“I want to talk to Noreen.”
“She lives here. She my middle daughter. What about?”
“About some work out at the beach.”
“Sure then,” she said. “Just come home. Changing her clothes.” She went back in.
I went back to the car and sat behind the wheel, leaned and swung the passenger door open. Through the open door, in a few moments, I saw her come down the porch steps, push the gate open, come to the car, her head tilted in inquiry. She wore blue sandals, bermuda shorts, a pale blue knit sleeveless blouse with a turtleneck collar. She was a tall slender young woman, very long-legged and short-waisted. She was lighter than her mother, her skin the tone of an old penny. She had a slanted saucy Negroid face, the broad nostrils and heavy lips. Her eyes were set very wide, and were a pronounced almond shape, and very pretty. Her breasts poked sharply against the knit fabric.
“Askin’ fo’ me, mister?”
“I phoned earlier and somebody told me you’d be home round six.”
“Wantin’ maid work done at the beach?” She was bending, peering in at me, manifestly suspicious.
“Would you please get into the car and sit for a minute, Mrs. Walker?”
“No need, mister. I ain’t got me no free day at all. Maybe could get you somebody, you say who to phone up.” I took the keys out of the ignition and tossed them onto the seat, toward her. I said, “Mrs. Walker, you can hold the car keys in your hand and leave that door open.”
“I Don’t want no maid work?”
“No.”
“What is it you wantin’?”
I had the folded fifty-dollar bill in my shirt pocket, and took it out and reached and stuck one corner of it under the car keys. She moved away and I suddenly realized she was going to the rear of the car to glance at the plates. She came back, looked in at me. “What you ‘spect to buy?”
“Some conversation.”
“You tryin’ set me up someways, somebody con you rong. Could be some other gal. I never mess with no white stud, never been in law trouble. I’m a hard-working widow woman, and I got two baby boys in the house there, so best thing you be on your way.
I got out Vangie’s picture, held it where she could see it. “That there’s Miz Western. I wuk for her a long time, here at that Cove Lane.”
“You used to work for her. She’s dead.”
For the first time she looked directly into my eyes. Her mouth firmed up, and I saw a shrewd light of intelligence behind her eyes.
“Fuzz doan throw big money to nigger women, ‘less it’s got a mark on it, you come back a-raidin’, find it and take me into town sayin’ it’s stole, and get me sayin’ things to frame up who you think done it.”
“I’m not the law. I just want to know what you know about Tami Western. It might help me get a line on who did it. I want to know her habits. And the longer we keep talking, the more all your neighbors are going to wonder what’s happening.”
“Big friend of Miz Western maybe?” She had a bland and vacuous expression.
“She was a cheap, sloppy, greedy slut. Where can we talk?”
“Where you from, Mister?”
“Fort Lauderdale.”
“Down there any chance you know any Sam B. K. Dickey?”
“I worked with him once. A mutual friend was in trouble.”
“Likely he knowin’ your name?”
“Travis McGee.”
“Please, you wait a piece, mister.”
It was a ten-minute wait. Some children came to stand and stare warily at me from a safe distance.
She came back out and leaned in the door as before. Her smile looked tired. “Just to be certain, Mr. McGee, I asked Mr. Sam to describe you. He was quite picturesque about it. But it fits. And he said I can trust you a hundred percent, which is something Mr. Sam would not say too often about our own people. It saved us a lot of time to have you know him. I hope you do understand that the standard disguise is… pretty imperative. If you could come back to this area at nine o’clock, I think that would be best. Four blocks straight you’ll come to a traffic light. There’s a drugstore on the far corner. Park just beyond the drugstore and blink your lights a couple of times.”