PI On A Hot Tin Roof

about their kid.” He turned away. “Trash,” he muttered.
    A man in an aluminum flatboat chugged toward the pier. He cut his engine and hailed Brad. Up close, Talba could see that he was dressed like a shrimper, in a flannel shirt thrown over an old T-shirt and a pair of jeans. “I’m here for my money.”
    “Excuse me,” Brad said to Talba, which she took for a dismissal. She turned away but didn’t leave.
    “You remember me? We had a deal. I give you shrimp, you give me money. Simple, yeah? Where’s my money?”
    Brad glanced at Talba, who noticed that Royce was running back down the pier, apparently sensing a need for damage control. “Bob, it’s not a good time. We’ve had a death in the family.”
    “Well, I’m ’bout to have one in mine—from starvation, I don’t get my money.”
    Brad glanced nervously at Talba. “Eddie, give us some privacy, will you?”
    “Sure.” Talba walked back toward her old Isuzu.
    She waited in the car, bored out of her mind, and finally reached forward to turn on the radio. Just as she was fiddling with the dial, she was sure she heard something, and it definitely wasn’t music. It was like a…there it was again: A definite “meow.” And rather authoritative.
    She opened the car, got out, and nearly stepped on a kitten that looked like it would fit in her pocket. “Well, hello, baby.”
    The kitten arched its back and crab-walked. She knelt. “You must be Royce’s little friend. You don’t look so bad.” It was small, but its coat was healthy, and its ribs didn’t show. It spoke to her again. She spoke back. “Come on, sweet pea. You look like you need a square meal.”
    But it had a lot better sense than to come on. Uh-uh. This thing with the big feet was going to get it vaccinated and make it suffer the indignity of a cat box. Talba figured its long-gone mama had explained that it must never, ever fall into that trap.
    “Suit yourself,” Talba said, and looked up to see the stranger turn his boat around and head out of the canal into the pass. When he was gone, she went back to tackle Royce and Brad again.
    Royce gave her a hostile glance, again walked away. She yelled after him, “Hey, Royce, I found your kitten.” No answer. Brad sighed. “Guess I’ve been elected troubleshooter. Surprised he didn’t answer, though. He loves that little thing, but Suzanne won’t let him bring it home. He’s been feeding it shrimp.”
    “Why not?”
    “One thing we got, it’s shrimp.”
    “No, what’s the problem with Suzanne?”
    “She’s afraid of cats.” He looked disgusted. “You beat that? A grown woman.”
    It was funny about animals. Talba figured he was sufficiently softened up by the kitten to be civil. “Tell me more about the Dorands.”
    He snorted. “Trash. Mean bastards. What more do you need to know?”
    “Okay, let’s leave that for a while. Tell me about yourself.”
    “Why the hell should I?” His face was red, and his scalp was reddening as well. Civil indeed.
    “You’re close to the Champagnes, aren’t you?”
    “What the fuck is it to you?”
    “You know what I’m doing. I’m trying to help them.”
    “Best thing you could do is get the hell away from them.”
    “You want to at least tell me where the Dorands live?”
    “Round here.”
    “Can you be more specific than that?”
    “No. I sure couldn’t.”
    She couldn’t figure out why he’d turned so hostile. She tried another tack. “Okay, next subject. Were you here the night Buddy was killed?”
    “Are you crazy? Of course not.”
    “Well, who was? Is there a night watchman?”
    “Yeah, there’s a night watchman.” He spoke in the mocking, know-it-all tone of a twelve-year-old. “The cops already talked to him.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “None of your goddam business.”
    Royce finally came out of the office, and joined them. “Name’s Wesley Burrell. He doesn’t know a goddam thing.”
    Talba took out a notebook. “Mind telling me where he lives?”
    “Goddam
Kristin LaGarde,” he said, and went back in the office.
    Talba took advantage of the moment with Brad, figuring, when in doubt, try the direct approach. “What’s wrong, Brad?” she said. “Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something?”
    When he turned toward her, his face was livid. “You goddam little bitch! What the hell are you trying to do here?”
    She must have hit a nerve. “Must be
something
on your mind. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so mad. What was Buddy