Deadly Pedigree - By Jimmy Fox Page 0,23
to treat her as he would anyone else; he had a sense that this is what Hawty would want.
“…it’s all part of a project undertaken by the computer-sciences department at Freret,” Hawty was saying. “We’ve made some pretty amazing discoveries, Mr. Herald. I predict there’ll be lots of patents from this project of ours–maybe even a Nobel Prize. Not to mention the doctorates on the line. Guy I’m dating is one of them; he’s already had job offers from NASA and a bunch of commercial heavyweights.”
Nick interrupted the unbounded optimism and ambition of youth. “Look, Hawty, I don’t want to keep you too long. I have no doubt you’ll be right for the job. You come with great recommendations. So consider yourself hired. But, I’m sorry to say, the pay will be nothing to write home about.”
He mentioned the low figure he’d settled on, skeptical she’d agree. There was a pause. She didn’t laugh in his face, at least.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mr. Herald! You don’t know how much this means to me.” Her eyes filled momentarily with tears, but she quickly rubbed them away. “I’m having a little trouble making ends meet, and that really, really bothers me. I had some unexpected medical expenses. Another kidney infection. Going to Freret is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. My education is more important than eating. I’d starve if I had to.”
Moved by her gratitude and inspired by her commitment to her schooling, Nick pressed his lips together to keep himself from offering triple the figure he’d just mentioned; he knew that would be impossible.
He said, “To start, I’ll ask you to handle mostly clerical tasks. As you learn more about genealogy, I’ll expect you to do substantial research. Your, uh, electronic gizmo-wheelchair-thing can type–I mean print, right?”
She pointed to Nick’s hulking old black IBM Selectric typewriter, adopted from a Goodwill store. “Makes that old clunker look like a Model T.”
“Good. Tomorrow, you can do a much better job with this than I did. It’s a draft of an article I’m working up on the yellow-fever epidemic of 1878, and how to use the death lists in family history research.”
“No problem,” she said. “Sounds interesting. Oh, there are a few other things I’d like to get started on, too–if it’s okay with you. Maybe figure out some system for all this,” and she made a sweeping motion with her arm to indicate the sea of paper and books around them. “I bet your files could stand some attention. There’s no toilet paper. And most of the lights are burned out around here. I was thinking maybe I could put a desk–if I can find one–in that other room. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. I bet there’s lots of spare furniture in this building.”
“Hey, chill out,” Nick said, smiling, trying to show her how hip he was.
She made a comical face and covered a giggle. Oh, well, so much for being hip, Nick thought.
“Let’s not rush things, okay, Hawty? Tomorrow morning, say ten, we’ll get to work. I don’t like time clocks, and I don’t expect you to work under the tyranny of one.”
“If I waited on people to help an African American woman in a wheelchair, I’d be dead of frostbite or boredom or something else already. I’ll be here at eight. Got another key?”
Nick searched for one in several overstuffed drawers.
“Here we go,” he said. “Better take one to my apartment, too. I think of it as a large filing cabinet. If I’m on the road, I may need you to go over there.”
He briefly explained the most pressing current project, Max Corban, telling her the old guy might kick off at any moment. She was eager to get started.
Nick asked her to search current Natchitoches phone books and city directories for a living Balzar in Natchitoches, and to find the libraries and archives in that area of central Louisiana that have material on local family history.
“No problem,” she said, her fingers dancing over her computer’s keyboard.
That must be her motto, Nick thought.
When Nick asked about her arrangements to get home, she assured him a special cab would be around in a few minutes for her, driven by a friend who didn’t charge her. She would wait in the entryway downstairs.
He noticed the sun outside making one last orange encore through the clearing slate-colored clouds. He was glad Hawty would have good light while she waited for her taxi.
Nick was impressed. The girl was a dynamo with