Imogene in New Orleans Page 27

  The group hurried straight through the expansive space with all its lush foliage. Jackson turned around to see if Rogers had made it into the courtyard. He saw a gun dangling between the metal bars above the door.

  “I think that’s Hill’s Colt Peacemaker, the one he had stuffed in his pants the day he chased Thurston from the hotel.” Jackson told them to go.

  Billy asked, “How do you know that’s Hill’s gun?”

  “Because I’ve only seen guns like that in the movies and on Thomas Hill.”

  Hill screamed, “Stop or I’ll shoot every last one of you cretins.”

  “I told you. He’s probably on Rogers’s shoulders. That’s too high for him to reach even with a ladder.” Jackson pushed them toward the opposite end of the courtyard, hurrying them to the back exit. The last thing Jackson saw before stepping out through the back was Rogers’s meaty arms groping the top bars. The door shook. Rogers and Hill were about to get inside, and Jackson wasn’t going to be there to see it.

  Thirty-Two

  Lena led the charge to Algiers. Imogene and Goose sat up front in her Seville. In the other car, Billy rode shotgun with Neil, because Jackson wanted to speak with Thurston. “So, Hill doesn’t use canes, then, is that what you’re saying?”

  Thurston wiped the sweat from his eyes. “He collects them. He likes the handcrafted ones. He goes to the antique stores and estate sales. He’s got collectors all over the state who help him. And like that wondrous woman Imogene McGregor told you moments ago, he’s got a black market dealer in the swamp.” Thurston rubbed his fingers over the antique in his hand. “This one’s made from a felled cypress found in the bayou.”

  “Thomas Hill let you borrow it?” Jackson asked. He braced himself with one hand on the back of Billy’s seat as the car bumped along the road.

  “He gave it to me. Made me take it, actually.” Thurston sighed. “I’m often weak…too weak to walk sometimes.” He paused and wiped his face. “Much less kill a man.”

  “Shoot, you were sprinting a minute ago, man. Not only that, but you laid a pretty good lick on me last time I visited your condo.” Jackson rubbed his head. “I still have the bump.”

  “I only did that because you were chasing me. But think about it. The blunt trauma Glenway suffered was inflicted by someone stronger than me.” He held out his frail arms for inspection.

  “How did you know about the blunt trauma?” Jackson asked.

  “I have friends.” Thurston glanced at Neil, who sped through the narrow streets of the Quarter, following Lena’s Seville.

  Jackson looked at him suspiciously. “Did you know the hotel manager lived in Algiers, Thurston?”

  Neil peered at Jackson through the rearview mirror.

  “Of course I—”

  Neil interrupted. “I never knew such characters lived over there. I’ve only attended parties across the river.”

  “All sorts of people live in Algiers,” Thurston said, staring out the window.

  “When’s the last time you saw your friend Buddy?” Jackson studied the lines on Thurston’s face.

  “He’s not my friend, but I expect most of us have seen Buddy recently.” He raised one eye at Jackson. His furry eyebrow looked odd in such a position, as if he knew about Jackson’s afternoon with the hustler.

  “Do you know where he lives, Thurston?”

  “I know many things. And, yes, I do happen to know where Buddy lives, even though he thinks it’s a secret.” Thurston rubbed the fleur-de-lis pattern in the cane.

  “Not Buddy. I’m talking about Hill. Thomas Hill,” Jackson said, gritting his teeth. Thurston nodded without making eye contact.

  Neil had both hands on the steering wheel, trying to keep up with Lena, who zoomed across the bridge to Algiers. She turned at the first road on the left, where Jackson remembered seeing Buddy on his motorcycle. They accelerated toward his house. Jackson felt his heart beating.

  When they got to the street where the hustler lived, Lena turned. They followed the curve in the street until it merged into another. Thurston pointed at a nondescript home nearly hidden from the road. The yard and the driveway were surrounded by trees. “This is it.”

  They watched Lena pull in front of the secluded house. “We’re close to Buddy’s…and Glenway’s.” Jackson scanned the neighborhood.

  “Indeed we are.” Thurston struggled to scoot out of the car. Billy saw him and helped.

  He hobbled up to the front steps toward an enormous flowerpot.

  Lena rolled down her window. Imogene nearly smothered the woman trying to stick her head out the same window. “Boys, the key’s on the back side of that big ol’ pot with them yella flowers.”

  “How do you know?” Jackson asked.

  Lena said, “Baby, I told you, me and Imogene been here rootin’ around and we found it then. ’Sides, I keep my extra key in a pot near the stoop too.”

  Jackson found the key and then opened the door for everyone to enter. Billy turned to the women. “Mother, you stay in the car with Lena just in case we’ve been followed.”

  She visibly clenched her teeth. “I was goin’ to anyhow. Somebody’s gotta be here on lookout. We got Gooey too.” Goose shifted his weight forward, resting his chin on the edge of the open car window.

  Jackson waited until they could both walk into the main living room. It was filled with curiosities. “This is like a movie set from New Orleans’s heyday.” The room included a wall of at least a hundred canes, some mounted in cases and others in racks. It looked more like a museum than a place to live. A fireplace stretched along the opposite wall. The hearth could accommodate a grown man lying flat. “He did all this in a rental house?”

  “Oh, yeah. He was trying to feather his nest for Glenway,” Thurston said. “Let me show you something.” Thurston led them to the back of the house. The walls in the hallway sported some of Glenway’s best work. There was the picture of Neil and Allen on the plantation, a large portrait of Buddy as Bacchus, the picture of Jackson and Billy on their friends’ porch, and a scene on a Mississippi steamship, all with the initials “GG” in the bottom right-hand corner.

  As they walked into the kitchen, Jackson said, “You must’ve spent a lot of time here, Thurston.”

  The old man flipped the light switch. “I did. I spent many an evening at this house, trying to convince Thomas to let Glenway go. Thomas and I have been friends since the sixties. We survived Hurricane Camille in his first house off Esplanade, a glorious Arts and Crafts bungalow in the Quarter.” He looked down at his scuffed-up loafers. His shoulders slumped. “I tried to convince him that Glenway only wanted to be friends and that Thomas could find someone else. In fact, I could’ve loved Thomas.”

  “It seems like you did love Thomas.” Jackson had a hard time thinking of Hill as Thomas. The name sounded too pleasant for what Hill was. “What do you mean exactly when you say Hill had an obsession with Glenway?”

  Thurston drew back the curtain in the breakfast nook. Hill had an old-fashioned spyglass on a tripod beside the table. It was a lovely instrument with polished brass. The tripod stood on wooden legs with shiny knobs to extend the height. Thurston pointed at it. “Have a look for yourself.”

  Jackson put his eye on the end of it. “Good grief, man. That’s Buddy’s house, or Glenway’s house rather. Neil, come here. Remember when I showed you that clearing on top of the fence, when we were in Rogers’s car? I knew something looked odd about that gap. Thomas Hill must’ve cleared away the bougainvillea and trumpet vine to keep a closer eye on Glenway.” Jackson held the telescope up for Neil and then for Billy.

  When Jackson offered for Thurston to take a look, he declined. He said, “I knew what Thomas was doing. I told you he was obsessed with Glenway.”

  As Neil hunched over the spyglass, he said, “This is where Rogers ran to get the figurines that day, Jackson. We thought it was Buddy’s house, but look at that gate latch on the opposite end of the fence…here in Hill’s yard.” He pointed, and next
to a yellow rosebush, Jackson saw where the fence turned into a gate. It had a rusty latch with a new padlock. “You’re right, Neil. I never would’ve suspected Hill lived here. I thought only Buddy and Lena lived in Algiers.” Jackson still looked puzzled. He wondered about Thurston and the clever story he was telling. He stood up straight and said, “Thurston, did you know Thomas Hill killed Glenway?”

  “I had my suspicions.” Without saying any more Thurston turned and wandered back down the hall into the main room with the wall of canes and the fireplace. He sat on a green velvet chaise lounge. The others followed. Thurston propped his legs on an ottoman and scratched the scabs on his legs.

  As the rest of the group made it into the room, all of them looking terribly confused, he said, “He never pulled a gun on me before this week. That day you followed me to my apartment, he pointed his gun at my face in his hotel office. I just wanted to know what was wrong with him…and Thomas obviously didn’t want to talk.”

  “What did you say to make him so angry?” Jackson asked, sitting down beside the old man on the chaise lounge.

  Thurston shot Neil a worried look. His furry eyebrows tensed and his mouth bunched up. “I guess I can say it…I wanted Thomas to know I had seen him leaving the ballet shortly after Glenway on the night of the murder.” He looked at Neil almost like he wanted approval. Neil nodded.

  “I was told you boys had several people you thought could’ve killed Glenway. Neil said I was one of them, and I knew I had a rather feeble alibi. You see, I went to the ballet with Hill on Thursday night, but he wouldn’t stay with me. He left without me.” Thurston stared into the empty fireplace for a moment. “And then he started acting crazy this week. I went to confront Thomas about his behavior and that’s why he ran me out.” He made eye contact with Jackson. “I had no idea he stole the figurines, but then today I found that one in his office.” He pointed to Jackson’s pocket. Jackson withdrew the carved jester he had swiped during their collision.

  Thurston sighed. “You should have seen Thomas before he squandered his money. He was as delightful a creature as this great city ever knew. But then he lost his head after his bankruptcy. He tried to sink his claws in Glenway. He probably loved Glenway on some level, but more importantly, he saw Glenway as a means to live the life of opulence he lived before spending his inheritance. I think when he sold the hotel at the beginning of this year, he had to face reality…and he panicked.

  “I myself have had to live on less. Thomas refused to lower his standard of living. Look around. In this room alone, I imagine there’s a hundred thousand dollars in art and furniture and curiosities.”

  Jackson surveyed the room. “Where do you think the figurines are, then?”

  Thurston stood and ambled to one particular curio case in the corner of the room, a mahogany cabinet that appeared to hold the crème of Hill’s collection. He opened it and withdrew a cane. “Neil, would you look at this? I can’t believe it.” Thurston pointed to the antique’s sterling silver top.

  Neil took a step closer as Thurston asked, “Do you remember the Degas house on Esplanade ‘losing’ Edgar Degas’ cane, the one the artist brought on his visit to New Orleans in the 1870s? This is that stolen cane.” He picked it up to admire the decorative pattern in silver.

  Neil studied it. “Degas’s initials are engraved there on the side, in cursive. This is going right back to that house, too, if I have any say in it.”

  Thurston leaned in to the cabinet. He put his hands on the bottom shelf and pushed in, causing the shelf to lift back and reveal a hidden chamber at the base of the unit. “He didn’t know I was aware of this place.” He reached his hand into the compartment and felt until he found something and withdrew it. He held a piece of precious stone in the shape of a trumpet. It was chipped off from a larger piece.

  Jackson took it. “That’s certainly part of a figurine.”

  Neil thumped the floor with the end of the Degas cane. “Yes, it is. Thomas Hill, you devil. Thurston, if I’d known or even suspected Hill as the killer, I never would’ve let Imogene and the boys spend one night at Chez Hill. Why did you insist on them staying there?”

  Thurston looked at Neil with sunken, worried eyes. “Thomas insisted upon it. He called me in a frantic state early last Friday morning and told me he wanted the boys and Imogene to stay at his hotel. And then I called you. I was doing him a favor.”

  Billy flipped open his satchel. “Listen, Thomas Hill never acted like he wanted us there. In fact, he acted like he could spit on us from the second we met him.”

  Neil nodded as he clutched the Degas cane with both hands. “Thurston, you were doing a favor for a maniac. Boys, I’m really sorry about the trouble you had to endure because of Thurston here and Thomas Hill.” Neil took one hand and patted Jackson on the shoulder. Billy leaned back in the ornately carved sofa with pink upholstery. He closed his eyes.

  Neil fiddled with his mustache. “I told Thurston you guys were coming down.” He shot a pointed look at Thurston. “And apparently he told Hill.”

  Beep, beep, beep. The monitor finished its pressure check. Billy rested his head against the high curve in the fine sofa. He carefully removed the cuff from his arm without acknowledging Neil.

  Just then, Imogene swung open the front door and came shuffling through the foyer and into the main room. “Sakes alive, boys. Ain’t them walkin’ sticks fancy? Shoo-doggy. I told ya so. Y’all didn’t believe Mama, but she’s seen this here room onced already. Mmm hmm. You know this fellar Hill had some money. Up in the thousands, I guarn’tee it.” She perused the living room proudly, as if she had arranged the canes herself.

  Billy opened his eyes and sat up. “Mama, you’re supposed to be in the car with Lena.”

  “Honey, not no more. Her boy Catfish called just now and said he saw that gruff lawman Rogers speedin’ down the road, headin’ this way with the hotel man. We gotta get up and get gone. They ain’t gonna be pleased at us fishin’ through the house.”

  “Mother, why didn’t you say so the minute you walked in?” Billy stuffed his medical implements in his satchel and jumped to his feet.

  Thurston reached up and began combing over the shelf of guns at the top of the glass cabinet. He grabbed a little derringer, which looked like a little silver toy.

  Imogene saw it and said, “Shoot, honey, that gun ain’t gonna do nothing. It won’t even scratch nobody.” She reached around and picked up a rifle from the Civil War era. It had a bayonet on it. “Now, this ’un here’ll knock their knees out from under ’em. Yes sirree.”

  Billy grabbed the gun from her. “Mama, you’re not carrying a gun. Come on. We gotta get out of here.” He held the rifle so she couldn’t make off with it.

  “Son, your mama’s shot a rifle more than you, being raised in the woods and all. Uncle John had one just like it.”

  “No, no, no, Mother.”

  Imogene huffed. “You oughta let Neil hold it lest we get cornered.”

  Billy handed the weapon to Neil. At the sound of tires screeching out front, Billy ran to the window. He threw open the curtains, glanced out, and then immediately closed them. “They’re here. They’re here.” He ran toward the display case and then turned around at the cherry wood coffee table and ran back to the window. “Mama, where’s Lena?”

  “Shoot, she’s long gone, son. She’s holdin’ out in that alley behind the house. Why you lookin’ at me funny? You know, the alley where the lawman had Jack and Neil kidnapped.” Imogene shuffled through the hall to the back door. The rest of them followed her. Thurston waved the derringer above his head with one hand.

  Jackson said, “I’m staying here, so I can disable Rogers’s car and retrieve the figurines. I’ll hide behind that chaise lounge. Thurston, as soon as everyone makes it through the fence, you shoot your little gun. It will distract Hill and Rogers, and I’ll meet you where the dirt alley empties onto the road.”

  There was a terrible knocking at the door. Jackson started dancing around the ba
ck door. “Hurry. Hill’s got a key to his own house, so y’all go. No arguing, Billy. Go through the gate.” He pointed at the rusty hinge on the fence. “Go, go.”

  “Open up.” Rogers’s voice reverberated through the front door.

  Neil wanted to stay in case of a fight, but Jackson convinced him to help the others to the alley. “You’ll be more use out there.”

  Imogene was already at the fence by the time Jackson closed the door and hurried back to the great room. He ducked behind the chair, close enough to hear the manager rattling his keys and Rogers hissing at him.

  “They’ll get away, dammit, Hill.”

  The manager opened the door, and just as he walked in, shots rang out from the back fence. Rogers started screaming at the empty room, “Stand down!” Rogers stomped through the house. He secured every room by shouting at each empty space, his booming voice echoing through the home. He passed right by the chair concealing Jackson.

  Rogers pointed at the cane display. “Well, ‘TH,’ you think you could’ve hidden your collection like I told you?” Rogers spoke to the hotel manager as gruffly as he did the rest of humanity.

  Jackson saw Hill put his hands on his hips and glare at the lieutenant. “I didn’t have time. I’ve been busy making arrangements…for you.” Hill ran over to the case. “Someone’s been through this curio, dammit. I’m missing a cane and two guns. See what you’ve done, Lieutenant? If you hadn’t brought that Neil and his friend the other day, they wouldn’t have known where to look. You’re an imbecile. We have to stop those people. There’s no way they know the value of these items. Come on.” The duo hurried out of the room.

  Jackson peeked around the chaise and saw them walk out to the back deck. He heard the faint sound of branches rustling and he heard an “ohh! eww!” and then a crash to the ground.

  Rogers yelled, “Look at those vines swinging back and forth above the fence.”

  Jackson caught sight of Rogers charging to the moving foliage and then peeking through the hole. He grabbed the fence latch and cussed at the manager. “Sonuvabitch…why’s this thing locked?”