by Joan Hess
So did I, so I tagged along. Joey had climbed onto his motorcycle by the time we reached him. He held up his hand and said, “Don’t bother, Thomas. I’m out of here.”
“Out of here?” Thomas echoed, stopping so abruptly I stepped on his heel. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’m leaving—okay? When I have an address, I’ll let you know so you can send a check. I’m not in the mood to hang around while you figure out what you owe me.”
He looked more in the mood to start throwing punches. I gave Fratelleon a chance to do something other than stare at Joey, then said, “I have some questions for you before you go. Would you please come sit in the car with me?”
“Go ahead and ask them right here.”
“Okay,” I said, doubting I could drag him off the motorcycle without unduly endangering myself. “Why are you leaving so hastily?”
“Seraphina fired me last night.”
Fratelleon was still in his echo mode. “Fired you?”
“That’s right. Five minutes after the show was over, she came out to the van and told me I was fired. Good-bye, Thomas. I hope you end up on that Caribbean island you keep talking about in your sleep.”
“You can’t leave like this. What about the show? You’re the only one who can handle all the special effects. You’re vital to the operation, Joey; we can’t continue without you. Please don’t do this.”
“Tell it to Seraphina.”
Fratelleon put his hand on Joey’s back. “Please wait here until I speak with Malachi. I’m quite certain he can persuade Seraphina to forget whatever it was that upset her and ask you to stay. Perhaps I can arrange for an increase in your salary and a paid vacation next week while we’re finalizing the property sale.”
“You can go talk to him,” Joey said, dropping the duffel bag and rocking back on the seat of the motorcycle. He watched Thomas scurry across the trampled grass to the RV, then lit a cigarette and looked at me. “Any more questions?”
“Why did she fire you?”
“Hell, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” I said, allowing derision to taint my voice like a strep infection. “Didn’t you bother to ask her?”
“I asked her, sure, but she was so; mad I thought she was going to assault me. I got my ass out of there and went into Farberville. Everything there was closed, so I just cruised around the county until I cooled off. She and Malachi both have weird ideas about their positions in the heavenly hierarchy. Maybe she decided she no longer needs any mortal assistance to float down from the rafters in a pink cloud. She’ll have a tough time finding someone else to run the show, though. Even Jesus might have trouble with the synthesizer.”
“Do you handle all the special effects by yourself?” I asked.
“Everything’s linked to a computer in a van behind the tent. All I do is run the programs and listen for indications something’s not working properly.”
Malachi came out of the RV. “Joey!” he called. “I beg you come talk this over. It doesn’t matter why Seraphina said whatever she did—and I’ll make sure that she apologizes later today. You’re absolutely vital to the operation. There’s no way we can go on tonight without you!”
Joey climbed off the motorcycle and gave me a sly smile. “Guess I’ll see what they’re offering in terms of a raise.”
I had more questions, but he swaggered away before I could blurt them out. At this point, there was no particular reason to link him with what had taken place in the gym or doubt his account of where he’d been after the revival. It sounded as though he’d be around later, I decided as I went to my car, and I’d never been much help in delicate labor negotiations.
Besides, I had other fish to fry. The very thought reminded me of the inadequacy of my breakfast, so I headed for the Dairee Dee-Lishus.
9
Estelle chewed on a pencil as she read the list in front of her. “How about Fergie Bidens? He ain’t much to look at, but he’s been known to sniff around divorcées and widows.”
“Norma Kay was married,” Ruby Bee said, “and Fergie’s too much of a yellowbelly to risk messing with Bur Grapper. He’s not a likely candidate, but I suppose you can add his name to the list.”
“That’s makes six, and we have no way of knowing if she was carrying on with someone from another town.”
“We have to start somewhere.”
Frowning, Estelle put down the pencil and took a sip of sherry. “How do you plan to go about this? None of these fellows is gonna cotton to being asked if he was having an affair with a married woman-much less with a murder victim. That John Robert Scurfpea is meaner than a coyote in a steel trap, and Lewis Ferncliff spends more time in the county jail than he does at home. I hear they reserve a cell for him every Saturday night—and he ends up checking in more often than not.”
“I’m aware of their reputations,” said Ruby Bee. “I never said we ought to flat-out ask them. I just thought we could help Arly by giving her a list of suspects.”
“Just because one of these fellows was having an affair with Norma Kay doesn’t make him a murderer.”
Ruby Bee went into the kitchen to stir the turnip greens while she mulled this over. “The way I see it,” she said as she came back into the barroom, flushed with triumph, “is that Malachi Hope convinced Norma Kay to break off the affair. He left her sitting right there by the telephone. She called the man and told him how the cow ate the cabbage. He was so upset that he went to the gym, strangled her, and left her dangling from the backboard so everybody’d think it was suicide.”
“Or,” Estelle said slowly, “she called Bur Grapper and confessed to him.”
Ruby Bee preferred her own theory, but she pretended to weigh this alternative before shaking her head. “You can add him if you want, but I still think it was her lover. Most likely he’s married and got all worried about Norma Kay confessing her sin in front of everybody at the revival, including his wife.”
“It sure wouldn’t sit well with Bur Grapper if Norma Kay made a fool of him in front of his neighbors and former players. His family has lived in these parts since God made little green apples. Do you recall how his sister wrote that pamphlet about their family history and had copies printed up? Why on earth she thought any of the rest of us cared about her dead kinfolk was a mystery to me.”
Ruby Bee grinned. “I heard she did it to prove there weren’t any Buchanons in the family tree.”
“Bur Grapper might have killed his wife to protect the family’s reputation.” Estelle printed his name in large letters at the bottom of the page. “I don’t guess we have any proof, though. If he’d been someplace where Norma Kay had to call him long-distance, the telephone company would have a record.”
“Let me look at the list, Estelle. Maybe there’s a way we could eliminate some of these suspects so Arly doesn’t have to waste time barking at the moon. When she starts investigating a crime, I always worry she’ll get so frustrated that she’ll quit her job and move away to some sorry excuse for a place like Manhattan—or Washington, D.C. It’s been a long while since she had herself a beau. As her mother, I can tell she’s harboring some feelings for that IRS fellow. She may not know it, but I sure do.”
“How do you aim to eliminate some of the suspects?” asked Estelle, politely ignoring the catch in Ruby Bee’s voice.
Ruby Bee made herself quit thinking about painful prospects. “For starters, Fergie’s married, so his wife might be able to give him an alibi for the time of the murder. Same with Eddie Joe and Lewis. No woman in her right mind would have John Robert, but he might have had company.”
“Are you crossing out Jim Bob?”
“No, but I can’t see us asking Mrs. Jim Bob if she and her husband were sharing a bed last night. I wouldn’t be surprised if she makes him sleep in the laundry room or the garage.”
“You heard any more about the bingo games at the Assembly Hall?”
“Only that she’s going ahead with them even though not one soul
showed up yesterday evening, leaving her and Brother Verber by themselves. I wonder which of them won the Mr. Coffee?”
“Why don’t you ask her after you finish asking her for the details of her sex life?”
Ruby Bee snatched up the list. “I reckon I’ll close up for an hour this afternoon and drop by Fergie’s house to visit with Leslie. If I have time, I can do the same with Lewis’s wife. Eddie Joe’s sister lives with them. You can run by to see if she’s having more problems with her hair. She might have heard the phone ring or know if Eddie Joe left the house around midnight.”
“Licensed cosmetologists don’t make house calls.”
“Then take her some strawberry jam, for pity’s sake.”
Estelle plucked the list out of Ruby Bee’s hand and tapped it with the pencil. “What about Cory Jenks, John Robert Scurfpea, and Bur Grapper?”
“I’ll think of something,” Ruby Bee said, sighing as she imagined Arly packing her bags and arranging for a ride to the bus station in Farberville to purchase a one-way ticket.
A dozen girls were standing beside the gym, their bleak expressions indicating that they knew about their coach’s death. I parked in a patch of shade and walked across the gravel to join them.
“How did you all hear about it?” I asked.
Heather Reilly cleared her throat. “I was just now telling them. My sister’s boyfriend called this morning. He works at the hospital, and he was mopping the floor in the basement when they—” She covered her face with her hands and began to whimper. The other girls circled her, patting her back and murmuring inanities.
I realized I needed to distract them before they all burst into tears. I didn’t believe for an instant that they had been overly fond of Norma Kay, but they were young enough to be frightened by the sudden proximity of violence and death. “I have some questions for you,” I said loudly and with enough authority to get their teary-eyed attention. “Last night right before the revival began, one of you delivered a note to Malachi Hope. Who was it?”
Darla Jean McIlhaney emerged from the circle. “I did. Coach Grapper pressed an envelope in my hand and told me to go give it to him. She said it in a low voice so Mr. Grapper couldn’t hear her, but he stared real hard at me.”
“Did you read what was in it?”
She gave me an offended look; “That’d be like reading someone’s letters or diary.”
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“I didn’t know how to go about finding him, so I asked Heather what she thought,” Darla Jean said, squirming as if admitting to some petty crime.
“That’s right,” said Heather. “I said I supposed he’d be in the back of the tent where they have all the sound equipment and stuff. I offered to go with her, but then one of the old folks started screeching at me to move her wheelchair closer to the stage.”
I turned back to Darla Jean. “So what happened?”
“I went down the side aisle and behind the curtain. Mr. Hope was talking to an old guy with glasses. I was kinda nervous about interrupting, so I just stood there waiting for them to notice me. After a minute, Chastity appeared from the back and came over to where I was. She was wearing a long white gown, droopy wings made out of fabric, and a lopsided halo. She looked pissed, but she usually does. We whispered for a minute, and then Mr. Hope finished talking to the man. I gave him the envelope and went back to being an usher.”
“What about Chastity?” I asked.
“He told her to go out to the van and get Seraphina to adjust her halo. I had to bite my lip to keep from giggling.”
None of the other girls had any reservations about giggling. I gave them a moment and then asked Darla Jean if she’d seen Malachi open the note.
“Yeah,” she said, “he read it, put it in his pocket, and went out the way Chastity had gone.”
“How did he seem when he read the note?”
She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, then blinked at me. “I don’t know how to describe it exactly. I guess I’d say he looked thoughtful and a little annoyed like my ma does when she’s making a new recipe.”
I’d been hoping for something along the lines of a fiendish sneer or an outburst of profanity. “Did any of the rest of you speak to Mrs. Grapper?”
They pretty much agreed she’d nodded or spoken curtly to all of them before the overhead lights had dimmed and all kinds of strange and amazing things started happening onstage. I couldn’t make much sense out of what they were saying, but I nodded until they ran out of hyperbole.
“I understand Chastity left with some of you,” I said. “Who, what time, and where did you go?”
Darla Jean waggled her fingers. “She was out in the parking lot at about ten, dressed in regular clothes. She went with me, Heather, and Traci to the Dairee Dee-Lishus. Not long after that, the guys showed up, and we were just hanging out talking about the miracles when Seraphina drove up and told Chastity to get her ass in the car.”
“She was madder than a stuck pig,” said one of the Dahlton twins, “and drops of spit was flying out of her mouth. Chastity got up off the picnic table and climbed into the car without saying a word.”
“It was a little after eleven,” volunteered the other twin. “I happened to notice ’cause we were supposed to be home by then. We got in all kinds of trouble, even though it wasn’t a school night.”
“We got grounded,” said the first.
I gave Darla Jean a hard look. “Have you seen Chastity since then?”
“No, ma’am,” she said so quickly that I suspected she’d been anticipating the question.
“Are you positive?” I persisted in my best cop voice (which, to be honest, isn’t very good).
Heather stepped in front of her. “This morning me and Darla Jean went into Farberville to shop, and we didn’t get back here until half an hour ago. Chastity must have heard about Coach Grapper and figured there wouldn’t be practice. Do you know when the funeral’s gonna be?”
“Not for a few days,” I said. “You all had better go home now.” I waited until they’d drifted away into various vehicles and then tried the gym door. It was locked, so I walked around to the main entrance. A sign taped to the door announced that all meetings and planning sessions were canceled for the day out of respect for Norma Kay. I peered through the glass door, but the hallways were dark and uninhabited.
I was walking back to my car and grumbling about the necessity of driving to the sheriff’s office to get a key to the gym when a dark blue pickup parked near my car. Cory Jenks glanced incuriously at me as he got out, then took out a key and moved toward the door.
“Wait a second!” I called. “You can’t go in there.”
“Why not?”
“Haven’t you heard what happened?”
He gave me an embarrassed smile, but it did little to brighten his distinctly wan pallor. “I drank so much beer last night that I forgot to set my alarm. When I finally woke up, I took a shower, got dressed, and came straight up here on the double to meet with the principal so he can approve the budget.” For the first time he seemed to notice there were no other vehicles in the lot. “Norma Kay’s supposed to be having practice now. Where is everybody?”
“Norma Kay’s body was found in the gym last night,” I said.
His jaw sank until it bumped his chest. “Norma Kay? Are you sure …?”
“I’m sure,” I said, then described the scene, carefully omitting any references to Malachi.
He clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered around the corner of the gym. Retching noises persuaded me to wait where I was rather than go charging after him to make sure he didn’t escape into the brush. The noises eventually subsided and he returned, his eyes wet and his skin as green as a dollar bill.
“Did I mention I have a hangover?” he said weakly. “I guess I just wasn’t prepared for—for what you said. Gawd, I saw her last night at the revival. Bur was with her, but if she was that upset, she could have found a way to say something to me. What
was she doing up here that late? Who found her?”
“I think we’d better discuss all this in your office,” I said. “Go ahead and unlock the door.”
He recoiled as if I’d told him to yank open a drawer at the morgue. “I don’t think it’d be fitting for us to talk about Norma Kay in the next room when she hasn’t even been buried.”
“I’m in charge of the investigation, so I get to say where we talk. It’s hot out here, and it’s possible sightseers will drive by. Just unlock the door—okay?”
Cory did as ordered, although he kept his head down as we walked across the gym, our shoes squeaking like frightened mice. I told him to wait in his office and went into Norma Kay’s office. As I’d recalled, there was a typewriter on a table off to one side of the room. I sorted through the clutter on her desk until I found a typed team roster. Wishing I had a magnifying glass, I compared it with the note she’d sent to Malachi, and concluded that the letters were as identical as the Dahlton twins. I put both in my notebook, switched off the light, and went into Cory Jenks’s office.
He dropped something into a desk drawer and gazed up at me with an innocent expression. It might have been more convincing if a trickle of whiskey had not been visible at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know how I can be of any help,” he said, drying his lip with the cuff of his gray sweatshirt. “Like I said, I saw her last night but she didn’t say anything to indicate she was planning to take her life. She’s been acting kind of weird ever since Malachi Hope arrived in town, but it never occurred to me she was …”
I opened the notebook and wrote his name at the top of a nice, clean page. “You attended the revival with her and Bur. Is that correct?”
“Yeah, and afterward we walked down the hill and said good night at the end of their yard. I went on home, but then I started getting thirsty, so I drove over to Emmet to see if I could scrounge up some beer on a Sunday. I was way too successful, I’m afraid.”
