Free Imogene in New Orleans by Hunter Murphy

Toulouse Street ran one way toward the Mississippi River. Jackson looked over her head into one of those famous New Orleans courtyards, full of lush foliage, mossy brick, secrets, and wonder.
    Imogene found a patio chair and settled into it. Goose scooted beside her, readying himself for one of the morsels in her pocket. She dropped one to him and then rummaged through her purse. Jackson saw her glance to one side and then the other. She carefully removed Glenway’s book, opened it, and began studying. Jackson pushed back the curtain to relay her actions to Billy. “Hey, your mother’s hiding a leather book in that purse.”
    Billy had the pillow over his face. He pulled it down. “What do you mean?”
    “Your mother’s flipping through a leather-bound notebook, which I think she picked up at Glenway’s studio. Surely it’s not hers.”
    “No. She’s not much for keeping a diary.” Billy stretched. “Come over here and rest a minute on the bed.”
    Jackson was more focused on Imogene, though. “I want to see what it is. Why don’t you come out here with me? The sun’s going down and there’s nothing like a sunset in New Orleans. They say every woman looks beautiful by candlelight, and I say every city looks beautiful by sunset. This one’s glorious.” He couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as he swung the doors open, Imogene flinched, sitting straight up in the iron chair. She thrust the journal in her lap. “What are you doing, Imogene?”
    She glanced down Toulouse Street and started petting Goose. “Aww, nothing, shug. What you doin’?”
    “What do you have there?” She tried to return the item to her purse. “This? Just some book. Nothing, really. Got scribbles and such in it.”
    “You mind if I have a look, then?” He held out his hand.
    Imogene glared at it. “What you want it for?” She shot a look inside, as if she figured Billy had put him up to the takeaway. “I found it at the Gilbert boy’s place, and I was just havin’ a look-see.”
    Jackson grabbed it from her lap.
    “Hey, that ain’t right, son.” She frowned. “You and Billy won’t let me live for nothing.”
    “Is this what you took from Glenway’s, Maw? Underneath his desk?” She crossed her arms. Jackson peeled back the pages. He recognized the handwriting from the calendar. “This is definitely Glenway’s journal.” Jackson sat down in the other patio chair. “Did you see these names in here? It looks like he was describing people, maybe for his paintings. See here: Buddy, rough, wolf tattoo, muscles. Good for Bacchus. Unmannered. Works street for money. ‘Dating’ ad in the back of the paper.”
    Jackson flipped a few pages, going through the notes and sketches of Glenway’s Bacchus painting. Glenway had sketched an arm by itself on one page and the wolf outline on another. Jackson dog-eared the entry with Buddy and moved backward. Next he found “Blue Moon,” “Canebrake,” “Catfish,” “TH,” and “Pirate.”
    There were several pages dedicated to “Pirate.” Jackson saw some sketches of an old vessel, a ship crashing through waves in a rough sea. “What do you think this means?”
    “You got me, son. Me and Lena was perplexed ourselves.” Imogene watched as a man on a bicycle rode past on the street below. She patted down her gray hair.
    “You showed this book to Lena?” Jackson leaned over to see what she was looking at.
    “Of course, honey. She’s from New Orleans, and I figured she’d know more about them names and folks the Gilbert boy knew. More than us anyhow.” She dropped a treat in Goose’s mouth. “Seems to me them names there is boys that Glenway was sweet on. Lena thinks so too, but she don’t recognize a one of ’em.” She put her hand over her lips, as if to stop her mouth from saying something.
    Jackson carefully watched her. “Or Lena just said she didn’t recognize any of these men.” He rubbed his scruffy chin.
    Imogene grimaced, but she continued looking at