PI On A Hot Tin Roof

midcalf black skirt perfectly complemented it. Small gold and diamond earrings that veered over the line from merely Tasteful to baroquely elegant glittered at her ears, though they showed only when she flicked her hair a certain way. She was every inch a Greta, and almost a baroness, though in a European kind of way.
    “Mrs. LaGarde?” Talba asked, almost timidly.
    “Yes? I’m Greta LaGarde.” She looked at her visitor with curiosity but no disrespect, as if hardly anyone approaching her description ever entered the premises, yet was welcome anyhow, on the off-chance she happened to have a pocketful of bucks.
    Talba introduced herself. “I’m Talba Wallis, and I’m doing some work for your daughter. I’m a P.I., actually—she hired me to try to find out what happened to her fiancé.”
    “Really.” It wasn’t a question.
    “I was wondering if you knew Buddy Champagne.” Talba watched her face carefully, and was not disappointed. A telling little eleven formed between her brows—the gorgeous Greta evidently eschewed Botox along with vulgar hair color. There was anger there—though at whom it was directed Talba could only guess.
    “What
happened
to him?”
    “He died, he didn’t disappear—or am I missing something?”
    “What happened the night he died, I mean.”
    “You mean who killed him? Don’t we have police for that? Leave it to Kristin to think she can do a better job than they can.”
    “I’ve noticed she has her own opinions.”
    “Well, that’s an understatement, one opinion being that her mother didn’t need to meet her fiancé.” LaGarde turned her back, straightening a candle that looked perfectly upright to Talba. “I’m afraid I never knew the man. I wasn’t even at her engagement party.”
    “Oh. Well, I happened to be there, and I don’t believe she knew it was meant to be an engagement party—Buddy kind of sneaked up on her.”
    “You were there?” She turned around and stabbed Talba with a thrust of blue eyes. “You must be…I thought you looked familiar.”
    “Guilty as charged. Yes, I’m the woman you may have seen on the news.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why would Kristin hire you, of all people?”
    Talba tried out a weak little laugh, a nervous one. She should have seen this coming. “Good question. I’m a little confused about it myself. But I guarantee you she did—if you like, you can call her and confirm it.” Talba held her breath—this was the one thing she didn’t want Greta LaGarde to do.
    “No, I believe you. It’s the sort of thing Kristin would do. She always likes to make herself look good—it’s her stock in trade.”
    Talba wasn’t following. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Look, if you’re successful—and you’ve already shown yourself to be competent—then she gets the credit for solving Buddy’s murder.”
    “Why would she want to do that? Couldn’t it be simpler? Couldn’t it just be that she wants to know the truth?”
    LaGarde laughed. “Kristin? Nothing’s ever simple with my daughter, Miss Wallis. You must know that by now.”
    The time had come, Talba thought, to let down her hair. “To tell you the truth, your ex-husband went so far as to warn me against her. I was wondering—it is kind of an odd situation—can you shed any light on it?”
    “I’m sure Warren has his own agenda. He always does. What was it you wanted to see me about?” She was getting haughtier by the minute. And on her, haughty looked intimidating.
    “Sometimes the tiniest piece of information can lead to something. I was just curious to know what you thought about the man your daughter was going to marry.”
    “I only know what she told me—after the fact. The fact of his death, I mean, not their engagement. I first heard they were engaged when Warren called me in a fury—after the damn engagement party.”
    “That must have hurt.”
    She didn’t seem to know how to answer that one—didn’t seem to have considered hurt. Finally, she said, “Yes. It did.”
    “I gather you aren’t close.”
    At that, her eyes watered. “I’d like to be. The good Lord only knows I’ve always wanted that. My daughter pushes me away at every opportunity.”
    Bitterness here,
Talba thought, and wondered if she could capitalize on it. “She seems to be close to her father.”
    Greta snorted, and it isn’t pretty when a personage like Greta snorts. “If you can be close to a glacier.”
    “I gather he didn’t approve of the