Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [98]
“Okay, you’re off the hook,” he said. “For now. But I’ll be showing up on your doorstep someday, and you’d better be ready to pay up.”
“I will,” I said, trying not to think about all the horrible torture techniques I knew Elvia had acquired from growing up in a family of six brothers. “But now I need you to use your contacts to search for information on someone.” I told him about Evangeline and what I thought.
“If she’s in hiding she may not be using her real name.”
“It’s worth a shot. Do you have any contacts in Louisiana?”
“Sweetcakes, I’ve got contacts in places that would curl your toes.”
“All female, I bet.” Though I’d never tell him to his face, Emory was an extremely handsome, articulate, and amusing man with oh-so-polite Southern manners that could charm the . . . well, I’ll just say that even Aunt Garnet has trouble saying no when he wants something. Now, if I could convince Elvia—
“She works for the New Orleans Police Department. A lieutenant, I think now. Brightest red hair and the cutest little ole—”
“I don’t want to hear any more,” I interrupted. “Just get me the information.” Then an idea occurred to me. “Hold on a minute, Emory. I have someone else I need checked out.” I dug through the filing cabinet and pulled out Ash’s file. “Do you have any contacts in Mississippi?”
“Never dated a Mississippi woman, though I’ve heard they are as sweet as the magnolia of their state flower. But I do know a guy there who works for the Jackson Clarion-Ledger . Neil McGaughey. He reviews mystery books for them. Knows everyone who’s anyone in Mississippi. Comes from one of those old monied families. Has a rare-book collection that’s worth millions.”
“See if he knows or can find out anything about an Ashley Stanhill. Says on his file here his last address was Natchez.”
“Will do. Now, about my fee.”
“I told you I’d tell her as soon as you buy your ticket.”
“I mean for this little foray.”
“What do you want?”
“Elvia’s fair hand in marriage.”
“Emory, try something that is possible in this millennium.”
“Okay, fine. Pay for our date. And I don’t mean dinner at Carl’s Junior and a matinee at the Fremont.”
I considered his request. “Fifty dollars.”
“Oh, please, that wouldn’t get me to first base. Two hundred.”
“Emory, it’d take the Crown Jewels and a tank of nitrous oxide to get you to first base with Elvia. Seventy-five.”
“Hundred fifty. You’ve never seen me when I really want something.”
“One hundred, and that’s my final offer.”
“Sold. It’ll at least pay for the limousine. I’ll get back to you.”
“Hurry, Emory. I need this information yesterday.”
“Dear cousin, dare I ask? Does your hunka, hunka Latino love know about this?”
“Call me here at the museum. Otherwise, I’ll call you.”
“That answers my question. A bucketful of luck, sweetcakes. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
After I hung up with Emory, I started to put away Evangeline and Ash’s files when the sound of angry male voices echoed from the main studio. I rushed out of my office and found Peter and Roy rolling on the floor while a bunch of quilters were backed up against the wall, clutching the quilt they’d been free stitching.
“You guys stop it,” a woman yelled. “Take it somewhere else.”
“For crying out loud,” I said. I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a pitcher of ice water out of the refrigerator, and dodging their rolling bodies, dumped it on them. The shock stopped them momentarily. They sat with legs intertwined, panting like dogs, water dripping down their faces.
“Get up,” I said, grabbing Roy’s wiry arm. They both struggled up, glared at each other, and started swinging again. I threw myself in front of Roy as he strained to reach for Peter, wondering if my other eye was going to be blackened in the process, when D-Daddy, Evangeline, and a couple of college kids rushed into the room. D-Daddy pushed me firmly aside and grabbed Roy.
“À ça oui! That’s enough.” He jerked his head at Peter. “Hold that one back,” he told the college kids who’d come in with him. He pulled Roy across the room. Roy struggled briefly, then