Jazz Funeral Read Online Free PDF Page B

bag?”
    “I’ll get it for you.” Ti-Belle had tossed it in a living room chair, and as Skip carried it back to her, she couldn’t help noticing it sported no airline tags.
    There were still a few people left in the yard, standing in clumps—friends of Hamson’s, the uniforms said, who declined to go home, waited instead “to see if they could do anything.” Skip was horrified to see that Steve Steinman was one of them. She’d forgotten all about him. The place being New Orleans, and Ariel Burge being a great man’s assistant, another had to be she—ready to fetch and carry till she dropped as dead as Ham.
    There were also people still arriving, and there probably would be for hours. Officers tried to send them away, and sometimes succeeded. But not often. Great clumps of onlookers were gathering on the sidewalks. The neighbors, after hurried suppers, had begun to stroll outdoors in T-shirts and shorts.
    Skip found the folks from the restaurants packing up. The bartender, one Michael Boudreaux, had turned up first, and had noticed nothing unusual—except, of course, that the host wasn’t home. He’d called the caterer he worked for and had been told to wait.
    “But didn’t it seem odd that no one was here? Like a member of the foundation?”
    “What foundation?”
    “The Second Line Square Foundation—the thing this was a benefit for.”
    Boudreaux shrugged. “All I heard was the host’s little sister was s’posed to let us in. Tables inside, everything we needed—everything rented in advance. All we had to do,”—he gestured— “me and all the others, was go in and get what we needed.”
    “But who was going to set up?”
    “Me! That’s why I came early. Well, technically my boss—she was hired to do that and supply me, but she had another job.” He shrugged again. “I did the best I could—positioned everyone—I mean, the other caterers, and all that sort of thing, but—” He threw up his hands.
    So Ham had enlisted Melody to help him. It made sense—Ariel probably worked for the Jazz and Heritage Foundation, and if he wanted to keep it clean, he wouldn’t use her for personal business. Ti-Belle was out of town—or something. And he himself couldn’t be spared during the festival. What better helper than Melody? She’d probably been thrilled to be delegated.
    Now, which of the stragglers looked “flighty”? The one talking to Steve Steinman, she decided. Short and slightly plump, with the big-hair look, ill-considered atop such a small body. It was very pretty hair, chestnut-colored and wavy, but if she wanted people to take her seriously, she should probably stop gelling it out a foot on all sides. She was probably anything but flighty. She’d have to be damn good at her job to keep it.
    The question was, how to approach her with Steve Steinman there? She wanted to tell him to go home, not to wait for her, to apologize for forgetting him, but she couldn’t in front of a witness. She’d have to be dismissive; she hated that.
    “Pardon me,” she said. “Are you Ariel Burge? Could you excuse us, Mr. Steinman?”
    Apparently, he was amused. She hoped Burge hadn’t caught the wink he gave Skip. Skip showed her badge. “Skip Langdon. Could you—”
    “Ham’s dead?”
    “What makes you think that?”
    “I heard Ti-Belle yell it out to George. But I was trying to play hostess and got stuck in the back. I couldn’t get close enough to talk to her. Did he have a heart attack or what? What happened to him?” She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, had obviously come straight from work.
    It was always a problem, trying to get information without giving any. Oh, well, the coroner’s wagon would arrive momentarily anyhow.
    “I’m sorry. He is dead.”
    Skip waited while Ariel fumbled with a tissue. “I knew it. It had to be something. He didn’t come to work this morning. Just didn’t come in at all. Only everyone was so busy no one noticed till about noon. He was never where