by Joan Hess
He might have been planning to elaborate, but Cherri Lucinda punched him in the shoulder and said, "Baggins, you have no right to change the plans like this. Taylor went to a lot of trouble to set this up, so you'd better just figure out a way for these two kids to get married in the Elvis Presley chapel."
"Can't do nothing about Shriners," he said.
Taylor crumpled into the seat and buried her face in her hands. "It was going to be so romantic," she said between noisy gulps and hiccups. "I brought a cassette player and a tape so Elvis could be singing in the background during the ceremony. Todd's mother wanted flower girls, bridesmaids, elaborate flowers, candles, a professional photographer, and all of that, but I just-I just wanted something different-special-something to tell our children and our grandchildren about. I think I'm going to be sick?"
A crude sound from the back of the van indicated that Todd had beaten her to it.
6
The Lack of the Draw Casino & Hotel could have been a stepchild of the fabled Las Vegas Strip. Lights flashed and flickered on every surface, and above the main entrance was a giant poker hand (aces and eights, oddly enough) outlined in red neon stripes. People were streaming in and out the doors, and the parking lot was filling up at a good clip.
Baggins stopped in a loading zone and looked back at his charges. "I reckon we're here," he announced cheerfully. When nobody responded, he sighed and went on. "Look, I already explained how there was no way we could spend the night in Tupelo, so it ain't gonna do y'all any good to be dragging your tails all the way home. You got to see the house where Elvis was born, didn't you?"
"For all of twenty minutes," said Cherri Lucinda with a grimace. "I felt like a calf at a slaughterhouse. I'm surprised you didn't chase after us with a cattle prod."
Estelle wasn't any happier. "I barely had time to stick my head in the chapel before you started hollering." She smiled at Taylor, who hadn't said a word since Memphis and had refused to set foot out of the van in Tupelo. "It was real pretty inside, with stained-glass windows and wood pews. It's a dadgum shame you couldn't have your wedding there, and I'll be the first to give Miss Vetchling a piece of my mind when we get home. The nerve of her switching the itinerary like that!"
"Perhaps," Rex said, "there's a wedding chapel on the premises here. If not, we can inquire about a bowling alley or a pancake house. Those are the fundamental hubs of social interaction in Mississippi. I'm sure weddings are not unusual in such establishments."
Stormy stubbed out a cigarette in a cup she'd been utilizing as an ashtray and aimed a finger at him. "That's enough out of you, asshole? You've been picking on her since the moment we left Farberville. I may not have a college degree, but my mama taught me to be polite to other people, no matter what they've done in the past. If you say one more rude thing to her, I'm gonna yank off your sunglasses and put 'em in a place where the sun don't shine. You follow me?"
"Go for it," said a hoarse voice from the rearmost seat.
Baggins decided he'd better regain control before an uncivil war broke out. "Here's what we're gonna do. I'll get out your duffel bags and you can take them into the lobby while I park. Soon as I get back, I'll see to registration. Don't be wandering off until you have your room key, 'cause I don't aim to spend the rest of the evening hunting you down in the casino. You're free to do whatever you want until tomorrow evening at nine, when we'll meet in the lobby for the show. There's a rumor that El Vez, the famous Latino impersonator, and the Lovely Elvettes may perform, but don't get your hopes up too high. We may have to settle for Elvision."
As the others got out of the van, Estelle noticed that Taylor was back to crying. She handed her a tissue and patted her arm. "It ain't all that farfetched for there to be a wedding chapel in this hotel. I'll bet lots of people come down from Memphis to get married and spend the weekend in the honeymoon suite."
Taylor wiped her nose. "I'm not sure Todd's still in the mood. He's blaming me for his hangover."
"Well, the worst that can happen is that you'll end up having the big wedding in Little Rock after all. I can just picture you in a satin gown trimmed with lace and your hair all soft and curly to frame your face. You'll look like a storybook princess, honey."
"What I'll look like is a princess who swallowed a watermelon. By August there's no way I'll be able to fit into the wedding dress Todd's grandmother wore forty years ago."
"You mean you"-Estelle licked her lips-"might be in the family way? Are you sure?"
"Yes, and six months from now, there'll be no doubt in anyone's mind. Girls from the 'right' families in Little Rock aren't supposed to do that. The ones that do it anyway either have an abortion or develop a rabid desire to spend a year abroad, perfecting their French culinary talents. Oddly enough, you don't find many recipes for soufflés and gateaux in the Junior League cookbooks."
Estelle was struggling to find a reply when Baggins thumped on the window.
"Let's go?" he called. "Everybody else is already inside the hotel. I can't park until you get your butts off the van."
Only one duffel bag remained on the curb. Estelle collected it, then followed Taylor through the revolving door. The lobby was three times as big as the sanctuary of the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall, and crowded with couches, chairs, potted plants, bellmen in crisp uniforms, piles of luggage, and folks wearing everything from diamonds and furs to plaid pants, cardigan sweaters, and caps with logos from tractor companies. A line beginning at the registration desk zigzagged between velveteen ropes on shiny posts. The babble of hundreds of voices, combined with canned music and crackly announcements over a PA system, reminded Estelle of a carnival on a humid summer night.
"Where's Ruby Bee?" she said.
"I don't see her, but there's Todd on a sofa over by the fountain. I suppose I'd better join him before he decides the only cure is a drink in the bar." A calculating expression flashed across Taylor 's face, then disappeared. "Maybe a hot shower and room service will improve his mood," she added. "The poor boy hasn't had anything to eat all day."
"That might do the trick." Estelle stood on tiptoes to look for Ruby Bee. Blond heads bobbled here and there, but as far as she could see, none of them belonged to Ruby Bee. Leaving Taylor to tend to her fiancé, she forced her way through the wall of bodies. A woman in a bright yellow sweatsuit muttered a word of reproach as Estelle nudged her aside. A college-aged boy stepped on her foot, apologized, and then did it again in his haste to escape from her glare. Over the PA system, a man with a heavy accent advised the driver of a Toyota that he was in peril of having his car towed. Several of the men in the line bolted for the door.
Estelle spotted Rex and struggled to his side. "Have you seen Ruby Bee?" she asked, panting as if she'd just climbed to the top of Cotter's Ridge.
"No, but I heard our little spitfire offer to help her find a ladies room," he said. He gestured at a corridor next to the registration desk. "The nearest one is down that way on the other side of the restaurant."
Estelle lowered her head and charged through the crowd until she reached the less populated hallway. After making sure her beehive was still well-secured, she stopped at a drinking fountain for a gulp of water, and was preparing to resume her mission when Ruby Bee herself appeared.
"If you're looking for the potty, it's right here," she said coolly.
"Why'd you go disappearing like that?"
Ruby Bee turned icy. "You are not my baby-sitter, so stop acting like it. I am free to come and go as I choose, and I don't need your permission to tinkle."
"If that's the way you feel, then you can just tinkle till the cows come home" Estelle spun around and started back to the lobby.
She hadn't taken more than three steps when she found herself nose to nose with Jim Bob Buchanon, so close she could see the stubble on his chin and smell the whiskey on his breath. Neither was appealing.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"What are you doing here?" he said, sounding equally
surprised.
"I asked you first!"
"It ain't any of your fuckin' business what I'm doing here. I wanna know what you're doing here"
"Don't you use that sort of language with me, Jim Bob. Didn't I hear that you were going to some kind of meeting in Hot Springs, and paying your expenses out of the town treasury?" She was going to elaborate when she heard a shriek from behind her.
She looked back. Cherri Lucinda and Stormy were on their knees next to a body sprawled on the diamond-patterned carpet. There was no mistaking the rubber soles of Ruby Bee's orthopedic shoes.
Dahlia was rattling pots and pans in the kitchen when Kevin got home from work. The babies were in a playpen in the middle of the living room; Kevvie Junior was staring at the light fixture on the ceiling, and Rose Marie was sucking on her fist with fierce determination and kicking her tiny legs.
Kevin stopped for a moment to watch them, wondering if Kevvie Junior'd grow up to be an electrician and Rose Marie a ballet dancer, then went on into the kitchen. He was thinking he might sneak up behind his beloved and nuzzle her neck, but she hunched her shoulders and said, "Cain't you see I'm busy? Why doncha do something useful for a change?"
"Like what?"
"I swear, when the Lord was passing out the brains, you were under the porch licking your balls with the dawgs. Bring in a couple of loads of firewood-and make sure you don't track up the floor while you're at it."
"Whatever you say," he mumbled, hanging his head.
Dahlia wiped her hands on her apron as she came over to him. "Aw, I dint mean anything, Kevin. You're a real fine husband and father. Your ma was telling me how your pa never once changed a diaper. You work long hours and still do what you can to help me with the babies." She leaned toward him and stroked his cheek with a damp, prunish fingertip. "I'm sorry I snapped at you like that."
Kevin was painfully aware of the closeness of the pendulous bosoms that had provided him with so many hours of bliss. They'd been declared off-limits for the time being, but his palms tingled as he recalled the overflowing handfuls of softness, downy hair, and nipples as big and pink and sweet as rosebuds.
"That's okay," he managed to say, sticking his hands in his pockets before he lost control and lunged at her. "I know you're tired all the time. The doctor sez the babies'll be sleeping through the night afore too long. That means you and me can go back to doing the things a married couple is supposed to do. Remember how we used to sneak into the storage room at the Kwik-Stoppe Shoppe?"
"And end up with more babies? We can't afford the two we have right now, and before you know it, we'll have to be buying shoes and bicycles and band instruments and party clothes and-" She sank onto a chair, her chins quivering and her face crumpled with misery. "We can't hardly afford vitamins and medicine, Kevin. What'll we do down the road when Rose Marie needs braces on her teeth?"
"Why, I'll be the manager at the supermarket by then," Kevin said heroically. "Jim Bob came near leaving me in charge while he's in Hot Springs, but then that dadburned Idalupino had to go and tell him that I took a nap in the lounge when I was supposed to be mopping the floor. From the way he carried on, you'd have thought I knocked over the display of canned pineapple again."
"Jim Bob ain't never gonna pay you more than minimum wage," she said, shaking her head. "All we can do is sell this house my granny gave us and move into a cramped trailer at the Pot O' Gold. Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie will grow up with a ditch for a yard. They'll start cussin' and lyin' and stealin' candy bars at the supermarket, and then drop out of school and take to selling drugs behind the pool hall. They'll be arrested and sent to prison, and when they get out, they'll have earrings all over their bodies. It's gonna kill your ma, Kevin. Then your pa'll have to move into the trailer with us, even though we won't have but one bedroom, and spend his days in a dirty undershirt, peeking through widows' bathroom windows and stealing their brassieres off the clothesline."
Kevin struck a manly, home-from-the-hunt pose. "We're not that bad off, my dimpled dumpling. According to the budget we made up, we can make ends meet as long as we don't waste money on extras like going to the picture show in Farberville or eating supper at the Dairee Dee-Lishus. It may get a little tight from time to time, but there's plenty of money in our bank account to pay all the bills."
If he'd been watching his wife instead of puzzling over what his pa was gonna do with stolen brassieres, he might have noticed the flush on her cheeks. He finally gave up (his pa having never shown much interest in underwear, including his own) and added, "So don't you fret about money. When we got married, I promised to see after you, and I'm gonna do it. What's for supper?"
"Beans and cornbread, just like every Friday night. Why doncha play with the babies till it's ready?"
He went back into the living room and began to prattle in a goofy, high-pitched voice. Dahlia poured the cornbread batter into a pan, stuck it in the oven, and sat down to rest for a few minutes. There wasn't any reason to ruin his good mood, she decided. There'd be plenty of time later to tell him that she needed the car the following afternoon. With any luck, she'd end up with cash to cover the payment to the hospital, and even leave enough for groceries till his next paycheck.
With any luck at all.
LaBelle was back at her desk when I came into the sheriff's department, but she was banging on a typewriter with enough fervor to bend the keys. Although she must have felt a gust of cold air as I opened the door, she kept her face down.
"I need to see Harve," I said.
"Well, he doesn't need to see you. Call next week and make an appointment like everybody else. This is not a convenience store where you can drop in and microwave a burrito whenever you please."
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Harve asked me to come by this afternoon and brief him on a case. Is he in his office?"
"Where do you think he is- Paris?" she said, at last giving me a hostile stare. "Of course he's in his office, but he told me that he doesn't want to be disturbed. I know for a fact that he locked the door as soon as I left. If a fire starts and he passes out from the smoke, he's gonna be in real trouble because there's no way anybody can get in to rescue him. My cousin Magenta always locked the bathroom door when she took a bath. When she slipped getting out of the tub, her husband called the ambulance and the paramedics had to break down the door. There she was, naked as the day she was born, with these two strange men ogling her every wart, scar, and stretch mark. To this day she claims she doesn't remember any of it, but that ain't what her husband says."
She resumed her assault on the typewriter. I went down the hall to Harve's office and knocked on the door.
"I tol' you to leave me alone, LaBelle!" he boomed. "I don't want to hear any more complaints about the dirty coffee cups in the break room. And stop calling it a 'war room,' fer chrissake?"
I identified myself and assured him I was alone in the hall. He unlocked the door, dragged me inside, and relocked it.
"LaBelle's getting on my nerves," he said, running his fingers through what hair he had as he sat down behind his desk. "She's so crazy these days that she thinks I put a bath tub in here. Now you tell me-why in blazes would I have gone and done a fool thing like that?"
"Shall I assume the task force is still in operation?" I asked.
"Does a bear shit in the woods? Yeah, there are about a dozen of 'em on loan from various agencies in the county. They report to the prosecutor, so half the time I don't even know what they're doing-besides eating doughnuts and pizza." He took a cigar butt out of his pocket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. "One of the fellows that was on the critical list died last night. The other one is on a respirator in the intensive care unit. A DEA agent's staying by his bedside, but I don't think we're going to be hearing a confession anytime soon."
"Why's this such a big deal, Harve? It's not exactly a secret that illegal drugs are cheap and plentiful in Stump County. Marijuana's more common than cocaine, but everything's available in the bars
on Thurber Street."
"It seems we're smack in the middle of a new route from Mexico to Chicago. The DEA's been onto it for several months, but they've been waiting for a good-sized shipment so they can get publicity. They sure would like to know what happened at the Dew Drop Inn. The owner and bartender are in custody, but they seem to have been struck deaf and dumb. We're trying to find out who else might have been hanging around after the club closed." He took the cigar out of his mouth, studied it for a moment, and jammed it back in. He used a couple of matches to get it lit to his satisfaction, then leaned back and entwined his fingers on his belly. "Ain't your headache, though. You get anywhere in Scurgeton?"
"The only problem out there is a preacher with an overcharged imagination and too much free time," I said, trying not to squint as acrid smoke drifted across the desk. "There's nothing going on in Maggody, so I can keep driving over there to gaze wonderingly at whatever doohickey Reverend Hitebred finds under a chair. I may get bored with it sooner or later, however."
"Just keep him happy," Harve said with a chuckle that disintegrated into a spasm of coughing. When he regained control, he brushed ashes off his chest and said, "Or out of my hair, anyway."
"Sure," I said, waited a few seconds in case he had any more questions (or was going into respiratory failure), and then unlocked the door and went out to the hallway. Before I'd reached the reception area, I heard the lock click behind me, and from somewhere in the back of the building, brays of laughter and a phrase that sounded suspiciously like, "straight flush." LaBelle ignored me as I went by her desk.
I stopped at the edge of Farberville and picked up a hamburger and fries for dinner. When I arrived in Maggody, I parked behind the antiques store and climbed the steps to my apartment. No interior decorating elves had been there in my absence; the linoleum was still buckled and the walls looked, if anything, dingier than when I'd left that morning. If I didn't do laundry before too long, my sheets would be able to crawl over to the Suds O' Fun on their own.