The Julius House Page 0,62

of the dog. It was limp and listless in her arms.

"What's the matter?" I asked, not at all sure I really wanted to know. "He got hurt," she said. "A bad man kicked our little doggy two days ago, didn't he, Kickapoo?"

"Oh, that's terrible!"

"Kickapoo couldn't hurt anyone, you can see that," said the woman, dreadful indignation printed deep in folds of fat. "I don't know what was the matter with him." I assumed she was referring to the kicker. "He was in a bad mood that day, but he never has done nothing like that."

"Not your husband?" I inquired incredulously.

"Oh, no! Carl loves our little doggy," she said, "doesn't he, Kickapoo?"

The dog didn't nod.

"No, this was a friend of Alicia's, the man she has collect the rent and tend to things for her. 'Course, we mow the lawn and take care of the little repairs, but if something big goes wrong, we call..." and she stopped dead. "Yes?" I said encouragingly. I was totally bored with the conversation until the woman so obviously remembered she wasn't supposed to be having it. "Nothing. Here I am, going on and on. I haven't even found out what you need." Angel and I were both well-dressed that day, since I thought that'd be reassuring to an old lady like Alicia Manigault. I was wearing a little suit with a white jacket and a navy skirt, and Angel had on tailored black slacks and a sapphire blue blouse with a gold chain and earrings. So it wasn't out of the question for Angel to claim we were from the Metairie Senior Citizens' Association, which she promptly did.

"Oh," the woman said. "I never heard of that. But that's nice."

"And you're Mrs. - ?" Angel said pointedly.

The woman reached for an eyedropper by a bottle of medicine on a table jammed into one end of the living room. She squeezed what was in it into the little dog's mouth. It swallowed obediently.

"Coleman," she said, looking down at the animal. "Lanelda Coleman."

"So Mrs. Manigault doesn't need transportation services to and from the center?"

Angel asked.

"No, she's just here a few weeks a year," Lanelda Cole-man told us.

I was totally at sea.

I opened my mouth to ask where she was the rest of the year, but my cohort kicked me in the ankle.

"Then we'll just go, I can tell you've got your hands full," Angel said sympathetically.

"Oh," Lanelda said, "I do. We're just terrified Kickapoo is hurt bad. We've about decided to take him to the vet. It's so expensive!" I moved restlessly. They adored the dog but hadn't taken him to the vet?

"It sure is," Angel agreed.

"Carl and I just were up all night with this little thing," Lanelda said abstractedly, her attention on the dog.

"The man who kicked him should pay for the vet visit," Angel said.

I turned to stare at her.

Lanelda's face looked suddenly determined. "You know, lady, you're right," she said. "I'm gonna call him the minute Carl gets home." "Good luck," I said, and we left.

We conferred by the car.

"We need to ask some questions," I said.

"But not of her. She's been told not to talk about the arrangements for that house by someone, someone she's scared of. We don't want her calling whoever it is and telling them we've been asking questions." "So what do we do?"

"We move the car," Angel said slowly. "Then we go from house to house. Her curtains are closed, and she's busy with the dog. She may not notice. Our cover story is that we're canvassing old people in the neighborhood about the need for a community center with hot meals and transportation to and from this center every day. I just hope Metairie doesn't have one already. Ask questions about the old ladies who own Number Twenty-one." I looked up at Angel admiringly. "Good idea."

I wasn't so enthusiastic an hour later. I'd never knocked on strangers' doors before. We'd waited until after five o'clock so people would be home; most of the mothers here would be working mothers.

This was an experience that I later wanted to forget. I was never intended to be a private detective; I was too thin-skinned. The old people were suspicious, the younger people were too busy at this time of day to give much thought to my questions, or could think of no good reason why they should spend time talking to a stranger. I actually had a door or two shut in my face. One woman in her sixties, Betty Lynn