Misery Loves Maggody

12

Kevin had long since driven all the way around Farberville and was heading west in the direction of the Oklahoma border. He hadn't seen Dahlia's car anywhere along the way-not parked in front of a store or next to the side of the highway, which is where he figured it'd be if she had a flat tire. He'd done his best to teach her how to change a tire, but she'd always just given him a puckery look until he fixed it himself and they could be on their way.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. The state police car was still behind him, and now there was another following it. Since he was being real careful to stay well under the speed limit, he wasn't worried about them. It was getting on toward Saturday evening, after all, and they were most likely going home to have supper with their families and watch television. If only he could be doing the same, he thought wistfully. Instead, he had no choice but to go search for his wife so he could bring her back to her sweet little babies.

It was hard not to imagine the worst. What if she'd been run off the road by a motorcycle gang and was plastered against the steering wheel, unconscious and in danger of icing over like a white wedding cake? She'd been frettin' about money ever since she came home from the hospital. What if she'd been so desperate that she'd been hired by a drug dealer to take his filthy wares to Oklahoma? She could be in a jail in Muskogee or Sallisaw, hanging down her head in shame. Or what if she'd met some fellow with plenty of money and was lying in his arms in a motel room? What if the room had velvety red wallpaper, a mirror on the ceiling, and a king-size water bed? That would explain why she kept slapping away her lawfully wedded husband whenever he wiggled up next to her under the covers and let his fingers ramble over her wondrous ripples of flesh. Was she doing it 'cause she loved this fellow-or was he giving her money?

Kevin's eyes clouded with tears. It was his fault, not hers. If he was bringing home more money every week, she wouldn't have been obliged to sell her body to a stranger, even if he drove a fancy car and bought her boxes of chocolates and great big bottles of perfume that smelled like diamonds.

He blinked as he watched a car with the sheriff's logo cut across the grassy median and fall into line behind the other two. Maybe there was some sort of policeman's ball up the road a piece, and they were all gettin' ready to dance the night away. He slowed down to encourage them to get on to their party, but none of them pulled into the passing lane. In fact, they were acting like he was leading them right to the door of the Elks Lodge or wherever they were going.

Kevin had never before considered himself a natural-born leader. This was kind of nice, though. Here he was, gathering up all the law-enforcement agents in Stump County so he could guide them to where they wanted to go. He rolled down the window and waved at them so's to assure them that they were in good hands; in response, they turned on their blue lights, adding a downright festive air to the occasion.

It was only fitting that he was in a Bronco, and a white one at that, since he pictured himself in a big white cowboy hat with a little feather tucked in the band. Feeling like the trail master at the head of along line of covered wagons, each filled with stouthearted settlers, rosy-cheeked children, and all their worldly possessions, he took them onward into Indian territory.

I was keenly aware I was playing Russian roulette. After some dickering and many homilies from Mrs. Jim Bob emphasizing her moral superiority, she agreed to take my bed in the room originally assigned to Estelle and Ruby Bee. I moved my things into the next room, planning to sleep in what had been Stormy's bed. Brother Verber took Jim Bob's room. Cherri Lucinda, conveniently absent, had not been consulted, but I was pretty sure she'd rather have me than her boyfriend's acid-tongued wife or Maggody's spiritual guru (to use the term loosely).

I'd put my toothbrush in the bathroom and was hoping to sneak away to the hospital, when Mrs. Jim Bob barged through the adjoining door with Brother Verber in tow.

"Explain what's going on," she said. "Jim Bob is in jail for killing some woman? Why isn't he in Hot Springs? Have you spoken to him? I want answers, Arly Hanks-and none of your smart talk."

I looked longingly at the door to the hallway, but forced myself to stay put. "I don't know for sure why Jim Bob is here. He must have changed his mind when he reached the interstate, and decided to come to Mississippi instead. Two of the women on the Elvis tour were staying in this room. He invited one of them to… go down to the casino. I was there myself last night. Lots of good, clean fun."

"There's nothing good or clean about wagering," she said, her lips pinched.

Brother Verber loomed over my shoulder. "Sister Barbara knows of what she speaks. 'The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life.' That's from a letter the Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans."

"I said wagering," said Mrs. Jim Bob. "You don't get wages when you wager."

"You don't? It'd seem like you would."

"Well, you don't." She looked at me. "I don't believe I've heard the whole story as of yet."

"Perhaps Jim Bob should tell you himself. I'm planning to go to the hospital in a few minutes. I can drop you off at the jail and pick you up later."

"I can see from the way you're squirming that you're avoiding the truth," she said. "I have to know what he did."

Brother Verber grabbed her hand. "I'm here for you, Sister Barbara, no matter how painful this turns out to be. I'll be at your side, praying for you night and day until your ordeal is ended."

"I'm not sure it's started," she said as she disengaged his hand, then retreated across the room. To my regret, she did not continue out the door. "Did he come here on account of this woman that died?"

"No," I said, relieved to be able to answer truthfully. "As far as I know, he'd never met her until late yesterday afternoon. The problem is that he had the adjoining room. Witnesses say he was the only man who could have been on the balcony"-I pointed at the one in question-"when Stormy was pushed. He claims he wasn't."

"Was he?"

I stood up. "He says not. Let's go into town and you can talk to him yourself. I'll get Estelle and we-"

"She's not in the room," said Mrs. Jim Bob. "She said to tell you she was going to take a shuttle bus to another casino. I hope she's not gambling. A fool and her money are soon parted, and the good Lord knows she's a quart low on common sense, probably on account of sniffing all that perm solution over the years. I have often prayed for her, just as I have for your mother and you as well. It's hard to picture you with a proper husband and children, but the flame of hope must never flicker and die out."

"Amen," intoned Brother Verber, then winced as I glowered at him.

So Estelle had escaped once again, I thought as I hustled them down the elevator and through the lobby. The only flame of hope I had involved Estelle's whereabouts; if she had left The Luck of the Draw, all was well-but if she hadn't, I was liable to find myself sleeping under a bush.

Or in a cell.

Japonica smiled as we came into the PD, but her heart wasn't in it. "Everything all right?" she asked me, eyeing my companions with justifiable wariness.

I introduced them, then said, "They'd like to see Jim Bob, if that's allowed."

"Sure. I feed him on a regular basis and escort him to the toilet when he hollers, but he's carrying on something fierce. I've already reached my limit on aspirin for the day. Maybe some company will shut him up for a spell."

"I think you can count on it," I said as I gestured for Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber to follow her through the door to the cells. Rather than trail along to watch the fun, I studied the wanted posters until Japonica emerged. "Did you interview all the witnesses?" I asked.

"Did you forget to mention you're the chief of police in this town of yours?"

"Run a tracer on me?"

"The town can't afford a computer, but I've got one at home. Chief Sanderson pays me a little extra out of petty cash to stay linked. You'll be glad to know you don't have any outstanding warrants."

She wasn't overtly hostile, but I could tell she was annoyed with me. I considered various responses, most of them glib or evasive, then shrugged and said, "It didn't seem relevant. This isn't my turf. I'm just nosing around because of the local connection." I paused as I heard strains of a hymn resounding from the back room. "I don't like Jim Bob. He's pulled so much shit in his time that he could be the poster boy for small-town bullies-but he's not a killer."

"The evidence says he is," Japonica said, unmoved by my Clarence Darrowesque summation. She sat down behind her desk and began to align the scattering of pens and pencils.

"The investigation is done?"

"We won't have the autopsy for a few days, but all it's going to tell us is that she died from the trauma of the impact. It doesn't matter if there was the alcohol in her blood, or even drugs. She was pushed. The man who pushed her is locked up. The prosecutor will decide how to go with it. Yeah, it's done except for the paperwork."

"Did you interview someone named Todd?" I asked.

"The fickle fiancé? No, he's still missing, or at least he was as of a couple of hours ago. From what the girl said, I don't see how he could offer anything useful-if there was anything useful to be offered, which there's not." She opened a folder and shuffled through several handwritten pages of notes. "He got off the elevator on the sixth floor around ten o'clock in the company of an old friend, name unknown. His fiancee continued on to their room and went to bed. Rex Malanac stayed in the casino most of the night, then went to bed. Hector Baggins took the C'Mon van and went to visit family. When he got back at midnight, he went to bed. Your friend stayed in her room. She went to bed, too. It seems all God's children went to bed."

"With the exception of Cherri Lucinda, none of them has an alibi."

"None of them needs one. The only person the ladies from Tuscaloosa saw in the hallway was the hotel employee. They may be elderly, but they've spent their lives observing other people's private business. Even though Tuscaloosa's a sight bigger than your town, I'll bet they know every last soul who's drying out at a so-called spa, taking money from the cash register, and slipping in and out the back doors of all the divorcees in town. On the lily-white side of the tracks, anyway. The only 'colored folks' they take an interest in are their cleaning women and yard men."

I was developing an irrational dislike of the ladies from Tuscaloosa -and of Japonica as well. "I guess I'd better go to the hospital to check on my mother. I'll come back in half an hour and gather up Jim Bob's visitors."

"Hold on," she said, picking up the telephone receiver. She dialed a number and asked to speak to someone named Carlette. "Hey, girlfriend," she said, "how's Ruby Bee Hanks doing? You got time to poke your head in her room?" After a few minutes of silence, she said, "I'd dearly appreciate it if you'll call me at the PD if she wakes up. Save me a seat at church in the morning and I'll tell you what that fool brother-in-law of yours said when his wife caught him and Magda Maronni in the backseat of his car. Talk about lame?"

She replaced the receiver and looked up. "Your mother's sedated and sound asleep. The ultrasound machine hasn't been repaired. Dr. Deweese went home for the night. Carlette'll keep a real close eye on your mother, and let me know if anything changes. If it does, I'll call you."

"Ruby Bee's bag is in the car. I'm going to run it over to the hospital, stick it in the closet in her room, and come back here. It shouldn't take me more than twenty minutes."

"Take your time," Japonica said. "I'd sooner listen to hymns than complaints. If we leave them back there long enough, I'm liable to get a full confession. I'll be hard pressed to actually believe he kidnapped the Lindbergh baby, assassinated Lee Harvey Oswald, and slept with the governor's wife, but I won't be surprised. It might just perk up my day."

Tension was mounting in the cell block, if the three dingy cubicles could be described as such. Up until then, Jim Bob's day had not been all that bad, considering. Japonica had brought him a hamburger and fries for lunch, and had mentioned the possibility of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and apple pie for supper if he behaved himself. She'd made it clear that a bottle of bourbon was out of the question, but then good ol' Chief Sanderson had slipped him one between the bars, like they were butt-slappin' cousins at a family reunion, checking out the dating possibilities. They'd passed the bottle back and forth while debating the hardships of deer hunting versus duck hunting.

Nobody'd asked him much of anything or made him go through his story over and over. He'd been daydreaming about Cherri Lucinda's exceptional talents, feeling real warm and smug, when the door had slammed opened and a double-barreled shotgun had blown away his peaceful little world.

And they were still there on the opposite side of the bars, huffing, puffing, peppering him with questions, and doing their damnedest to rescue his soul. Jim Bob, being fond of his soul in its blissfully flawed condition, was getting cranky.

"'Come, humble sinner, in whose breast a thousand thoughts revolve,'" sang Brother Verber, his eyes closed and his hands clinched so tightly his fingers looked like penne pasta. "'Come with your guilt and fear oppressed, and make this last resolve.'"

"What about Hot Springs?" repeated Mrs. Jim Bob. "You specifically said you were going to the Municipal League meeting. You were supposed to get a new stoplight."

Jim Bob did his best to look guileless, even though Brother Verber's entreaties to 'come' were stirring up some seriously inappropriate memories. "Like I said earlier, it got called off. There I was, all the way down to the interstate, and I heard on the radio that the whole darn thing was canceled because of…"

"Because of what?"

"Snow," he said, then mentally kicked himself for getting himself in deeper in something a whole lot less odorless than snow. "They were worried that we might have a blizzard and everybody'd be trapped for days on end. It turns out they were wrong, of course, since we haven't seen a single flake. However, they had to be cautious on account of Hot Springs being remote like it is. I was too scared to risk driving back over the mountains, so I decided to come over here and wait until the weather boys said it was safe to go home."

Brother Verber gave him a look of profound disappointment. "Brother Jim Bob, you're only foolin' yourself if you continue to deny you took a detour on the highway to heaven. The Lord will forgive you this one time if you'll get down on your knees and beg for mercy. I have to say, though, He's losing patience with you. Even the most goodhearted shepherd gets weary of going out into the night to hunt for a strayed lamb. One of these days you're gonna reach out for Sister Barbara and she won't be there."

"She won't?" Jim Bob asked curiously. "Where's she gonna be?"

"Making sure the electric chair's plugged in," Mrs. Jim Bob said without hesitation. "After they've fried you to a crisp, don't think you'll be issued a halo and a harp. Fornication is a sin that's a sight more serious than sipping whiskey on the Sabbath or diddling with the supermarket accounts."

"Fornication?" Jim Bob said, slapping his hand across his chest. "I'd never do something like that. You know what, Brother Verber? Even though I know I'm pure of such wickedness, I would like to get down on my knees and repent right this minute, just because I may have-for no more than a few seconds-harbored lust in my heart while gazing at a sweet young thing when she was buying a candy bar at the checkout counter. I got to admit that sometimes the flesh is weak. Satan starts hissing in my ear, and my thoughts stray into the garden of forbidden fruit."

"Praise the Lord" Brother Verber said, wiping his eyes as if they were blinded with tears of joy (which they weren't, but most likely should have been if he'd been paying proper attention instead of musing about fried catfish, hush puppies, and green tomato relish for supper). "Did you hear that, Sister Barbara? This particular sinner is gonna bare his soul and come back into the flock. I think we have a miracle in the making?"

Jim Bob looked up with an embarrassed grin. "It's just that I need to allow my bowels to purge themselves of the vestiges of overindulgence. It won't take but a few minutes. Could you be kind enough to ask Japonica to let me go to the restroom?"

Mrs. Jim Bob glared but held her peace, since she wasn't quite sure what-all was going on in his head. Salvation wasn't likely to be on the top of his list; she'd been dragging him to church for years and hadn't seen any improvement to date. Then again, he'd never gotten himself locked in a cell for murder. It could be that he was finally beginning to see the light, or at least the folly of his sinful behavior.

Japonica came down the short hall and unlocked the cell. "You two want to sit down in the front room while you wait?"

Jim Bob was rubbing his hands as he came out of the cell. "Ain't that a thoughtful suggestion on Japonica's part? Due to all the stress, I may need a few minutes. Take a breather and think of some more of those soul-stirring hymns, Brother Verber. It's all I can do to stop from breaking out in song right this minute. Japonica, my angel of compassion, I hope you'll join us in prayer before the evening is over."

"You bet," she said as they all trooped out to the office. Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber stepped into a corner to discuss this unanticipated turn of events as Jim Bob went into the washroom. He locked the door, turned on the tap, and assessed the possibilities. The window was high, and not more than two feet square. There might be garbage cans filled with rats on the other side of the wall. The lavatory looked like it might be wobbly. It wouldn't be easy.

Estelle was seated on a stool in front of a slot machine, a cup of nickels in her lap. Even though she had a good view of the crowd streaming through the casino, the noise was enough to drive her crazy, what with the machines around her dinging and ringing every time they spewed out a few coins. Folks who should have known better were shrieking, barging between the rows of machines, slopping drinks on each other, and smoking so many cigarettes that the air was thick enough to choke the cud right out of a cow.

Taylor sat down on the next stool. "Having any luck?"

Estelle stuffed a nickel in the slot and pushed a button. When nothing much happened, she said, "Not hardly. Are you here by yourself?"

"Are you asking if Todd came back? No, he didn't. I spent most of the day in our room, staring at the door and trying to decide what to say when he appeared. I went down to the restaurant several times, and walked around in here. I even went to the sixth floor and stood outside every door to listen for his voice. Not only has Todd vanished, but so have all of his old friends who were in the bar last night. I'm really starting to worry about him. Maybe he really was coming down with the flu or pneumonia or something like that. Could he have been taken to a hospital?"

Estelle dug through her purse and found a clean tissue. "Here," she said, handing it to Taylor. "If he's sick, someone would have called you. After all, you're his fiancee."

"Or was, anyway," she said glumly. "Does Maggody have a home for unwed mothers?"

"Now, Taylor, it's gonna be just fine. When he shows up, you can remind him of his responsibility to you and the baby. If he's scared of upsetting his mama, you and him can go down to Little Rock and have a cozy family wedding."

She blotted her nose. "I guess I'll go upstairs and see if he's there. The way things are going, I won't be surprised if his duffel bag is gone. This is all so Victorian, if you know what I mean. Here I am, a penniless orphan, pregnant with the young master's child, abandoned at the altar-"

"Oh dear!" said Estelle, turning back to the slot machine. "Don't look, but the security man is heading this way." She thrust the cup at Taylor. "Grab some nickels and start playing like you believe you're about to win a million dollars."

Estelle fed nickels into the machine for several minutes, all the while waiting to feel a hand clamp down on her shoulder and a cold voice to order her to leave the premises. She finally risked a quick look over her shoulder. Mackenzie must have missed her and moved on, she concluded, allowing her hand to drop. However, she didn't know in what direction he'd gone. If he was wandering around the casino, sooner or later he'd notice her, especially if she was doing the same thing in hopes of spotting the bald man.

"Why do people do this?" asked Taylor as she put a coin in the slot. "It's about as exciting as picking beetles out of a sack of cornmeal."

"You can stop. Go on upstairs, then come back if Todd ain't there. We can go to the show and distract ourselves from our worries. El Vez is supposed to be something. We'll just let ourselves go and pretend we're seeing the real thing in person, except for Elvis being dead and this impersonator being from Mexico. Other than that, it ought to be entertaining."

Taylor slid off the stool. "I'm not in the mood. I think I'll take one more tour around the casino, then go upstairs and pray that Todd shows up with a reasonably acceptable excuse. If I get bored, I can throw up. I do that a lot these days."

"There's no reason to…" Estelle said, then stopped and tried her level best not to gawk. "Just go on to your room. Odds are Todd will be sound asleep in your bed, and by tomorrow, everything will be back the way it was."

Taylor grimaced and headed for the door that led back into the lobby of the hotel. Estelle automatically put nickels into the slot, ignoring the occasional clatter of coins in the tray, and tried not to stare as she watched Cherri Lucinda and the bald man settle down in leather chairs in the bar like they were bosom buddies.

She was still watching them when the machine erupted with dings, rings, flashing lights, sirens, and everything short of wild applause. That was provided by fellow gamblers.

Ruby Bee was still asleep. I tiptoed across her room, set the duffel bag on a shelf in the closet, then retreated out into the corridor. There was no reason to hang around; Ruby Bee was oblivious and Dr. Deweese was gone for the day. I could program a VCR with reasonable success, but I couldn't repair an ultrasound machine.

I was walking toward the door when a twentyish black woman in a green smock came trotting up behind me.

"Are you Arly?" she asked.

I admitted as much. "Is there a problem?"

"I'm Carlette, honey. Japonica called and said for you not to bother to come by the police department. She's gonna drive the folks back to the hotel herself."

"Why?"

"That's pretty much all she said. She didn't sound real happy about it, but she can be that way. She hates her job on account of the chief. He was obliged to hire her because of the affirmative-action thing. I suppose he does his best, but he acts like this is the nineteen fifties and gals like Japonica should be cleaning houses and sitting in the back of the bus. I look forward to the day he falls sick and has to stay here. There'll be some squabbling as to who gets to stick a needle in him."

"You have no idea why she's taking them to the hotel? She didn't mention anything else?"

Carlette shook her head. "That's all. Don't go worrying too much about your mama. I'll take real good care of her and let you know if she needs anything. Dr. Deweese is young, but he's smart."

"What does his wife do?" I asked ever so casually. "Is she a doctor, too?"

"He's divorced, but you'll have to get in line. Every unattached woman in the county is after him. Even though he's on the pale side, I could bring myself to pick up his dirty underwear and drink fancy wine if that's what it'd take. I was always a sucker for big blue eyes. Now you run along and get some sleep."

I had no idea why Japonica had offered to take Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber to the hotel, but it didn't seem worth the energy to think about it. I drove back, parked, and walked hurriedly across the lobby, my fingers crossed that Mackenzie was occupied with mundane chores such as skimming profits or blackmailing politicians.

No one shrieked at me. I rode the elevator to the eighth floor and went straight to my room, not bothering to check on Estelle, or anyone else, for that matter. The Elvis Presley Pilgrimage had resulted in nothing but misery for all concerned. Stormy was dead, Ruby Bee was in the hospital, Jim Bob was in jail, Estelle was on Mackenzie's list of anarchists, an elopement had been foiled, and Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber were both sleeping in close proximity to yours truly.

I had a key to the room, having found one on the dresser. I let myself in and sank down on the bed. A glass with a lipstick smudge suggested Cherri Lucinda had come and gone in the last hour. In that she hadn't been sobbing outside Jim Bob's cell, I presumed she'd found a replacement in the casino-and, if the luck of the draw was with me, might remain with him for the remainder of the night.

I tossed my coat on a chair and was reaching for the remote control when someone knocked on the door. I dragged myself up and went to peer through the peephole. The man in the hallway stood far enough away for me to see the hotel logo embroidered on his shirt.

"Plumber," he said loudly.

Despite the fact he had thick brown hair, I put on the chain before I opened the door. "I didn't call."

"The trouble's on the ninth floor in the room directly above yours. A pipe broke and I need to make sure there's no water coming down the inside of the wall in your bathroom. I can wait if you want to call the desk."

"No," I said as I disengaged the chain and stepped back to open the door.

Wrong.