A WOMAN OF ABOUT SIXTY, with a broad friendly face, opened the door.
“Mrs. Hawk?”
“Why, yes.”
“My name is Albert Samson.”
“Do I know you, Mr. Samson?”
“No, ma'am. But I know Mrs. Morgason and I think you might be able to help me with one or two things I'm trying to do.”
“You know Mrs. Morgason?”
“That's right.”
“I don't recall seeing you up at the house.”
“I've only been in the house once. But I've heard about you.”
“Oh yes?” She was not displeased, but at the same time she assessed me. “You wouldn't be trying to sell me something, now, would you?” She looked at the picture I was carrying.
“No ma'am. But one of the things I'd like you to do is look at this drawing.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I guess maybe you better come in while I find my glasses.”
I followed her and she left me in a living room that was filled with memorabilia. There were small items everywhere, all set up to be seen, to be shown.
There were dozens of pictures. On a prominent shelf next to the mantel I saw large photographs of Mrs. Morgason, of Sick and of many other white people.
When Mrs. Hawk returned with her glasses I said, “I see you've got some nice pictures of Mrs. Morgason and her family.”
“They've been so good to me, over the years, those folks,” Mrs. Hawk said. “That's all the family, those. I worked for Mrs. Morgason's momma and poppa—that's Mr. and Mrs. Overmeyer there. Oh, Mrs. Overmeyer, she was a fine, fine woman.”
“I was told that you've worked for the family for a long time.”
“Yessir, I have. More than thirty-two years and that is a long time. And they've been so good to me and my girl, and I'm not ashamed to say it.”
“Nice people,” I said.
“More than nice. Take Mrs. Overmeyer. She found I didn't read real well. Fact was I didn't read at all. Day after day, she taught me. Reading, writing, talking. Always something to help me improve myself. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed that. Then little Kathryn, that's Mrs. Morgason, she sent my girl to secretarial school, to help my girl get some personal problems sorted out.”
“Your daughter is Louanne?”
“Why yes.”
“Is Louanne here?”
“Now, why are you asking that?”
“As well as talking to you, I'd like a few words with her.”
Mrs. Hawk's forehead creased and she said, “Mister, what is this all about?”
“I am a private detective, Mrs. Hawk.” I took out my license card and passed it to her. She put on her glasses and looked back and forth between me and the photograph.
“This you?”
“It sure is. And what I am doing is getting together some information about a man named Cecil Redman.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Hawk said. “Him.”
“It's not that he is in trouble, but I have a client who asked me to check him out and I understand that Louanne is married to Mr. Redman.”
Mrs. Hawk was silent for a moment. Then she said, “My momma taught me, if you can't say nothing nice about a body, then don't you say nothing at all.”
“Did they ever divorce, Mrs. Hawk?”
“No, but Louanne works in an office full of lawyers, so maybe she's doing something about that now.”
“Which office is that?”
“It's called Law In Action. It's out east on 30th Street and it helps poor folks with their rights. They have employed people, like Louanne, but the idea is that a number of downtown lawyers devote time each week to helping needy folks.”
“It sounds like a worthwhile place.”
“Yessir,” Mrs. Hawk said. “It sure is.”
“Would Louanne be there today?”
“She's there every day.”
“Except maybe when you're sick and she fills in for you at Mrs. Morgason's.”
“She's a good girl, my Louanne. She had a wild spell when she was young, but she came through that and she's a real good girl now.”
I nodded acceptance of that as a fact. Then I said, “Mrs. Hawk, do you mind if I ask whether you're feeling unwell today?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Aren't you usually up at Mrs. Morgason's by now?”
“Ah, I see. Yessir, usually I am. Only this morning Mrs. Morgason called me to say not to mind going in today. She's away from home and didn't have a chance to leave me a list of things to do.”
“She called you this morning?”
“Yessir, she did.”
“What time was that?”
“About a quarter to six.”
“Isn't that a little early?”
“She knows I'm always up by five.”
“Is it unusual for her to tell you not to come in?”
“It doesn't happen often, but it's like her to be considerate and she won't take it off my money. She'll go and pay me anyhow, 'cause that's the way she is. Did I tell you, she sent my Louanne to school?”
“Secretarial school.”
“Yessir, that's right. It's a fact and it changed my little girl's whole life.”
“Mrs. Hawk, would you . . .?” I held up Bobbie Lee's drawing.
She took it to the window to get better light. “Not much face on this picture.”
“The person remembered the dress better than the face.”
“It's good of the dress. Course without that big old spot. I worked for hours getting that grease and stain off.”
“You know the dress?”
“Course I do.” She looked at me. “Is that something you want me to talk about?”
“I would like to know about the dress, yes.”
“Well, Mrs. Morgason had a party because Mr. Morgason just opened his new business. They had a lot of people and they had a guitar player and I don't know what all.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Most days I come away from the house between two and three, but when Mrs. Morgason entertains, well, I know it's hard on her so I like to stay on to help.”
“I see.”
“And there was the strangest man at this party. He was talking and talking about I don't know what all and they couldn't get a word in edgeways. Well, he started waving his arms around and I just knew something was going to happen, and sure enough it did. He knocked over a drink of red wine on this lady he was with. And then, when he was trying to clean her up, he pulled a whole table of food down on her. A whole table! Honestly, I don't know what that man thought he was doing. Maybe he thought the tablecloth was a napkin or something, only when he pulled at it all the plates of salad and cold meat and mustard and butter piled on the lady and this dress. A lot of the folks laughed but the lady, she was so angry!”
I nodded and couldn't help but smile at the image of Quentin Quayle in action.
“The lady, she out-and-out screamed at this man to leave her alone and she was saying things about how much this dress cost and I don't know what all. Mrs. Morgason, she took the lady off to the bathroom and she gave her this piece of Indian cloth—I mean Indian like over in India—and the lady put it on to wear. Wrapped it all around, you know? And then this lady that was so angry, she came back and acted like she was having the time of her life. It was like she was a whole different person.”
“Mrs. Hawk, do you remember what happened to the dress?”
She hesitated. “Mrs. Morgason gave it to me.”
“To you?”
“She said the lady told her she never wanted to see it again. So Mrs. Morgason, she asked if I wanted it and I did.”
“Do you have the dress now?”
“No sir. I cleaned it up and gave it to Louanne.”
I raised Bobbie Lee's picture again. “And this is the dress?”
“Oh yes.”
“Mrs. Hawk, could this be a drawing of Louanne?”
“Louanne? My Louanne?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“No sir, no way, no how.”
“Oh.”
“For a start, the girl in that picture's got gloves. My Louanne doesn't wear gloves. She doesn't even own gloves.”
“O.K.”
“And that dress wouldn't fit her. It took a gal taller and thinner.”
“O.K.”
“And this girl in the picture, she's too dark-complected to be Louanne. Not saying Louanne's got airs about her color, but my Louanne's nowhere near so dark-skinned as this gal.” She handed the picture back to me. “No sir. Not Louanne.”
“But if the dress was the wrong size for her, why did your daughter want it.”
“She said, 'Momma, I know the perfect person for that dress.' “