PI On A Hot Tin Roof

heard back from the girl, and life settled back into a routine for a couple of weeks.
    Then one fine Monday afternoon, just as Talba was getting ready to close down her computer and clean off her desk, Kristin LaGarde waltzed into her office. Eileen Fisher nipped at her heels, trying to intercept her.
    “Kristin!” Talba was alarmed. “What can I do for you?”
    “I just want to talk.”
    Best, Talba thought, to confront her worst fear directly. “You wouldn’t be armed, would you?”
    Kristin looked flustered. “What? Oh. No. Look, I’ll give my purse to the receptionist. She can go through it.”
    “I’d appreciate it.”
    But Eileen said, “I’m not going in that thing,” and Talba had to do it herself. Her fears allayed, she sent Eileen away.
    “I’m sorry for what happened,” she said.
    “You should be. Do you have any idea what havoc you caused?”
    “Look, I have to live with it too. If you want an apology, you’ve got it. I wish I’d never heard of this case.”
    “I want to know why you did what you did.”
    “It was a case, Kristin. I was asked to do it. By someone close to me, as a matter of fact. I’m really sorry about Buddy—and I’m sorry for you and Lucy and all the rest of you—but someone who matters to me was being threatened. More than that—they were being badly hurt. By Buddy.”
    Kristin’s face changed, contorted itself into something between fear and curiosity.
    But she charged ahead anyway. “I think you did it for money.”
    Talba shook her head. “If it’s any comfort to you, I didn’t get paid for the job. I lost money on it, as a matter of fact. I could say it was a favor to a friend, but it was more than that. That’s really all I can tell you.”
    “I want to trust you. I really do. Or I wouldn’t be here.”
    “I can’t make you trust me, and you have every reason not to. All I can do is tell you that I’m sincerely sorry for your loss—and for all the suffering I’ve caused you and your family.” It occurred to her that Kristin was taking a long time getting to the point. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
    Kristin’s eyes flooded. “I want to know what happened. Who killed Buddy.”
    Talba remembered just in time that she’d sworn on Miz Clara not to mention what Jane Storey had told her. “Buddy killed himself,” she said.
    Kristin shook her head. “Uh-uh. I talked to the cops today. It’s still an open case. One thing, they never found a weapon and anyway—are you ready for this?—he was shot after he was dead. They think he was—” She stopped, trying to get control, lowered her head a little, and spoke on the uptake. “They think he was bludgeoned first.”
    “That makes no sense, Kristin.” Talba was doing her best to feign amazement. “Why would somebody do that?”
    “That’s what I want you to find out.”
    “Bludgeoned,” she said. “In the boat or somewhere else? I mean, did someone move his body there? And
then
shoot him?”
    “They don’t know,” Kristin said impatiently. “And frankly, I don’t think they’re going to until they find out who killed him. And they’re not about to do that. You know these cops…”
    “Hold on. Hold on—Skip Langdon’s on this. She’s the best there is.”
    “I want to hire you to work on it too.”
    “You want to hire me? Me, of all people?” Talba had so many questions she didn’t know where to start.
    “Well. One thing we know—you’re a pretty good detective.” Her lips pulled back in something resembling a smile.
    “But—” Talba stopped cold. “I can think of a million ‘buts.’ Don’t you feel I betrayed you? You and all the Champagnes?”
    “The Champagnes do feel that way—and I don’t blame them. But you may have saved me from making a horrible mistake. If Buddy was guilty, that is.”
    “Okay, I saved you. So why not leave the whole thing alone—why do you want to go further with it?”
    “I know you’re not going to understand this, but Buddy had a good side to him. I know; I saw it. I loved him for the warm, caring man he was. Do you believe a person can be warm and caring, and still be a criminal?”
    It was on Talba’s lips to say,
Sure. Look at Tony Soprano,
but she thought better of it. Instead, she simply said, “Everyone has two sides.”
    “Well, somebody killed Buddy. Is there any doubt in your mind about that?”
    “No, I think you’re right.”
    “I want to know who. I want them brought to justice—for