Read Online Imogene in New Orleans by Hunter Murphy - Free Book Online
Authors: Hunter Murphy
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
a carrier and tightening the leash on Goose, he convinced Imogene to exit the vehicle.
She was still sore about Lena and Neil. “Y’all ain’t even worried about your friend gettin’ toted off to jail. You ain’t called him once.”
“Mama, we have been worried about him, but how are we supposed to call him in jail?” Billy opened the door for his mother.
She elbowed her way past him. “All’s I’m saying is if he was special to y’all, you’d help him.” She crunched her sun hat on her head, even though the light had started to dim throughout the French Quarter.
Jackson gave the car keys to the valet and led them under the enclosed parking space where guests’ cars were crammed side by side. The parking area was covered by hotel rooms above, and Jackson guided them out into the courtyard to the nearest elevator.
Imogene hobbled behind the boys, and as soon as they got in the open, she whistled through her teeth. “Honey, this is fancy, ain’t it? Y’all complained, but that Neil knows what he’s doing in every particular. Sweet hominy.” She began snapping pictures of the lush greenery and manicured flowers lining the pool. She approached a decorative topiary in the shape of a tuba.
“Come on, Mama. Let’s get up to the room.” Billy followed Jackson to the elevator. Goose slowed down to sniff the grass. A short man wearing a black coat with a purple handkerchief walked in front of Jackson and then stared down at the dog. He turned and put his hands on his hips, blocking the boys’ way. He looked the boys up and down, and then Imogene, and finally Goose. His eyes rested on the beast, who was freeing himself of excess water all over the perfectly trimmed shrubs. The man was compact, as if a tall man had been pinched together on all sides. He wore an official-looking nametag and had quick, fastidious mannerisms.
“Who are you?” His mouth was contorted in such a way that he appeared to have just eaten a handful of coffee grounds and was still suffering from the taste.
“I’m Jackson Miller. This is my family, and we’re going to our room on the second floor. Number 204…Mr.”—Jackson squinted to read the man’s name badge—“Mr. Hill.”
“Oh, no you’re not. Not with that dog, you’re not.” Hill stamped his loafer on the concrete, which made a popping noise, and then he pointed at Goose, who stood stark still and gazed with faraway eyes at the curious man. Goose licked his considerable snout.
“What do you mean? We were told that dogs are allowed on the property, Mr. Hill. Is that not correct?” Jackson held his arms open. Goose’s leash dangled from his right hand.
“Dogs, yes,” Hill said, his nostrils flaring, “but not pigs .” He pointed at Goose and then planted his hands back on his hips. The man’s hair was receding and he had combed it forward, which accentuated his bald spot all the more. He had a unibrow, which Jackson immediately marveled at, wondering why he had not taken a sharp razor to it. He would have continued on this line of thought had he not been so disturbed by Mr. Hill’s diatribe against Goose.
“We’ve already checked in. Look, I have the receipt here…” Jackson handed Hill the paperwork.
Hill grabbed it, crumpling the edges of the paper. He jerked it close to his face to read it and then pursed his lips as he said, “Mr. Miller, we’ll offer you a full refund and direct you to other accommodations, I assure you. But one thing is certain. You will not stay in this hotel with that beast.” He slammed the paper in Jackson’s chest, spun 180 degrees on one loafer, and stormed back toward the lobby.
Six
Jackson felt as if he had been kicked in the teeth. Imogene put her hand on her hip and turned toward the boys. “Y’all see what happens when you start accusin’ folks of things they ain’t done? It comes back and bites you on the end. Y’all are just reapin’ what you sowed.” She brushed her hand through her hair and watched
She was still sore about Lena and Neil. “Y’all ain’t even worried about your friend gettin’ toted off to jail. You ain’t called him once.”
“Mama, we have been worried about him, but how are we supposed to call him in jail?” Billy opened the door for his mother.
She elbowed her way past him. “All’s I’m saying is if he was special to y’all, you’d help him.” She crunched her sun hat on her head, even though the light had started to dim throughout the French Quarter.
Jackson gave the car keys to the valet and led them under the enclosed parking space where guests’ cars were crammed side by side. The parking area was covered by hotel rooms above, and Jackson guided them out into the courtyard to the nearest elevator.
Imogene hobbled behind the boys, and as soon as they got in the open, she whistled through her teeth. “Honey, this is fancy, ain’t it? Y’all complained, but that Neil knows what he’s doing in every particular. Sweet hominy.” She began snapping pictures of the lush greenery and manicured flowers lining the pool. She approached a decorative topiary in the shape of a tuba.
“Come on, Mama. Let’s get up to the room.” Billy followed Jackson to the elevator. Goose slowed down to sniff the grass. A short man wearing a black coat with a purple handkerchief walked in front of Jackson and then stared down at the dog. He turned and put his hands on his hips, blocking the boys’ way. He looked the boys up and down, and then Imogene, and finally Goose. His eyes rested on the beast, who was freeing himself of excess water all over the perfectly trimmed shrubs. The man was compact, as if a tall man had been pinched together on all sides. He wore an official-looking nametag and had quick, fastidious mannerisms.
“Who are you?” His mouth was contorted in such a way that he appeared to have just eaten a handful of coffee grounds and was still suffering from the taste.
“I’m Jackson Miller. This is my family, and we’re going to our room on the second floor. Number 204…Mr.”—Jackson squinted to read the man’s name badge—“Mr. Hill.”
“Oh, no you’re not. Not with that dog, you’re not.” Hill stamped his loafer on the concrete, which made a popping noise, and then he pointed at Goose, who stood stark still and gazed with faraway eyes at the curious man. Goose licked his considerable snout.
“What do you mean? We were told that dogs are allowed on the property, Mr. Hill. Is that not correct?” Jackson held his arms open. Goose’s leash dangled from his right hand.
“Dogs, yes,” Hill said, his nostrils flaring, “but not pigs .” He pointed at Goose and then planted his hands back on his hips. The man’s hair was receding and he had combed it forward, which accentuated his bald spot all the more. He had a unibrow, which Jackson immediately marveled at, wondering why he had not taken a sharp razor to it. He would have continued on this line of thought had he not been so disturbed by Mr. Hill’s diatribe against Goose.
“We’ve already checked in. Look, I have the receipt here…” Jackson handed Hill the paperwork.
Hill grabbed it, crumpling the edges of the paper. He jerked it close to his face to read it and then pursed his lips as he said, “Mr. Miller, we’ll offer you a full refund and direct you to other accommodations, I assure you. But one thing is certain. You will not stay in this hotel with that beast.” He slammed the paper in Jackson’s chest, spun 180 degrees on one loafer, and stormed back toward the lobby.
Six
Jackson felt as if he had been kicked in the teeth. Imogene put her hand on her hip and turned toward the boys. “Y’all see what happens when you start accusin’ folks of things they ain’t done? It comes back and bites you on the end. Y’all are just reapin’ what you sowed.” She brushed her hand through her hair and watched
Similar Books
