by Joan Hess
I was getting real tired of alien sightings. "So she's upstairs now, presumably eating supper and keeping Darla Jean company. I'm probably going to be out most of the night, dealing with the body. I think it'll be best if the rest of the kids get their sleeping bags and stay here on the livingroom floor. Mrs. Jim Bob can arrange a barrier of folding chairs and sit up till dawn, if she wishes. Arm her with a wet towel so she can snap them if they get any ideas."
Larry Joe scratched his head. "She won't agree unless I tell her why. What am I supposed to say?"
"Tell her that I'm investigating a report of trespassers on the campgrounds. The cabin doors don't lock. If I'm not back in the morning, she can escort the girls to their cabin to shower and change clothes, or persuade Ruby Bee and Estelle to do it. I want all of them under constant supervision until this is cleared up."
"What the hell's going on, Arly? This place is scaring the bejeezus outta me. I mean, I get nervous going to the high school at night to mop the halls and clean the restrooms. I've never found a dead body, though. The only body I'd ever seen before was at my great-aunt Ursala's funeral. I was only six or seven, and my parents made me lean over the coffin and kiss her cheek. I had nightmares for years afterward."
"I don't know what's going on, Larry Joe, but I'll keep you posted. Now go sit down and finish your supper before Mrs. Jim Bob gets more suspicious than she already is."
I left him gawking at me and went into the kitchen. Ruby Bee was flipping another batch of catfish steaks out of a skillet.
"Just where have you been, missy?" she demanded without turning around.
"And where's my station wagon?" said Estelle as she joined us. "I disremember giving you permission to take it. Now there's a strange man out front, seemingly waiting for you." Her artfully drawn eyebrows furrowed. "This is all very peculiar."
"It's complicated," I said with heartfelt sincerity. "I apologize for taking your station wagon, and I'll have it back at some point tonight. The man out front is from the police department in Dunkicker. There seem to be unauthorized people on the campgrounds, and we're looking into it. I've told Larry Joe that I want all of the kids to stay at the lodge until I get this straightened out."
"What's going on?" asked Ruby Bee. "Here we are, aiming to do a few good deeds, and all of a sudden, it seems like…"
I kissed her cheek, and Estelle's, for good measure. "I can't explain now."
"Seems to me we're entitled," huffed Estelle.
"In the morning," I said, then hurried through the living room before Mrs. Jim Bob could catch up with me. Corporal Robarts was sulking behind the steering wheel.
"Drive," I said.
Mrs. Jim Bob came skittering to the bottom of the porch steps as we made our escape up the road. I doubted I'd have my job when we got back to Maggody, but unemployment might just be the catalyst to send me back into battle with those of a more polysyllabic bent. Being a cop in a small town wasn't all that pleasant, as I was sure Corporal Robarts realized. Museum security at the Louvre, I thought, or even a desk job at the FBI.
"So what about the child?"
I shook myself into the present. "I don't know. Darla Jean spotted him down by the lake. She went to find him, chased him all over the place, and had lost him when the storm hit. She said he was perhaps four or five years old. Has anyone reported a missing child?"
"And I'd be having supper at my mama's house if a child was lost, planning to have a look-see after I finished my pie? What do you take me for, Miz Hanks?"
"I apologize, Corporal Robarts. I had no business even implying you'd ignore such a report. I doubt we're going to be close friends, but I hope we can work together on this case. It's your jurisdiction, and you're in charge. I'll make sure the sheriff's team understands that."
"Only had my badge for a month," he muttered. "The police academy turned me down on account of my juvenile record, and Chief Panknine gave me the job 'cause my mama owns most of the town. Busting drunks is one thing. Murder's something else."
"I can't argue with that," I said, wishing I'd borrowed a sweater from Ruby Bee. I was soaked to the bone and I could barely remember when I'd last eaten more than the cheese sandwich. I wasn't hungry; I was hollow. "When we get to Dunkicker, drop me off at the café. I'll fetch my car and meet you at the police department."
"Wanting to interrogate Rachael?"
"I was dreaming of a hamburger, but I do need to know what's going on here. She and the woman in the creek obviously have ties. Brother Verber, Ruby Bee, and Heather all saw what they interpreted as apparitions, but I don't buy into that shit. What's the deal? Is Camp Pearly Gates an alien airfield? If so, I have a moral obligation to get Darla Jean on the ten o'clock news. Television cameras, vans, helicopters, whatever."
He did not look at me, but his eyelid was twitching so madly that I wanted to slap a patch over it. "We don't need no news teams up here. These women aren't hurting anybody. They've got some goofy beliefs, but we let them be."
"These women? Are you talking about a cult?"
"Reckon so. Daughters of the Moon, they say. They call themselves Moonbeams. Folks in town call 'em Beamers."
"You're making this up-right?" I said weakly.
"Suit yourself." He turned onto the highway and accelerated toward Dunkicker.
Jim Bob pulled into the garage, then hurried back into the driveway and waited with a grin as Tonya and Sonya got out of their car. Identical twins, blonde, tall, slender, dressed in halters and miniskirts, giggly as all get out and acting like he was the cutest little ol' thing they'd ever laid eyes on. He knew he wasn't, but when one of them had breathed "LovePussy" into his left ear and the other had done the same into his right, both sides of his brain had melted like a popsicle on the pavement in August. Being a gentleman, he'd bought them several drinks and attempted to make conversation, but their cleavage kept distracting him, the halters doing nothing to restrain their very conspicuous nipples. That, and the way they wiggled on the barstools, like something needed to be scratched.
Jim Bob was willing and, at least for the moment, able. He'd never taken on two women before. Maybe they'd all end up together, or maybe they preferred a tag team sort of thing. He just hoped he could rise to the challenge.
But first he wanted to ask them about a couple of things that'd been puzzling him on the drive home. "How'd you girls know I was close to the Dew Drop Inn-instead of in Alaska or Florida?"
Tonya smiled. "Why, we recognized your screen name, honey, and you've been known to brag in chat rooms about being the mayor of Maggody. We were interested, seeing how we live in Farberville. Sonya even found the town's website and a picture of you. Quite the handsome devil, aren't you?"
"Why ain't I ever seen you two at the Dew Drop before?"
It was Sonya's turn to smile. "Oh, I think you have, but you must not have noticed us, what with all the women fawning over you." She paused. "You live all by yourself in this big fancy house?"
"My wife's out of town this week," he admitted.
"Well, then," Tonya said brightly, "We can make ourselves at home. You got more bourbon, honey? My throat's parched after the drive, and I sure could stand to kick off my shoes, put on some music, and sip a little something. Sonya, get the CDs out of the glove compartment. I feel a party comin' on."
"So do I, sister," said Sonya as she ducked back into their car and reappeared with a handful of CDs. "We are gonna have ourselves one wild night."
Jim Bob's eyes welled with tears as the thanked the Almighty for providing heaven on earth. His wife and Brother Verber might see it differently, but they were fifty miles away in some forsaken camp. He had wine, women, and song, along with food and booze and not a chance anybody'd ever find out. Sonya and Tonya, surely sent from above. He certainly intended to be touched by an angel, and in more ways than one.
Tonya, who seemed a bit more forward, took his hand. "I hope you got something to eat, Mr. Mayor. My stomach's rumbling and grumbling like the New Madrid fault. I sure cou
ld do with a bit of supper before the earth starts shakin' under our feet."
"Oh, yeah," Jim Bob said, drawing her toward the door. "My wife left all kinds of casseroles. You want some lasagna or maybe meatloaf? All we have to do is heat it up."
"And then heat you up? You're already approaching medium-high. Don't go boiling just yet, honey."
Sonya caught up with them and tweaked his butt. "But we'll save you for dessert, Mr. Mayor. I just adore a man with a title."
Jim Bob was grinning so hard his cheeks ached as he led them into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "That's funny," he said. "I could have sworn the lasagna was right here on the top shelf. Meatloaf sound okay?"
Sonya and Tonya nodded, then went off to explore the house while he put the pan into the oven, took out plates and cutlery, and hunted through drawers for napkins. It was gonna be worth it, he thought as he listened to them shriek with hilarity over the newly upholstered sofa and fringed fuchsia and lavender throw pillows, all of which had set him back a pretty penny only a month ago. It hadn't seemed all that hilarious to him. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying as they went upstairs, but they seemed to find the flocked wallpaper equally hilarious.
It got real quiet for a spell, but he was way too caught up in his fantasies to think much about it. He was setting the meatloaf on the stove when they reappeared.
"Oh, Mr. Mayor," said Tonya, or maybe Sonya, "the most terriblest thing has happened. While we were freshening up in your bathroom, we had a call on my cellphone. Our poor granny fell and broke her hip. Mama wants us to meet her at the hospital."
"You're leaving?" squeaked Jim Bob.
Sonya, or maybe Tonya, licked his earlobe. "You know we wouldn't if we didn't have to, but our mama hasn't been herself since she lost her leg in a car wreck, and our papa's so fat that he hasn't left his bedroom in seventeen years. Our brother Ivan is doing time for rape, and sweet little Smirnoff keeps insisting he's a frog, so he lives down at the pond. We got no choice but to help our mama. It's a family thing, you know."
"A frog?" said Jim Bob.
"He's making progress in therapy," said Tonya, or maybe Sonya. "Last year he thought he was a polliwog. Do you mind if we make ourselves sandwiches?"
They sounded so matter-of-fact that Jim Bob couldn't gauge their sincerity. "If he believed he was a polliwog… what did he do?"
Sonya, or maybe Tonya, put out a loaf of bread and a bottle of catsup. "Lived in the bathtub most of the time. Ever' now and then he'd let us drain off the water and then refill it. You would not believe the shit we had to put up with from social workers and truancy officers. They'd come pounding on the door night and day. Whenever we saw them driving up, we'd put on Tina Turner tapes and play 'em at full volume. You like Tina, Mr. Mayor?"
Mr. Mayor was having a helluva hard time thinking of anything to say. Here he'd been imagining a night of lust and abandonment, and now he was being forced to entertain the most unsavory images. "Tina, yeah, I like her," he managed to say, having no idea who she was.
"Tell you what, then. We gotta go to the hospital, but we'll come back here tonight if we can. If not, maybe we can come tomorrow night-presuming your wife will still be gone. A threesome is okay, but we don't much care for a foursome unless we're playing bridge. Then again, there's nothing I'd rather do than make a grand slam. That takes all thirteen tricks, and we just happen to know them all."
"I was thinking," Dahlia said as she flopped over in bed, "that we ought not have a swimming pool just yet."
Kevin was mystified. "In the backyard?"
"No, silly, behind our mansion. Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie will be toddling afore too long. We could, I suppose, hire a lifeguard, but even then I wouldn't be comfortable knowing there was a swimming pool where our cherished darlings might be in danger. No pool."
"We ain't got a mansion."
"But we will soon, and we have to think about these things."
Kevin resisted the impulse to pull the covers over his head and pray that the lack of air might cause him to pass out. "We do not have a mansion, my petunia of passion. If we was to buy a plastic wading pool at Wal-Mart, I can't see that we need a lifeguard. You can keep an eye on them."
"I am talking about Hollywood," Dahlia said testily. "When we get there, we might ought to find a mansion without a pool. Most of them have 'em, but we should at least insist there's a fence. Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie can take swimming lessons, but this new one's gonna be too little."
"We do not have a mansion," repeated Kevin, speaking slowly and very, very carefully. "We don't even have a backyard, except for that patch of crabgrass by the vegetable garden. This ad you saw doesn't promise that our little darlings will earn enough so's we can have a mansion in Hollywood."
"So you don't think Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie will have modeling careers?"
Kevin wished he was waxing floors at the supermarket, but, sadly enough, he wasn't. "Of course I do," he murmured meekly. "It's just that, well, it may take some time. I don't think we ought to be packing our bags just yet."
"What do you think?"
Thinking was not one of his skills. He made an attempt to distract her, but she slapped him off and rolled away. He listened to her grumbles as she sank into her pillow, clueless as to what to say or do to win her heart once again. Maybe she was right, he thought. The twins were the cutest li'l things he'd ever laid eyes on, but he had doubts they'd all be loading up the car and heading for Beverly Hills and a mansion with or without a swimming pool.
But that didn't mean his pa would cotton to ridin' in a limo, 'specially if the chauffeur was a pansy. His pa hated pansies.
8
The homecoming parade, or so it seemed, marched into the cabin at some insanely early hour when not even the birds were stirring. The girls were trying to be quiet, but the snickers, giggles, and whispers composed a full woodwind section.
Estelle shook my shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"I was doing just fine," I said as I sat up. "What time is it?"
"Seven-fifteen. Ruby Bee's fixing breakfast, and Mrs. Jim Bob wasn't feeling charitable enough to escort the girls down here. We fretted about you most of the night. Larry Joe clammed up, but it was obvious he was worried sick. He seemed to think you'd come back to the lodge, but then you didn't and Ruby Bee was pacing and peering out the window till dawn. Darla Jean took to moaning about her ankle, so I spent the night keeping it packed with ice and holding her hand. Poor little thing finally fell asleep three hours ago."
"Which is about when I got back here." I rubbed my eyes. "Nothing happened after I left, then?"
"I ain't the person to answer that, am I, missy? I didn't steal a station wagon and go driving off, or come back with a strange man and make all sorts of discombobulated remarks. You'd have thought we were at that hotel in Noow Yark City, with headlights flashing all night long."
The girls (minus Darla Jean and Heather) began to appear from the bathroom, dressed in robes, their hair wrapped in towels. None of them had the nerve to speak to me, however, which was for the best. I had no idea what might be going through their adolescent minds.
"There was a problem last evening," I announced. "A woman's body was found behind the softball field. Did any of you see anything that seemed odd?"
"Well," said Amy Dee as she took a cigarette from her purse, glanced at me, and then defiantly lit it, "when Mr. Lambertino got all riled up on account of Jarvis cutting a board too short, Parwell and me sort of wandered behind the dugout." She paused until the giggles died down. "I could have sworn I saw a couple of brats hunkered under a bush on the hill. Parwell didn't believe me, but I saw 'em."
"Brats?" I repeated. "How old?"
"Fifth, maybe sixth grade. Soon as they saw I was looking at them, they scampered away."
One of the Dahlton twins flung herself down on a lower bunk. "They must have been children who came to this place and then died. Now their spirits roam the woods, watching us, waiting for us to le
ave them in peace. This woman Arly found must have been their mother, coming to fetch them back to their graves."
"I wanna go home," wailed the other twin, flopping on the mattress next to her sister. "This is like so unbelievably weird."
I stood up. "No, the woman was alive and well as of yesterday afternoon. There are some other people currently living at Camp Pearly Gates. When the church groups began to arrive, they moved to the more remote cabins."
"There are?" gasped Estelle.
"You sure they ain't dead?" asked Lynette, as helpful as ever. "I saw this movie once where-"
"Very sure," I said firmly. "Now get dressed and go back to the lodge for breakfast. You can enjoy Ruby Bee's biscuits and gravy, or Mrs. Jim Bob's oatmeal and prunes. Afterward, Mr. Lambertino will go with you to the softball field and put you to work. If you prefer not to participate, I'm sure Brother Verber will be happy to counsel you the rest of the morning on the joys of godliness, celibacy, and sobriety."
"He doesn't know much about that last thing you said," Estelle muttered. "He spent the night under the diningroom table. Mrs. Jim Bob tried to convince Ruby Bee and me to help her drag him out and carry him upstairs. We refused and sat on the porch, sipping sherry, watching the moonlight on the lake-and waiting on you."
"Let me take a quick shower, then I'll come to the lodge and explain," I said. "In the meantime, stay with the girls."
"You aimin' to return my station wagon any time soon?"
"I think I'd better hang on to it for the time being. I've got to go back into Dunkicker this morning, and I'd rather not stick out like a high-school graduate at a Buchanon family reunion."
"I reckon that's okay, but we deserve to know what all's going on."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
She herded out her hastily dressed flock, allowing me a few minutes of peace. I cradled my face as I tried to digest all that had taken place through the long, wet, bone-chilling night. After Corporal Robarts and I had returned to Dunkicker and calls were made, I sent him out to check on the other Beamers and warn them to be careful. Eventually two sheriff's deputies arrived and we headed back to the crime scene, followed by the county coroner, his assistant, and a hearse and driver, courtesy of the local mortuary. We waited while the scene was photographed, then collectively grimaced as the body was transported to the road. The bat had been tagged, but none of us thought it might offer much evidence. Footprints, fingerprints, and bloodstains had long since been washed away.
