the kitchen, all except Kristin, poring over the paper. Buddy’s face was nearly purple. “Goddam, what a bunch of lies!” was the first thing she heard from Royce.
    Adele looked at Talba anxiously. “I already made coffee. I don’t think anyone’ll be able to eat today.” She pointed with her chin. “And Royce is having his with brandy.”
    “What’s wrong, Miss Adele?”
    “Oh, that
Times-Picayune
rag’s printing some lies about Buddy.” Then she muttered, “Guess they’re lies.”
    “I can’t go to school,” Lucy wailed. “Everybody’ll feel sorry for me.” Talba saw that her face was chalky and mottled.
    “Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” she said, and cuddled the girl.
    “Mommo, can’t I stay home?”
    “Your room could use a real good cleaning,” Talba said. “Maybe you could help me with it.”
    Adele took