PI On A Hot Tin Roof

had gone there to meet someone. That tryst thing—maybe that was something. Maybe it was a former lover who’d heard about his engagement. Someone with something on Buddy, maybe.
    A woman, come to think of it, would be a great suspect. Buddy wouldn’t have been afraid of her.
    That made Talba think of Suzanne. She didn’t seem to like anybody very much. That ought to make for very loose lips. But she had to be approached correctly, and Talba knew exactly the way to her heart. She called her on the cell phone.
    “Suzanne? Talba Wallis.”
    “Oh. The snitch. Thanks for everything.”
    This was one difficult case.
    Something occurred to her for the first time—maybe the real reason Kristin had hired her was that she thought it was one of Buddy’s nearest and dearest who’d killed him. After all, they could hardly refuse to let her do it, or they’d tip their hand. And contrary to the story she’d been given, they were resisting like Talba worked for the IRS.
    She went into her apology routine again—she had it down pretty well by now—and concluded by saying that wasn’t what she was calling about, anyhow. (Well, it almost wasn’t.) “I do need to talk to you about the murder, just to cover my bases—you know what I mean—but the thing is, you got me curious, so I bought this book on feng shui—”
    “Oh! Don’t you love it?” All seemed to be forgiven.
    “Adore it. Crazy for it. I want to do my office right away, but I’m confused about something. My door’s kind of at a funny angle—I’m not sure how to place the bhagwa. I mean, if I get it wrong, I reverse my marriage and money corners, right?”
    “Oh, sure. And there are different schools of thought on it, anyhow. You really have to be careful.”
    “I mean, like, when you’re standing in the doorway, you have to turn to—”
    “Look, does your desk face the doorway?”
    “Well, sort of, but—”
    “You want me to come take a look? I have some time tomorrow if you like.” Eager as anything. A fish on a line.
    Oh, yeah. Come to me, baby,
Talba thought. “Oh, gosh,” she said. “You aren’t too expensive, are you?”
    “If your office is small enough, I could do it for about a hundred dollars.”
    “I don’t know, I—”
    “Look, I’ll do a free consultation. Then you just refer me to somebody and we’re square.”
    “Really? Okay, that’d be great. Tell you what, let me at least take you to lunch—are you free?”
    “Let me see.” Suzanne paused, evidently consulting her date book. “I could rearrange something.”
    “Done deal,” Talba said. “Come about noon.” She knew earlier wasn’t going to fly.
    Suzanne might not like people much, but she was in love with her job.
    Time to knock off and go home, after a quick stop for kitten food, cat box, and litter, none of which escaped Miz Clara’s notice. “Why we need more cat stuff?”
    “We don’t,” Talba replied, “but Darryl’s going to. I got Raisa a kitten.”
    “Ya what? Ya went out and bought a kitten?”
    “Rescued it. Want to see?”
    “Whatcha mean, do I wanna see? Ya brought another animal in this house? No wonder the Queen and the Duchess actin’ so strange.” Miz Clara pretended to hate Koko and Blanche, but they were getting fat from the treats she slipped them. “They hidin’ under things, makin’ noises like they a couple of toms.”
    “Well, Gumbo’s in their territory. They’ll live; it’s just for one night. I’ll take it over tomorrow. You want to see or not?”
    “Last thing I wanna see’s another damn cat in this house.” But she trudged after Talba to her daughter’s room and followed her in. “Where’s it at?”
    “Hiding, probably.” They lured it out from under the bed with an open can of cat food. The kitten looked like a tiny, skinny, cat-shaped canvas upon which an artist had painted an intricate design in white, black, and gold. It had a white background and an all-white belly, with meticulously applied spots and patches on its back, one black leg, one gold leg, three spots on a white leg, and a face out of a Kabuki play—matching black spots like kohl around its eyes, and four black spots on its nose, spaced like a lopsided cross.
    “Lord, that ain’t no kitten! It’s a Rembrandt.”
    Talba considered. “Picasso, I think. Pretty, isn’t it?”
    “That’s the most beautiful animal I ever saw in my life—’cept for bein’ so scrawny. And it ain’t no bigger than a minute. Gumbo? That thing’s