few slightly unethical tricks up his sleeve.”
Judith narrowed her eyes at her husband. “You still
look a bit scrofulous to me. Why am I supposed to
heap you with praise and affection?”
Joe held up his index finger. “For one reason, and
one reason only. Ahem.” He paused so long for dramatic effect that Judith was poised to pounce on him.
“In 1979, Winifred Lou Best was arrested twice, once
for possession of cocaine and once for resisting arrest
along with a man named Bartholomew Anthony Riggs,
aka Big Daddy Dumas.”
“Wow!” Judith’s eyes sparkled as she threw her
arms around his neck. “Now that is news!”
“What did I tell you?” He chuckled as she planted
kisses all over his face. “I’m plague-free.”
“More than you know,” Judith said, finally releasing
her husband. “Morris mentioned Big Daddy Dumas
last night at Capri’s. He was a pimp and a drug dealer.
But Morris said Big Daddy was dead. He also said . . .”
She frowned in recollection. “What was it? Oh! To
blame Big Daddy for. . . . Damn, I forget.”
“Sounds like Big Daddy was a bad daddy,” Joe remarked.
“That’s the odd thing,” Judith said. “Bill had heard
about him via a case study. According to Bill, Big
Daddy wasn’t all bad. He was good to his girls, he
treated them like family. But that’s not the point. Now
we know why Winifred doesn’t want to discuss her
past. It’s possible that Big Daddy helped the Demures
get their start in the music business. Maybe the three
singers were in his stable of hookers. That might explain why the group didn’t have more than one hit.
Their lives couldn’t have been conducive to the discipline required by a serious music career. For all we
know, the other two may have overdosed, gone to
prison, or were murdered in a drug deal gone sour.”
“Anything’s possible,” Joe allowed. “What happened to Big Daddy?”
“A dissatisfied hooker/would-be singer killed him,”
Judith replied. “Not one of the Demures, but a Latino
girl.”
“So maybe,” Joe conjectured, “Big Daddy was the
muscle who got Win and the other two started in the
music business. When he got whacked, the Demures
lost their leverage.”
He picked up the plates and silverware from the
counter. “Here, let me set up the dining-room table.”
“What?” Judith was lost in thought. “Oh, thanks. I’ll
cook Mother’s breakfast now. I feel bad, I’ve hardly
seen her lately.”
“Don’t worry,” Joe called from the dining room.
“She hasn’t improved.”
