PI On A Hot Tin Roof

killing the man I loved. Or the part of the man that I loved. I might not have loved the Buddy I was about to get to know, and I guess I thank you for that, but the part I did love is dead, too. Does that make sense?”
    “I’m thinking about it.”
    “He deserves justice. Everyone does.”
    “And you think you’re the one to get it for him. What about the cops?”
    “Sandra, try and get this—he was the man I was going to marry. It’s the one thing I can do for him.”
    “Okay.” It occurred to her she might have the same reaction in Kristin’s shoes, but she still couldn’t see why the woman had come to her. “The Yellow Pages are full of detectives.”
    “Look, I know you’re good at your job, and I like you. I’ve always liked you—you’re a lot more intelligent than most people I meet in the course of a day, and who knows what kind of person’s walking around with a P.I. license? I don’t know any of them, and I don’t want to have to audition a bunch of bozos. Besides—”
    She paused. Whether she was gathering her thoughts or creating drama, Talba couldn’t decide. She rode out the silence.
    Finally, Kristin said, “I just have a feeling you’ve got a personal stake in this.”
    Bingo,
Talba thought. Whoever had killed Buddy had probably come out of the woodwork as a result of her investigation. She most certainly did have a personal stake in it. “You mean you think I might have some guilt about what happened.”
    Kristin said nothing, but her expression changed subtly—to eagerly inquisitive. Talba had to give her points for shrewdness. “Okay. You guessed right. But I’m not sure I don’t have a conflict. And there’s another problem. I’d want to interview the Champagnes about what happened that night. But I’m the last person they’d talk to.”
    “Conflict? I’d say it’s more likely you have a duty.”
    It was a point that hit home. The fact was, Talba still felt responsible. Knew it was irrational. Couldn’t shake it. “What about the Champagnes?” she sighed.
    This time Kristin’s smile was real—and a bit smug. “I ran this by them before I came here. They’re dying to talk to you. They think you ought to have to do this. As a kind of penance.”
    “Ah. And that’s what you think too. Make the punishment fit the crime.”
    “Besides, they want to tell you what they think of you.”
    “I just can’t wait for that. But why would they trust me? I betrayed them.”
    “They wouldn’t trust you, but so what? I’m the client, remember? Anyway, if I don’t like what you’re doing, I can fire you—I can expect regular reports, can’t I?”
    “Of course. We can set a limit on the number of hours I work before I report and you can see if I’m worth what you’re paying me.”
    “And how much would that be?”
    When Talba explained the agency’s rates, Kristin nodded. “Why don’t you do ten or twelve hours and see if you get anything?”
    Talba shrugged. She was still nonplussed by the whole thing. “If you like. But I can’t promise anything. All I can do is go over the ground the police will have already covered.”
    “Call me crazy,” Kristin said, “but I have a feeling you’re smarter than the average cop.”
    “Are you kidding? Skip Langdon was a department star when I was still at Xavier.”
    “Sandra, you know perfectly well the police often solve cases they can’t prove in court. You don’t have to prove anything. I just want to know.”
    “Why?”
    “Wouldn’t you feel the same?”
    “I guess so.” She was sure she would—in fact, she felt that way now and she’d hardly known Buddy; moreover, she’d disliked him.
    Kristin stuck out her hand. “Deal?”
    Talba considered one more time, decided to go for it. “Deal,” she said, taking the woman’s hand. She was dying to poke around in these particular ashes.
    “Thanks, Sandra.”
    “Call me Talba. One thing, though. The way we work, the client’s identity is usually confidential; but in a case like this, it’ll be a lot easier to get people to talk to me if I can say who I’m working for. Okay with you?”
    Kristin considered. “I don’t see how that could hurt.”
    Talba nodded, satisfied. “First order of business, then—how’s Lucy?”
    “Not great. Adele’s got her in therapy. She appreciated your note, by the way.”
    Talba wondered if Kristin had seen it—and had understood how she felt. “Give me her cell number.”
    “No. She’s just a