Out of the Easy(66)

Detective Langley looked toward the stairs at the back of the shop. What if he wanted to search my room? How would I explain thousands of dollars in Cokie’s gambling money in my floorboard? He would probably think it was the cash missing from Mr. Hearne. Droplets of perspiration popped at the back of my neck.

He leaned on the counter. “Did anyone see you here on New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes, Patrick Marlowe, the owner of the shop. He came by with a friend around midnight.”

“Did you all go out then?”

“No, Patrick will tell you I was quite indisposed, in my nightgown and hairpins.”

The detective chewed his lip in thought. I could practically see the dim lightbulb buzzing above his head. “What if I told you that someone saw you out on New Year’s Eve?” he said.

“I would say they were lying, hoping to pressure me into telling you something different. I have told you the facts, Detective. I was here, all night, on New Year’s Eve. You can speak to Patrick Marlowe and James from Doubleday Bookshop. They both saw me here.”

I almost felt bad for the guy. He’d never stay afloat in the Quarter with such transparent methods.

He thanked me for my time and left. I locked the door, turned out the lights, and watched him drive away. Then I ran across the street to call Willie.

I recounted all the details.

“He just left?” she asked.

“Yes, he just drove away.”

“They’re still digging. They don’t have anything,” she said.

“Willie, does Mother have an alibi?”

“Trust me, you don’t want what your mother has. Go back and lock your doors.” She hung up the phone.

I ran across the dark street. I fumbled with my keys, trying to find the right one in the low light. I heard a noise. My hair tore from my scalp as I was yanked and slammed up against the glass door. I felt something hard in my back.

“Hey, Crazy Josie. That was a bad, bad move. You really think it’s wise to go talkin’ to the police?” Cincinnati’s sour breath was hot in my ear.

“I wasn’t talking to the police.”

He shoved me into the door again. “I saw you. I stood and watched you talk to that copper.” His hand was on the back of my head, shoving the side of my face into the glass.

“I wasn’t talking to him. He just . . . asked me a question.”

He slapped his knife on the door next to my eye. “You,” he whispered, “are a liar.”

My body shuddered.

I saw a couple walking toward us down Royal and opened my mouth to scream. Cincinnati jerked me off the door, slung his arm around my neck, and forced me to walk with him.

“Don’t even think about screaming,” he said through his teeth.

I tried to follow his paces, my face practically wrenched in a headlock. His left hand held the blade of his knife at my waistline. I felt the sting of the tip against me. We walked a block up to Bourbon Street, and he pushed me into a small bar. I saw my mother sitting at a table in the back near a window, a litter of empty glasses in front of her.

He threw me into a chair and quickly pulled one up behind.

“Look what I found,” said Cincinnati.

“Hi, Jo.” Mother sounded sleepy. Her blue-shadowed lids bobbed like the last flaps of a dead bird.

“I told you that was the detective who drove by. And when I looked, guess who was chatting him up?” Cincinnati lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in my face.

Mother sat up, her tone shifting slightly. “Why were you talking to the detective, Jo?”

I slid my chair away from Cincinnati and closer to my mother. “The day Mr. Hearne died, he came to the shop. He bought two books. The police found the books and the receipt in his hotel room. The detective came to ask me about them.”

“Just now they came to ask you?” said Cincinnati. “Why didn’t they come earlier?”

“I don’t know,” I said, looking at my mother. I couldn’t stand to look at Cincinnati.

Mother reached for Cincinnati’s hand. “See, baby? That’s nothing. They just asked about books.”

“Shut up, Louise. She’s lyin’. The kid’s slick like me, not stupid like you.”

“I’m not stupid,” contested Mother. “You’re stupid.”

“You watch your mouth.”

Mother pouted. “Well, I’m no longer a suspect. They confirmed my alibi, and we’ll be goin’ back to Hollywood. This town’s just too small for us,” she told me.

“When are you leaving?” I asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” said Cincinnati. “Why, you wanna come with us, Crazy Josie?” He put his hand on my thigh. I threw it off.

“I don’t want to leave in the morning,” whined Mother. “I want to have dinner at Commander’s Palace tomorrow. I want all those Uptown women to see me and know I’m on my way back to Hollywood.”

“Shut your piehole. I told you, we have to get out of here. If you keep your mouth shut, I’ll take you to the Mocambo when we get back to Hollywood.”

Mother smiled, accepting the compromise. “Cinci’s got in real good with some fellas in Los Angeles.” Her eyes wandered like an impatient child. “Where’s that pretty watch?”