Free Imogene in New Orleans by Hunter Murphy Page A

the road below. She pointed at a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and using a cane to keep his balance on the sidewalk. He had a completely bald head.
    “Lord, he ain’t got a hair between him and God.” She slapped her leg, apparently amused with herself. Jackson ran inside, grabbed three bottles of soda from the cooler and a notebook of his own and returned to the porch. He left the door open and made Billy follow.
    Billy said, “I just called Allen. Neil made him contact the friend from the city council. Said he would be out of jail in the next few hours.”
    Imogene’s face lit up. “I hope he comes over. That sweet Neil told me he had some treasures from them parades.” She took a big swallow of root beer. “Son, come out here and let Jack tell you about the boys Glenway’s sweet on. Got a whole list of ’em in that book there.”
    Billy took the journal. Jackson told him to read aloud from the pages he’d dog-eared. “All right, then, you ready?” Billy waited for Jackson to get situated with his notebook. “Let’s see. There’s Buddy. That’s the Bacchus guy from the postcard, right?”
    Jackson nodded and motioned for him to turn the pages. “There’s ‘Blue Moon’… ‘Canebrake’…’Catfish’…umm, ‘TH,’…” and that looks like it. So why are you writing these down? They probably don’t mean a thing.”
    Jackson glanced up from his scribbling. “They may mean everything, my turtledove. Neil’s in jail and Glenway’s dead. I have a bad feeling about that Lieutenant Rogers, not only because he got to the studio so quickly but because he brought a canvas bag, which he dumped immediately. If Rogers has any say, Neil may stay in jail longer than he has to, and that journal could be our best start to finding out what happened to poor Glenway. Know what I mean?”
    Billy shrugged.
    Imogene said, “You missed one, son. Didn’t he, Jackson? There’s a fellar in there named ‘Pirate.’ I know ’cause we was just discussin’ him. The Gilbert boy drew a picture of a boat in that book near his name.” Imogene held her hand out so she could see the book again.
    “Hmm. I don’t see it.” Billy flipped through the pages.
    Imogene grabbed the book and immediately flipped to the page of the entry.
    “There it is. ‘Pirate.’ He don’t seem like a type that Maw-Maw McGregor would take to. Naw, I like them sweet folks with good hearts. Now your daddy, Virgil, he woulda loved meetin’ a pirate. He was a mess, boys, and I miss him. He told many a tale of visitin’ New Orleans, especially when he was in the service.” She gazed out into the purple air of the city. It was that magical gloaming, the time between dusk and darkness, when the last light of the orange sky turned the rooftops a deep shade of red and made each moment feel meaningful. “Boys, this here’s a pretty city, ain’t it? Rough, though. There’s scoundrels in these Quarters, sure as my name’s Imogene Deal McGregor.” She took another pull from her root beer.
    “I feel for that poor Gilbert boy, gettin’ beat like a varmint. It ain’t right.” She shook her head and then looked at the boys. “I guarantee you there’s trouble afoot in these parts when night comes. And I do believe we’ve found us a handful of devils in that book.”

Seven
    Billy said he didn’t sleep a wink. He said he kept seeing Glenway dead with the dried blood on his head. Jackson wiped his eyes and removed the list of persons of interest from the nightstand. “I went to sleep thinking about Glenway and those names from his book.”
    “Shoot, boys, I slept like a fat baby. Like Goose sleeps. Him’s a fat baby, and Maw-Maw loves him.” Goose greeted her as she came out of the bathroom with the shower steam filling the hotel room. She wore a matching set of pants and shirt with seersucker blue stripes. She put her Marilyn Monroe shades in her purse and grabbed her sun hat.
    She and the boys walked out on the balcony and greeted the