Read Online Coq au Vin by Charlotte Carter - Free Book Online Page A

this?” I pointed to the gentleman in another photo, seated at a Steinway, who was shaking hands with Vivian.
    â€œI believe it’s Wynton Kelly.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnd what about her?” I said, turning to a snap of Viv in her black evening finery, wineglass raised in salute to a sleepy-eyed lady, also at the piano of some boîte. I slipped the photo out of its cellophane jacket and turned it over, cupping it with my hand so that he could not see what was written there: “Shirley Horn at the Blue Note, 1971.”
    â€œShirley Horn,” said Andre.
    â€œBoy, you are fucking amazing. Who’s this handsome guy—playing the bass?”
    â€œRay Brown.”
    Again, I took the snapshot out and looked at the back of it. He was right again. “Damn, you’re good,” I said.
    He shrugged, trying to hide his swelling chest.
    I took out another one and looked at it front and back. “I’m going to stump you on this one, I bet.”
    â€œWhy?” asked Andre. “Let’s see it.”
    This time I handed the photograph to him. Vivian was pictured with a sweet-faced black man no taller than she was, but beautifully built. They stood with their arms around each other’s waist under a sign that read in French EXOTIC GARDEN—THIS WAY.
    He studied the man’s face for a long time. “Well, I guess you got me,” he admitted. “I can’t identify him. Let’s see who it is.” He turned the photo over.
    â€œPicnic With Ez, near Èze! (Ha ha)” was written on the back.
    â€œWhat does it mean?” Andre asked. “Where is Èze?”
    â€œOn the Riviera. We’ll have dinner and make a night of it in this incredible hotel someday. When we’ve got two thousand dollars to blow.”
    â€œYou mean you’ve been there?”
    â€œUh-huh. Once.”
    â€œWho took you?”
    I gave him a little world-weary sigh. “Oh, you know. Jekyll and Hyde shit. A mistake wearing pants.”
    â€œHe hit you or something?”
    â€œâ€˜Something.’ Yeah, it was more like ‘something.’ That’s the trouble with guys who know a lot more than you: they know a lot more than you. Anyhow, I guess I come by my occasional bad taste in men honestly. God knows, Viv had her lapses, too.”
    He looked down at the snapshot again. “So maybe this guy Ez turned out to be one of Vivian’s mistakes. But you say you don’t know him?”
    I shook my head. “Never heard of him.”
    We played the game for a few minutes more and then I dived back into the suitcase. More crap, as Andre had called it. But nothing to lead us any closer to Viv. No address books, no airline tickets, no names or phone numbers jotted down on paper napkins. And no Girl Scout bandannas. I guess Viv’s waistline wasn’t what it used to be.
    Finally I came across a fraying denim jacket. I stood up and tried it on. A couple of sizes too small for me and my friends up top. I stuck my hand in one of the chest pockets and pulled out a filthy piece of paper, rolled up tightly like a reefer. I unrolled it. It was, to my astonishment, a hundred dollar bill, U.S. currency.
    Andre and I began a thorough search, turning pockets inside out, feeling along seams, opening jars, and so on, but we could find no more cash.
    â€œThis was her emergency money, I guess,” I said.
    â€œYeah,” he said. “And from what you told me—her telegram to your mother and everything—she had a real emergency. Why didn’t she spend it?”
    It was a good question.
    I put the money back and closed the case, sitting on the lid to get it refastened.
    â€œKnow what I think?” I said. “I think Viv left her room one day, just like always, and something happened to her on the outside. I don’t know—she saw something or somebody who scared the shit out of her or grabbed her