Misery Loves Maggody

11

I walked over to the man Estelle had identified in her typically theatrical fashion, as if Charlton Heston-as opposed to Moses-had descended on the scene with a matching pair of tablets.

"Mr. Baggins?" I said. "I'm Arly Hanks."

"I know who you are. Don't go thinking C'Mon Tours is taking any responsibility for this. Everybody signed a disclaimer that said whatever happens ain't our fault. There's no way we can be held liable if people get sick."

"Nobody's blaming you," I said.

"Nobody better be," he muttered. "I ain't never seen a group more cantankerous than this. The bickerin' started before we ever left Farberville. The professor wasn't making it any easier, I'll admit, but all of them were fussing every mile of the way to Memphis."

"At which time they discovered they'd be staying in a dump in the sleaziest part of town. My mother forgot to pack her bulletproof vest and sidearm. What kind of company puts clients in that kind of danger?"

Baggins looked away. "Elvis slept there. I told 'em that."

"And the overnight stay in Tupelo? Did he forget to sleep there?"

"Things changed. Say, how's your mama doing? I sure am gonna be sorry if she can't go back with us in the morning. She's a fine lady."

"I doubt she'll be allowed to leave for a few days, and Estelle will want to stay here with her. You know about Stormy, of course?"

"The police told me. It's real sad, her being so young and all, and C'Mon Tours will be sending a condolence card soon as we get an address. Listen, miss, I need to find an auto-parts store before we drive home tomorrow. You tell your mama how sorry I am about her ailment."

"I most certainly will," I said, smiling so sweetly my teeth ached. "By the way, I need to ask you about the man in the black car at the motel in Memphis. What's his name?"

"How should I know something like that? I don't work for the Memphis Welcome Wagon." He edged away from me as if I, like beef past its prime, had a pungent odor. "There's close to a million people that live there. I ain't on speaking terms with all of them. Why would I know what cars they drive?"

He was so nervous that I began to think Estelle might be onto something. I bore down on him and said, "Did he want to know where the tour group would be staying last night?"

"Why would anybody care about that?" he said as he continued to back away from me. "All he wanted to know was how to get on the road to Nashville. If I don't find a place to buy a fan belt, this van's gonna be dead as an armadillo on the interstate come noon tomorrow."

I grasped his shoulder. "I need to know if he's stalking Estelle. Who is he?"

Baggins flinched as my fingers tightened. "It don't have anything to do with Estelle, your mama, or you. Leave it at that. He's not somebody you need to cross paths with. His problem was with Stormy. Now that she's dead, he'll give it up and go home."

"Give what up?"

He squirmed out of my grip and gave me a churlish look. "Don't go trying to trick me like I just got off the turnip truck. It's nothing to do with you. When I get back to Farberville, I'll try to talk Miss Vetchling into returning some of the money your mama paid for the tour. She's tighter'n bark on a tree, but you never know."

He climbed into the van and drove away. I was thinking about what he'd said as I walked toward the entrance. It sounded as though Stormy had been followed all the way from Farberville to The Luck of the Draw, where her luck had clearly and most sincerely run out.

I paused in the driveway to look up at the balconies on the eighth floor. The metal railings hindered the view but did not completely block it; voices, especially agitated ones, could have carried in the stillness of dawn. Japonica had no doubt recorded the exact words the witness heard seconds before the body came slamming down onto the pavement. Jim Bob's lawyer would be given access to her report when the trial date approached, but I decided to see if I could wheedle a copy of it in a more timely fashion. She wouldn't cooperate as long as she saw me as Jim Bob's staunch defender. I was trying to envision a way to inveigle my way back into her favor as I went through the revolving door.

"Arly!" shrieked Estelle. "You make him let me go or I'm gonna-I don't know, maybe I'm gonna do something we'll all live to regret!"

Mackenzie Cutting had her by the wrist. "Miss Hanks, approximately five hours ago you assured me that you would keep Miss Oppers out of trouble for a few days. I trusted you to keep your word. I think it would be better for all concerned if you and she checked out immediately and graced another hotel with your presence."

I stared at Estelle. "Now what?"

"I ain't saying a word until he lets go of me. He's gonna be darn lucky if I don't sue the hotel for a million dollars. Every time I turn around somebody on the staff's grabbing me and carrying on like I planted a bomb in a wastebasket?"

"A bomb?" said a cadaverous man in a lime green leisure suit.

"A bomb?" said the woman behind him, collapsing into a chair. "Julian, I need my pills!"

"No bomb!" Mackenzie yelled as the word began to ricochet around the room.

"We're all going to die!" screamed a women clutching a bug-eyed spaniel. She dropped to her knees and crawled under a table. "Oh, Bertie, Mumsy's so sorry she brought you here?"

"No bomb!" Mackenzie yelled once more, releasing Estelle in order to thrust his arms in the air. "No bomb! Nobody's in any danger!"

"Julian!" the woman sprawled across a chair screeched. "I am having palpitations! Call an ambulance!"

I caught Estelle and propelled her to the side of the lobby as the babble of voices grew louder. "Look at this," I said. "You were in here less than five minutes, for pity's sake! What did you do this time?"

"I'll tell you when we get to the room," she said haughtily, then removed my hand from her arm and strode toward the elevators as if she were Cleopatra boarding a barge. The queen of denial.

I looked back at Mackenzie, who appeared to be going down for the third time in a sea of panicky guests. His mouth was moving, but it was impossible to hear him in the increasingly frenzied din.

It seemed like the time for a prudent, if also cowardly, retreat.

The sheriff of Stump County, Arkansas, was counting the number of days until he could retire and devote all his time to fishing, when LaBelle clattered down the hall and commenced to rap on the door. He put aside the calendar, popped an antacid tablet in his mouth, and said, "What?"

"There's somebody to see you."

"I ain't here."

"I swear, Harvey Dorfer, if you keep this up much longer, I won't be, either. My sister-in-law makes better money at the poultry plant in Starley City, and all she has to do is pull out gizzards and livers. She never has to deal with task forces and bosses that hide in their offices while other people have to deal with the public. Are you gonna open the door or are you gonna sit on your fat butt and listen to me while I go down the hall and out the front door for the last time?"

Harve considered his options. "How much does she make?"

"That's it! As of this very minute, I am no longer an employee of this office. I am going to empty my desk drawers, rip up my time card, and go home to write a letter to the quorum court explaining why this job is unbearable. Your name is going to get mentioned more than once, Harvey Dorfer. I don't care if you're my cousin and your wife is having a bad time with her rheumatism and your son-in-law has so many speeding tickets that he could wallpaper his bathroom with 'em. My mind is made up. You can kiss my typing skills good-bye!"

"Aw, LaBelle," Harve said as he hastily unlocked the door, "you don't got any call to resign. What's going on?"

"A fellow calling himself Reverend Hitebred is sitting on the couch in the front room. He sez he'll sit there as long as it takes until you agree to hear him out. He has these creepy pale eyes and he stares at me like he thinks I'm doing the Devil's own work when all I'm doing is totaling up the monthly expenditures at the jail. I can't take any more of him."

Harve led her into the office and pushed her onto a chair. "You know you're the only one who keeps things running smoothly here," he said, going so far as to scoot a tissue box within her reach in case she turned weepy. "Soon as the task force gets some decent leads, they won't be here so much. I know for a fact that they're narrowing in on a couple of employees that didn't show up for work the day after the incident. Both of their apartments are under surveillance, and the minute either one of them comes home, we'll start getting some idea of what went on."

"I don't care," LaBelle said darkly. "It'd save us a lot of bother if they'd all shoot each other. That way there won't be any cocaine or crack dealers and we can go back to worrying about moonshine and marijuana."

"The good ol' days," Harve said as he sat down behind his desk.

"That's right."

"Along with polio, lead poisoning, bomb shelters-"

"I am not in the mood for this. You decide here and now if you're ready to resume your responsibilities. Otherwise, I may not enjoy plucking chickens, but I can do it. The going rate's eight dollars an hour, with benefits and two weeks' paid vacation."

The telephone rang. Harve looked at it, as did LaBelle. They looked at each other. The telephone rang again. LaBelle settled back in the chair and studied her fingernails.

Wheezing, he picked up the receiver. "Sheriff's office, Harvey Dorfer speaking."

He listened for a few minutes, making notes and mumbling, and then replaced the receiver. "That was the state police. Let everybody know to watch for a stolen vehicle. The driver is acting real peculiar, so tell 'em not to be heroes and get theirselves shot. All they should do is follow it." He handed her the slip of paper on which he'd written the license-plate number.

"Are they supposed to call the psychic hotline to find out what kind of vehicle?" said LaBelle, taking the paper.

Harve told her, then rocked back in his chair and felt in his shirt pocket for a cigar. Maybe he'd take his son-in-law deep-sea fishing down in Florida. There wasn't any way to get a speeding ticket for that, or so he supposed.

Rex Malanac was waiting by the elevators when I arrived on the eighth floor. "Oh, good," he said with all the cheerful sincerity of a telemarketer, "I was hoping I might catch you. Would you like to have a drink in the bar? I've been told they make passable margaritas here."

"Thanks, but I'm busy," I said, attempting to sidle around him.

He cut me off. "It'll do you a world of good to relax for a few minutes and stop worrying about your mother. I can give you some tips for the blackjack table. Do come down to the bar with me, Miss Hanks. I can assure you that I'm harmless."

In that we were the same height, I looked him in the eyes. "I said I'm busy. Is there something about this particular concept that baffles you?"

The elevator doors opened and Mackenzie Cutting emerged. "We need to talk, Miss Hanks."

Rex stepped into the elevator. "I'll see you later, then."

I waited until the doors had closed. "Have you heard anything more about the alleged homicide this morning?"

"As far as the casino is concerned, it was a suicide. Miss Zimmerman had emotional problems when she came. The croupier at the roulette wheel noticed how high-strung she was, and went so far as to suggest the pit bosses keep her under observation. This is meant to be a carefree place, Miss Hanks, where adults drink, socialize, and play games of chance. When people begin to lose heavily, we discourage them from further gaming by cutting off their free drinks and their credit. Habitual losers who get in over their heads are barred from the casino and given information about Gamblers Anonymous."

"Stormy was losing a lot of money?"

"No, but she was in a foul temper. She complained loudly whenever she lost a bet and used language that some of her fellow players found offensive. After a streak of ill-fated spins, she called the croupier a 'limp-pricked penguin.' He was taken out on break and she was asked to find other amusements."

"Was she by herself?" I asked.

"Our policy is not to gossip about our guests. We have a clientele that includes politicians, celebrities, investment brokers, and so forth. We show them every courtesy, of course, but we never discuss their companions for the evening or their outcomes at the tables. They would hardly give us their business if they weren't convinced of our complete discretion."

"I understand," I said, "but this doesn't qualify as gossip. A man followed Stormy from Farberville to Memphis, and possibly here. The witness in the parking lot is convinced that she saw a man on the balcony. I'd just like to find out who he is and if he's involved."

"Then you'll have to ask Chief Sanderson," he said dismissively. "Shall we discuss Miss Oppers's latest escapade?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"From all accounts, she burst into the men's room around the corner from the reception desk. Several gentlemen were at the urinal. She grabbed one of them by the arm and spun him around. In that he was in the midst of… ah, relieving himself, it resulted in an awkward incident. I was on my way to my office when I heard shouting, and was about to enter the restroom when Miss Oppers ran out. I detained her until I could find out what was happening."

"A men's room?" I said weakly.

"A very crowded men's room."

"And one of them…?"

"Oh yes," he said, "and with an extraordinary range. I offered to cover dry-cleaning expenses, but most of them were speechless with outrage or embarrassment. Does she do this kind of thing often?"

"Not that I recall," I said. "Did she explain?"

Mackenzie's lips twitched a bit. "No, Miss Hanks, she did not, nor did she offer to apologize to the man she'd harassed. He's a state senator, and not happy that he might have alienated a dozen constituents."

"A vote by any other name," I murmured as I leaned against a table and tried very hard not to picture the scene. A giggle erupted. I turned around and stared out the window at the parking lot. "Estelle," I began, then did what I could to convert another giggle into a snort, "would never-"

"Never?" said Mackenzie.

"I'm sure she's really sorry," I said, now clamping down on my lip and making noises that were more suitable to a winded horse, "if what she did resulted in him pissing off constituents."

At which point I lost it. I needed to. I'd driven most of the night, then been obliged to deal with all kinds of officious nonsense, weird behavior-okay, very weird behavior-and a steady stream of people knocking on the door. My nose exploded with suppressed amusement. I waved him off and staggered down the hall, clutching my stomach.

"Miss Hanks," Mackenzie said, "my job's on the line. I'm paid to maintain a surreal microcosm. There is no dawn or dusk, no grocery money gone in the roll of dice or the flip of a card, no drunk hauled up to his hotel room to sleep it off until he wakes up and realizes that he's blown his life's savings. We cannot permit disruptive behavior. Can you control Miss Oppers?"

"I'll try to convince her not to piss off anybody else," I said, then doubled over and came near cracking my head against a wall.

"Will you please be serious?" he said.

I gnawed on my knuckles for a moment and willed myself to get over it. "If this senator still wants an apology, I can speak to Estelle about it."

"The last thing the senator desires is to relive the experience. All I need is your promise that absolutely nothing else will happen until you and Miss Oppers leave."

"Absolutely," I said, drawing a cross on my chest. "This senator-what does he look like?"

"He looks like the epitome of indignation," Mackenzie said coldly. "Do not approach him under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear?"

"Is he bald?"

"I am not going to discuss this any further. Keep her under control. This is not a video-game arcade where a limited amount of adolescent mischief is tolerated." He turned his back on me and jabbed at the elevator button.

I went to the room and let myself in. Estelle was perched on the edge of the bed, her purse in her lap and her ankles crossed. Her jaw was thrust out so far that I doubted she could see the carpet.

"Waiting for a parade?" I asked as I sat down.

"I called the hospital. Ruby Bee's still asleep. They expect Dr. Deweese in another hour or so. I was thinking it might be nice to take some flowers to brighten up her room."

"I'm not sure there's a florist shop around here."

"Well, then," she said, "maybe I'll buy her a couple of magazines in the gift shop. She used to like those true-confession stories where the gal does something real stupid but ends up living happily ever after anyways. I never much cared for them myself."

"I guess you're more interested in politics-or at least in politicians. That would explain why you were so thrilled when you spotted the senator that you lost your mind."

"What are you getting at?"

"Why else would you pursue him into the men's room?" I said. "I hope everybody washed his hands afterward."

She had the decency to look abashed. "Are they gonna let us stay here for the time being? The room's already paid for through tonight and I've unpacked my things. It'd be a shame to have to move to a different hotel."

"We're okay unless you decide to break into the safe or run naked through the casino. At this point, I wouldn't be especially surprised."

"I do not appreciate your attitude, missy. If you can't mind your mouth, I'll just go sit in the car and do my best not to die of hypothermia. There's extra blankets in the closet. They may not help much when it gets real cold tonight. I hate to imagine what condition I'll be in when you find me in the morning."

"Very stiff, I should think," I said. "So you thought you saw the bald man going into the lobby, right?"

"As sure as I live and breathe. I would have caught up with him by the desk if I hadn't tripped over a suitcase and darn near broke my neck. As I was scrambling to my feet, I saw him go through a doorway. I went charging after him. I guess you know the rest."

"Indeed I do," I said.

"It's kind of odd, though," she said as chewed on her lip, "because I was real sure it was him. He might have been doing his business in one of the stalls. Why don't I go sit in the lobby and watch for him while you do the same in the casino? I'll describe him for you. If you spot someone who fits what I've said, you can come get me."

"Absolutely not. I don't want you to go so far as the balcony without me. In fact, it might be better if you went on home tomorrow in the van. I'll stay until Ruby Bee is released, then bring her back with me."

"I am not about to abandon her in her time of need! After all the things she's done for me, I have no intention of going back to Maggody so I can give Elsie McMay a perm and trim Darla Jean McIlhaney's bangs like nothing went on. Ruby Bee was by my side when I received that unfortunate inheritance from my uncle, just like I was there when she found that letter."

"What letter?" I asked, leaning forward.

Estelle took a minute to answer, and I could see she was searching for words. "From your daddy, Arly. It was a hard time for her. Let's you and me go to the hospital and find out how she's doing. She probably doesn't want flowers or a bunch of silly magazines."

I couldn't think of anything to say. We drove to the hospital, went inside, and nodded at the pink-clad woman still defending the castle keep.

Ruby Bee was awake. Her eyes were dull and her flesh seemed swollen, as if the constant drip from the IV was overinflating her with liquids. "What are you doing here?" she asked me.

"Same thing I was doing this morning," I said. "Making sure they keep you happy."

"This morning?"

I licked my lips. "Yes, this morning. Estelle and I came by to make sure you're not giving the nurses a hard time."

"Can I leave now?" she said, sitting up and picking at the adhesive strip that held the needle in place. "I want to go home, Arly. You fetch my clothes and my handbag. They ain't nice here. I'll get dressed and we can leave."

I took her hand and pulled it away before she could dislodge the needle. "You can't leave just yet."

Estelle touched my back. "I'll find a nurse."

Ruby Bee's face wrinkled with confusion. "Didn't you come to take me home, Arly? That's all I want. They keep coming in to poke and prod me like I was nothing but a piece of meat. Is Estelle mad at me? Did I do something wrong?"

A nurse came into the room and shooed me out. I could hear her murmuring as I sank against a wall in the corridor and ground my palms into my face. It took me a moment to realize Estelle was rubbing my neck.

"I'm all right," I said. "Let's find out if Dr. Deweese is here."

We went to the cafeteria and found him eating a sandwich. "Miss Hanks," he said as we came into the room, "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about your mother. The X rays were inconclusive. The ultrasound is down, which is not unusual, and we're waiting for a technician from Memphis. If he can get it fixed, we'll do a scan this evening. She needs to stay here for a few more days, in any case."

Estelle nudged me aside. "She's all bewildered and upset. What if she yanks out that needle and goes roaming down the hall and out the back door? I don't reckon this hospital is more than half a mile from the Mississippi River. She never could swim."

"I'll order a sedative," he said. "We won't know anything for at least three hours. Why don't you go get some rest and come back this evening?"

I was too frustrated to do anything more than shrug. Estelle and I went back to the parking lot and got into the car. Rather than heading for the hotel, I suggested we drive around the area and look at the other casinos. We did so in gloomy silence, not bothering to comment on the gaudy exteriors and billboards advertising cheap buffets and forthcoming country music shows. We caught occasional glimpses of the muddy river; if Huck and Jim were on their way to New Orleans, they'd already passed by.

It was beginning to get dark as we arrived back at The Luck of the Draw. I stayed close to Estelle as we went into the lobby, praying she didn't see a bald head in the crowd and launch into action.

"Would you take a look at that?" she said, halting in midstep.

I poised my hand within reach of her elbow. "Do you see him?"

"Not hardly. If I'm not imagining things, that's Mrs. Jim Bob at the desk, and Brother Verber right behind her. What in tarnation would they be doing here?"

"They must have heard about Jim Bob," I said.

"I'd almost forgotten about him being in jail. Do you think he called 'em to come bail him out?"

I shook my head. "And be forced to explain why he was here in the first place? I should think he'd prefer to chop cotton for the next twenty years. Let's go up to the room before they spot us."

We'd almost made it to the hallway when Mrs. Jim Bob said, "Arly? Is that Estelle with you? I thought she was on some Elvis Presley tour."

"Shit," I said under my breath, then pasted on a smile. "This is the final destination."

"It shore is good to see some familiar faces?" boomed Brother Verber, grinning so broadly that several people near him shrank back.

Mrs. Jim Bob beckoned at me. "I want you to come over here and talk some sense into this young fellow. I have never in all my born days encountered such impudence. I have explained the situation to him at least a dozen times, but I might as well have been trying to communicate with Marjorie." She stared at the desk clerk. "Marjorie's a sow, for your information."

"What's the problem?" I asked as I joined her.

"He says we can't stay here."

"There aren't any rooms," the desk clerk said, looking as if he were prepared to duck behind the desk if she threw a punch.

Brother Verber rocked forward and pointed his finger at the hapless clerk. "No room at the inn," he said, "is what they told Mary and Joseph. Do you think that innkeeper was welcomed into heaven when his day came? Do you think ol' Saint Peter slapped him on the back and told him to come on in and make hisself at home 'cause there was plenty of room?"

The clerk gulped. "It's Saturday night. All the hotels from here to Memphis are always full. If you want to come back on Tuesday, we can fix you up."

"Do something, Arly," growled Mrs. Jim Bob.

"You planning to give birth?" I asked her. "I can probably get you a bed in the maternity ward at the hospital."

"You listen here, young lady," she began, quivering with rage, "if you don't curb your tongue-"

Estelle butted in. "Jim Bob's room is liable to be empty for some time to come. You all could stay there."

"Have you forgotten I am a respectable married woman? Some folks"-she turned a beady-eyed glare on those waiting in line-"may choose to share a bed with a someone other than their spouse, but I will never stoop to that kind of immoral behavior. I am a devout Christian, and when I got married, I vowed to love, honor, and obey. I disrecollect the preacher saying that infidelity was acceptable."

"It was just a suggestion," said Estelle as she stalked away.

I didn't know what Mrs. Jim Bob had learned about Jim Bob's current woes, but it didn't seem wise to suggest that she share a room with Cherri Lucinda.

"Okay," I said without enthusiasm, "here's what we can do."