PI On A Hot Tin Roof

Suzanne was hungry all the time, and seemed to sleep a lot. And all of a sudden something fell into place. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
    Suzanne giggled. “Maybe just a little bit.”
    “Hey, congratulations.”
    “Keep it quiet, though—I don’t think this is exactly the time to tell Royce.”
    “Oh. Maybe not.”
    This was a weird development, but Talba couldn’t see a reason in hell why it should stop her. “Well, that’s a relief,” she said. “I thought maybe Royce and Brad were—you know…lovers or something.”
    Suzanne laughed. “Royce? Omigod, that’s a major hoot! Royce! Royce is usually way too drunk to be interested.”
    “But—uh…” Talba was confused about the pregnancy, but it seemed indelicate to mention it.
    “Well, usually he is,” Suzanne said. “We did it on Lucy’s birthday a couple of months ago.” She patted her stomach. “No drinking at the party.” She looked slightly bleak. “I still haven’t decided whether to have an abortion or not—I’ve still got a few weeks to make up my mind.”
    “Oh. Why would you have an abortion?” It was way too personal a question, but Suzanne didn’t seem to notice.
    Suzanne put down her fork, making Talba think she was getting somewhere. It took a lot to kill this one’s appetite. “The drinking, like I mentioned. Also, I was doing quite a bit of it myself till I found out I was pregnant—I worry about the baby, you know? Also—” She stopped and stared at the food as if trying to figure out what it was. “There’s another reason I know Royce isn’t gay. Or anyway, isn’t involved with Brad.”
    “Yes?”
    “He—uh—gets tired of people fast. Believe me, if they’d been lovers, Brad would be history.”
    “You mean he fools around.”
    “Yeah. He fools around. Would you want to bring a kid into that?”
    Talba suddenly felt sorry for her.
    ***
    “Eddie, tell me something—you’re a guy.” Ms. Wallis had just regaled him with her latest adventures. “How likely is it that a macho straight guy would be best friends with a gay guy?”
    Sometimes she could be so naive she floored him. He shrugged, getting ready to educate her. “Could happen, Ms. Wallis. Anything could happen. Been in this business long as I have, ya seen everything.” He paused. “Specially if the straight guy didn’t feel threatened.”
    “That’s what I mean. Royce seems like the type who would feel threatened.”
    “Maybe Brad’s got a boyfriend—ever think of that?”
    “Let me get my notes.” She stood up and left the room. But she was back in half a minute, staring at a printout. “He lives alone. At least, there’s no one else at his address.”
    That was worth another shrug. “What, ya staked out his place? He pays the rent, the other guy might not be in that database ya patronize.”
    “Boy toy-type thing?” She chewed on her lip. “Could be.”
    Royce’s sex life interested Eddie not nearly so much as a salient point she seemed to have missed—and he did love to catch her missing something. “Know what’s bothering me—how come nobody heard the shot?”
    She thought about it. “Well, maybe somebody did. But I think I see what you’re getting at—it would be odd if they hadn’t. Better canvass the neighbors, huh?”
    “I would.”
    She nodded and stood again. “Got you. Will do.”
    One thing about her, she was up for anything.
    ***
    Talba figured she could ask Adele whether Brad had a boyfriend, but that could wait. She hated to admit it, but Eddie was right about the shot. She hadn’t even asked Ben Izaguirre about it.
    She phoned him first. Nope, he hadn’t heard anything. But he’d been at the restaurant. His wife, who was home, hadn’t heard a shot.
    So that meant another trip back to Venetian Isles. She tried Izaguirre’s next-door neighbors on the marina side first. They’d been out that night, but maybe their babysitter had heard something. Mrs. Stern, a white woman in shorts and a halter top despite the cool weather, invited her in and called the girl. Nope, she hadn’t, either. Stern suggested trying the Dobrescus next, across the street—Mrs. Dobrescu had an elderly mother who didn’t miss a lot. “Can she hear?” Talba asked.
    “If she was a cat, she could hear a mouse squeak at fifty paces.”
    But old Mrs. Matocha hadn’t heard a peep—but then she’d been watching
The Wild Bunch
on television, which had involved a whole lot of shots.
    And so it went, up and down the