PI On A Hot Tin Roof Read Free

taking in every word, and doing a slow burn at the same time.
    “Patsy, you go on and have fun. Let me see what I can do for this lady.”
    Patsy drifted away, apparently determined to keep up appearances, but Talba surmised that her house at Mardi Gras had the same rules as an exclusive men’s club—no business was to be transacted on the premises.
    Talba smelled a spat in the making. She felt sorry for him. “It’s Angela Valentino,” she said.
    “Geddouttahere!”
    “She was with Al Brazil when they got popped. You know, Chief of the Poison Oleanders?”
    “Sure. Everybody knows Big Chief Alabama. By reputation, anyhow. What happened?”
    “She says somebody planted drugs on the Chief.”
    “That Angie. What a little Pollyanna.”
    Talba was getting impatient. “I work with her dad, so she called me. Said to get you to get a judge to set bond for both of them.”
    He nodded. “I can do that. Hey, no problem whatsoever. We got a couple judges soakin’ up the suds right out on the porch.”
    “Well, one thing. She said anybody but Buddy Champagne.”
    This time he was the one speaking eyebrow language. “Well, that do make it harder.”
    “Champagne’s here?”
    Houlihan shrugged. “He’s a neighbor. Easiest thing in the world to set it up.”
    “Loosely translated, she said she’d rather rot in jail.”
    He laughed. The judges weren’t the only ones soaking up suds. “Hey, you’re a pretty sharp cookie. Who are you, anyway?”
    “Talba Wallis. I work with Angie’s dad. He was away, so she called me.”
    His face clouded. “But why didn’t she just call me directly?”
    “They don’t give you a phone book and she didn’t have your number memorized.”
    “Well…she used to.” She could see the regret in his face and thought that anyone married to Patsy Houlihan could be forgiven for having a wandering eye. “Angie’s really in jail? Little Angie?”
    “Last I looked, little Angie could take ten men about your size.” It was true, though it had a great deal more to do with attitude than Angie’s own size—she was a perfect size eight, maybe even a six.
    “Woo. ’Tain’t it the truth.” Houlihan sighed. “Okay, let me go do the honors. Make yourself at home. I’ll find you when it’s done.”
    “Shouldn’t be hard.” Talba waved at the sea of white faces. “I kind of stick out in this crowd.”
    “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “Patsy’s in charge of the guest list.” He melted into the melee. If he and Angie had been an item once, he seemed nostalgic for old times.
    Making herself at home was a good trick, Talba thought, when your hostess hates you, but she set about making friends with the sour bartender. “Long night, huh?”
    The man sighed. “Long as a piece of balin’ wire.”
    “I heard that,” she said, rolling her eyes. Evidently she wasn’t the only one who had her differences with Patsy.
    “Sure you wouldn’t like a little something in that water?”
    Talba handed him her glass. “Little more ice, maybe. I’ve got to be alert—got to go bail someone out in a while.”
    “I’m sure sorry to hear that.”
    Talba raised her freshened glass. “Happy Mardi Gras,” she said.

Chapter 2
    She went outside to watch the parade, thinking maybe Patsy wouldn’t mind her presence so much if she wasn’t in the house proper, what with the silver and everything. She wished she’d changed, but the hostess had on jeans, too. Why should she feel underdressed?
    It seemed hours, but it was probably only about twenty-five minutes before Houlihan sought her out again. “Mission accomplished. Nearly had to throw Ken Friedland in the shower to get him sober enough to make the call, but it got done. Buddy’d sure have been a lot easier.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Listen—Ken was pissed that he had to work. Wouldn’t release Angie on her own recognizance. Sorry.”
    Talba was unsure what he meant. “You mean he wouldn’t set bond?”
    “That much he would do. Reluctantly.