by Joan Hess
Not much.
I cautiously opened the door that led to the cell. The scratching sound intensified, but I couldn't identify the source. If I'd been back in Maggody, I most certainly would have found my gun and put one of my last three bullets in it. As it was, I was armed with a rolled-up copy of a magazine devoted to lake trout.
"Someone there?" I called.
"I reckon you be wantin' this feller."
I realized there was a door at the end of the short hall. "What feller?"
"The one what ran away this mornin'. You want him, come and take him. I got better things to do."
I opened the door with a certain amount of trepidation. Duluth Buchanon was being held upright by a citizen who looked and smelled worse than Raz Buchanon. His beard dribbled over his gut in strings so drenched in tobacco juice that they might have turned to amber. His pale eyes were entirely too intense.
"Found him hunkered in my barn," he said. "I ain't got time for the likes of him. You don't want him, I'll cart him down to the pond and put a bullet up his nose. The catfish will dispose of him afore too long."
Duluth gave me a panicky look, but had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.
"Are you Crank Nickle?" I asked.
"I ain't the queen of England."
"No, I suppose not," I said. "I would very much like to take this trespasser off your hands. Chief Panknine will appreciate how you did your civic duty."
"Dumbshit scared my cow."
"Perhaps you might enjoy participating in a firing squad later this afternoon," I said as I yanked Duluth inside. "Say about four?"
"And miss the last round of the PGA finals? You jest tell Chief Panknine to keep his prisoners outta my barn." He stomped off before I could respond, assuming I could have.
I took Duluth to the front room, sat him down, and poured him a cup of coffee. He looked like hell, which was to be expected, considering the depth of his hangover. I gave him a moment, then said, "Well?"
"Well-what?" he growled.
"I'm hoping you have some innocuous reason for being in Dunkicker. Your great-aunt lives here, for instance, and needed you to plant pole beans and cucumbers. There's an orphanage somewhere down the road that has a leaky roof. You were ready to repaint Ruby Bee's kitchen, but you were torn between oyster shell and ivory. You tell me, Duluth."
"Norella."
"What about her?"
"Her mother finally got around to mentioning that she'd called a few days back. Said her and the boys was staying at an old church camp, and that she'd be moving on shortly. When folks in Maggody started buzzing about how the teenagers were going to a church camp, I figured it might be the one where Norella had taken the boys. Like I told you, she didn't have much cash, and her car leaks oil bad."
"So you followed the bus?"
"Right till it turned down the road. I decided I'd better wait till it was dark, so I parked my truck behind that old coot's barn. I'd brought a cooler with a couple or three sixpacks, and after I finished those, I remembered I had a bottle of whiskey under the seat."
"And finished that, too, I assume. What were you doing staggering alongside the highway-looking for a liquor store?"
Duluth gave me a watery look that came from either embarrassment or a doozy of a headache. "I was real nervous about seeing Norella. More likely than not, she'd start screaming at me and trying to claw my face. One time she bit me on the ear so hard you can see the scar to this day. Look right here." He pulled his ear forward and waited until I produced a properly horrified frown. "I was gonna press charges for assault, but then I realized if she was locked up, her family might not be willin' to take care of the boys while I was working."
"Probably not," I said. "Then you never went down the road to the campgrounds?"
"Hell, no, I dun told you what I did. You seen Norella and the boys hanging out down there?"
I shook my head. "How do you think she came to find out about Camp Pearly Gates? Did she go there as a kid?"
"I about had to hogtie her to get her to church on Sundays. She always said everybody was real snooty, looking down their noses at her like they thought she bought her dresses at yard sales. Soon as we got home, she'd send the boys to their room and cuss up a storm. I got to where I dreaded Sunday mornings, knowing what I was in for the rest of the day. I'd just keep turnin' up the volume on the football game, but she didn't care even when the Cowboys was playin' Tampa Bay."
"Must have been tough, Duluth," I said, wondering what his sons had thought during the weekly ordeals. "One more question: How'd you get out of the cell?"
He rubbed his temples so hard I was afraid his head might shatter. "It don't make any sense, but I'll tell you. After Brother Verber left, I took a piss, then crawled back on the bunk. I must have dozed off, 'cause the next thing I saw was this… uh, this…"
"Alien?"
"Yeah, this alien unlocking the cell door. I pulled the blanket over my head, and when I finally got up the guts to look, it was gone. Putting up with Brother Verber's one thing, but I wasn't about to find myself being the subject of unnatural medical examinations in a flying saucer. I beat it back to my truck, but the damn thing wouldn't start. I decided to stay in the barn till it got dark, then find a pay phone and call my cousin Leroy to come get me."
"But Crank Nickle found you first."
"Reckon so. Any chance I can call Leroy from here? I'll leave fifty bucks to pay the fine. I mean, all I did was get drunk. That ain't much of a crime these days."
"No, I guess it's not," I said, "but you'll have to remain in custody for the time being."
"On account of being drunk?"
"It's a little bit more complicated than that." I gave him what remained of the candy bar and locked him in the cell. He didn't much like it, naturally, but I assured him that the aliens were on their way back to Alpha Centauri and I'd find him something more substantial to eat.
One of the Beamers had unlocked the cell door, for some reason. Willetta Robarts would have to wait until I could try to talk to them.
Or so I thought.
12
"Please, my dear, tell me what's going on," said Willetta Robarts as she came into the PD. She was dressed in a gray silk dress and the sort of hat more often seen at Ascot than at rural Baptist outposts. "I was chatting with Sister Silvester when I saw you drive behind the church. Everyone here in Dunkicker is aware of the crime, but no one knows what to think. Sister Silvester was literally dribbling with distress, but she hasn't quite been the same since her boy joined up with those heathens in Greasy Valley. You must tell me if you've made any progress."
"Not much," I said. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"I have a better idea. Why don't you come to my house for a nice Sunday dinner? Colleen is making fried chicken, mashed potatoes, creamed peas with onions, biscuits, and rhubarb pie for dessert. You do like rhubarb pie, don't you?"
I would never, ever, not for a second or even a nanosecond, have considered this if I hadn't needed to ask her some questions about her dealings with Deborah and the Daughters of the Moon. "I shouldn't," I said reluctantly, as if debating the wisdom of going to the prom with the captain of the football team-which is not to imply I'd gone to the prom, having instead spent the evening on the bank of Boone Creek with Masie Cockran, drinking cheap wine and plotting our escape from Maggody. According to Ruby Bee, who keeps a stranglehold on the grapevine, Masie's currently a weathergirl in Fort Worth and hasn't set foot in Maggody since the day after our high-school graduation.
"There's a prisoner in the back room, and I need to feed him," I added.
"Then I'll have Colleen bring him his dinner. Come along, we don't want the biscuits to get cold."
My salivary glands kicked in like automatic sprinklers. I drove behind her to a three-story house of Victorian vintage set in the middle of a neglected pasture. Apparently the budget had gone for the structure and furnishings, with nothing left over for such petty concerns as landscaping. No one over the ens
uing decades had seen fit to mitigate the starkness with so much as a shrub or clump of begonias. There were no other houses, or even mailboxes, along the road. The trees at the far side of the pasture seemed to be keeping their distance.
"Colleen is such a jewel," Mrs. Robarts said as she took me into a foyer paneled with mahogany parquet. She took off her hat and put it on a table with spindly legs. "I don't know how Anthony and I could get along without her."
I was more concerned with her culinary expertise. "What a lovely house," I said, my nose twitching like an intruder in Mr. McGregor's garden. I'd never read a Sherlock Holmes story in which he'd missed a meal, and Nero Wolfe had dined without fail on snail, quail, and other gourmet extravagances. Even Miss Marple had been served tea and scones on a regular basis. I had not had a decent meal since the fire at Ruby Bee's Bar & Grill, after which I'd been forced to survive on burritos from the Dairee Dee-Lishus and peanut butter sandwiches. And canned soup, of course; it's one of my basic food groups.
"This was my grandfather's study," Mrs. Robarts said, opening a door so that I could, had I been in the mood, have gaped in admiration at musty drapes, a globe that included India as part of the British Empire, and splintery spines of leatherbound books that had not been opened in fifty years. She gave me a moment, then went on. "My grandmother had a small library on the third floor where she dedicated her time to genealogy. As I may have told you, the family-"
"And this is the dining room?" I said as I moved down the hall.
"Why, yes, please go seat yourself. I need to freshen up, then I'll let Colleen know that we're here. Anthony and I often have guests for Sunday dinner, but I gather he's occupied elsewhere for the moment. Would you prefer your iced tea sweetened?"
"Unsweetened, if it's not a bother." I sat down at one end of a massive walnut table that could have easily accommodated sixteen, a few of whom might have been dukes and duchesses (of Hazard, anyway). The arrangement of dusty silk flowers in the middle of the table and a chandelier dripping with cobwebs suggested that Colleen's duties were limited to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Robarts returned and sat down at the opposite end of the table. "Colleen will be serving shortly."
"This is very kind of you."
"I was concerned about your health when I first laid eyes on you. So many young women these days sacrifice their health in order to emulate models in fashion magazines. When Anthony marries, I want him to choose a solid, well-nourished wife who can bear children. Someone with the spirit of the pioneer women who settled the West, yet with the grace to move into proper society and uphold her position."
I tried desperately to keep my eyes from reflecting anything ranging from panic to petrification. "I hope you're not thinking that…"
"I've always felt he might do better with an older woman. The dear boy does his best, but he needs a firm hand to guide him. Last fall he fell prey to the advances of a teenaged trollop from a trailer park in Bugscuffle. I still cringe when I think of the diseases she might have exposed him to."
She might have been preparing to list them when a sullen young woman brought in a platter of fried chicken. Moments later, bowls of mashed potatoes, creamed peas, and gravy were banged on the table.
"Colleen," Mrs. Robarts warbled, "the proper way to serve is to offer each dish to our guest, and then to me. I thought I made this clear after Preacher Skinbalder graced us with his presence last Sunday after church."
Colleen looked like someone who wore a lot of makeup when she wasn't working. A whole lot of makeup, and not much else. I did not want to imagine what private body parts she'd had pierced. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but might well have exploded like a frizzy fright wig without the restraint of a rubber band.
"Soon as I get the biscuits," she muttered.
Mrs. Robarts smiled at me. "I'm still training her. It's so hard to get good help these days. My grandmother used to oversee a full staff, most of whom were indebted for her instruction. Many of them went on to find suitable employment in private homes and hotels in Little Rock and Hot Springs. The Robarts family was well-known for sending along the right sort."
I would have made rude remarks had the chicken not been so irresistible. I loaded up my plate, gratefully accepted a hot biscuit when Colleen returned from the kitchen, slathered it with butter and honey, and chowed down.
"You must be concerned about Anthony," she said.
I froze, a forkful of peas halfway to my mouth. "Why should I be concerned about Anthony?"
"Didn't you send him to the Daughters of the Moon campsite, knowing there might be a vicious killer out there?"
"You've talked to him, then?"
"He called me on his way, since he knew I was expecting him for dinner. He's very considerate about things like that. I find that rather endearing, don't you?"
"Oh, yes." I resumed eating. "But I don't believe he's in any danger. Our prime suspect, who's also our only suspect, is locked in the cell."
"He's the one who killed poor Ruth?"
I put down my fork and took a swallow of tea. "It's hard to know until we have a positive identification of the victim. If she's who I think she is, then this man was her ex-husband. They weren't getting along."
"How would he have learned that she was here? The Daughters of the Moon are very closed-mouthed."
"So I've discovered," I said dryly. "The woman you knew as Ruth called her mother and said she was staying at an old church camp. The suspect had heard locals talking about the teenagers coming to Camp Pearly Gates, so he simply followed the bus. He arrived in Dunkicker when we did, which was about ten o'clock yesterday morning. The body was found at four. His story is that he parked his truck behind Crank Nickle's barn and proceeded to get drunk. I'm not sure what time Corporal Robarts-"
"Call him Anthony," she said with a coy smile, "and please call me Willetta. I'd always dreamed of having a daughter, but now all I can hope for is a daughter-in-law with whom I can share a warm relationship. I do pray that before I die, I will have grandchildren romping at my knees."
I took another swallow of tea, wishing it were something more potent. "As I was saying, I'm not sure what time the suspect was taken into custody, but it was after the storm came in. He had the better part of five hours to go to the grounds, lurk in the woods near the Beamers' cabins, and follow his ex-wife when she went for a walk." I paused as Colleen came out of the kitchen and put a piece of rhubarb pie in front of me. "You seem to have some idea about the Beamers. The ones I've spoken to are indeed closed-mouthed."
"But Ruth called her mother, you said. What precisely did she tell her?"
"Just where she was staying and that she'd be leaving in a few days. What I'd like to know is how she and the others came here in the first place. It's hard to see them reading ads in newspapers."
Willetta, as I'd been instructed to call her, took a small bite of pie and pushed her plate away. "Did Ruth not give her mother any hints?"
"Not from what I was told. What I'd really like to do is talk to the Beamer called Deborah. You negotiated free lodgings and utilities in exchange for community service. Was this with Deborah?"
"I believe so." She tinkled a crystal bell, and when Colleen appeared, said, "Wrap several pieces of chicken and biscuits in a dish towel and take it to the police department. There is a prisoner in the cell in the back room. Require him to remain on the cot while you put the food within his reach. Do not under any circumstances unlock the cell door. He very well could have murdered a woman yesterday."
"Yeah, Maddy Van told me about that last night. One of those creeps, huh?"
"That will do, Colleen," said Willetta. "After you return, you may finish cleaning up the kitchen and take the rest of the day off. Anthony and I will fend for ourselves at suppertime. Arly, I hope you'll join us. It will be a simple meal of cold chicken and salad, but we'd both love to hear more about you."
Colleen gave me an amused look, then went back to the kitchen.
"What can you tell me about Deborah?" I asked, ignoring the invitation. "Do you have any idea where she stays?"
"With the others, I assume."
I wished I'd taken a class in Fork Flinging 101. "How did she know to approach you about living in Camp Pearly Gates?"
"Let me try to recall." She blotted her lips with her napkin and gazed blankly at her tea glass for a full minute. "Why, yes, it's come back to me. Approximately two years ago, Anthony heard rumors that there were squatters in the cabins. He investigated, then reported back to me. My first impulse was to have them arrested for trespassing, but he persuaded me to meet with them and so I did. Because they were afraid to come into town, they were surviving on meager supplies. The children were all skin and bones, like little refugees. Anthony is far more warmhearted than he allows others to see. He suggested, since the lodge was not being used at the time, we allow them to stay there and arrange for a few of them to work here in town to earn enough money to feed the children."
"But you know nothing about them?"
"They are devout religious women with children. Anthony saw that right away. Are you a Baptist, Arly?"
I opted to miss the question. "And this was arranged with Deborah?"
Willetta's lips pursed. "I've already told you all that I can. They go about their business and cause no problems."
"You said earlier that Deborah comes to you for assistance when they need medicine for a sick child."
"She appears at the door when there is a problem she cannot resolve. Only a week ago, one of the children came down with a frightful cough. They lacked the resources to take the child to an emergency room, but Doc Schmidt donated his services."
"But what about Deborah?" I said stubbornly. "Why did she bring her group here in the first place? Where does she find recruits? How can I find her?"
Willetta rang the bell, then chuckled. "Silly me, I forgot that I sent Colleen on an errand of mercy. I truly hope you'll join us for supper, Arly. Perhaps we'll play a game of Scrabble afterward. Anthony has an impressive vocabulary."
