At City Market Billy picked up his tuna sandwich with a side of fried okra and a giant iced tea. He sat at a sidewalk table in the shade of a spreading oak across from a Main Street trolley stop. Four days ago he’d shared a similar table with Augie in front of the Peanut Shoppe. Only four days.
He thought about Augie’s mental illness and how Lou’s obsession with Rebecca Jane had brought him down. Can we sense our hidden flaws before the damage is done, or will they take us from behind? Augie deserved to round the bases and coast into home plate. Instead, his flaw stole his dignity. Someone else stole his life.
He shut down those thoughts and focused on his food. The tuna was chilled and delicious. The fried okra still sizzled with hot oil. A breeze from the river swept up the bluff, carrying the sound of carriage-horse hooves echoing down the corridor of granite buildings.
This felt like home. His shoulders dropped, and he inhabited his own skin for the first time in weeks.
The trolley crossed the intersection and rolled to a stop. Doors whooshed open. A young woman in skinny jeans and ankle boots stepped off.
He instantly recognized her honey complexion and the classic planes of her face. Theda Jones walked to his table, languorous, hypnotic, never breaking eye contact as she approached. He knew the type, comfortable with the power she held over men. Her confidence made her even more provocative.
“May I join you, Detective Able?” she said. The timbre of her voice sounded polished beyond her years.
“Of course.” He stood and angled the second chair away from the table.
She smiled and took a seat. “I’m Theda Jones. I met Augie Poston the day before the funeral for Daddy Davis and Little Man. Augie told me about you.”
“We crossed paths outside of the funeral home.”
She rested her elbows on the table, interlacing her long fingers. “When I saw you sitting here, I knew God had brought us together.”
“I don’t believe you tracked me down through divine intervention, Miss Jones.”
Her smile stiffened. “Forgive my subterfuge. Augie told me about your home on the river. I was on my way there when I saw you from the trolley. But I still believe there’s a touch of the divine involved. That’s how I live my life.”
He didn’t buy that last bit. According to the New Orleans PI, he was gazing into the eyes of a call girl and gifted con artist. He avoided the word “whore,” because Theda Jones had been pushed into the business. She had supposedly made a break from it.
“What’s on your mind, Miss Jones?”
Her lips pursed. “I’m frightened, and I don’t know anyone in this city who can help me.”
“Go on.”
“Last week everything changed. I found out Little Man had died. By the time I got to Memphis, Daddy Davis was gone, too. That young man at the mortuary was kind enough to introduce me to Augie. He told me you were looking into their deaths.” She paused, picking up on his skepticism. “I know. Augie said too much, but men do that. They like to tell me things.”
He remembered how bowled over Augie had been by the photo of Theda seated at the piano. It was a miracle he hadn’t given her his credit card and pin number. “You said you’re frightened.”
“The man at the mortuary told me they died of natural causes. I think there’s more to it. Daddy Davis sent a letter and a package to me a few weeks ago. He asked me to keep them safe. He hinted there might be trouble.”
Her eyebrows rose, looking for his acceptance. A letter, a mysterious package. She must think he was an idiot.
“Is Red Davis your father?”
“He’s the only man who’s ever been good to me. I met Red and Little Man at a club in the Quarter where we were performing. They thought I had talent. There was some trouble, so Red arranged a scholarship at a conservatory in Boston. He bought my ticket, bought my clothes. They were like two angels flying me away.”
He wondered if she knew she was the reason they ended up homeless. “Did Red keep in touch?”
“He sent letters and some pocket money. Red always signed his name Daddy Davis. The letter and package were the last. I didn’t hear from him for a couple of weeks. Then I read about Little Man. I spent every cent I had to get here.”
Theda’s story ran close to the PI’s report except for the part about turning tricks for Cool Willy. Couldn’t blame her for leaving that out. The real discrepancy was that she claimed to be flat broke. She’d shown up at the Rock of Ages Funeral Home in a hired car and dressed like a million bucks.
She looked past him, her gaze becoming fixed. She reached into her handbag and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “There’s a man watching us,” she whispered.
Billy turned for a look. “Ah, hell,” he muttered.
J.J. eased off the wall and sauntered over, same spotless sneakers, only this time his jersey read GOT JESUS? with a fat question mark printed in gold. He stood outside of Billy’s reach while cocking his head at Theda, giving her a big, gummy smile.
“Morning, lovely lady. May I recommend a downtown carriage ride? I’ll arrange a better tour than the detective here can ever give you. No charge.”
“Beat it,” he said to J.J. “Now.”
Theda removed her glasses. “That’s a nice offer, but I’m sure a gentleman like you knows when not to intrude.” She gave him a finger-wave good-bye that drew an even broader grin from J.J. but didn’t send him on his way.
Billy got to his feet.
J.J. stepped back. “It’s a free sidewalk, Detective. And I’m a free man, no thanks to you.” He made a show of stomping down the sidewalk as best he could while wearing sneakers.
Billy took his seat again and looked across the table at Theda, knowing she was a hustler far more skilled than J.J. At least she was beautiful to look at. “Tell me about this package.”
“It’s a box about ten inches square. The letter said to keep it safe and not to open it. I’ve wondered if what’s in the box got them killed.”
“Did you open it?”
She shook her head. “Red believed in Santería. I’m from New Orleans, so I know it could be something awful like human remains or animal entrails. I brought it with me to give back to him.”
Her gaze moved to the pot of pansies next to the station, the flowers ruffling in the breeze. He heard a mix of abandonment and sadness as she continued.
“I went to the school office to sign out for a family emergency. They asked me to remind Mr. Davis that his check for the balance of my final semester was late. That’s when I learned there never had been a grant. Red has been paying my tuition all along. Thousands of dollars.”
Her hand brushed her neck. “The unpaid tuition is fifteen thousand. I hate to bring this up, it sounds so crass. The school has nominated me for an international piano competition at the end of the next session. If I win, I’ll be signed by a talent management group and have a debut recital in New York plus a recording contract.”
“That’s quite a prize,” he said.
“It won’t happen if I get kicked out of school.”
“Maybe there’s money in the box.”
“His letter implied that it’s extremely important, and possibly dangerous. That doesn’t sound like money.”
“It doesn’t sound like a curse, either.”
“I was wondering . . .” She gave him a pleading look. “If what’s inside is so valuable, a collector might be interested in buying it. Like I said, I don’t know anyone here. If it turns out that the package is valuable, maybe you could help me find a buyer and keep half the proceeds.”
He settled in his chair, comfortable that he knew what was coming—you provide up-front money and we’ll share in the larger profits later. “That’s very generous. What would you need from me?”
She brightened. “Money to get me back to school. Four hundred dollars will buy my train ticket to Boston.”
“I can’t give you money when I don’t know what’s in the box.”
“I understand. We’ll open the box together before you give me the four hundred.”
She was proposing a classic Nigerian letter scam, but what if she had a legitimate letter and package from Red? Both could be important to the investigation. Or was this a con coming from an intelligent, beautiful call girl who killed the only two people who had ever cared for her?
“Before we go on, I have a question,” he said. “You played the Quarter, right? You must have run into a pimp named Cool Willy.”
Theda’s lids fluttered. She grimaced, coughed. “He’s a bad man. That’s all I know.”
He paused, allowing her discomfort to soak through. “This guy attacked Red and Little Man in New Orleans. Put them in the hospital. Then he went to their house and destroyed their instruments. A lot of emotion went into that. Do you know why he did it?”
Her chin lifted. “No, I don’t.”
“Neither do I. This pimp showed up at their funeral. You saw him there, isn’t that right?”
Her features grew strained. Was she holding back a lie or holding back the truth?
“Cool Willy put them in the hospital for a week with multiple injuries.” This wasn’t exactly true, but he wanted to push it.
She coughed again, covered her mouth. She gasped and glanced at his empty tea glass. Tears swam in her eyes.
“Are you choking?” He stood, alarmed.
She nodded, fanned her face with the flat of her hand, and struggled to draw in a breath.
He ran for the market’s door and squeezed through the crowd at the counter. “Water,” he barked. Someone stuck a bottle in his hand. He flung bills at the counter and hit the door, twisting the cap as he ran.
The truth dawned on him at the sight of their empty table. He stopped, looked about. The sidewalk thronged with people. In front of him, the trolley was rolling south, ringing its bell. A city bus pulled off in the opposite direction. He could see the driver wiping his face with the end of a rose-patterned towel that he kept draped around his neck. Billy took a swig of the water.
There was no way to know which way Theda had gone. He’d been played for a second time that day.
“Lose something, Detective?” J.J. stood with his back pressed against the granite wall. He held up a twenty that flipped in the breeze. “The lady axed me to say she’d be in touch.” His face beamed with satisfaction. He tucked the money in his track pants. “By the way, you planning to tap that? She sho’ is fine.”
“Clean it up, J.J. You got more class than that.”
J.J.’s lips bunched, and he drew air through his nostrils. “The other night at Bardog . . . you hit me in the feels, bro. You and me got history. You let me down.”
Billy’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Sorry about the feels, brother. I have to take this.”
“That’s all right, man. Jesus Junior forgives.” J.J. walked off.
Billy figured it was Frankie reporting on her meeting with Garrett.
Chief Middlebrook came on the line. “I need to see you in my office. Now.”