The Merry Wives of Maggody

by Joan Hess

  I had a sudden urge to tidy up and refold the clothes. Reminding myself that my apartment looked almost as bad, I moved things around with my foot in case the perp had left a signed confession. From the number of glasses and empty bottles, it was obvious that the party had resumed in this room after Ruby Bee closed the bar. I doubted it would be useful to collect fingerprints, and Harve wouldn’t send out a team unless I found graffiti written in blood on the walls.

  I locked the door behind me and did my best to stick the yellow tape back up. Tommy’s trunk proved to be a well-designed apparatus for dispersing alcohol. It had a wine rack, barred shelves for glasses and bottles, and storage boxes for maraschino cherries, olives, onions, and half-pint bottles of multicolored liqueurs. The space for a spare tire was now an insulated cooler. Tommy hadn’t wasted money on appearances; he’d indulged himself with a veritable bar-mobile.

  There was nothing of interest inside the car. Paper cups and fast-food wrappers had been tossed into the backseat. Faded newspapers were folded to expose half-done crossword puzzles. Based on the CDs stuffed in the glove compartment and spilled on the passenger’s seat, his taste in music leaned toward Willie Nelson, Jimmy Buffett, and the Dixie Chicks. The ashtray was jammed with cigar stubs, and ashes were sprinkled on the console and the floor mats like rampant dandruff.

  I made sure the car was securely locked, then went to see who all was attending the so-called wake. Proodle’s room was packed with men who smelled of wet dog and pond muck. Kevin was slumped on a corner of the bed, clearly miserable but too cowardly to leave without Jim Bob’s permission. I heard the shouts of a crap game in the bathroom. The only female I could see was Amanda, who’d changed into dry, skimpy clothes. Two of the college boys had crowded her into a corner, but she didn’t appear to be in need of rescue. The third boy was doing card tricks that seemingly bewildered Larry Joe, Ruddy, Tam, and Earl. It didn’t take much.

  Nobody invited me in, so I went into the barroom and sat down on a stool. Estelle was still there, as was the unidentified figure in a back booth. Sooner or later, someone was going to have to check him for a pulse.

  “Back for lunch already?” she asked tartly. “You’re gonna end up bigger’n Dahlia if you keep stuffing your face every two hours.”

  “Have you talked to her since your adventure?”

  “I ain’t seen hide nor hair of her, but I don’t know why I would. I heard she was staying at Eileen’s house, along with Bony. Kevin’s lucky she ain’t at home, since he’d end up banished to the woodshed like some husbands I could mention. I don’t know what’s gotten into people these days.”

  Ruby Bee came out of the kitchen with a peach pie. Once she’d set it on the stand, she glared at me. “I reckon Deputy Murtle gave you my message.”

  “Did you see someone go into Tommy’s room?” I asked, my fingers crossed.

  “I just saw that your tape was ripped and the door was open. I’m gonna have to feed that bunch out back afore too long, and I need to start the rolls. You’re lucky I took the time to call you, Miss Snippety Britches. Next time I won’t bother.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to sound pathetic. “I’m overwhelmed by all this. I’ve got to take statements from more than thirty people, and some of them are busy getting pie-eyed drunk as we speak. I’ll be lucky if they remember their own names.”

  Ruby Bee looked skeptical. “I’ll overlook it this time, but don’t push your luck. I feel like I’m running a henhouse full of foxes. Folks are coming and going half the night, demanding ice or clean towels, tromping the begonias by my unit, whining ’cause they don’t like collard greens. I wish every last one of them would go home—and take some of those worthless husbands with ’em. I’m fed up with the lot of them.”

  “So am I,” I said. “At least there’s one gentleman in town.”

  “I hope you ain’t referring to Bony Buchanon,” Estelle said, her nostrils flared with contempt. “A few days back him and Earl were out in the back pasture shooting beer bottles off a fence. When I went outside and hollered at them to stop, they didn’t so much as look at me. Downright rude, if you ask me.”

  “Roy ain’t no gentleman, either,” Ruby Bee added. “I heard him singing Frank Sinatra songs in the parking lot last night when I got in bed. I had to hold a pillow over my head until somebody finally hushed him up. Roy sings worse than a coyote in heat.”

  “That was around twelve thirty?” I asked. “Did you hear anything else?”

  “Just the thud when I fell asleep. Do you want a piece of pie to hold you over until lunch?”

  “No thanks,” I said, lying through my teeth. Estelle’s tactless remark held a sliver of truth, although I doubted I could swell to even half of Dahlia’s formidable bulk if I lived on nothing but Twinkies and milkshakes for the next seven months. “If you see anything suspicious, give me a call at the PD.”

  I was halfway across the dance floor when Estelle said, “So who’s this gentleman you mentioned?”

  I looked back. “Frederick Cartier. He’s been staying at Mrs. Jim Bob’s house for at least a week. Did the grapevine snap?”

  “It did not,” Estelle said snootily. “I heard she had a houseguest, but no one said his name. All the ladies have been talking about is the golf tournament and their committee assignments. They’re scared to death of Mrs. Jim Bob blaming them if anything goes wrong. Brother Verber’s going to get an earful for not persuading God to keep away the storm.”

  I noticed that Ruby Bee’s jaw was slack. “See you later, okay?”

  She turned around and went into the kitchen. Estelle and I exchanged shrugs, and then I drove back to the PD in the steady rain. The gray clouds had settled into the valley and showed no signs of moving on anytime soon. Raz’s marijuana plants could tolerate temporary flooding, but Earl’s greens might be sprouting chickweed by the minute. The fairways might be overrun with displaced snakes and gators (if the rumors were true) and dead branches that carried fire ant colonies and wasp nests.

  Who said golf was a game for sissies?

  Nine

  I needed to find out more about the stoplight scene. All I had was Phil Proodle’s version: It didn’t happen, but if it did, it wasn’t my fault, but I’ll pay if there was any damage. Raz Buchanon couldn’t have said it better, although he’d never go so far as to offer to pay a plugged nickel. The men were definitely culprits. Natalie Hotz had baited them—and later claimed to be the victim of a sexual assault. I’d hadn’t yet met her, much less spoken with her. It was time to correct the situation.

  I called Ruby Bee and asked if she’d seen Natalie or Janna, and was huffily informed that she was making a batch of cloverleaf rolls, not running a daycare center. Once she finished griping at me, she said that she hadn’t laid eyes on either of them. On that cheery note, she hung up on me.

  They had to be somewhere. The SuperSaver offered limited amusement. The Dairee Dee-Lishus did not have inside seating. They could have driven back to Farberville despite my threat to issue subpoenas, but I didn’t think Janna would risk a blot on Natalie’s precious reputation. And they weren’t in their motel room.

  That left the leaky tent, abandoned when the tournament was delayed, with bare tables and wet chairs, sodden poster board, crumpled cups lying in the mud. Surely my missing persons hadn’t taken refuge in Raz’s barn. He’d made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate trespassers, and he was capable of violence. Moonshiners are as protective of their stash as mama bears are of their cubs. Bears, however, don’t bear arms.

  I was on my feet when the phone rang. Hoping it was Ruby Bee reporting that Janna and Natalie had dropped in for lunch, I answered it. “Yes?”

  “Thought I’d find out what all’s going on out your way,” Harve drawled. “Ain’t nothing like a rainy Sunday afternoon to sprawl in front of the TV with a cold beer.”

  “I’m heading out to a wake for Tommy. I’ll think about you when we toast him with Glenlivet.”

  “Some damn fool reporter ca
ught wind of what’s going on. The prosecutor called, asking for details. I told him I’d give him an update.”

  “Have at it,” I said. “I need you to run background checks on everybody who’s not local. I’d do it myself, but my computer’s been down since one of the squirrels died of starvation.” I gave him a list of names and addresses.

  “You ruled out the locals?”

  “No,” I said. “I can’t believe any of the wives is obsessed with the bass boat, at least not enough to bash in a stranger’s head like that. If the victim had been one of their husbands, I’d be taking a harder look at them. As for the local guys, I don’t know. A lot of alcohol was served. Stir up a pitcher of greed, frustration, anger, and testosterone, and you get a Molotov cocktail.” I told him about the impromptu postmidnight contest. “I doubt it was a good-natured gathering. If Tommy won, someone might have snapped.”

  “Like Jim Bob?”

  “Or any one of them, or maybe all of them. They each took a turn so they’d all be implicated. Agatha Christie’s plot comes to mind.”

  “Have you picked her up for questioning?”

  I considering saying yes and suggesting that he break the news to the media. “She’s been dead for thirty years, Harve. Found any of your escapees?”

  “One of ’em was at his house, sleeping like a baby. Another one turned himself in because he can’t stand his wife’s cooking. The third one’s around here somewhere. Sounds like you better get off your butt and worry about your own case. You ain’t gonna get anywhere if all you’re doing is drinking whiskey and—”

  I went out to my car and drove to the Maggody Municipal Golf Course and Recreation Center. A car was parked on the road, and a solitary figure stood under the tent. I dodged raindrops as I skittered across the muddy stubble. Janna glanced at me, then resumed her vigil.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Natalie’s missing. She must be lying out there in the rain, unable to stand or walk. You need to get together a search party and call for an ambulance. She’ll be chilled to the bone and in shock.”

  “Why didn’t you report this earlier?”

  “I wanted to make sure she wasn’t here, waiting for me to pick her up. When the storm hit, she was on the back nine. Her foursome came in. As soon as that insufferable woman announced that play was canceled, we all headed for our cars. That’s when Natalie realized she’d left her wedge in the rough. She said she’d catch a ride. I wasn’t happy, but I was drenched and I’ve been fighting off a chest cold for the last few days. You’d think an old army broad was tougher than that, wouldn’t you?” Her expression softened, as if she were remembering her first kiss. “I was the assistant administrator of a field hospital in a Central American jungle, where our worst enemies were malaria and gangrene. I was a top military aide in Indonesia at the time of the Bali bombing. After that, I trained recruits in scorching heat and freezing rain. I worked them until they puked. Now I’m worried about catching a cold. Pathetic.”

  I had no idea how to respond to her unsolicited résumé. “So Natalie headed out on the course and you drove back to the motel?”

  “Frederick Cartier assured me that he’d wait for Natalie. He seems like a gentleman.” Her hands curled into fists; if I’d encountered her in an alley, I would have dived into a cardboard box. “It’s my fault. Natalie’s had no experience with men,” she continued. “I’ve protected her. If the media find any reason to gossip about her, she won’t get million-dollar endorsements. She has to be perfect.”

  “That can’t be easy at her age,” I said, thinking of some of my less reputable escapades. Maggody had never provided much in the way of wholesome entertainment for teenagers, so we whiled away the time drinking beer on the banks of Boone Creek, tipping cows, skinny-dipping, and studying anatomy in the moonlight. “Perfection’s not easy at any age.”

  Janna regarded me with contempt. “Why aren’t you doing something?”

  “If Natalie knew where she was going, then she came back at least an hour ago. Frederick dropped her off at the motel, and now she’s taking a hot shower and wondering where the hell you are.”

  She stomped over to her car and drove away, splattering my car with mud. I suppose I should have braved the fallen branches and snakes to search the golf course for Princess Perfection, but I wasn’t in the mood. Frederick wouldn’t have abandoned her. I drove to the mayoral mansion. Mrs. Jim Bob’s pink Cadillac was parked in front. I assumed Frederick’s car was tucked safely in the garage. I hoped Natalie Hotz was tucked safely in the kitchen.

  Frederick opened the door. “Arly. Won’t you come in and dry off?” He did not sound enthusiastic.

  “Thanks.” I assumed that he was miffed because I’d asked for verification of his alibi. I went down the hall to the kitchen. Mrs. Jim Bob was seated at the dinette, a glass in front of her and a bottle of bourbon within reach. She gave me a bleary look as she filled her glass.

  “Come to gloat, haven’t you?” she asked me. “Guess you think it’s funny that we had to stop the tournament because of the storm.” She gulped down her drink without so much as a blink. “I’m sick and tired of your disrespectful attitude and your snide remarks. I hate to think of the grief you’ve caused your poor mother all these years.”

  “Wait just a minute,” I said, pissed off at her standard litany of my faults. “I didn’t lift one finger to interfere with the golf tournament, not even my pinkie. If Ruby Bee is immersed in grief, she does a damn fine job of hiding it. I’m flattered that you think I can control the weather. Shall I hold my breath until the sun comes out?” I clamped my lips together and puffed out my cheeks.

  “You can hold your breath ’til you turn blue in the face. That doesn’t change things, does it? I’ve been hearing rumors that you’ve got a bun in the warmer but no ring on your finger. Like mother, like daughter, I always say. Are you planning to raise your little bushcolt in a motel room, or have you set your sights on a double-wide at the Pot O’ Gold?”

  I exhaled fiercely. “I thought I’d go to Jim Bob for advice. After all, he has at least one illegitimate child out there somewhere, doesn’t he?”

  “He got down on his knees and acknowledged his weakness of the flesh, then prayed for divine forgiveness.”

  “He’d better hope divine forgiveness comes with a lifetime warranty.”

  “Ladies,” Frederick murmured, “let’s have a friendly cup of tea together.” He began to fill the teakettle at the sink.

  Mrs. Jim Bob seemed more in the mood for Long Island tea than Lipton. She replenished her glass and took a deep swig. “As you know, Chief Hanky-Panky, I do not approve of alcohol in any form. I’m drinking strictly to calm my nerves. This last week has not been easy for me.” She grabbed a paper napkin and crumpled it in her fist. “The committee chairs failed miserably, so I had to step up and take charge of every last detail. Perkin’s eldest decided that she’s allergic to electricity. Every time I let her out of my sight, she starts unplugging things. Then I find out that my husband is a greedy, treacherous, conniving liar. How dare he take golf lessons on the sly and enter the tournament!”

  “The very idea of him doing all that behind your back,” I said.

  Her head bobbled emphatically. “All of the husbands—liars and rats! Not one of them volunteered to lift a finger to help us get ready. If Jim Bob or any one of them wins the boat, I swear I’ll take it out to the middle of the reservoir and sink it.” She raised her glass. “Damn the torpedoes and full storm ahead!”

  I pulled Frederick aside. “Do you know where Natalie is?”

  “At the motel, I should think.”

  “Janna said you were going to wait for Natalie while she retrieved a golf club, then give her a ride. Did you take her back to the motel?”

  Mrs. Jim Bob banged her glass on the table. “You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna sprinkle rat poison on the cot in the utility room. Jim Bob’ll get it on his skin and die in agony. When he begs me to pray for him, I’l
l tell him to call one of his floozies at the trailer park and let her pray for him. Does the Lord Almighty listen to floozies? Ha! He’ll burn in hell for all eternity, regretting how he treated me.”

  “Read the directions on the box,” I said to her, then turned back to Frederick. “Well, did you give her a ride or not?”

  “No, I didn’t. After Janna left, Natalie came over to me and said she’d arranged for someone else to wait for her. There was a sparkle in her eye that hinted of young love. Who am I to interfere? Besides, I’m appalled by the way Janna treats the poor girl, bullying and berating her at every opportunity. What good is success if you sacrifice joy and passion to achieve it?”

  “A lovely speech. Why don’t you go to the motel and repeat it to Janna?”

  Mrs. Jim Bob stood up, clutching the bottle. “I should burn down the SuperSaver, that’s what I should do! There’s a can of gasoline in the garage. We’ll see how Mayor High-and-Mighty likes that. Then I’ll start a career in home decorating, and he can find out how hard it is to deal with gardeners and plumbers and Perkin’s eldest. Let him try to organize the spring rummage sale!” She sat down and began to sob. “And the potlucks on Wednesday,” she said between hiccups. She splashed a goodly amount of bourbon on the table, then raised her empty glass. “If he’s in charge, we’ll end up with six green bean casseroles and no desserts!”

  I looked at Frederick. “Do you have any idea who, or where they are now?”

  “None at all,” he said distractedly, observing Mrs. Jim Bob as if she were a mutant lab animal. “Shouldn’t we do something about her? I’d hate to think she might actually follow through on her threats.”

  “She’d never risk losing her exalted position in the Missionary Society. Where’d she get the booze?”

  “Leftovers from the tournament. After this morning’s debacle, she insisted that all of it be put in her trunk. After she finished the vodka, she moved to bourbon. Gin is next.”