Imogene in New Orleans Read Online Free

speak?”
    Jackson saw Lieutenant Rogers’s nostrils flaring up. The man suddenly looked like a bull preparing to attack a matador. Neil’s wild black hair trembled under his golf cap. Neil wasn’t short, but the gruff Lieutenant Rogers engulfed him.
    “Of course I can speak, Lieutenant Nathan P. Rogers.” Neil spit the words more than he spoke them, spraying the lawman in the face. “If you’d give me a minute, I’d talk. I’m Neil, Glenway Gilbert’s best friend. I came here with some friends from Alabama, who’re visiting us for the week. We were here to pick up Glenway for dinner. We didn’t know he was dead.”
    Lieutenant Rogers twitched. “Dead? Who said anything about being dead?” He pushed Neil out of the way and began scouring the room.
    Jackson saw Neil grab the desk to stay vertical. “What the hell? I said he was dead. He’s back here on the futon.” Neil held the screen curtain as Rogers clomped toward the alcove. “What? Why didn’t you call the police?” Rogers folded his arms and poked his chest up toward the ceiling.
    “Because I just got here, Lieutenant. You’re presumptuous and obnoxious, aren’t you?” Neil crossed his arms. He looked like he could spit again.
    “You’ll watch your words around me, or you’ll be the first one I book on suspicion of murder.” Rogers barreled his way toward the coffee table, kicking it out of the way, which caused a shrill sound on the concrete floor.
    Neil stepped back as he spoke. “Me? And how did you get here so quickly, bucko? Like you said, I didn’t call the police. I guess you were just in the area…?”
    Jackson leaned closer to the window for a better view of the confrontation.
    Rogers’s voice boomed again. “I’m an officer of law in this city, and I go where I please.” Rogers turned away and observed the corpse, placing his finger under Glenway’s chin for the pulse. Then he put his finger on the patch of bloody hair and lifted Glenway’s collar to see the bruises. He shook his head and then opened his cell phone and began speaking. “This is Lieutenant Rogers. I need three units at the six hundred block of Royal Street at the place called Glenway’s Gallery. Suspicious death of owner Glenway Gilbert: Caucasian male, late fifties, red hair, possible trauma to person including contusion on skull. Units, please respond.”
    Rogers continued studying the corpse. Glenway’s legs were lying flat against the futon with his lifeless right hand touching the floor. “Was this mess here when you arrived?”
    Neil didn’t respond.
    “Hey, Ned or whatever your name is…you hear me?” The lieutenant squinted at Glenway’s pockets and his eyes got big. He stomped a few steps closer to the body. “Hey, Ned, what the hell’s wrong with you? You were talking like a politician a minute ago.” Rogers turned around, but Neil had left the enclosure and was running past Jackson. Rogers elbowed his way to the main studio space that held the empty easel and the desk. He kicked the duffel bag he’d thrown in the corner and yelled, “Hey, hey, fellow.” No one answered. Rogers stomped on an overturned easel, sending the splintered pieces flying toward the studio’s entrance. “Sonuvabitch.”

Three
    In the car Jackson accelerated down the road, leaving Neil to follow in his own car. With Billy, Imogene, and Goose in the back seat, Jackson passed the great circle with the statue of a general and headed uptown on St. Charles.
    Billy fussed at his mom. “No, you didn’t get those pralines in Mississippi, Mama. You got them in Louisiana, didn’t you? In New Orleans, on Royal Street, at Glenway Gilbert’s studio.” Billy grabbed the wrapper. “Lena’s Place. Hmm, Lena’s Place. Why does that sound familiar?”
    Jackson looked at his partner. “Isn’t that next to Neil and Allen’s house? Of course it is. She makes the pralines Neil always gives us.”
    Billy prepared his sugar monitor as he scolded his mother. “You’ve