by Joan Hess
I waited by the car until I saw Larry Joe emerge from a path that probably led to the boys' cabin. In that he was struggling with his zipper, I had a good idea what he'd been doing. I leaned against the hood until he joined me.
"Everything okay now?" he asked.
"Not yet. About all I've learned is that the victim was Norella Buchanon-and no, we don't know for sure who killed her. Keep up the good work."
Before he could protest, I went across the lawn to the porch. Mrs. Jim Bob sat on the wicker chair as though it were the first pew in the Assembly Hall. I was pretty sure which one of us had elected herself to cast the first stone.
Her eyes narrowed as I came up the steps. "Have you anything to tell us?"
"We're still investigating. Brother Verber was a big help, by the way. I brought him back so he could rest after the long ride to Little Rock and back."
"What's this about Norella Buchanon? I just happened to be standing outside the kitchen when I heard Estelle and Ruby Bee discussing her. You should have come to me. I could have told you a great deal more than they can about her tawdry behavior. She was the first woman asked to resign from the Missionary Society since Elspeth Caskell took to wearing miniskirts to church."
"But surely, as a compassionate and forgiving Christian, you'll be praying for her-and Elspeth, too."
"Well, of course I will," she said, her lips so tightly compressed that she could barely get out the words. "It's too late to save her soul, but I never abandon hope that a black sheep can be cleansed of sin and be brought back into the flock."
I left her to her ovine beneficence and went into the kitchen. Ruby Bee was flattening dough on a cookie sheet.
"Pizza," she said in response to what would have been my next question. "You found Duluth yet?"
"No, but the victim was Norella. He's probably hitching back to Maggody."
"Unless he's thinking to hang around until he can snatch the boys," said Estelle as she came in from the back patio.
"That may be. I wish there were a way to rattle those damn Beamers into talking. They might as well be aliens. The irony is that I'm the one saying, 'Take me to your leader.'" I sat and watched Ruby Bee start on a second pizza crust. "Just how much food did you bring? Did you loot the SuperSaver on your way out of town? Is the National Guard going to be there when I get back?"
"I had a lot in the freezer, and it's a good thing I did. Once I saw what was going on, I told Mrs. Jim Bob in no uncertain terms that I was taking charge of the kitchen. I could tell from the look on her face that she wanted to argue with me, but she finally just stalked off, saving me the trouble of whacking her with a spatula. It still may happen before the week's out."
"Ruby Bee," I said, "how about you let Estelle finish that so you can do me a favor? You'll be back in time to sprinkle on the cheese and put them in the oven."
"What kind of favor?" she said suspiciously.
"A small kind of favor. It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours." I gave her my most beseeching look. "I really need your help."
Estelle butted in, as she's been known to do on more than one occasion. "I don't reckon I heard myself being consulted. What if I was aiming to get in some fishing this afternoon?"
Ruby Bee took off her apron and dropped it on the table. "All you have to do is finish patting down the other crusts. Cover 'em with damp dish towels and go fish your heart out. Maybe you can win a tournament and be named the reigning Miss Crappie."
"Better than being Miss Crabby," she retorted.
"Somebody must have baited your hook with a sourball," Ruby Bee said with a sniff of disdain. "Come on, Arly. I can always make another batch of dough later."
When we were in the dining room, I looked her over. She was wearing a skirt and a pink blouse. Instead of the support hose and orthopedic shoes she usually wore at the Bar & Grill, her legs were bare and she had on sneakers.
"What're you staring at?" she asked. "I got a bug in my hair or something?"
"I'll explain in the car. Let's go."
I gave Mrs. Jim Bob a vague smile as we went across the porch and out to Estelle's station wagon. Larry Joe scratched his head as he watched us from the edge of the water. Of the kids, only Jarvis bothered to look over his shoulder as we drove away.
"You planning to tell me what we're doing?" said Ruby Bee as she yanked the rearview mirror around so she could inspect her hair. "If this is nothing but a wild goose chase, I'd just as soon go fishing with Estelle. I'm getting too old for tomfoolery."
"No, you're not."
She returned the mirror to an approximation of its previous position, and leaned back. "I was thinking I ought to get myself a job as a cook in one of those smarmy retirement homes. That way, they'll feel obliged to take me in when my mind goes and I can't tell the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon. Just this morning, I came close to dumping cinnamon 'stead of black pepper in the gravy. The day before the fire, I made half a dozen apple pies and left out the sugar. When Roy Stiver took a bite, he puckered up like I'd used green persimmons instead of perfectly good Granny Smiths."
"Everybody has lapses now and then," I said comfortingly. "Last week I left a load in the washing machine at the Suds of Fun for four days."
"Elsie McMay calls them 'senior moments.' She said she heard it on one of those afternoon talk shows. I'm surprised she remembered the phrase. She's still looking for her upper plate."
"Let's worry about that later," I said. "Now listen up so I can tell you what I want you to do."
"Dahlia, my dearest, I brung you a little present," called Kevin as he came into the house. He paused, bumfuzzled, when he saw her sitting in the darkened living room, the blinds all closed like a dead man's eyes. "Is something wrong, my lusty warrior princess?"
"The babies is napping," she muttered as she sucked on a can of grape Nehi. "I been up since dawn, dressing 'em, feeding 'em, burping 'em, and changing their diapers. Then your pa has to go and insult me like I ain't any smarter than a mess of collard greens. First, he goes saying that Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie ain't identical-"
Kevin sat down beside her on the couch. "You know how Pa can be. Most mornings Ma makes him eat his breakfast on the back porch so she don't have to listen to him. Doncha want to know what I brought you?"
"What?" she growled.
"A great big ol' gallon of fat-free frozen yogurt. You want I should fix you a bowl?"
"Your pa just doesn't understand about twins," she said, refusing to be distracted. "I carried them in my belly, side by side like ying and yang, or whatever they call it."
He tried to stroke said belly, but she batted his hand away. Scooting down the couch, he said, "How's little Earl doing today?"
"Or Earlette," she said, glaring in case he attempted another move on her. "The doctor ain't told me if it's a boy or a girl. After what your pa said to me today, I ain't so sure I want to name this baby after him. Maybe we ought to name him after my grandpa Eckzemma."
"You think?" said Kevin.
Dahlia squinted at him with a real unfriendly expression. "You got a problem with that?"
"Whatever you want, my lotus blossom." He put the frozen yogurt into the freezer and came back to the living room. "There is something I ought should tell you, though. When I stopped at the supermarket to buy the yogurt, I happened to mention to Idalupino about the ad you saw for child models."
"You went talking to Idalupino about our private business?"
Kevin braced himself. "She said her cousin Charo saw the very same ad and called the number. Turns out it was a motel room down by the airport. Charo made an appointment and showed up real promptly, thinking she'd come away with a modeling contract. What happened was she found herself obliged to write a check for more than four hundred dollars just so this feller would take a bunch of pictures of her baby for what he said was a portfolio. When she gets the photographs in the mail, she's supposed to submit them herself to advertising agencies in California and New York."
&nb
sp; "Identical twins are different," said Dahlia.
Kevin had to work on this one for a minute. He had a gut feeling that no matter what he said, it wouldn't sit well.
He was saved when Dahlia continued. "Babies are cute enough, most of them, anyway, but identical twins are special."
"Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie are real special," he said diplomatically, "but that don't mean this feller in a motel room can guarantee they'll be making a million dollars this time next year. We've only got six hundred dollars in our account, and we need to be saving up for the blessed arrival of"-he gulped-"little Eckzemma. We're gonna need another crib and more diapers. The washing machine's likely to explode any day now."
Dahlia didn't have the heart to tell him that they didn't have six hundred dollars in the account, but more like twenty dollars and seventy-three cents-and that the washing machine had spewed water on the floor before it had burped one final time and died.
"I ain't much of an actress," said Ruby Bee as she, Bonita, and I got out of the station wagon at the Beamers' campsite. "I was the tooth decay fairy in a play in third grade, but all I had to do was leer at the audience. I disremember having any lines. If I did, I most likely flubbed 'em."
I squeezed her hand. "Do you recollect when that snippety woman from the health department tried to issue you a citation for the mouse droppings in the pantry? You squared your shoulders and told her that you weren't taking any guff from her. That's all I want you to do. You don't have to initiate any exchanges, but just make it clear that you're the authority figure. Remind yourself of that morning when you caught me crawling in the window and damn near blistered my skin with your stare. I'll do the rest."
"You think they'll fall for this?" asked Bonita.
"As long as you back me up, they will," I said with such confidence I almost fooled myself. "Ruby Bee, you are now Mrs. Coldwater from the Department of Family Services. You are empowered by the state to remove these children and place them in shelters until foster care can be arranged."
"I don't know anything about foster care," she protested, getting antsier than an understudy peering from behind the curtain on a Broadway stage.
"Keep repeating this to yourself," I said. "'I am empowered by the state to remove these children and place them in shelters until foster care can be arranged.' That's all you have to say."
"But what if they agree? You intending to load the children in the back of the station wagon and take them back to the lodge?"
I shook my head resolutely. "They won't agree."
"Five bucks says they do," murmured Bonita.
"Then what a high time you'll have tonight at the Woantell Motel," I said. "Wait till Harve runs that bill by the quorum court. You may find yourself wearing his badge before you expected."
Judith appeared from inside the cabin, her face furrowed with displeasure. Ruby Bee's less-than-subtle gasp reminded me that she had yet to encounter a Beamer. "Stay calm," I warned her as we halted by the clothesline.
"You're back," said Judith.
"Got that right. Where's Deputy Robarts?"
"At the schoolhouse with Naomi and the children. Every Sunday they spend the afternoon studying the Bible and memorizing verses. At supper, we give an award for the best achievement."
I elbowed Ruby Bee, who squawked, "I'm from the Department of Family Services."
"Oh, really?" drawled Judith. "You look as though you got lost on your way home from the bowling alley."
As I'd hoped, Ruby Bee turned ornery. Jabbing her finger at Judith, she said, "Now you listen here, you tacky tabloid centerfold, I don't have to put up with any lip from the likes of you! If you don't cooperate, we'll have the children in shelters in Little Rock afore you can pluck another hair from your eyebrows. I want to see them right this minute. Where are they?"
"I'll take you," Bonita said.
"Send Naomi back here," I said, wondering how Judith would respond. "Then you and Mrs. Coldwater need to get names and home addresses."
"They will not cooperate," Judith said, sounding a bit uneasy. "You have to understand that this does not mean they're neglected or abused. We see to their physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. The only things they've been deprived of are violent video games and R-rated movies. Their lives are structured. Any punishment that is meted out is done only after a community meeting, and then with reluctance and restraint."
I sent Ruby Bee and Bonita down the path. "But they're allowed to run free in the campgrounds? Yesterday one of my girls chased a four-year-old all over the woods, losing him when the storm came in."
"Damon is seven, but small for his age," she said. "He told me about it later. All of them are curious when we're invaded by outsiders."
"Was Ruth curious, too? Is that why she went down by the softball field?"
Judith sat down on the bench of the picnic table. "She went to look for Damon, or so she told me."
"You wouldn't go looking for your child?"
"I adopted my sister's girls after she died. They're eleven and thirteen."
I looked around. "And they're content to live among the squirrels and rabbits and memorize Bible verses on Sunday? No mall time, no MTV? They don't sound like typical teenagers."
"It's been hard on them," she admitted, "but they agreed to come here."
"At what age do you shave their heads?" I asked bluntly.
"It won't come to that."
"Then you won't be staying, either? The woman named Leah is history. Ester left a week ago. Ruth called her mother a few days ago and said she would be leaving shortly."
"That's absurd. We have no access to telephones, and even if we did, we all swore not to make any calls to friends or family members. Calls can be traced to their origin. Ruth made no calls to anyone."
I wandered over to the garden. "Did Ruth say why she came here in the first place?"
"Our conversations were limited to the schedule and assignment of duties."
I was sadly lacking in women friends in Maggody these days, but I remembered what it had been like in Manhattan when I'd gone to lunch and swilled white wine all afternoon at whichever café was trendiest at the moment. Ruby Bee and Estelle talked incessantly over sherry, often long past closing; Elsie and Eula may have claimed all they ever drank was tea, but we knew better. Millicent poured out her heart whenever she had a permanent, and Dahlia came by the PD every now and then to tell me about Kevin's latest boneheaded remark. Even Mrs. Jim Bob's confidential sessions with Brother Verber qualified in their own perverse way.
Unlike Judith, I had eyebrows to raise. "The Daughters of the Moon never talked to each other? Here you all are, stuck in the middle of nowhere, scrubbing clothes in the creek and making soap, all in total silence? Nobody had a life before she submitted to bad hair? Nobody had a bozo of a boyfriend or a husband who limited his conversation to grunts and drank himself into a stupor on the sofa every night? Nobody wanted to sit out here on the picnic table at night and talk about whatever sent her here? Were you all brainwashed? This is beyond preposterous, Judith-or whatever your name is!"
"We abide by the rules," said a voice from the path.
I turned around. "You're Naomi?"
I would have offered a description, except she looked like the others. Pale skin, shaved head, dark lipstick, draped in a white robe that hid any physical idiosyncrasies. At best, she qualified as "ditto."
"And you are?" she countered.
"Take a guess," I said, still simmering with frustration. "You are aware that Ruth was found murdered yesterday, aren't you? I realize communication skills aren't what they might be around here, but surely this was mentioned to you."
"So you're the cop," she said as she sat down next to Judith. "There's nothing I can tell you about Ruth."
Surprise, surprise. "All right, then," I said, "tell me about yourself."
"My name is Naomi. I tend to the children and help Judith with meal preparation. When it becomes feasible, I'll have a job in Dunkicker."
&
nbsp; "What would make it feasible?"
"We're short-handed at the moment," said Judith. "Two of us are needed here to handle domestic concerns. We rely on Rachael to earn enough to purchase staples, and on Sarah to bring back leftovers when she can. Preacher Skinbalder often slips her a few dollars from the collection plate, which helps."
"And how does Deborah make her contribution? Does she prowl homeless shelters and bus stations, looking for recruits?"
Judith's eyes shifted away. "In a manner of speaking."
I gave her a moment to elaborate, then said, "We found your cars behind the body shop, by the way. We're running the plates right now, and should hear back by late this afternoon. Two from Arkansas, one from Oklahoma, and one from… Missouri. Either of you ready to volunteer a hometown?"
"We have no hometowns," Judith insisted, but without her earlier conviction.
"Well, I'm sure Mrs. Coldwater can persuade the children to cooperate. She can be very grandmotherly when it suits her. I don't enjoy allowing children to be manipulated, but I'll do so unless you work with me. What's more, local police will be knocking on doors this evening, and questioning neighbors if necessary. If you don't want your families to know where you are, you'd better start explaining."
"None of us committed any crimes," Naomi said sulkily. "This isn't one of those cults where the children are starved or beaten. There's no fat white guy making all the women have sex with him. The only weapons around here are homemade bows and arrows. You have no right to interfere with us."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry to say that I have. One of your members was murdered not more than half a mile from here. Someone committed a crime, and a serious one at that."
Naomi looked at Judith. "Do we have to tell her where we're from?"
"Eventually, although the information may not be as clear-cut as she hopes. I, for one, did not drive a car to Dunkicker, and neither did Rachael."
