murder@maggody.com

by Joan Hess

  Rather than scoff, I merely said, “And what are you doing here?”

  “Far as I can tell, I’m sitting in a puddle. I had a couple of beers too many, okay? You can take the rifle if you want. Kyle ain’t gonna like it, but I figured out a long time ago that you don’t always get what you want.”

  He clambered over and got on his knees, forcing me once again to grab his ankle. “We’re not done, Seth,” I said. “I need to see some identification.”

  “She’s into that,” contributed Lazarus. “Seems we need passports to live here. You’d almost think it was some police state where citizens are shipped off for spittin’ on the sidewalk.”

  “Which sidewalk would that be?” I said as I exerted enough force to put Seth face down in the mud. “Do I have your permission to search your trailer?”

  “Aw, hell, search whatever you want.”

  I told him and Lazarus to stay where they were, then went into the trailer. I did a quick perusal of the front room, finding nothing more incriminating than pizza crusts and pieces of calcified pepperoni, clearly the breeding ground for the next generation of houseflies. The effusions from the bathroom gave credence to Kyle’s purported whereabouts. I cranked open several windows and then went down the hallway to the bedroom.

  There were no sheets on the stained mattress, and the blanket was shabby. Dirty clothes were piled in one corner; they were more apt to decompose than ever see the interior of a washing machine at the Suds of Fun Launderette. The closet held only a few wire hangers and a muddy pair of sneakers that had never been endorsed by a prominent athlete.

  I went over to the dresser. On its surface were wadded gum wrappers, a filthy comb missing half its teeth, a tube of hemorrhoid ointment, a scattering of change, and a wallet that looked as though it had come from a discount toy store.

  I forced myself to pick up the wallet, then made my way back to the living room, ignoring moans from the bathroom. Seth’s current financial resources totaled twenty-eight dollars (plus the change). Unsurprisingly, he had no credit cards. His driver’s license, issued only a month ago, was made out to one Seth Smitherman. On the other hand, he hadn’t lied about his age. His given address was a post office box in an Arkansas town that I did not recognize, which was not surprising. Within the state confines, one can visit London, Paris, and Rome—and also Bugscuffle, Hogeye, Morning Star, and Evening Star. One can find Romance in White County and meet one’s Waterloo in Nevada County.

  I tossed aside the wallet and looked around. The tiny television set was supported by a spindly aluminum frame. The prints on the walls had come from the same outfit that sold to motels. The kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes. The refrigerator, if opened, would shriek of botulism. The carpet crunched beneath my feet.

  Okay, I told myself as I stood up, I was dealing with nothing more than an unexceptional specimen of redneckus arkansawyer. Some went to the White House, some to the state prison. Flip of a coin.

  I left the wallet on the coffee table and went outside. “You have a job?” I asked Seth.

  Bless his heart, he was still young enough to be intimidated by authority figures. “Guttin’ chickens in Starley City,” he said. “I’m gettin’ minimum wage and benefits, and iff’n I make it for another thirty days—”

  “Queen Elizabeth will adopt you,” inserted Lazarus.

  “You reckon? Considering where I’ve been at for the last two years, fuckin’ Buckingham Palace might be a nice change. It’d be something to have a butler bringing me clean towels for a change. I don’t recollect when I last had clean towels. That’s not asking so much, is it?”

  He was many things, drunk and vulnerable being predominant. I had no desire to gather him up and haul him into the nearest rehab clinic, but I will admit to an ill-defined sense of futility. I had no idea where Lazarus was coming from, but I suspected Seth was coming from an overwhelmingly dysfunctional background. I doubted that he could hold down a job that required making change. The odds that he’d end up in front of a judge were better than fifty-fifty.

  “Why did you rent this trailer?” I asked him. “Why did you come to Maggody in the first place, for that matter? Couldn’t you have found a place in Starley City?”

  He propped himself up. “I got my reasons.”

  I spun around and glared at Lazarus. “What about you?”

  “He puts it so eloquently. All of us have reasons for doing what we do. You got reasons, Chief Hanks? From what I heard tell, you went off to Manhattan and attended fancy cocktail parties every night. You saw more Broadway shows than I saw episodes of The Brady Bunch. What’re your reasons for coming back? You think being in the position to push around the likes of Seth and me is gonna help you find yourself? Shootin’ fish in a barrel might prove easier.”

  I realized my fists were clenched. Since I was supposedly the person in charge of the scene, I took a moment to put my gut reaction aside and remind myself of my obligations as a professional.

  Yeah. No pain, no gain.

  I stared at him. “You seem to think you know why I’m here. Why don’t you tell me why you are?”

  It was possible, although not probable, that he was going to provide an answer, when Seth began to heave up every last thing he’d had to eat for, as far as I could tell, the last month. His trajectory was formidable.

  “Later,” I said to Lazarus as I headed for my car.

  When I glanced back, he was hauling Seth to his feet. An admirable chore. I’ve never been able to sort out the saints from the sinners.

  6

  Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill was locked up tighter than a tick on a mule’s butt. After a moment spent listening to my stomach growl while I considered this unanticipated turn of events, I realized it was the first evening of the computer classes. I suppose I should have signed up, but I hadn’t. There were already way too many things on the list of things I should have done, including but not limited to learning how to stir-fry, investigating the obscure surcharges on my bank account, subjecting my body to a gynecologist, and packing my suitcase to get out of Dodge while the gettin’ was good.

  Wyatt Earp may have been tall, but life’s short.

  I swung by the Dairee Dee-Lishus, bought a sack of tamales, and retreated to my apartment to watch the news, weather, and sports. None of it was exciting, although I was pleased to learn no insidious cold fronts were creeping in from Oklahoma. Baseball was as exciting as watching ice cubes melt.

  I unwrapped a tamale, then opened a can of beer and a book, in that order. Happily disregarding the dribbles of orange grease on my chin, I immersed myself in the exploits of an amateur sleuth with a teenaged daughter who spoke in capital letters. The plot was less than credible, but at least there were no cats cluttering up the crime scene.

  I was so engrossed that I yelped when my door banged open. Ruby Bee and Estelle came charging in, both of them a good deal more villainous than any perp on the printed page.

  “I reckon you were too busy to bother with the class,” said the former, eyeballing the beer cans on the floor. She didn’t comment on them, but, being my mother, she didn’t need to.

  The latter was zooming in on the tamale wrappers. “I hope you got lots of Pepto-Bismol on hand. You ain’t a kid anymore, Arly. You eat like that and you’re liable to stay up all night with heartburn. Trust me—I thought I’d curl up and die after I ate that store-bought cherry cheesecake the other night. I don’t know what I’ll do if I hear that commercial about how nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee. I’d just as soon she steer clear of me in the future.”

  “What was going on at the Pot O’ Gold?” demanded Ruby Bee. “Estelle said she waited for the longest time, then went on home. I called Eula, and she said the gunfire stopped a couple of minutes after you drove by.”

  “Just a kid trying out a deer rifle.” I opted for a diversion before details were demanded of me. “How was the class?”

  Ruby Bee began straightening the comforter on my bed. “It’s hard to say. Jim Bob looke
d like he’d been dragged through a car wash on his way there, but he held his tongue. Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber kept peppering Justin with questions about filthy pictures to the point he said he’d find some for them if that was their only goal in attending. That didn’t go over real well. These pillowcases are a disgrace. Remind me to buy you a set next time I go to Wal-Mart.”

  Estelle swept aside the tamale wrappers and sat down. “As you’d suspect, Kevin and Dahlia had their troubles. I don’t think Justin’s ever tried to teach folks like them. There were times I swear he was on the verge of tears. Gwynnie was right nice about helping Jessie Traylor, who’s mannersome but was out buying a cheeseburger when the Lord passed out brains. Eileen was there, but not Earl. I suppose he was baby-sitting the twins, though that’s hard to believe. Sooner or later, he’d have to change a diaper. He probably had to call his sister over in Muskogee to find out how to operate the adhesive tabs.”

  I edged an empty beer can under the sofa. “And the two of you? Did you behold the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel as Lottie promised?”

  “Have you ever considered getting a vacuum cleaner?” countered Ruby Bee as she perched on the corner of the bed, which was now ready for a drill sergeant’s inspection. “The dust in here is enough to clog up a sink. You had an awful time with allergies when you were growing up you know. I can’t count the number of nights I held your face over a pan of hot water while you whistled like a teapot. One time I got so alarmed I drove you to the emergency room, but they—”

  “Told you to take me home,” I said. “They also refused to amputate when I had an ingrown toenail. Shall we continue?”

  “It was kinda frustrating,” Estelle said, nibbling pensively on a pumpkin-hued fingernail. “At one point this message came up on the screen that accused me of performing an illegal operation. Me, if you can believe such a thing! Well, I was all set for federal agents to bust into the classroom and drag me away in handcuffs. Justin said not to worry, but I don’t think I’ll sleep well tonight. How could I do something illegal on the very first night? It was all I could do to ‘boot up,’ whatever that means.”

  “What did you learn how to do?” I persisted.

  Ruby Bee abandoned her lecture on environmental hazards. “We made up E-mail names and sent messages to each other. Dahlia managed to send something to Kevin that made his ears turn so red I was waiting for them to catch on fire. Gwynnie sent me a real sweet note saying she could help out with the pantry tomorrow. Are you sure you can’t do anything for her, Arly?”

  “I’m sure,” I said levelly.

  She continued. “Things were a good deal more strained at the Assembly Hall afterward. Some folks may live in nice houses and drive expensive cars, but their mamas never taught them manners. We were all drinking punch and nibbling cookies when Daniel Holliflecker barged into the vestibule.”

  “Unlike some who take every opportunity to barge into my apartment?” I asked.

  “I am your mother, young lady, and Estelle has been like a godmother to you for”—she frowned—“thirty years. That would have made you six years old. For your birthday, I gave you a pretty little yellow bicycle Roy found at a flea market over in Hasty. You recall that, Estelle?”

  “Don’t reckon I do.”

  Ruby Bee hesitated, then resumed glaring at me as if I’d spent the evening decapitating dolls. “If we don’t have a right to drop by and visit, no one does. It’s not like you were entertaining a caller.”

  “Then let’s not think about that,” I said. “What did Daniel do? He didn’t bite off Gwynnie’s head, did he?”

  Estelle snorted. “He came darn close to it. All she was doing was sitting with Jessie in the corner. What with Mrs. Jim Bob watching them with her beady eyes, they weren’t even holding hands. Daniel grabbed her arm and dragged her out the door, all the while griping at her like she’d been arrested for shoplifting at Kmart. Jessie lingered for a bit, looking like he’d been punched in the particulars. I’ve seen starving pups with more spirit.”

  “Then,” said Ruby Bee, passing on my latest batch of sins in order to upstage Estelle, “in came Justin’s wife, all gussied up in a long skirt and a see-through blouse. Not one soul doubted for a second that she was braless. The last time I saw a display like that was when Chicklet Buchanon did a striptease under the stoplight to celebrate Nixon’s resignation.”

  “Must have been before my time,” I said.

  “To get on with the story, Jim Bob choked so hard on a mouthful of cookies that I thought Mrs. Jim Bob was gonna pound him to death, which, based on her expression, might have been in the back of her mind. Brother Verber was as speechless as he’s ever been in his born days. Justin tried to hustle her out the door, but she wasn’t having that.”

  I frowned. “Her name’s Chapel, right?”

  Estelle cut in. “Well, she’s not anything you’d associate with church. Her hair’s so yellow it’d shame a daisy, and I think it’s obvious no competent cosmetologist has touched it in a long while. I can’t begin to think where I’d start if she marched into my front room—and march she would, without so much as calling for an appointment. I’d just as soon have Collera’s mama show up at my door.”

  I longed to fetch another beer out of the refrigerator, but I lacked the inner strength to deal with their disapproval. “What exactly did she do?” I asked, trying not to sound too weary.

  Ruby Bee seized the stage. “Nothing much, come to think of it. She was real peeved because the water hadn’t been turned on at their mobile home, which I guess anybody might have been. Justin told her that she was supposed to have made arrangements. She got all teary and said she didn’t know who to call. Lottie promised to see to it in the morning. Jim Bob was still trying to stuff his eyeballs back in their sockets when Mrs. Jim Bob announced that the reception was over and done. Brother Verber was trying to persuade everybody present to attend services on Sunday when Estelle and I took our leave.”

  I pointed at the clock above the television. “And would you look at the time? I don’t know about you two, but I need to be up at dawn in order to defend Gotham City from a double-fisted plague of locusts and frogs.”

  “There are times,” Ruby Bee said, “when you don’t make a whit of sense. This appears to be one of them.”

  “Do you really think so?” I called plaintively as they left, then returned my attention to hot tamales, cold beer, and the odd body or two.

  Dahlia buttoned her nightgown and picked up a hairbrush off the bathroom counter. “Don’t think I didn’t see you staring at her,” she said as she struggled with the daily accumulation of tangles. Being the mother of twins precluded much attention to grooming during the day; back when they’d been courting, she’d put on lipstick for Kevin, who’d darn near wept as he described her lips as ripe, juicy cherries. These days, she might as well have worn a paper bag over her head when she crawled into bed.

  “I was thinking,” he said, flat on his back, his hands entwined behind his head, “that we ought to put some kind of beepers on Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie in case they wander off.”

  “How are they gonna wander off? Neither of ’em can walk.”

  “One of these days they’ll learn.”

  Dahlia plumped her pillow. “One day they’ll be practicing their multiplication tables in the kitchen. Then, before we know what’s happening, they’ll be dressing in tight jeans and sneaking off to drink moonshine. Rose Marie’ll get pregnant by some carnival worker, and Kevvie Junior will get caught stealing cars and be sent to the state prison. Now, if you don’t mind, I figure I’ll try to get a few hours of sleep.”

  She took her rightful half of the bed and yanked the blankets across her.

  Kevin sat up. “What’s upsetting you, my lustful goddess? We have a home, babies, a steady income—”

  “You were staring at her. It’s a miracle you didn’t forget where you were and start slobbering all over her like a hound dog. Even your ma saw how you were behaving. She patted my a
rm more than once.”

  “Are you talking about Chapel Bailey? I have to admit she was asking for attention, but that ain’t saying that I did more than notice. Dahlia, you oughta know by now that I’d bring you a pocketful of stars if I could. You’re the mother of my babies. Coming home after work is like crawling into a cozy cave. All day long, I think about how much I love you.” He was right on the cutting edge of winning over her heart when he added, “But her knockers were something.”

  Dahlia jerked away what few blankets Kevin had recovered. “That’s it! I am gettin’ a divorce tomorrow. You may claim to love me, but I see the lust in your eyes when you look at other women. I know I ain’t a supermodel, or even a medium model, but it’s gonna take me some time to get my figure back. How many women on the inside of Playboy magazine can fry up a pork chop? You just answer that, Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon!”

  “I ain’t never seen the inside of—”

  “Pack your bag right here and now,” Dahlia said. “Once your sorry butt is parked at your parents’ house, maybe we can talk. I will not be the object of ridicule.”

  Kevin was so bewildered that he was floundering for a response. “But, Dahlia, my dearest, your pork chops are heaven on earth. Why, your cream gravy—”

  She flopped over and pulled what had until seconds ago been his pillow over her head. “I already told you, Kevin. Don’t be here when I wake up in the morning. I ain’t sure what I’ll do, but I have a feeling it won’t be something Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie ought should see.”

  “Dahlia,” he whimpered, “what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t hear you, so be on about your business. Whatever you don’t take with you will be on the porch tomorrow afternoon. You’d better come get it before Raz notices. My granny used to say he had the stickiest fingers in Stump County.”

  Kevin considered poking her shoulder, but he could tell from her demeanor that it might just be best to let her have her way for the moment. She was mystifying, and her moodiness lately had left him so dumbfounded that he never seemed to know what to say. She’d been up and down most nights for a good five months, breast-feeding one or the other baby in the rocking chair by the window overlooking the back pasture. As much as he loved them … well, there were some things he couldn’t do much to help her with.