Out of the Easy(56)

“We only talked a short bit. Mostly about Proust. He has the strangest voice, Jo, and he’s so small. He’s only twenty-five or twenty-six but was talking circles around the literati. The only person who could keep up with him was that eccentric Elmo Avet.”

“Willie knows Elmo. She calls him the Queen Bee, but she loves the antique furniture he sells her. Sounds like quite the birthday party.”

“I made you some coffee. You’re leaving this morning, right?” he asked.

I nodded.

“We’ll miss you,” said Patrick, pouring a cup of coffee.

“I’ll miss you too. You can reach me through Willie. She’ll be leaving messages for me with the grocer. And of course you can write. I left the address on the counter. Oh, I almost forgot. Miss Paulsen came by the shop.”

Patrick turned around, his face wrinkled with fear. “Again?”

“Yes. I told her I was going to Slidell to visit Charlie. She gave me a note for him.” I pulled the sealed envelope out of my purse and handed it to Patrick.

He tore it open and read it. He handed it to me.


You were never one to write mysteries, and now you’ve become one.





Send a letter from Slidell, or I’ll know this is all a lie.





Worried—Barbara





THIRTY-SEVEN


I loved Cokie’s cab.

But we weren’t in Cokie’s cab. We were riding in Mariah, and Cokie’s smile pulled clear across his face.

“Pour me another drip from that thermos, Josie girl. See, this is fine drivin’. One day I’m gonna get me a big black Cadillac like this, whitewall tires and all, that’s right.”

“This car attracts too much attention. We should have taken your cab. I love your cab. It’s so comfortable.”

“My cab’s a good girl. If she could talk, oooeee, what she seen. Now, this ain’t the route to Northampton. That’s north through Mississippi and up into Alabama. Cornbread say it’s better to drive as soon as the sun comes up and pull off before the sun goes down. I agree. You’ll stay with Cornbread’s cousin in Georgia, and he has an old aunt in Virginia if you need to stop there.”

“It’s so sweet of you to plan, Coke, but I haven’t been accepted yet.”

“You’ll be accepted. I know it.” Cokie nodded repeatedly. “You have to be.”

He turned to me from the wheel. “You got to get outta here, Josie. New Orleans is fine for some people, real good for a few. But not for you. Too much baggage that’ll pull you down. You got dreams and the potential to make ’em real. I bet you latched onto that rich man from Memphis ’cuz he fit your idea of a daddy. And I agree, ain’t no way you could turn out so good unless the other half was something fine. So you’ll be accepted, and you’ll do us all proud. You’ll sure do me proud.”

We passed the three hours talking. Cokie told me stories about his parents. His father was a white man from Canada who settled in New Orleans. He had a wife and kids and had taken up with Cokie’s mother on the side. He died before Cokie’s third birthday. Unlike me, Cokie had been close with his mother and got teary just talking about her. He loved her deeply and said she always did right by him. She died when he was sixteen. He said it made it impossible to find a wife, because he wanted a woman with the qualities his momma had. Any woman I’d suggest as a potential mate he’d reject with a scoff and comments that made me laugh so hard I nearly wet myself.

“Well, why not Bertha?” I asked.

“Now, Bertha’s nice, but she too old. I like a girl where her skin fits a little better.”

“And Tyfee?” I tried.

“Tyfee? You gotta be kiddin’. She only got three toes and sweats like a dog crappin’ peach seeds. And she’s always dyein’ that gray hair of hers with coffee grounds. Looks like dirt. No, thank you.”

Tyfee only had three toes. Who knew?

Cokie was picky about a mate but seemed to know exactly what he wanted in a woman. It made me think about Patrick and our awkward good-bye. He’d hugged me hard and long, like he’d never see me again. But he didn’t kiss me. He just stared, his eyes full of silence. I couldn’t tell if he was upset about me leaving or upset about Charlie.

We arrived just before lunch. Cokie stopped at Ray and Frieda Kole’s. He felt the hood of their car.

“It’s cold. They’ve been asleep awhile,” said Cokie.

Poor Ray and Frieda. I wondered what made them so scared of the dark.

Cokie set a box from Willie on their porch. It had a pot of Sadie’s gumbo, a carton of cigarettes, a bottle of muscatel, and a letter from Willie instructing them to keep an eye on me.

We pulled down the long tree-lined drive to Shady Grove.

“Now, Jo, you make sure you keep your ears wide. It’s nice and private down here, but that can also be trouble. You scream out here, no one’s gonna hear you. Not even Ray and Frieda. They’re a mile away.”

“You’re acting like there’s bears out here or something.”

“I’m not talkin’ ’bout no animals. I’m talkin’ ’bout criminals.”

I laughed. “No one wants to rob Shady Grove. There’s nothing here but furniture and old dishes.” Shady Grove was the picture of peace. A small Creole cottage with a deep front porch surrounded by moss-draped oak trees.