Madness In Maggody

11

When I got to the PD, I called Harve to see if he'd heard anything from the state lab on the second and third incidents of poisoning. He hadn't, but the lab moved exceedingly slowly and neither of us bothered to feign any surprise.

"You working on the list of witnesses?" he asked.

I told him what Cherri Lucinda Crate had said the previous night on the balcony of the Airport Arms Apartments. "It's screwy," I added. "I can't think of any reason either of them would bother to lie about it."

"Folks lie all the time," he said succinctly.

"I know they do," I said, sighing, "but usually for some perceptible motive. Jim Bob's whereabouts at eleven o'clock Monday night aren't relevant-or at least I don't think they are. What may or may not have happened in her apartment is only of prurient interest."

"Guess you better run it by him again, tell him what the gal said and ask him what all he's got to say. Hold on a minute, Arly, I got to see a man about a horse."

I leaned back in my chair and propped my feet on the desk. If the V formed by my feet was the gizmo at the end of a barrel, I'd have a clean shot at my visitor's seat across the room. I twitched my feet for a minute, frowning, then let it slide and picked up the notes I'd written after talking to Dahlia. Almost all the scribbles had question marks at the end, and when Harve came back on the line, I went over them with him.

"So the sauce could have been spiked Friday night or Saturday morning," I said. "But according to Jim Bob's statement, the SuperSaver was uninhabited that night because there wasn't any cash in the registers. Dahlia and the other two cooks showed up early in the morning and were in the kitchen until the tamales were taken out to the pavilion."

"Which puts us right back where we were. Unless you want to pin it on the cooks or a cheerleader, one of the folks in the area went over to the table and dumped ipecac on the tamales. And unless we got a copycat, that same person got nastier and nastier till the Smew woman died."

"Damn it, I wish we knew what was in that coconut cake," I said. "At some point Monday evening or during the night, someone must have set the tampered cakes out where they'd be the easiest to pick up."

"Weren't many folks there during the night," Harve pointed out. "You'd better look harder at those who came by before the SuperSaver closed and had reasons to resent it."

Like Ruby Bee. "Wait a minute," I said, getting so excited that my feet nearly slid off the desk. "According to Jim Bob, the regular schedule calls for Buzz Milvin to come in at nine, total the register tapes, and count the money. Jim Bob verifies it and takes the money to the night depository in Starley City. But something changed Monday night, and Jim Bob sent Buzz with the money and then went to Cherri Lucinda's apartment or not, depending on whose story you believe."

"So the store was empty for what-about an hour?"

"Not exactly," I said slowly, "but I think it's time for a long talk with Kevin Buchanon. Dahlia hinted at dark secrets. Kevin will spill the beans if I have to handcuff him and hoist him into the sweet gum tree in his backyard."

Harve chuckled and wished me luck.

I called the hospital and learned that Buzz was out of immediate danger but still hooked up to various support systems and unable to have visitors. Martin Milvin was fully conscious and would be released after twenty-four more hours of observation. I wanted to pass along the news to Lissie, but Joyce's line was busy and I was primed to tackle Kevin Buchanon.

He was sitting on the porch swing, looking as distracted as Dahlia had earlier, although he wasn't shoveling cookies into his mouth. "How's it going?" he asked as I came onto the porch.

"Not well," I said. "You've heard that Buzz and Martin Milvin were poisoned and Lillith Smew may have been murdered?"

"Yeah, my ma heard something from somebody last night when she was swapping recipes. Buzz is a pretty good ol' guy for the most part, and I feel real bad for all of them."

I gave him an icy look. "Then maybe you'll cooperate? I don't know what you and Dahlia have been up to, but I want to hear the truth-and I want to hear it now."

His face turned splotchy and he began to gulp loudly. He grabbed the arm of the swing, staring at me as if I'd announced I'd come to arrest him for murder and execute him on the spot.

"Calm down," I said, retreating to the edge of the porch and hastily assessing my chances if I stepped back into the azaleas. "I just want to know what happened Monday night, that's all."

"That's all?"

I nodded. "That's all, Kevin-unless you're in the mood to confess to serial murders or unsafe sex."

Apparently I'd said something else wrong. A gurgling noise came from his throat, as if it had been slashed. "You're one of them," he gasped, pointing a trembling finger at me. "I didn't think you was like them, but now I know. All you folks do is gossip and tell tales and turn innocent stories into big fat lies!" He covered his face with his hands and moaned, his shoulders jerking and his feet pounding on the porch in an unsteady cadence.

Eilene came to the screened door. "Morning, Arly. What on earth's the matter with Kevin?"

"I don't know," I murmured to her. "I made a small joke, not very funny, and he suddenly…went to pieces and…I don't know what to tell you, Eilene. I didn't mean to upset him."

She came out onto the porch and rapped him on the head. "Stop this nonsense at once, young man. Do you want someone walking by to hear you carrying on like this? After what happened last week, I'd like to think you'd be a little more worried about making a spectacle of yourself."

Kevin moaned loudly. Anyone walking by would be more likely to wonder if the family had adopted a terminally ill coyote.

"Did something happen last week?" I asked. I couldn't see how it related to my investigation, but the intensity of Kevin's reaction was curious.

Eilene gave me a bright smile, but she sounded embarrassed as she said, "Just a little problem between Kevin and his fiancée. Kevin's pa had a word with him in the woodshed afterward, and I don't believe there'll be any more of that."

"Good," I said vaguely. I told Eilene to tell Kevin I'd come by later when he was more in the mood to discuss Monday night, then went to my car and pulled out into Finger Lane.

And saw the brick pillars on either side of Hizzoner's driveway, a J and a B, both beckoning to me. If I couldn't get anything out of Kevin-except a primitive display of histrionics-then it might be a good time to have a run at Hizzoner…in his own home and, with any luck, his own wife at his side.

The investigation hadn't progressed, but I discovered I was in a much better mood as I drove up the winding road to the pretentious redbrick house on top of the hill.

I rang the doorbell several times. I was about to leave when Hizzoner opened the door, said, "Wait, I'm on the telephone long distance," and slammed the door.

I walked up and down the porch until he returned five minutes later. "I've got some questions," I said, wondering if he remembered our conversation the previous night at the bar and grill.

"So do I," he said. "I wish to hell you'd tell me where Lamont Petrel is. If I don't get forty grand to the wholesaler by tomorrow, he'll slap a lien on the store and we won't be able to close the loan. Then the folks with the construction loan'll get antsy, and gawd only knows what they'll do. I can come up with my share, but I sure as hell can't cover the whole ball of wax. I'm having to make payroll out of my pocket as it is, because the SuperSaver gets closed down every time I turn around to piss downwind."

He was upset, but not especially at me, which was a refreshing change. I almost felt a twinge of guilt as I said, "My questions have to do with your purported visit to Cherri Lucinda Crate Monday night at eleven."

He grabbed my arm and pulled me off the porch and away from the house. "What's purported about it?" he said in a low voice, keeping an eye on the front door.

"I questioned her last night, and she said she was alone Monday night, doing her nails and watching a movie. She said she hadn't seen you in a long time, and even asked how you were doing."

"That little bitch! She knows damn well I was there. Are you sure you questioned the right person?"

"Airport Arms Apartments, top floor on the end," I said, shrugging. "She said she was Crate, but I didn't demand to see her driver's license."

"Blond hair and two-inch fingernails?"

"She had a towel on her head, so I didn't see her hair. I did see the fingernails, though. They were rather striking."

"That's her." Jim Bob began to pace between the shrubs, his brow wrinkled and his mouth twisted to one side. "And she said she hadn't seen me anytime lately, did she? I've got a hundred witnesses who could say different. Jesus H. Christ, I dunno what the hell's going on. Maybe I'm going crazy, what with the bank breathing down my neck like a slobbery dog, and the wholesaler whining, and Petrel off somewhere working on his tan or screwing some waitress while I get all the shit."

"You have no idea where he is?"

"If I knew where he was, I wouldn't be neck-deep in shit! I'd be dragging him back so we get this straightened out." He banged his fist against his palm, no doubt wishing Petrel's face was available.

"The state police will find him eventually," I said. "But I have to know what happened Monday night. Why did you send Buzz to make the deposit?"

"What the fuck difference does it…" He stopped pacing and looked down at the lawn for a moment, his eyes narrowed with thought. "Petrel's car still parked at the Flamingo Motel?"

"As far as I know." I waited for him to continue, but he gave me a studiously flat look and I couldn't for the life of me guess what he was up to. "Does that tell you something?" I said at last.

"Yeah. He didn't drive it away. Listen, I got better things to do than stand here answering a bunch of dumb questions. I sent Milvin to Starley City 'cause it was too damn much trouble to go myself. I don't know why Cherri Lucinda said I wasn't there, but it's not a big deal one way or the other. I didn't stick pins in the cupcakes. Run along and do something useful, Chief. Peel dead animals off the highway or bust one of the kids for smoking pot. Better yet, see if you can teach that runty team of yours how to play baseball. The game's still on, ain't it?"

He strutted across the porch and went into the house. I'd had such impressive success with my three witnesses that I knew absolutely nothing I hadn't known before, except that Dahlia and Kevin had had a spat, Jim Bob was in financial trouble if Petrel stayed gone, and the game was still scheduled for Thursday afternoon.

Heather Riley gaped at Darla Jean, her jaw going up and down as if she was chewing taffy. "Say that again," she said in a stunned voice.

"Now I'm only trying to talk to you for your own good, Heather, 'cause it's not healthy to keep stuff like that bottled up inside you. It'll give you ulcers, and your grades will go down and you'll get kicked off the pom-pom squad."

"Just repeat what you said," Heather commanded.

"I heard Elsie McMay tell my ma about what that horrible man did to you," Darla Jean said, worried that she ought not to have brought up the subject if Heather didn't want to talk about it, after all. But she had, so she plunged ahead and explained to Heather about hearing that she'd been raped by Lamont Petrel and run down by a truck and been so traumatized that she hadn't told anybody.

Heather hugged herself as she listened to the story, and when Darla Jean ran down, she merely said, "So I'm traumatized, huh?"

"It's most likely caused amnesia. That's my opinion, 'cause I saw a show on television where the exact same thing happened. Staci said she thought maybe you just wanted to spare Beau Swiggins from having to beat the guy up, but Rene and Debbi and Melanie all agreed that was stupid, because Beau's bound to find out sooner or later."

"Beau doesn't know?"

"Of course not, Heather! You think we'd talk about you behind your back?"

"Is he still dating that Janine from Emmet with the big boobs and fat ankles?"

"Yeah, but Billy Dick said he asked if you've dated anybody since you two broke up. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Billy Dick said Beau said he'd beat the shit out of anybody that even asked you out."

"Is Janine putting out for him?" Heather asked. When Darla jean nodded, she said, "All the way?"

"But I think he still loves you. He's just going with Janine to get back at you for not being a cheerleader for the SuperSavers. Billy Dick shared the beer with him, but it wasn't the same, I guess."

"I guess not," Heather said distractedly. The lurid story had upset her initially, along with the knowledge that every last soul in town-except for Beau, apparently-had been discussing it nonstop. Somehow Jim Bob putting his hand on her knee had now escalated into some guy named Petrel raping her on the office floor and leaving her traumatized to the point of amnesia.

She considered the possibility that she had been raped and then blocked it out, but decided that was nonsense because she remembered every last second of the tacky interview. She'd stomped out of the office and was stomping home when she ran into Miss Estes, who'd noticed Heather's red cheeks and mentioned the risk of heatstroke and so had ended up hearing about Jim Bob.

And Beau was doing it with Janine, who'd do it with her pa and all her uncles if they asked nicely. It wasn't Beau's fault he was going with a slut who probably flopped down on her back, spread her knees, and told him it was open house.

He'd been pissed when she refused to be a cheerleader, and he'd even said she was just a prude and a cockteaser who wouldn't prove that she loved him by taking a blanket to a particular place beside Boone Creek where a lot of love was proved on a nightly basis and quite a bit more on weekends.

But how was he going to feel when he found out she had been raped and was currently amnesiated? Awful. He'd feel downright awful and be sorry and beg her to go steady again.

"Are you okay?" Darla Jean asked. "You have the funniest look on your face. Are you beginning to remember?"

Heather massaged her temples and, without a whole lot of effort, assumed a bewildered expression. "I think I am, but just bits and pieces. It's kinda like a puzzle with a whole lot of pieces missing. The trauma's still there, just like you said, but I'm in a foggy tunnel and it's dark and I can't quite make out anything."

Darla Jean was impressed. "That's spooky, ain't it? Can you remember what he did when he threw you down on the floor? Did you cry or kick him? Did it…hurt when he…did it?"

"It hurt something terrible. It was the worst thing in my entire life, and I'm just going to have to face it before I develop ulcers." She looked down at her bedspread while she did some more remembering. "I struggled with all my might. I yelled and kicked, but he held my wrists in one hand while he ripped off my clothes with the other."

"Oh, my gawd," Darla Jean said. She sat down next to Heather and patted her knee. "Then what happened?"

"I cried out for Beau," she said simply. "It was silly, of course, 'cause there weren't no way he could hear me and come save me from being brutalized by that monster."

"He's gonna absolutely die when he hears that. It's gonna cut his heart in pieces like it was a buzz saw ripping into a log."

"But we can't let him find out. You've got to swear to keep this between you and me, Darla Jean. Beau'd get so upset, he'd go kill the guy, then he couldn't play football and maybe get a college scholarship. It'd ruin his life."

"I won't tell a living soul," Darla Jean vowed, almost in tears from hearing all this nobleness and sacrifice. She knew Billy Dick would be just as touched, although she'd have to make him swear not to repeat it to anyone, ever. Especially not to Beau.

"That was Joyce," Ruby Bee said as she replaced the receiver and gave Estelle a grim look. "She called to warn me because that fellow stayed here and might come back. I saw him the other night, you know. Well, at least I heard him creeping around outside, but it was too dark to do more than catch a glimpse of him."

"And that makes about as much sense as turkey potpie," Estelle said in that snooty voice Ruby Bee couldn't stand. "Warn you about what fellow?"

"Lamont Petrel," Ruby Bee said in her unfriendly voice, which she knew Estelle couldn't stand. "Joyce called to say Petrel is on a rampage raping women all across the county. She thinks she saw somebody in the backyard way out by those forsythia bushes by the fence. She's locked in the house and calling to warn everybody."

"Does Arly know? It seems to me she's the one who ought to be doing something-if the story's true. I for one am not sure. Lamont seemed like a real gentleman to me. When you introduced us, I thought for a second he was going to kiss my hand like they do in movies about foreigners."

"Now who's talking turkey potpie?"

"Well, Miss Mind Reader, it's a relief to know you're keeping track of everything I think. Why doncha tell me what I'm thinking now? Go ahead; I'll think of a number between one and a hundred and you tell me what it is."

"We don't have time for that kind of foolishness, not with a rapist in town. I'd better call Arly and have her get the sheriff over to Joyce's before something tragic happens." Ruby Bee dialed the number at the PD, and when there was no answer, the number at the apartment, getting grimmer with each ring. At last, a small voice answered. "Hammet, where's Arly?" Ruby Bee demanded.

She listened for a minute, then told him to stay in the apartment with the door locked. "Hammet says she went out to talk to folks and he doesn't know who or where or when she'll be back," she reported to Estelle. "I guess we ought to call the sheriff ourselves, even if it is long distance."

She was reaching for the telephone when Estelle grabbed her wrist and said, "Wait a minute. I just thought of something."

"I already told you we don't have time for parlor games. That maniac might be breaking into Joyce's house right this second, or cutting across Perkins's pasture and heading this way to attack you and me."

"This ain't a parlor game. You said something that jiggled my memory, and it may be important."

"Then spit it out and let me call the sheriff," Ruby Bee said, bowing to the inevitable, as usual.

"When we were talking about Lamont Petrel the other day, you said you let him stay in number four because he was quiet and real good about paying for his long-distance calls."

"So what? I wouldn't have let him stay if I'd known he was a rapist. I don't cater to that sort of customer, not any more than you'd offer to trim his hair."

Estelle shook her head violently, getting so agitated that a bobby pin went flying across the bar. "He made long-distance calls, and they're on your bill. We have a list of all the numbers he called while he was staying in number four."

"That's not going to help Joyce Lambertino. Calling Sheriff Dorfer and telling him to get his fat butt over there might. Let go of my wrist so I can do it."

"Hold your horses," Estelle said, although she did let go of Ruby Bee's wrist. "I'm not convinced Petrel is a rapist or that Joyce is watching him out the window. If she's so all fired scared, let her call the sheriff instead of all the folks in town. We've got ourselves a clue as to where Petrel might be hiding or if he's in cahoots with somebody."

"You're saying he called a cab to pick him up during the grand opening? There's gonna be a call to a hotel somewhere because he wanted to make reservations to disappear?" She looked at the telephone, but she had to admit (to herself, of course) Joyce was pretty dadburned chatty for someone in imminent danger of being raped.

"I don't know who he called, but I think we ought to have a look at the last bill," Estelle persisted. "It can't hurt to look at it, for Pity's sake."

"I suppose not." Ruby Bee grumbled under her breath all the way out to her unit, grumbled all the time she rummaged through her drawer for the latest bill, which had come that very week, and then grumbled all the way back to the bar and grill. "Here it is, Ms. Magnum P.I."

Despite her tone, she was beginning to get excited, too, and she leaned over Estelle's shoulder. "Some of these are mine," she said, squinting at the numbers. "I called for a doctor's appointment here, and this is to the company that delivers the paper goods. The delivery man showed up without napkins, and I knew for a fact I'd ordered two cases, but he said-"

"Here's one to Texas. You didn't call Texas for napkins, did you? Here's another one to the same number, and another one the day of the grand opening!"

"He said something about it being a supermarket company," Ruby Bee said, trying to recollect. "He stopped by and wrote a check Saturday morning, and apologized for having to make a passel of last-minute business calls from his room. Look here, he called this number in Farberville four times, including the day of the grand opening. It's likely to be a wholesale grocer."

"There's a simple way to find out," Estelle said, nibbling on her lip as she studied the bill. "Call it."

Ruby Bee started to mention that it was her bill they were putting long-distance calls on, but she went ahead and dialed the number as Estelle read it aloud. "Hello," she said briskly. "Who's this?"

"Who's this?" a woman's voice responded.

"It's…ah, it's possible I dialed the wrong number," Ruby Bee said, giving Estelle a panicky look. "If it's not too much trouble, just tell me who you are and I'll tell you if it's the wrong number."

"It's the wrong number. Trust me."

Frowning, Ruby Bee put down the receiver and said, "She hung up. I don't think this is going to work, Estelle. Folks don't want to tell you their names in case you're getting ready to sell them storm windows or portraits at a photography place."

"I got an idea." Estelle picked up the receiver, dialed the same number, and when the woman answered, said, "This is Miss Oppers with the telephone company. We're verifying a long-distance call that was charged to this number. I'll have to have your name and address, ma'am." After a moment, she handed the receiver to Ruby Bee. "She hung up, and she was right rude about it, too. You'd think she'd have the decency to answer a polite question from the telephone company. I didn't ask her how much she weighed or if her hair color was natural."

"Let's let her cool off, " Ruby Bee said as she picked up the bill and studied it. "Here're more numbers that I don't recognize, and in Farberville, too."

One turned out to be a wholesaler with a secretary who announced as much when she answered. Ruby Bee muttered something about the wrong number, hung up, and drew a line through that one. The Miss-Oppers-from-the-telephone-company routine worked on Muriel Petrel, who obliged with the information, even though she'd been in the shower and was standing in an expanding puddle and was wearing a pink and white towel and nothing else. After a certain amount of debate, Ruby Bee grudgingly grudgingly called the Texas number and spoke to a sugary voice at Market Investments and Management Inc.

"Is Mr. Lamont Petrel there?" she asked slyly.

The sugary voice sounded a little confused. "Mr. Petrel is not a member of our firm. Would you care to speak to Mr. Dow or Mr. Long?"

Even though the meter was ticking, Ruby Bee said sure and shortly thereafter found herself speaking to a male voice with the expansive drawl of a Houston wheeler-dealer wearing six-hundred-dollar cowboy boots. "I'm afraid your secretary got it cattywampus," she said, now so overcome with slyness that she could have ransacked a henhouse and had fried chicken for a month. "I'm calling on behalf of Lamont Petrel."

"How's the old fart doing?" Long said genially.

"Fine, real fine. He asked me to call and see if you had any messages for him."

"Put the lazy son of a bitch on the line. I got a joke for him that'll steam the wrinkles out of his dick."

"He can't come to the telephone just now," Ruby Bee said, slylessly. "He's in the other room. You know what I mean?"

Long did, if she didn't. "Reading on the John, huh? Tell him I'll save the joke for next time. Have yourself a nice day, and watch out for Lamont."

"Wait a second! What about the messages?"

"What messages?"

"Mr. Petrel just wanted me to ask if there's-if there's been any change in the plans," Ruby Bee said, clutching the receiver so tightly her fingers hurt.

"You mean he's not going to sell that little supermarket? Fer chrissake, I've been putting the paperwork together and working on the figures all goddamn week. Now you're telling me…" There was a moment of silence. "Who is this?"

"Oops, Mr. Petrel's hollering at me from the other room. It's been real nice talking to you, Mr. Long. You have yourself a real nice day, you hear?" Ruby Bee replaced the receiver and sat down on the nearest stool. "That man thinks Lamont Petrel's going to sell him the supermarket," she told Estelle.

"You think Jim Bob wants to sell it? From what I've heard, he's puffed up about being the manager and having his name in big plastic letters across the front of the building."

"Maybe he didn't before, but now that it's closed down again and everybody's scared because of being poisoned to death, he may have changed his tune," Ruby Bee said thoughtfully. "We ought to tell all this to Arly so she can ask him."

"We don't have anything to tell her yet, and she's real busy with this poisoning investigation. She doesn't have time to wonder if Jim Bob and Lamont are going to sell the SuperSaver-or to find out who the rude woman is at the other end of this telephone number. We can save her a lot of time if we do a little asking on our own."

"She could find out real quick. All she'd have to do is call over to the sheriff's office and have LaBelle call the telephone company." Ruby Bee blinked at Estelle, who blinked back, and within seconds Ruby Bee was doing further damage to her bill by making yet another long-distance call and telling herself she was only saving Arly the bother.

Martin gave me a startled look as I came into his hospital room. I sat down at the end of the bed, patted his leg, and said, "The nurse said you were about ready to go home. We're going to need you tomorrow at the big game."

"Gran's dead."

"Yes, and I'm sorry, Martin. You pa's going to be okay, but he'll have to remain here for a few more days. Lissie's been staying at the Lambertinos' house. I'll ask if you can stay there, too, until your pa gets home and everybody can be together."

He jerked his leg out of reach, then stared out the window and surreptitiously swiped at the wetness on his cheeks. "Yeah, that'll be swell."

"Would you rather stay with me? Hammet sleeps on the couch, but we can fix up something on the floor for you, and I'm sure Hammet would enjoy the company."

"Okay," he said hoarsely. "Did they find what killed Gran and made Pa and me sick?"

"I wanted to talk to you about it yesterday. You and Lissie had breakfast, then she watched television all morning. What about you?"

"I didn't do nothing, just hung around and didn't do nothing special."

"The two of you had spaghetti and corn bread for lunch, right?" He nodded, watching me closely. "At some point in the afternoon, your pa woke up and told Lissie to go outside and play. That left you, your pa, and Gran in the house. We think someone may have tampered with a package of coconut cakes from the supermarket. Did you eat part of one, Martin?"

"No. Pa and Gran might have, but all I had was a root beer and some crackers. I went into my room to work on an airplane model, but later I started feeling bad and lied down on my bed. The next thing I knew, you was squeezing my hand and then I was in an ambulance and then I was here."

My great theory went up in smoke or down the drain, whichever. "You're sure you didn't eat a cake?" I asked.

He gave me an impatient frown. "All I had was a root beer and a handful of crackers, Miss Arly."

The door opened and a young doctor with shiny black hair and a baby face came into the room, humming to himself and swinging a clipboard. When he saw me, however, he stopped abruptly. "Are you this boy's mother?"

"My ma's dead," Martin said. "This is Miss Arly."

"I'm a police officer," I added. "I'm investigating the poisonings."

"And my patient's bruises?" the doctor said angrily.

"Bruises?" I echoed. I tried to think whether Martin had participated in the brawls we referred to as baseball practice. I didn't think he had, but I'd been in the thick of it most of the time and there'd been arms, legs, knees, and fists flying. "Where'd you get bruises, Martin?"

"I fell out of that walnut tree at the side of the house," he said. "I already told this doctor fellow about it. I was chasing after a gimpy squirrel when my foot slipped and I fell on my rear end."

I told the doctor I'd wait in the hall, said goodbye to Martin, and stood by the door until the doctor came out. "I didn't know about any bruises," I said in a low voice. "Could they have resulted from the fall he described?"

"They could have." The doctor glanced at his watch, made a note on his clipboard, and gave me a cool look. "I was planning to call the Department of Human Services to request an inquiry, but I'll leave that up to you. I've been on call for thirty-six hours and I need to crash."

"Then you don't think the bruises came from an accident?" I said, unable to assimilate the possibilities. "You think there's been physical abuse?"

"I don't know. The boy says he fell, and that may be the truth. Or he may have been paddled with a flat object hard enough to leave some big bruises. If you'll excuse me, I want to finish my rounds and get to bed."

The doctor went into the next room. I hesitated, then went into Martin's room and said, "I forgot to tell you that I'll be here tomorrow morning to take you back to Farberville. You want to stay with Hammet and me?"

"Yeah," he said from the bed, his voice so faint I could barely hear it.

I stood beside the bed and looked down at his pale face and watery eyes. "Did you get into trouble with your pa yesterday morning? Lissie said you went to the back bedroom to talk with him. Did he spank you?"

"Nobody touched me. Pa was pissed because I hadn't done my chores the day before. I did 'em all, but Pa said the toolshed was still messy and someone had left the hammer and a handful of nails on the floor. He didn't believe me when I said it must've been Lissie."

"Was it Lissie?"

"I don't rightly recall," he muttered. "But all Pa did was yell at me about putting tools away properly and not skipping my chores again. I said okay and went outside, and that's when I saw the gimpy squirrel in the walnut tree. I was trying to catch him so I could take care of him until his back leg healed up, but then my foot slipped and I fell. The squirrel was in the next county by the time I got my breath back."

"So your pa didn't spank you?" I persisted.

"I fell out of the tree. Pa doesn't ever whip me or Lissie. He just yells. Gran was too sickly to do anything except gripe about her heart and her very close veins and her red spots. If you don't believe me, ask Lissie."

"I believe you," I said, then told him I'd be back the next day and took the elevator to the basement and the intensive-care ward. Through the glass wall of the cubicle, I could see Buzz's gray face under a lot of plastic tubes and wires. The nurse told me he was past the threat of respiratory or cardiac failure, but that they would monitor him for at least another twenty-four hours.

As I drove back to Farberville, I tried to think how Martin had taken a dose of the poison that had killed his grandmother and almost done the same to his father. Root beer and crackers. But Martin had the same symptoms the others had evinced, and he clearly had ingested the poison-not at breakfast, not at lunch, and not for high tea.

I was scowling so hard that I didn't even turn my head as I drove past the Airport Arms Apartments.