murder@maggody.com

by Joan Hess

  “Lottie showed us her figures.” She sat down and began to pluck at a crocheted doily on the armrest of the chair. “He conceded that she had included utilities in her budget, and it really won’t cost much to run the telephone lines to a portable building behind the gym. I personally have no interest in the Internet, but I think the idea of Brother Verber offering a daily dose of inspiration might spread the gospel to those lost souls in danger of eternal torment.” She paused in case I needed a minute to figure out exactly which one of us might qualify as a charcoal briquette. “After Lottie left, Jim Bob and I got down on our knees in this very room and prayed for guidance. As far as I could tell, the Lord has no objections to the Internet, as long as it’s not used to tempt the weakest among us with vile images.”

  “Well, then,” I said lamely, “as long as you and Jim Bob are in favor of this, I’ll go tell Lottie that the matter’s been decided.”

  “You’d better go by the SuperSaver first.”

  “Jim Bob’s not in favor? I thought you just said that he is.”

  She resumed picking at the doily as if it were a blister. “His mind might have wandered during our prayer session. I don’t rightly know why he’s upset about having a computer lab at the high school. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  The things I do for a grilled-cheese sandwich.

  Eula Lemoy eased back her curtain so she could take a good look at the mobile home on the other side of the road that curled through the Pot O’ Gold. It was hard to tell if the Lazarus fellow was there or not; sometimes he parked his nasty, smoke-belching motorcycle behind his unit and sprawled in the mud to tinker with it. Whenever she caught sight of him doing it, all she could think of was Raz Buchanon’s pedigreed sow.

  There was no movement in his kitchenette or living room, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sitting on the sofa, scheming to do Satan’s work. Eula had tried to be neighborly when he first moved in, taking him a tuna casserole and a generous slice of coconut cake. All he’d done was look at her before closing the door in her face. Ever since then, she’d felt his icy eyes on her whenever she was hanging laundry on the line or walking down to get her mail from the row of boxes at the front gate.

  Not that he ever got any mail in his box. He never had any visitors, for that matter. His curtains were always drawn at night, but Eula was sure she’d have heard if somebody knocked on his door. Privacy was not a luxury enjoyed at the Pot O’ Gold. Miz Whitbread, who lived next to him, had said the exact same thing just that morning when she’d come over for coffee. Of course she was deaf as a fence post, but there wasn’t anything wrong with her eyesight when she remembered to wear her bifocals.

  He was up to no good, Eula thought as she let the curtain fall. Nobody lived in the mobile home park by choice. She herself had been born and raised in Maggody, and raised some children of her own in a house out by the low-water bridge. All four were off in other states these days, calling on her birthday and sending scarves and talcum powder at Christmas. When Bernard had died of pneumonia back in …

  The date escaped her. She went into the bedroom and picked up a photograph of Bernard all puffered up in his army uniform, grinning like a mule with a mouthful of briars. A good twenty years ago, she realized with a jolt of sadness. After the war, he’d found a decent job at the post office and worked his way up from route carrier to supervisor. It had been respectable back then. These days, it seemed like a goodly number of postal workers were “dis-gruntled.” Bernard had always been, well, gruntled with his bonuses and promotions.

  It occurred to her that Lazarus might well be one of that sort. Maybe he’d gone into work one day and found a picture of himself taped on the wall with a notice that he was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. The only thing he could do would be to go into hiding in a remote place like Maggody. She’d noticed right off the bat that he had the stare of a psychotic killer. Or worse.

  She sat down on the divan and hunted through the pockets of her housedress for a tissue, doing her best not to imagine him creeping toward her bedroom window in the dark of night. He’d probably have a stocking over his head in hopes she wouldn’t recognize him, but short of his having a haircut, she’d see right through his pathetic disguise. He’d have no choice but to slash her throat in her own bed. How long would it be before someone found her body in a pool of blood?

  Miz Whitbread was in even greater danger, since she wouldn’t hear him easing open her door and tiptoeing down the hallway to her bedroom. On the other hand, it wasn’t likely she’d recognize him if her bifocals were on the nightstand. He might spare her life.

  Eula realized she was as damp as a sponge. She sat back and fanned herself with the latest issue of TV Guide while she tried to figure out what to do. According to a show she’d seen a few months back, psychotic killers sought out their victims when the moon was full. For the moment, she and Miz Whitbread were safe, but only for a matter of days. Once the full moon rose over Cotter’s Ridge, they would be at his mercy.

  Unless, Eula thought with a tight frown, she herself took steps to protect them. Steps like finding the box where she’d packed away Bernard’s gun twenty long years ago. She seemed to recall dumping in some bullets at the same time.

  Ruby Bee took a mug of beer and a cheeseburger to the trucker in the last booth, made sure there was a squeeze-bottle of ketchup on the table, and came back to the bar with a thoughtful expression. “Do you recall what Leona said right before they left last night?”

  “How we ought to hire Gwynnie?” said Estelle, determined to prove her memory was a sight better than most, present company included.

  “No, about Jessie Traylor not being reliable. If you ask me, that was an odd remark.”

  “Did somebody ask you?”

  “We are not on some television game show where you have to answer with a question. I almost thought Daniel and Leona were referring to a baby-sitter, but their son, who’s twenty-five if he’s a day, lives in Sallisaw—and if the rumors are true, shares an apartment with a man named Hilary.”

  “That’s the silliest thing I’ve heard in all my born days. Next you’ll be talking about football players named Suzanne and Carolyn. Besides, Elsie Buchanon heard he moved out to California to learn how to be a pastry chef.”

  “I think that says it all.” Ruby Bee glanced at the trucker to make sure he was still occupied with his food, then lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “But why would Jessie Traylor be out at their house by himself?”

  Estelle chewed on a pretzel as she searched her mind for a way not to acknowledge she’d missed what might have been a vital clue. “I suppose I was too concerned about the poor girl to pay any heed. The only thing I could think about was how she was out there on her knees scrubbing Leona’s kitchen floor. It was all I could do not to burst into tears right there on the spot.”

  “So now you’re a social worker?”

  Estelle conceded defeat. “What do you think she meant?”

  “Well, if they took in a foster child, no one’s breathed a word about it. Elsie always tells me what’s said at the Missionary Society after they’ve prayed for the heathens in Africa and started in on coffee and cinnamon rolls. If Leona has done something charitable, you can bet the farm Elsie would have heard all about it. It just might be time for me to tackle the pantry. With Gwynnie’s help, it shouldn’t take more than a day. Maybe I’ll close for half an hour to drive out to the Hollifleckers’ place and see if she can oblige me.”

  “What about him?” asked Estelle, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the trucker.

  “Royce,” Ruby Bee called in her sternest voice, “finish up and be on your way. The exterminator’s coming to fog the barroom. You don’t want to be leaving a pretty widow, do you? The way your brother leers at Sharlene, I suspicion her bed won’t be cold an hour after your funeral. Something might be going on at this very moment.”

  The trucker jammed a cap on his head and made a timely exit. Ruby Bee waited until she heard his rig r
oar to life, then took off her apron and hung it on a knob. “I suppose you’re thinking you’ll come along.”

  “For the ride,” Estelle said airily. “I hear tell the dogwoods and redbuds are real pretty out that way. I can sit in the car while you talk to Gwynnie.”

  “Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

  “I wasn’t asking for your blessing. If you don’t want company, say so.”

  Ruby Bee collected her purse from a drawer. “Come on, Estelle. I swear, every spring you get all prickly like a rash.”

  “While you stay bad-tempered all year round,” Estelle said as she slid off the stool. “It so happens that something downright tragic happened to me nigh on thirty years ago this month. When I’m inclined to tell you, I will, so don’t go pestering me about it. We all have our secrets, don’t we?”

  Ruby Bee was trying to think of hers as they drove toward the Hollifleckers’ house. There wasn’t much she hadn’t told Estelle, from how Arly’s father disappeared that rainy night to her flirtation with a drygoods salesman the year Arly started third grade. But now it seemed Estelle had been holding back. “Downright tragic” had been her exact phrase.

  So many possibilities were flitting through her mind that she realized at the last moment that she’d reached the turnoff. “Sorry,” she said as she hit the brake pedal and squealed around the corner like a NASCAR driver. As much as she hated to admit it, it made her feel just a bit giddy, like a heroine in the Saturday matinee serials she doted on some forty years ago. Not that it qualified as a secret, of course.

  Estelle pretended not to notice. “What do you recollect about Jessie Traylor? Didn’t his ma end up in a sanitorium?”

  Ruby Bee put aside her meanderings and focused on the subject at hand. “No, she ran off with some drunk that worked at a body shop. Jessie’s father might as well have been a Buchanon, considering how shiftless he was. He was at the state prison for assaulting a waitress at the Dew Drop Inn when he was killed. Jessie squeaked through high school three or four years ago, and last I heard, works at a factory over in Farberville.”

  “Living in the family house?”

  “I seem to think so. Would you like to know his shoe size and blood type?”

  Estelle grimaced. “Why’re you getting so snippety?”

  Ruby Bee parked in the Hollifleckers’ driveway. “I beg your pardon, but I was not being snippety. I just don’t appreciate being treated like the local almanac. Jessie comes into the bar once in a while, not bothering anybody or doing anything more than putting a quarter in the jukebox and having a beer. He’s on the shy side, but so are plenty of other folks. Beelzebubba Buchanon can’t so much as look you in the eye if you speak to him, which ain’t saying you might want to. If nothing else, you might catch a glimpse of his nose hair.”

  “Do you want me to sit here and pray for your forgiveness or do you want me to come to the door with you?”

  “Let’s not squabble,” said Ruby Bee, feeling somewhat remorseful despite the fact Estelle had been keeping a secret from her for thirty years, which was a long time, thank you kindly. “I’ll ask Gwynnie about helping with the pantry, and you can see if she can do some work for you later on. I’m not overly fond of Daniel and Leona, but I hate to let the girl suffer on account of them.”

  Estelle figured it was as close to an apology as she was going to get, so she magnanimously got out of the car and followed Ruby Bee up the steps to the porch.

  Gwynnie opened the door before Ruby Bee could push the bell. “Miz Hanks, how nice of you, and Miz Oppers, too! Leona’s at the supermarket just now. Is there something I can do for you? Can I offer y’all ice tea and cookies? Please come in and sit down. This is like really sweet of you to come by. Leona will be so sorry she missed you. Daniel’s at work, but he’ll be pleased to hear how you dropped by. Would you rather have coffee? I can make lemonade if you’d like.”

  Ruby Bee exchanged pointed looks with Estelle, then smiled. “That’s all right, Gwynnie. I was just wondering if you’d like to work for me toward the end of the week. It won’t add up to more than five or six hours, but I’ll certainly pay you minimum wage.”

  “You don’t have to pay me anything,” Gwynnie said, turning soulful brown eyes on her, “but maybe you should on account of Daniel. I’ll have to find a babysitter, though. Should I call you?”

  “Baby-sitter?” said Estelle.

  “I can’t hardly leave a two-year-old to fend for hisself, can I? Dahlia Buchanon acted like we could switch off a couple of days a week. It’ll be easier for me to take Chip to her house than for her to bring the twins here. What’s more, I don’t think Leona’d be in favor of a houseful of crying babies. She’s real indifferent when it comes to babies. You’d think she wouldn’t be that way, considering she used to have one, but you never know, do you?”

  Estelle eased around Ruby Bee and took Gwynnie’s elbow. “This is the first we’ve heard about this baby. Is he yours?”

  Ruby Bee might have voiced disapproval at the rudeness of the remark if she hadn’t been so interested in the answer. “I think I would like a glass of ice tea, Gwynnie, if it’s not too much bother.”

  “Oh no,” she said. “It’s mighty lonesome out here. Daniel’s at work all day, and Leona spends most of her time at the county old folks’ home reading the Bible and supervising arts-and-crafts projects. When she’s here, she keeps to herself in a little room way at the back of the house. Chip and I watch a lot of talk shows in the afternoons. After I’ve cleaned up the supper things, Daniel helps me with my GED studies while Leona writes letters and reads.”

  Ruby Bee and Estelle trailed after Gwynnie into the kitchen. There was no baby in sight, but a stuffed animal and a few plastic blocks were scattered on the floor, and the remains of a peanut butter sandwich had been smeared onto the surface of the dinette table.

  “Chip’s taking a nap,” said Gwynnie as she began opening cabinets. “Do you want sugar? Leona uses that artificial sugar, but I’m sure she has the real stuff somewhere. Should I make coffee? Are you sure? I don’t mind.” She spun around. “Or lemonade? I’ll fix it from scratch. Leona bought lemons yesterday.”

  “Calm yourself,” Ruby Bee said gently. “Maybe you should sit right here and take a few deep breaths. You sound real tense.”

  Gwynnie recoiled as if she’d been doused with a bucketful of cold water. “I do? Gosh, I’m sorry, Miz Hanks. I was thinking you might prefer lemonade. I shouldn’t have …”

  “Come here,” murmured Ruby Bee, wrapping her arms around the girl’s shoulders. “You’re doing fine. You and Estelle and me are going to sit down at the table and have ourselves a nice visit.”

  Estelle nodded. “We don’t need tea or coffee or lemonade, Gwynnie. If there’s anything you want to tell us, you can just let your hair down, ’cause all we want is to be your friends. We’re apt to be older than your mother, but that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to us.”

  Tears were slithering down Gwynnie’s cheeks as she sat down at the dinette. She took a paper napkin out of a holder and wiped her nose. “That’s real kindly of you, but Daniel and Leona warned me to keep my mouth shut. I’ve been living here most of a month, but last night was the first time they took me anywhere. They let Jessie come over some evenings. We have to stay in the living room, though, and Daniel makes sure he’s gone home before ten o’clock. I might as well be living in a convent.” She scooped up the teddy bear and clutched it in her arms. “It’s pretty obvious I’m not qualified for that, though,” she added wryly. “Leona prays for my soul ever’ night over supper.”

  Even though Estelle had asked for frankness, she had no idea how to respond to it. She glanced at Ruby Bee, who looked like she was once again in the throes of palpitations, then squeezed Gwynnie’s hand. “Are you here because of having a baby?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. The high school I was going to has a program for pregnant girls, but when I began to show, my ma sent me to a gawdawful strict place over in Mississipp
i. They badgered me night and day to sign adoption consent papers. When I refused, they kept me in isolation for four solid months. The only time I was let out was on Sunday afternoons, when the church ladies came with used clothing and smarmy smiles. I hated all of them, and I wasn’t going to sign away my baby on their say-so. The first time I laid eyes on Chip, I knew I could never let anyone take him from me. My ma was so mad that she had to be argued into taking me back. It didn’t work out, so Daniel and Leona agreed to keep us until I pass the GED. Everybody tells me I should be grateful.”

  It occurred to Ruby Bee that had they been in a movie, the kitchen door would have burst open and Leona would have stormed into the kitchen and started screaming at Gwynnie. As it was, the only sound was the ticktocking of the clock above the refrigerator. It wasn’t deafening by any means, but it seemed to grow louder and more insistent, until Ruby Bee could swear her heartbeat had fallen into rhythm with it.

  Estelle pulled a napkin from the holder and blotted her forehead. “Well, Gwynnie, it sounds like you’ve got everything under control. Once you’ve passed the GED, you might consider a career as a cosmetologist. You can find a lot of satisfaction in sending away a client who’s feeling as pretty as a peahen.”

  Gwynnie’s eyes filled once again with tears. “I can’t afford training, not with the cost of rent and baby-sitters. About all I can do is sign up for welfare.”

  “What about Chip’s father?” asked Ruby Bee, aware she needed to tread real softly. “Doesn’t he have to pay child support?”

  “He died before Chip was born. He was out riding around and drinking with his buddies, and the car went into a river. His parents refused to admit he was the father. I suppose rich people can demand paternity tests and all that, but I talked to some lady at the legal-aid clinic and she just laughed, same as the social worker did. I aim to take care of Chip all by myself. I’m his mother, come hell or high water.” She stiffened and gave them a horrified look. “Pardon my French. My ma’s not the best person in the world, but she made sure I went to Sunday school every week no matter what.”