Maggody And The Moonbeams

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 ensuing 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."

I gave up. "Thank you for the lovely meal. I'd better check on the prisoner and then go out to the Beamers' campsite to let Anthony know that he can leave."

"I'm sure the Beamers have taken great comfort from his presence."

I shrugged and left. If I'd been a Beamer, I would have been more worried that he might shoot himself in the foot than thwart an intruder. However, I had no desire to relieve him of his post until I felt more confident that Duluth was our perpetrator and the woods were filled with nothing more threatening than rabbits, squirrels, and ill-tempered polecats.

I looked at my watch as I drove back to the PD. Les and Brother Verber were surely on their way back by now, swilling sodas, munching on corn chips, and listening as some preacher on the radio harangued his audience about the perils of damnation. Ruby Bee and Estelle would be putting away the leftover pot roast and potatoes. Larry Joe would be the lifeguard on the dock, while Mrs. Jim Bob monitored morality from the porch. I envisioned her with binoculars and a bullhorn, the serenity of the scene shattered each time she spotted a male hand approaching any component of female anatomy.

A fine time was being had by all-with one exception.

Hammet was having a fine time. He'd used a whole bottle of perfumed shampoo on his hair, slapped on cologne for good measure, and was dressed in a clean shirt that hung past his knees. The underwear was kinda baggy, but he'd used a safety pin to keep it from sliding down to his ankles whenever he moved.

Not that he was doing much moving. He'd made a thick meatloaf sandwich, poured himself a glass of milk, and was stretched out on the sofa watching a television program where assholes drove noisy cars around in a big circle. It wasn't like they was going anyplace, for pity's sake. If they was on a highway, headed for Disney World or someplace like that, it'd have made more sense-and been more exciting, what with all the eighteen-wheelers they'd have to pass. As it was, the most entertaining moment so far had been when one of the cars bounced off a wall and spun around like a headless chicken. Nobody'd been killed, but Hammer hadn't given up hope.

He was thinking about fixing another sandwich when he heard the kitchen door open. He used the clicker to turn off the TV, flung himself off the sofa, and wiggled into the space between it and the wall.

"Tonya? Sonya? You gals here?" called Jim Bob as he came into the living room. "I could smell your perfume all the way out in the kitchen." After a moment of silence, he plopped down on the sofa. "They could have waited," he added to himself in a churlish voice, "or at least told me they was coming over. Aw, hell, maybe I'm smelling whatever they had on last night."

The TV came on.

Hammer realized he was clutching his sandwich, but he'd left the glass of milk on the coffee table. It didn't seem likely that Jim Bob would think the two women had stopped by for milk and cookies. He crawled around the end of the sofa and peeked at Jim Bob, who was drinking a beer and watching the cars go in circles. If the sumbitch had noticed the glass, he hadn't said anything.

He stayed where he was as Jim Bob switched channels, pausing here and there to take a chug of beer. Basketball gave way to cartoons, shiny-toothed women selling diamond jewelry, and for a brief moment, some hairy-chested singer strutting around in clown makeup and black leather shorts.

Afore too long, Jim Bob belched and went back into the kitchen. Hammet grabbed the glass of milk and crept back behind the sofa. He 'sposed he could have made it to the closet, but in there it was dark and stinky.

Jim Bob came back and fell on the sofa. "Damn those prancy bitches," he said as he popped open another beer. "I might just ought to call Cherry Lucinda and see what all she's doing. Ain't no reason I should sit here like some pimply girl hoping some asshole's gonna call and ask her to the dance. Screw 'em!"

Hammet hoped he wouldn't, at least not on the sofa anyways.

When I got back to the PD, I went to make sure Duluth had been fed. The cell was empty. This trend, if indeed that's what it was, was beginning to irritate me. Colleen did not seem a likely conspirator, but there were no traces of chicken bones and biscuit crumbs on the floor. There were three possible scenarios: Duluth had been gone when she arrived; he'd waited until she left and then taken his meal away for a picnic by the lake; or he'd kidnapped her (and good luck to him; her kin were more likely to show up with shotguns than ransom money).

But Duluth was once again at large, with Camp Pearly Gates as his playground. There was no point in driving out to Crank Nickle's place; Duluth was a Buchanon, but he wasn't brain dead. He was most likely hiding somewhere in town, waiting for a chance to call Leroy to come rescue him. Putting out an APB on Leroy would be difficult, since his name was pretty much all I knew and I doubted Harve would agree to a roadblock until we had a big-time bloodbath, with Beamers being splattered every which way and upstanding citizens like Willetta, Mrs. Panknine, and Doc Schmidt being seriously inconvenienced.

But, dammit, Duluth wasn't wily enough to keep escaping on his own. Earlier, when Willetta came into the PD, I'd been trying to think why one of the Beamers would have helped him. One of their own, no matter how unlikely a candidate for Miss Congeniality, had been murdered, and he was a suspect. Judith and Naomi had been at their campsite. Sarah had been preparing meals on four wheels, and Rachael had been at the café. Ruth was at the morgue.

Which left Deborah, who wasn't anywhere.

I realized it had been the better part of two hours since I'd dumped Bonita at the motel. I taped a note on the front door of the PD telling Les where I'd gone, then drove down the road and pulled up in front of the unit. The curtains were still drawn, a good omen. I subsequently found the door unlocked and the room empty, a distinctly bad one. If there were some way, I told myself, that I could just make everybody stay in place for even a fleeting moment or two, I might get somewhere. But, no, the aliens were clearly collecting them with the same exuberance Marjorie exhibited when confronted with a thick scattering of acorns.

Bonita was on foot, which helped. I went back outside and looked around, then drove slowly down the road, hoping she was not so addled by the pain pills that she had broken into Buttons and Bows to try on hats or into the body shop to, well, look for a body.

As I drove past the junkyard, I spotted Sarah walking alongside the road. I pulled over. "Want a ride?"

"Sure, thanks," she said as she got into the station wagon. "Far as I know, all forty meals were delivered. Those damn boys are so friggin' irresponsible that at times I want to grab them and shake them until their pitiful brains dribble out their ears."

"They're not volunteers?"

"Hell no, they're slave labor, same as me. Petrie and Eustace were arrested for vandalizing a cemetery, and Byron burned down a church a few miles from here. Chief Panknine persuaded the judge to give 'em community service. I'd rather see them doing time at the prison farm."

I glanced at her. "Slave labor? Didn't you tell me that you knew what you were getting into?"

"Community service was part of the deal. I took over from Ester, and the next Beamer will take over from me."

"What happened to Ester?"

"Nothing, far as I know. She didn't whine all the time like Ruth, but she admitted herself she wasn't cut out to live like that. She trained the both of us to fix the meals, then started cleaning the Robarts's house. She didn't like it, but at least she was making minimum wage. Of course most of it went to the Daughters of the Moon, same as everybody else's. After she managed to save a little money, Anthony gave her a ride to the bus station in Starley City."

"Wouldn't she have looked… conspicuous?" I asked.

Sarah snickered. "She was so worried about that she bought herself a scarf at Buttons and Bows. Folks that noticed probably thought she'd been sick or something. And don't bother asking me where she went. Ruth was the only person she ever talked to. They used to sit out on the picnic table and whisper until Judith shooed them inside."

"What about Ester's children?"

"She said she'd send for them when she could. Before she left, she was acting like she expected to win the lottery and come back for them in a big white limousine. Now they're moping around and causing trouble."

I let it drop. "You want to stop at the café and have something to eat, or at least a glass of tea?"

"So you can keep trying to weasel information out of me?"

I parked in front of the Welcome Y'all Café. "Are you afraid Deborah might find out?"

Sarah's hand moved toward her forehead, as though she intended to push a lock of hair out of her eyes. Realizing the incongruity of the gesture, she managed a smile. "Old habits die hard, I guess. I'm not afraid of Deborah or anyone else. As long as I make my contribution, I'm free to do whatever I want. I'd probably go dancing over in Azure if I didn't look like something out of a cheap comic book. The good ol' boys might get the wrong ideas."

I put my hand on her arm. "Aren't you at all upset that Ruth was murdered yesterday?"

"Yeah, sure I am," she said. "She wasn't much help in the kitchen, but she was better than nothing. I hope you're paying, because I don't have a dime to my name."

We went inside. Most of the booths and half the tables were occupied; the buzz of voices faltered, then resumed. I reminded myself that Sarah was no more peculiar-looking than Rachael behind the counter. Several stools were uninhabited, one of which was conveniently situated next to Bonita, who was working on a cheeseburger that oozed mustard and catsup.

I let Sarah drift away and sat down. "I thought you were going to stay at the motel," I said in a low voice.

"The vending machine was out of peanut butter crackers."

"What if I'd needed you?"

Bonita wiped her chin with a paper napkin. "Then I guess you would have found me. It wasn't as if I was spending the afternoon at the library doing research. This is the only place open in the whole damn town, and believe me, I checked. No cars in front of the PD, no hustle and bustle at Buttons and Bows. I did learn something of interest while I walked down here, though. If you're ready to climb off of your high horse, I'll tell you."

I was tempted to pull rank and remind her that I was in charge of the investigation, courtesy of the Stump County sheriff, also known as her boss. However, I sighed and said, "My heels are on the ground. What?"

"Well, I was thinking that these women and their rotten children must have gotten here somehow."

"In a Honda Accord," I murmured, pointing discreetly at Sarah, who was whispering to Rachael at the end of the counter. "Norella had a car, too."

Bonita made me wait while she ate another bite. "Did you notice the body shop next to the church?"

"Yes," I said. I had noticed, after all; I just hadn't noticed anything much about it.

"If you want to hide stolen cattle, you add them to a herd. If you want to hide a car, you leave it parked with a bunch of other cars." She took a scrap of paper out of her shirt pocket. "I wrote down the license plate numbers of four cars that weren't obvious candidates for body work. Two have Arkansas tags, one Oklahoma, one Missouri. One of them's a Honda Accord."

"Very good, Bonita," I said.

"I should have thought of it sooner, but the pain pills dulled my thought process."

Fried chicken and creamed peas were having the same effect on mine. "Stay here and keep an eye on Sarah and Rachael," I said. "I need to call these in, but I can't see doing it from the pay phone by the restrooms."

"I already did."

"Oh."

"It may take time, it being Sunday, but we should know something in an hour or two. Did you learn anything from the prisoner at the PD?"

"He was convinced his ex-wife had brought his boys here, but he claimed not to have gone to the campgrounds. Until we have an identification-"

"Les called me at the motel, since nobody was answering at the PD. Brother Verber wasn't the most coherent witness, but he was fairly sure the body at the lab was Norella Buchanon."

"Fairly sure?"

"That's what Les said." Bonita finished off her cheeseburger, licked mustard off her fingers, and looked at me. "Now what?"