Maggody And The Moonbeams

7

"One of mine?" I said, surprised. I would have argued that I wasn't missing one, but I was. However, Heather had shown no inclination to hoof it into Dunkicker, much less get herself arrested.

Corporal Robarts grinned, allowing me a view of clumps of pork stuck between his teeth. "A good ol' boy, name of Duluth Buchanon-funny yellow eyes, forehead like somebody'd squashed his head. I picked him up about an hour ago and left him to sleep it off over at the police department."

I damn near rocked off the stool. "Duluth Buchanon, here? What was he doing?"

"Crawling alongside the road and braying like a Jackass. I would have let him be, but it was rainin' and I figured he'd be better off in a cell than facedown in a ditch. I couldn't find his vehicle, but he must have left it somewhere. The municipal judge'll be here Tuesday, fine him fifty dollars for public drunkenness, and let him go."

"Duluth Buchanon?"

"That's what it said on the driver's license in his pocket. I reckon that's not why you was looking for me."

"No," I said, smiling gratefully at Rachael as she refilled my mug and left a couple of cookies on the edge of the saucer. I waited until she had moved away, then said, "I found a dead body in the woods at Camp Pearly Gates. A woman. She had the same shaved head and makeup as Rachael, but she was dressed in some sort of white robe."

"You sure she was dead?"

Rachael made a small noise. It was impossible to determine if she'd turned white, considering that she already had the complexion of someone who'd been chipped out of a glacier after a few thousand years.

I turned back to Corporal Robarts. "Real sure. I went to take a look after one of the girls in our group claimed to have stumbled over the body a few minutes after the storm came in."

"What was the girl doing out there by herself?"

"It's pretty complicated. Why don't you call the sheriff's department and request backup? While we're waiting, I'll tell you what I know."

"I ain't about to call the sheriff's department or anybody else on account of what you think you may have seen. For all I know, you brought a dozen bottles of field whiskey in the back of that blue bus of yours. Was Duluth Buchanon your driver? That might explain why he's drunker'n a skunk." He shook his head resolutely. "I'll call Chief Panknine in the morning and see what he sez."

I resisted the impulse to fling coffee in his smug face. "I saw the body, dammit! Somebody shattered the back of her head with a softball bat. You are not equipped to handle this investigation on your own. We need a forensics team from the sheriff's department, and"-I forced myself to add-"a couple of dogs. There may be a lost child."

"Anything else? How about a stinky, nine-foot-tall hulk with an excess of body hair and real big feet?"

All eyes were on me as I went to the pay phone in the hallway, punched buttons, and made a collect call to the sheriff's department. When LaBelle answered, I told her to accept the call or spend the remainder of her life being stalked by whatever sexual deviants I could recruit from the state prison. Having sent a few there myself, I was sincere in my threat.

"I am not permitted to accept collect calls," she said as soon as the operator had reluctantly exited the connection, which was undoubtedly the highlight of her shift. "The quorum court recently hired an auditor to make sure-"

"Let me speak to Harve."

"He's over at his sister's house, it being her twentieth wedding anniversary. You could have slapped me silly with a pom-pom when he told me they'd been married that long. I was in school with Jerrilynda, you know, and I always figured she'd take off with some roustabout from a carnival. She had a thing about tattoos and what she referred to as manly odors."

"Listen carefully, LaBelle," I said. "I'm going to give you a telephone number. Track down Harve and tell him to call me back immediately. Understand?"

"His budget's-"

"Remember Siffalus Buchanon, the guy with the glass eye and fondness for barbed wire? He should be getting out on parole any day now."

She spat back the number after I gave it to her, then slammed down the receiver. I sat down on the end stool and waited for the pay phone to ring, refusing to look at the trio of troglodytes, Rachael, or Corporal Robarts.

Corporal Robarts finally found the courage to approach me. "You called Sheriff Dorfer, right?"

"This cannot wait until you speak to your chief in the morning. There is a corpse in the woods, and quite possibly a child cowering underneath a ledge."

"This ain't your jurisdiction."

"No, it's not," I said. "It is, however, Sheriff Dorfer's, especially with your police chief out of commission. He's not going to like it, but he'll send some backup to retrieve the body and start the investigation. So why don't you run along back to your mama's and have your apple pie and ice cream?"

"Chief Panknine's gonna be real pissed."

"So's Sheriff Dorfer when he's obliged to leave the festivities and call me. You have three options here: tuck your tail and run, take the call and behave like the acting law enforcement agent, or sit down on that stool and allow me to take charge. I really don't care."

Sweat dotted his forehead as it must have done a very few years ago when he'd faced an exam in high-school algebra. "Are you sure you saw this body?"

"Tell you what," I said, "let's drive out to the campground and you can see for yourself. I can't draw you a map, but I can point you in the right direction."

"What about the child?"

"I don't know, but if we're still here when the phone rings, I'm going to tell Sheriff Dorfer about your blatant ineptitude and request that his department take charge of the investigation. You won't even get your name in the local newspaper-if there is one."

"Go on," said Rachael from behind the counter. "I'll make your excuses when the sheriff calls."

He gave me a mulish look. "I can't just go off on your say-so. I got a prisoner over at the police department."

I glanced at the pay phone. "LaBelle's talking to Sheriff Dorfer as we speak. He'll harrumph for a few minutes, then get rid of her and call me back. When he does, he'll be about as happy as a boar with ticks on its balls. You're going to have to deal with him sooner or later, but you'd better have your act together when you do. He's got a temper, and he doesn't suffer fools."

"You saying I'm a fool?"

I would have felt sorry for him if I hadn't been so frustrated, as well as wet, hungry, covered with scratches, and splattered with mud. "It's up to you."

"All right," he said with the bravado of John Wayne eying the Apache warriors on the crest of the mountain. "We can drive out and take a look. Rach, if Sheriff Dorfer calls, get his number and tell him I'll report when I know more. If there's a body like she says, I most likely will need assistance. If there's not, he can call her over at the police department, 'cause she's gonna be in the cell with her neighbor from back home in Maggody."

"Got a flashlight?" I asked as we headed for the door.

"Hold on." He went back to the counter and had a whispered conversation with Rachael. Eventually she slammed a flashlight into his hand and suggested, loudly enough to be heard not only by me but also by the rapt audience in the corner, that he'd better haul his sorry ass out the door before the phone rang.

He gestured for me to climb into his car, which lacked an insignia or a blue bubble on its roof. "Chief Panknine's wife is driving the official vehicle," he explained as we drove toward Camp Pearly Gates. "Hers is in the shop, and what with her needing to go to the hospital every day, I couldn't see asking her to turn it over. The town council's considering the purchase of a second vehicle."

"I can't even get new pencils out of mine," I said, relaxing a bit. I'd been rough with him, but I figured I'd need his help. "Tell me something, Corporal Robarts. When I talked to you earlier today, you said something about Rachael and others like her. I can't recollect the names, but I had the impression that she's not here on her own. You have to admit she's got an odd sense of style. What's the deal?"

"I think we got us enough to deal with right now. Here's the gate."

"Go on down the road. I left a pile of stones as a marker."

"Like that place in England?"

"No, I lacked the energy to construct a scale model of Stonehenge. Maybe next time." I watched the road carefully. "Stop here."

The rain had slackened, and the thunderstorm had finally gone on its way. It was getting dark, however, and neither of us could rally much enthusiasm as we got out of his car and regarded the ditch filled with what I knew from personal experience was cold water.

"Up this way?" he said.

I nodded. "Not too far."

As much as I would have preferred to send him on his own, I scrambled up the bank, grabbed the same sapling that had served me well earlier, and offered him my hand. He took it with obvious reluctance. Once I yanked him alongside of me, with perhaps a tad more vigor than required, we set off up the hill. Larry Joe and I had not blazed a trail, but I followed the sound of water and we eventually saw the white-clad figure.

"You left her like this?" he said.

"She wasn't in danger of drowning. Do you recognize her?"

He squatted and studied her face, then stood up. "Yeah, she went by the name of Ruth, and was helping Sarah at the church. I don't know her real name, though."

"I have a feeling she doesn't have a driver's license in her pocket." I pointed at the softball bat. "That's liable to be the weapon. We brought some equipment to the field earlier today; it's possible that this was in the bag."

"So," Corporal Robarts said, switching from John Wayne to Columbo, "you brought the weapon and your driver's been arrested. Is this a church group or a street gang?"

I considered the pleasure I would have if I coerced him into asking Mrs. Jim Bob that very question, then let it go and said, "I need to stop by the lodge before we go back to call Sheriff Dorfer."

"To make sure they have alibis?"

"To make sure everybody's okay." I headed toward the road, and after a moment, he stumbled along behind me. We did not speak as he drove to the lodge, and I told him to wait in the car while I went inside.

The members of the gang were sitting on the floor, cheerfully wolfing down catfish, hushpuppies, fried potatoes, and Joyce's green tomato relish. The redolence made me dizzy, but I stoically continued and found Larry Joe in the dining room with Mrs. Jim Bob, Brother Verber, and Estelle.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him into a corner. "Is Heather here?" I whispered.

"Yeah, she's upstairs with Darla Jean, but she's not doing so well. I found her in the bathroom at your cabin, choking like she had a chicken bone caught in her throat. I was about to pound her on the back when she got hold of herself and told me what was wrong. Seems she went to the cabin like you told her to do, but when she didn't find Darla Jean, she decided to take a shower. She'd just finished washing her hair when she saw somebody watching her through a window. She grabbed her clothes and ducked into a toilet stall."

"Did she say how old this person was?"

Larry Joe looked at the others, who were watching us, then dropped his voice to a barely audible mutter. "She says it was an alien."

I was getting real tired of alien sightings. "So she's upstairs now, presumably eating supper and keeping Darla Jean company. I'm probably going to be out most of the night, dealing with the body. I think it'll be best if the rest of the kids get their sleeping bags and stay here on the livingroom floor. Mrs. Jim Bob can arrange a barrier of folding chairs and sit up till dawn, if she wishes. Arm her with a wet towel so she can snap them if they get any ideas."

Larry Joe scratched his head. "She won't agree unless I tell her why. What am I supposed to say?"

"Tell her that I'm investigating a report of trespassers on the campgrounds. The cabin doors don't lock. If I'm not back in the morning, she can escort the girls to their cabin to shower and change clothes, or persuade Ruby Bee and Estelle to do it. I want all of them under constant supervision until this is cleared up."

"What the hell's going on, Arly? This place is scaring the bejeezus outta me. I mean, I get nervous going to the high school at night to mop the halls and clean the restrooms. I've never found a dead body, though. The only body I'd ever seen before was at my great-aunt Ursala's funeral. I was only six or seven, and my parents made me lean over the coffin and kiss her cheek. I had nightmares for years afterward."

"I don't know what's going on, Larry Joe, but I'll keep you posted. Now go sit down and finish your supper before Mrs. Jim Bob gets more suspicious than she already is."

I left him gawking at me and went into the kitchen. Ruby Bee was flipping another batch of catfish steaks out of a skillet.

"Just where have you been, missy?" she demanded without turning around.

"And where's my station wagon?" said Estelle as she joined us. "I disremember giving you permission to take it. Now there's a strange man out front, seemingly waiting for you." Her artfully drawn eyebrows furrowed. "This is all very peculiar."

"It's complicated," I said with heartfelt sincerity. "I apologize for taking your station wagon, and I'll have it back at some point tonight. The man out front is from the police department in Dunkicker. There seem to be unauthorized people on the campgrounds, and we're looking into it. I've told Larry Joe that I want all of the kids to stay at the lodge until I get this straightened out."

"What's going on?" asked Ruby Bee. "Here we are, aiming to do a few good deeds, and all of a sudden, it seems like…"

I kissed her cheek, and Estelle's, for good measure. "I can't explain now."

"Seems to me we're entitled," huffed Estelle.

"In the morning," I said, then hurried through the living room before Mrs. Jim Bob could catch up with me. Corporal Robarts was sulking behind the steering wheel.

"Drive," I said.

Mrs. Jim Bob came skittering to the bottom of the porch steps as we made our escape up the road. I doubted I'd have my job when we got back to Maggody, but unemployment might just be the catalyst to send me back into battle with those of a more polysyllabic bent. Being a cop in a small town wasn't all that pleasant, as I was sure Corporal Robarts realized. Museum security at the Louvre, I thought, or even a desk job at the FBI.

"So what about the child?"

I shook myself into the present. "I don't know. Darla Jean spotted him down by the lake. She went to find him, chased him all over the place, and had lost him when the storm hit. She said he was perhaps four or five years old. Has anyone reported a missing child?"

"And I'd be having supper at my mama's house if a child was lost, planning to have a look-see after I finished my pie? What do you take me for, Miz Hanks?"

"I apologize, Corporal Robarts. I had no business even implying you'd ignore such a report. I doubt we're going to be close friends, but I hope we can work together on this case. It's your jurisdiction, and you're in charge. I'll make sure the sheriff's team understands that."

"Only had my badge for a month," he muttered. "The police academy turned me down on account of my juvenile record, and Chief Panknine gave me the job 'cause my mama owns most of the town. Busting drunks is one thing. Murder's something else."

"I can't argue with that," I said, wishing I'd borrowed a sweater from Ruby Bee. I was soaked to the bone and I could barely remember when I'd last eaten more than the cheese sandwich. I wasn't hungry; I was hollow. "When we get to Dunkicker, drop me off at the café. I'll fetch my car and meet you at the police department."

"Wanting to interrogate Rachael?"

"I was dreaming of a hamburger, but I do need to know what's going on here. She and the woman in the creek obviously have ties. Brother Verber, Ruby Bee, and Heather all saw what they interpreted as apparitions, but I don't buy into that shit. What's the deal? Is Camp Pearly Gates an alien airfield? If so, I have a moral obligation to get Darla Jean on the ten o'clock news. Television cameras, vans, helicopters, whatever."

He did not look at me, but his eyelid was twitching so madly that I wanted to slap a patch over it. "We don't need no news teams up here. These women aren't hurting anybody. They've got some goofy beliefs, but we let them be."

"These women? Are you talking about a cult?"

"Reckon so. Daughters of the Moon, they say. They call themselves Moonbeams. Folks in town call 'em Beamers."

"You're making this up-right?" I said weakly.

"Suit yourself." He turned onto the highway and accelerated toward Dunkicker.

Jim Bob pulled into the garage, then hurried back into the driveway and waited with a grin as Tonya and Sonya got out of their car. Identical twins, blonde, tall, slender, dressed in halters and miniskirts, giggly as all get out and acting like he was the cutest little ol' thing they'd ever laid eyes on. He knew he wasn't, but when one of them had breathed "LovePussy" into his left ear and the other had done the same into his right, both sides of his brain had melted like a popsicle on the pavement in August. Being a gentleman, he'd bought them several drinks and attempted to make conversation, but their cleavage kept distracting him, the halters doing nothing to restrain their very conspicuous nipples. That, and the way they wiggled on the barstools, like something needed to be scratched.

Jim Bob was willing and, at least for the moment, able. He'd never taken on two women before. Maybe they'd all end up together, or maybe they preferred a tag team sort of thing. He just hoped he could rise to the challenge.

But first he wanted to ask them about a couple of things that'd been puzzling him on the drive home. "How'd you girls know I was close to the Dew Drop Inn-instead of in Alaska or Florida?"

Tonya smiled. "Why, we recognized your screen name, honey, and you've been known to brag in chat rooms about being the mayor of Maggody. We were interested, seeing how we live in Farberville. Sonya even found the town's website and a picture of you. Quite the handsome devil, aren't you?"

"Why ain't I ever seen you two at the Dew Drop before?"

It was Sonya's turn to smile. "Oh, I think you have, but you must not have noticed us, what with all the women fawning over you." She paused. "You live all by yourself in this big fancy house?"

"My wife's out of town this week," he admitted.

"Well, then," Tonya said brightly, "We can make ourselves at home. You got more bourbon, honey? My throat's parched after the drive, and I sure could stand to kick off my shoes, put on some music, and sip a little something. Sonya, get the CDs out of the glove compartment. I feel a party comin' on."

"So do I, sister," said Sonya as she ducked back into their car and reappeared with a handful of CDs. "We are gonna have ourselves one wild night."

Jim Bob's eyes welled with tears as the thanked the Almighty for providing heaven on earth. His wife and Brother Verber might see it differently, but they were fifty miles away in some forsaken camp. He had wine, women, and song, along with food and booze and not a chance anybody'd ever find out. Sonya and Tonya, surely sent from above. He certainly intended to be touched by an angel, and in more ways than one.

Tonya, who seemed a bit more forward, took his hand. "I hope you got something to eat, Mr. Mayor. My stomach's rumbling and grumbling like the New Madrid fault. I sure could do with a bit of supper before the earth starts shakin' under our feet."

"Oh, yeah," Jim Bob said, drawing her toward the door. "My wife left all kinds of casseroles. You want some lasagna or maybe meatloaf? All we have to do is heat it up."

"And then heat you up? You're already approaching medium-high. Don't go boiling just yet, honey."

Sonya caught up with them and tweaked his butt. "But we'll save you for dessert, Mr. Mayor. I just adore a man with a title."

Jim Bob was grinning so hard his cheeks ached as he led them into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "That's funny," he said. "I could have sworn the lasagna was right here on the top shelf. Meatloaf sound okay?"

Sonya and Tonya nodded, then went off to explore the house while he put the pan into the oven, took out plates and cutlery, and hunted through drawers for napkins. It was gonna be worth it, he thought as he listened to them shriek with hilarity over the newly upholstered sofa and fringed fuchsia and lavender throw pillows, all of which had set him back a pretty penny only a month ago. It hadn't seemed all that hilarious to him. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying as they went upstairs, but they seemed to find the flocked wallpaper equally hilarious.

It got real quiet for a spell, but he was way too caught up in his fantasies to think much about it. He was setting the meatloaf on the stove when they reappeared.

"Oh, Mr. Mayor," said Tonya, or maybe Sonya, "the most terriblest thing has happened. While we were freshening up in your bathroom, we had a call on my cellphone. Our poor granny fell and broke her hip. Mama wants us to meet her at the hospital."

"You're leaving?" squeaked Jim Bob.

Sonya, or maybe Tonya, licked his earlobe. "You know we wouldn't if we didn't have to, but our mama hasn't been herself since she lost her leg in a car wreck, and our papa's so fat that he hasn't left his bedroom in seventeen years. Our brother Ivan is doing time for rape, and sweet little Smirnoff keeps insisting he's a frog, so he lives down at the pond. We got no choice but to help our mama. It's a family thing, you know."

"A frog?" said Jim Bob.

"He's making progress in therapy," said Tonya, or maybe Sonya. "Last year he thought he was a polliwog. Do you mind if we make ourselves sandwiches?"

They sounded so matter-of-fact that Jim Bob couldn't gauge their sincerity. "If he believed he was a polliwog… what did he do?"

Sonya, or maybe Tonya, put out a loaf of bread and a bottle of catsup. "Lived in the bathtub most of the time. Ever' now and then he'd let us drain off the water and then refill it. You would not believe the shit we had to put up with from social workers and truancy officers. They'd come pounding on the door night and day. Whenever we saw them driving up, we'd put on Tina Turner tapes and play 'em at full volume. You like Tina, Mr. Mayor?"

Mr. Mayor was having a helluva hard time thinking of anything to say. Here he'd been imagining a night of lust and abandonment, and now he was being forced to entertain the most unsavory images. "Tina, yeah, I like her," he managed to say, having no idea who she was.

"Tell you what, then. We gotta go to the hospital, but we'll come back here tonight if we can. If not, maybe we can come tomorrow night-presuming your wife will still be gone. A threesome is okay, but we don't much care for a foursome unless we're playing bridge. Then again, there's nothing I'd rather do than make a grand slam. That takes all thirteen tricks, and we just happen to know them all."

"I was thinking," Dahlia said as she flopped over in bed, "that we ought not have a swimming pool just yet."

Kevin was mystified. "In the backyard?"

"No, silly, behind our mansion. Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie will be toddling afore too long. We could, I suppose, hire a lifeguard, but even then I wouldn't be comfortable knowing there was a swimming pool where our cherished darlings might be in danger. No pool."

"We ain't got a mansion."

"But we will soon, and we have to think about these things."

Kevin resisted the impulse to pull the covers over his head and pray that the lack of air might cause him to pass out. "We do not have a mansion, my petunia of passion. If we was to buy a plastic wading pool at Wal-Mart, I can't see that we need a lifeguard. You can keep an eye on them."

"I am talking about Hollywood," Dahlia said testily. "When we get there, we might ought to find a mansion without a pool. Most of them have 'em, but we should at least insist there's a fence. Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie can take swimming lessons, but this new one's gonna be too little."

"We do not have a mansion," repeated Kevin, speaking slowly and very, very carefully. "We don't even have a backyard, except for that patch of crabgrass by the vegetable garden. This ad you saw doesn't promise that our little darlings will earn enough so's we can have a mansion in Hollywood."

"So you don't think Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie will have modeling careers?"

Kevin wished he was waxing floors at the supermarket, but, sadly enough, he wasn't. "Of course I do," he murmured meekly. "It's just that, well, it may take some time. I don't think we ought to be packing our bags just yet."

"What do you think?"

Thinking was not one of his skills. He made an attempt to distract her, but she slapped him off and rolled away. He listened to her grumbles as she sank into her pillow, clueless as to what to say or do to win her heart once again. Maybe she was right, he thought. The twins were the cutest li'l things he'd ever laid eyes on, but he had doubts they'd all be loading up the car and heading for Beverly Hills and a mansion with or without a swimming pool.

But that didn't mean his pa would cotton to ridin' in a limo, 'specially if the chauffeur was a pansy. His pa hated pansies.