Misery Loves Maggody

9

I hesitated in the restaurant doorway as a group of gray-haired women came out of the casino, each clasping a paper cup to hold her slot-machine winnings (or future losings). I had an urge to ask them if they were from Tuscaloosa, but instead waited until they'd marched by like a platoon of ducks and then trailed after them to the lobby.

I found a pay phone, punched in my card number, and called Harve's office. When LaBelle answered, I asked to speak to him.

"He's busy," she said. "So am I, what with all this ridiculous paperwork. Call back at the beginning of the week."

"Is he there, LaBelle? This is important."

"To the best of my knowledge, he's not in the building. Even though he's obligated to keep me informed of his whereabouts, these last few days he's been sneaking in and out the back door. I have better things to do than go knock on his door every time the phone rings. I most certainly am not about to do it now."

Short of a six-hour drive and a fistfight in the front office, there was no way to win this minor skirmish. "Let me leave a message for him, LaBelle," I said. "I'm in a little town north of Tunica, Mississippi, and I may be here for a few more days."

"Why would that be?"

"Ruby Bee's in the hospital, having some tests. If that weren't enough, Jim Bob Buchanon's implicated in a homicide and I need to sort it out. It took place at The Luck of the Draw hotel, which is where I'm staying. This is strictly for Harve's information. Please don't spread it around."

"I beg your pardon," LaBelle said huffily. "I am not a person to go jabbering whenever I hear something. I'm right sorry to hear about Ruby Bee. Give her my best."

She slammed down the receiver. I moved on to a white house phone and called Estelle. She sounded peculiar when she answered, as if she'd been plotting to rob the casino in order to pay a Memphis hospital bill.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Why shouldn't I be? Just because Ruby Bee's on her deathbed and Jim Bob's in jail and Stormy's flatter than a Salisbury steak and-"

"Ruby Bee's not on her deathbed," I cut in. "The rest of it may be true, but there's not a damn thing you can do about it. You're not helping the situation, Estelle."

"And you are?"

"What am I supposed to be doing?"

"For starters, you can make sure Jim Bob's not being thumped with rubber hoses to make him confess. Scoot yourself over there and see if you can do something for him. He's from Maggody, after all, and no matter what problems you've had with him, you owe it to the community to look after its citizens."

"What are you going to do while I'm gone?"

Estelle harrumphed loudly enough to make herself heard in the hallway. "What do you think I'm gonna do, missy-go out on the balcony and yodel like a person of the Swiss persuasion? I thought I'd order another pot of coffee from room service and stay by the phone in case Ruby Bee takes a turn for the worse. I can use a little privacy after all that's gone on. I might just give myself a manicure while I watch a movie on cable. Is that all right with you?"

At that moment, if she'd said she had the ski mask in place and was loading an automatic weapon, I would have acquiesced. I told her I'd be back in an hour or so, then asked a bellman how to find the local jail and went out to the parking lot. I did pause for a moment to listen for mournful yodeling before I got in my car and drove out to the main highway.

The PD was in what amounted to an alley behind an abandoned grain silo. I parked and went inside. A young black woman with braided hair and a neatly pressed uniform gave me a toothy smile.

"Help you?" she said in a voice that implied she'd really like to be able to do so, no matter how much of a personal sacrifice might be required on her part.

"I'm here to see Jim Bob Buchanon."

Her smile dried up. "You his lawyer?"

"Not exactly," I said. "I just want to make sure he's all right."

"A relative, then?"

I peered at her name tag, which identified her as J. Jones. "I'm a friend from his hometown, Deputy Jones. May I see him?"

"I'd rather see a cross burning in my yard, but it's your decision," she said as she stood up. We went into a short corridor lined with three barred cells. "You got a visitor, honey," she called. "She's a lady, so don't let me hear anymore of that nasty language. You understand?"

Jim Bob was stretched out on a bare metal cot, his hands entwined behind his neck. His shoes were on the floor of the cell; the hole in his sock brought to mind my (and everybody else's) mother's admonishment to always wear clean underwear in case of an accident.

Or, in this case, an incarceration.

"Why, Japonica," he said, "I can't believe you'd say such a thing. I've been a perfect gentleman ever since you dragged me out of the hotel room and gave me a free ride to your elegant downtown establishment. I was just lying here thinkin' how I might spend my vacation in this very cell come summertime."

"Come summertime you may still be here," I said.

He jerked upright. "Aw, Jesus, like I need this on top of everything else? What the fuck are you doin' here?"

"It's okay," I said to Japonica before she could offer further commentary on his obvious lack of social graces. "I'm sorry to say I'm used to him."

"Well, I'm not," she said as she stalked toward the front room. "Call if you want me to come back with a nightstick and teach him some manners."

When the door closed behind her, I said, "You've gotten yourself into a helluva mess, Mayor Buchanon. Chief Sanderson mentioned the possibility of first- or second-degree murder. I don't know if they have the death penalty in Mississippi, but I do know they have endless acres of cotton to be chopped under the noonday sun."

"Don't give me that shit. I didn't do anything wrong beyond telling Mrs. Jim Bob that I'd be at the Municipal League meeting in Hot Springs. Nobody goes to prison for that. When I get out of here, I'm going sue their sorry butts for false imprisonment."

"If you get out of here," I said, "you'd better stay on the far side of the river. You want to tell me what happened?"

"No, I don't want to tell you what happened," he muttered. "Guess I ought to, though, so you can convince that swinish chief of police to let me out of this hellhole." He flopped back on the cot and resumed staring at the ceiling. "A couple of weeks ago Cherri Lucinda said that she was goin' on this Elvis Presley Pilgrimage. I thought I'd come over and give her a thrill. She wasn't supposed to show up until today, but I figured I could amuse myself in the casino for an extra night. You never know who all you might meet, particularly at the craps table. Most women are so stupid they don't have the foggiest idea how to play, but they like the excitement and the excuse to press their tits up against your back so hard you can feel their nipples."

"Let's not go into that," I said. "So you didn't expect to see Cherri Lucinda yesterday afternoon?"

"It's a good thing your job don't require much in the way of brains. I just told you that she wasn't supposed to get here until later today. I got to the hotel around five, checked in, and was taking my bag up to the room when I damn near tripped over Estelle in front of the elevators. Then Ruby Bee collapsed on the carpet and Cherri Lucinda came dashing out of the ladies room and Estelle started bleatin' like a sheep and everybody from the bellboys to a group of Japanese tourists went crazy. I returned to the desk, slipped the kid a ten-dollar bill to change my room, then stayed in the bar until the excitement died down. Cherri Lucinda damn near peed in her jeans when I knocked on the door between the two rooms an hour later."

I waited in case he was going to ask about Ruby Bee, then sighed and said, "What about Stormy? Did you know she and Cherri Lucinda would be sharing a room?"

He sat up and frowned at me. "Is that the woman I'm accused of pushing off the balcony? Hell, I didn't pay any attention when Cherri Lucinda said her name. I had more important things on my mind-and in my pocket, if you follow me. I invited Cherri Lucinda into my room so she could express her gratitude for my going to the bother of driving all this way to see her. After that, we had ourselves a fancy prime rib dinner in the restaurant, then went to the casino so she could watch me shoot craps."

"She was at your side all night?"

"Ever' now and then she'd start whining that she was bored, so I'd give her some money to go throw away on the slots. She ain't the brightest thing to come down the pike." He smirked in a most unbecoming way. "Her talents lie elsewhere. On account of being an exotic dancer, she can get herself into some mind-bogglin' positions."

I leaned against the wall and regarded him with contempt. Back in Maggody, I was obliged to show a modicum of deference, but in this situation he was in a grimy little cell. It was an image I'd cherish for a long time to come, and my only regret was that I didn't have a camera. "At dawn you and she went up to your room, right? Did she go into her own room?"

"No, she went straight to my bathroom and started the shower, then asked me if I'd mind getting her bag so she could slip on her nightie. I went next door, stuffed everything back in it, and set it inside the bathroom. After that, I turned on the TV, lit a cigar, and waited for her to come out in a sexy little something, all steamy and warm and smelling of perfume."

"You didn't hear a scream?"

"I might have heard something, but I was trying to get the NBA scores due to a small wager with a gentleman that lives in Starley City. The siren was a might harder to ignore. I pulled back the curtain to see what was going on, then went out on the balcony for a better look. Cherri Lucinda came out of the bathroom about then and joined me. We hadn't made heads or tails of it when that uppity colored girl banged on the door." He got up and came over to the bars separating us. Despite his display of bravado, his forehead was beaded with sweat and saliva dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. "You got to make them believe me, Arly. There wasn't nobody in the next room. The bathroom was dark and the only light came from a gap in the curtains. I just collected the bag for Cherri Lucinda. That's all I did."

"Did you hear any voices that might have come from the adjoining room?"

"Jesus, you are a few cans shy of a six-pack. If I'd heard voices, I would have expected to find folks in there, wouldn't I? The room was empty. There was a tray from room service next to the TV set. I noticed 'cause my belly was rumbling, but then I remembered there was a treat in the other room that was tastier than anything out of a hotel kitchen. The bag was on the bed, like Cherri Lucinda told me. I already told you what happened after that."

"There are several witnesses who heard an argument from inside that room," I said, watching him closely. "It's odd that you and Cherri Lucinda didn't hear it when you came down the hall."

"She was pretty loose and trying to sing that old song about a lovesick farm boy what jumped off the Tallahachee Bridge. She was having a real tough time getting out the words, and every time she screwed up, she'd start laughin'. I kept trying to shush her before somebody called the desk to complain, but it didn't do a damn bit of good." He jabbed his finger at me. "That's another thing wrong with women-they can't hold their liquor."

"So what's your excuse, Jim Bob? After all, we're on opposite sides of the bars here."

Even Hizzoner the Moron could see the folly in pissing me off, since I was free to waltz out the door and he was, in a manner of speaking, between a rock and a hard place. "What do you aim to do about this?" he said, attempting to sound humble. "Will they let me go if I promise to stay at the hotel until the judge hears me out on Monday?"

"I don't think so," I said. "You'd better be a tad more polite to Deputy Jones. It's likely she's the one who decides whether you get a dry bologna sandwich or a blue-plate special."

"I ain't kissing up to no colored girls?"

"Suit yourself. I'll talk to Chief Sanderson and find out if there are any more witnesses. Stormy seems to have been the type to cozy up to men in bars. Maybe she found a tightrope walker with a lousy temper."

I could hear him cursing as I went down the hall and out into the main room. Deputy Jones gave me another view of her white teeth, but the previous warmth was long gone and I figured she'd never offer to loan me her car or braid my hair.

"He's something, isn't he?" I said, shaking my head. "I'd like to be able to tell you that he's a decent guy at heart, but a lightning bolt would strike me dead in the middle of the sentence. One of his pastimes back home is buying up widows' properties for back taxes and evicting them."

"Known some like that," she said. "All white, of course, since that's who has the money around these parts. None of the businesses you drove by on your way here are owned by my people, except Morton's Mufflers. Morton's my great-uncle. The Chamber of Commerce ain't asked him to join as of yet, but he's only had the shop for thirty-four years. He's real confident they'll ask him in another year or two. His wife's a maid at the hotel where you're staying. She's seventy-six."

I could tell from the way she was looking at me that she wouldn't be receptive to a generic apology for the abuses my race had heaped on hers for the last two hundred years. "Do you know what time you'll be at the hotel to take statements?" I asked.

"I'm waiting on Chief Sanderson. He went home to take a shower and have breakfast. Soon as he gets here, he'll take over the baby-sitting chores and I can leave. We wouldn't want your friend in the cell out back to hang himself with his shoelaces, would we?"

"Probably not," I said. "I gather Cherri Lucinda's gone back to the hotel. From what Jim Bob told me, it sounds as though she was pretty much out of it by the time they got to his room. She wasn't looking too robust this morning. I assumed it was her lack of makeup, but it's more likely to have been from a hangover."

Japonica's eyes narrowed. "That's what she said. You weren't on the tour. Where do you know her from? Did you know the victim, too? Maybe you ought to explain just who you are and why you're taking such an interest in this investigation."

I described my relationship with Ruby Bee and Estelle, but omitted any reference to my occupation since I was well out of my minuscule jurisdiction. Although Harve and I get along, there's plenty of jealousy among the various county law-enforcement agencies. The last thing I needed was for Japonica and Sanderson to think I was peering over their collective shoulder.

"As for Cherri Lucinda," I continued, "I had seen her before this morning, but it took the connection with Jim Bob to make me remember. They've been… carrying on for quite some time. I never met Stormy."

"Did you ever go to the club where they worked?"

"I couldn't tell you where Cherri Lucinda worked if you waved a winning lottery ticket at me."

Japonica's stare relaxed. "Yeah, you look kinda old to be going to nightclubs."

I was trying to think of a suitable comeback, when the telephone rang. She picked up the receiver, listened for a moment, and then held it out to me. "Sounds like you got a heap of trouble," she said.

My stomach constricted as if it had been pierced with an icicle. "My mother?"

"Your friend at the hotel. I'm beginning to wish all of you folks had gone to a different casino, like in the south of France."

I forced myself to exhale, then took the receiver. "Estelle?" I said. "What's wrong?"

"Miss Hanks," said a male voice, "this is Mackenzie Cutting, chief of security at The Luck of the Draw. Miss Oppers is here in my office, doing her best to convince me not to press charges for burglary and criminal mischief. I'm calling you at her request. Would you be so kind as to join us at your earliest convenience?"

Kevin drove as fast as he dared, squirming with frustration whenever he got stuck behind a chicken truck or a car with out-of-state plates. Dahlia couldn't be more than five minutes ahead of him-unless she'd gone toward the Missouri line, which was possible, since he didn't have a clue where she was going. That didn't seem likely, however, since there wasn't nothing but fields and woods all the way to Branson. Just getting there and back would take close to four hours.

Of course she could have taken County 102 to Hasty, or turned at the Pot O' Gold trailer park and gone up the road that wound across Cotter's Ridge. Or gone bouncing down any of the dirt roads that led past rickety farmhouses and ponds covered with slime. Or parked in front of one of the units at the Flamingo Motel behind Ruby Bee's Bar & Grill, although he figured his ears would have been burnin' if that was where she'd been all these afternoons. Ruby Bee'd never been one to keep a secret any longer than it took her to whip up a batch of biscuits.

The four-wheel was a mite cumbersome to drive, but he was getting the hang of it. After some fumbling, he managed to turn on the heater, and after a good deal more fumbling, did the same with the radio. The music that blared out wasn't at all to his liking, what with the lack of a tune and the jumble of cusswords. He was trying to find a country station when he shot past the state police car lurking behind a billboard.

Brother Verber brought in his mail, tossed aside the bills and announcements of storewide sales, and took out the magazine that had arrived in a plain brown wrapper. In order to prepare himself for the shock and disgust he'd experience when he encountered the graphic depravity between the covers, he filled a glass with sacramental wine and set the bottle on the coffee table where it'd be handy if he started feeling woozy.

The afternoon stretched before him like a hot bubble bath. His sermon, "The Alphabet Sins," was written, rewritten, and fine-tuned for the following morning's service. Some of the letters had been downright challenging. He'd been on a roll for the first hour, racing from "atheism" all the way to "wickedness" without having to even gnaw on his pencil (except for a small problem with K, which he'd resolved in a somewhat fanciful manner).

But then he'd arrived at X and, shortly thereafter, at Y Even Z had been presented a quandary, although he'd finally chanced on a word that worked. What's more, he'd made it into a little ditty so that the congregation could memorize it and sing it under their breath when they were confronted with the choice between the paths of evil and righteousness. He'd originally set it to the tune of "Amazing Grace," but then he'd realized that the theme song to Gilligan's Island worked just as well and was a sight more spirited.

He was testing it once more to make sure the words tripped over his tongue when the telephone rang. He picked up the receiver.

"Thank the Lord I found you!" said Mrs. Jim Bob. "The most terrible thing has happened! I didn't know where to turn. Brother Verber, this is indeed my time of trial and tribulation. I can't think when I've been so upset!"

"Tell me what's wrong, Sister Barbara," he said in a deep voice meant to comfort her, one of the techniques he'd learned from his seminary study booklets. "I'm here for you. If you'd like to take a moment to get a grip on yourself, that might be helpful."

"It's Jim Bob. He's gone and got hisself arrested for murder."

Brother Verber's face froze in horror. "Who did he murder?"

"Nobody," she said waspishly, sounding more like her regular self. "All I said is that he was arrested. He's accused of killing some hussy in Mississippi."

"I thought you said he was in Hot Springs."

"That's where he told me he was going. Don't you remember how I said that something fishy was going on? At least I'm not paranoid, Brother Verber. He said he was going to Hot Springs and now he's in Mississippi in jail for murder. If that's not fishy, I don't know what is?"

"That's mighty fishy," agreed Brother Verber. "Have you spoken to him?"

"He hasn't bothered to call. How busy can he be if all he's doing is sitting in a jail cell?" Her question being rhetorical, she went on. "I heard about it from LaBelle at the sheriff's office. She called to say how sorry she was and ask if she should mail him a tin of cookies. I had no idea what she was talking about, naturally, but she finally admitted that Arly had called her and-"

"Arly knows about this?"

"I don't think she'd call the sheriff's office if all she did was have a bad dream, do you? As soon as Arly hung up, LaBelle got on the phone and called the state medical lab in Mississippi. They admitted to knowing about this homicide in some little town, and before too long LaBelle had the details. Jim Bob's in jail, Brother Verber. He could end up in prison for the rest of his life, leaving me to fend for myself. The last job I had was working part-time in the church office when I was seventeen. What am I gonna do?"

"There's only one thing you can do, Sister Barbara."

"What's that?"

"Ask the Lord for guidance. Let's both just get down on our knees and-"

"Pack your bag. I'll be there in ten minutes."

She hung up before he could protest, not that it had ever done any good in the past. Brother Verber put the magazine away for another day, drained the glass of wine, drank another for good measure, and went down the narrow hallway to pull a suitcase out of his closet.

Idalupino stared at the space next to the Dumpster. There was a splotch of oil on the gravel and a scattering of rotten produce (orange peels and what looked to be a brown grapefruit) in the weeds, but there was definitely a big, fat nothing there.

She squeezed her eyes closed, whispered a little prayer in which she vowed never again to skip church or so much as sip a beer if the Lord would intervene, and then slowly opened her eyes. The space reserved for the manager remained most distressingly empty.

Canon was gonna kill her-no ifs or buts about it. She'd been nagging him for months to fix the exhaust pipe on her car; he'd finally agreed and even allowed her to borrow his precious sport utility van for the day. Now some thievin' sumbitch had stolen it right from under her nose, or at least from behind her behind while she was working the cash register.

She went into the lounge and found the telephone directory to look up the body shop where Canon worked. Then, trying not to imagine what she'd look like with two black eyes and a split lip, she put coins in the pay phone and dialed the number.

"I got to speak to Canon Buchanon," she said in a squeaky voice. "Tell him it's his cousin Idalupino. I got some bad news for him."

While she was waiting for him, she spotted a wallet on the couch. She picked it up and opened it. Kevin's face beamed at her from his driver's license. "I swear," she said as she stuck it in her pocket for safekeeping, "that boy'd lose his prick if it wasn't attached."

As soon as I arrived back at the hotel, I asked for directions to Mackenzie Cutting's office and was directed through a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." Beyond it was a labyrinth of narrow hallways, but after a few false turns I found a door with his name painted on the opaque glass.

I wasn't sure of the protocol, so I went on inside. The security man with whom I'd had a couple of brief encounters was seated behind a desk. Nearby stood a thick-waisted blond woman in a maroon smock. Estelle was seated on the edge of a chair, twisting a tissue and trying to look anything but frightened. I wasn't fooled.

"Miss Hanks," said Mackenzie, "we meet yet once again, but under less congenial circumstances. This is Linda Billington, the head of housekeeping. I believe you already know Miss Oppers."

"What's going on?" I said.

He glanced at Ms. Billington, who flushed and said, "I have a new girl on the staff. She doesn't speak any English or I'd have her here to tell you her story. She was working on the fourth floor this morning, cleaning rooms as they became vacant. She finished up in one and came back out in the hall. Her cleaning cart was gone. Thinking she might be accused of theft and deported, she hid in a storage closet. Eventually another maid heard her sobbing, dragged her out, and determined the problem. I was called immediately. I rounded up several of my more reliable girls and we conducted a systematic search of all the floors." She turned her head slightly in order to glower at Estelle. "We found her on the sixth floor, dressed in a housekeeping smock and pushing the stolen cart. Based on the complaints we received in my office, she annoyed a large number of guests by ignoring the DO NOT DISTURB signs on their doorknobs and using a passkey to go into the rooms. That is strictly against our rules. We regard those signs with reverence. Many of the guests stay up very late and prefer to sleep until noon. A goodly number of them are too inebriated to engage the deadbolt before retiring."

"I don't see where burglary and criminal mischief enter into this," I said to Mackenzie, not trusting myself to look at Estelle.

"We haven't called the police," he said levelly.

I turned to Ms. Billington. "Did anyone go so far as to accuse her of theft?"

"No, but she stole the cart and used the passkey to enter guests' rooms. I think it's obvious she hoped to spot money or jewelry on the dresser. Why else would she pretend to be a member of our staff?"

A very good question, I thought as I resisted the impulse to grab Estelle's scrawny neck and demand an answer. "If you'll overlook this minor indiscretion, I will personally supervise Miss Oppers's movements until we check out. Except for the times we are at my mother's bedside at the hospital, she will remain in her hotel room. Miss Oppers has no desire to give an interview to the press in which she explains how easily she gained possession of a passkey. It might reflect badly on security at The Luck of the Draw."

"It was all the new girl's fault," Ms. Billington put in. "She failed to follow procedure. The key should have been in the pocket of her smock."

Mackenzie Cutting raised his hand to cut her off. "You may go, Ms. Billington. Find someone who can communicate with this girl and see that the procedures are explained more clearly to her. Bring me a list of all those who complained this morning. Complimentary baskets of fruit will do much to erase any unpleasant feelings."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"All right, Miss Hanks," he continued, "we'll refrain from pressing charges as long as nothing further takes place. Miss Oppers, I have no idea why you felt the need to impersonate a hotel employee. Do not do it again."

Estelle nodded, gave me a wary look, and scurried out the door as if she could hear bloodhounds baying in the distance.

"I'll make sure she doesn't," I said lamely, then turned around and left.

It was not one of my grander exits.