murder@maggody.com

by Joan Hess

  Jessie Traylor managed a grin as he came into Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill and sat down on a stool midway down the bar, but anyone with half a mind could see he was hurting something awful. “Afternoon, Miz Hanks,” he said.

  Ruby Bee smiled at him. “Nobody’s called me that in forty years, except for slick-tongued folks on the telephone wanting me to sign up for their long-distance companies. How ’bout a beer, Jessie?”

  “A beer sounds real good.”

  She filled a mug and slid it to him. “You’re acting like a hound what stuck his muzzle down a skunkhole. Got a problem?”

  “I ’spose so,” he admitted, then wrapped his hands around the mug and stared at the dwindling foam. “It’s Gwynnie. Before the computer classes started up, she was saying how she loved me and wanted me to be Chip’s pa. We talked about running off, but—”

  Ruby Bee held up her hand. “Jessie, you ought should be aware that Gwynnie’s in the kitchen.”

  “No, I ain’t,” said Gwynnie as she pushed back the swinging doors. “Jessie Traylor, you have no business gossiping about me like this. Whatever I said is nobody’s concern but ours. Maybe you think you should call the newspaper and tell them how you unbuttoned my blouse after Daniel and Leona were in their bedroom, or the other night when you expressed interest in taking my panties home as a souvenir. Might be we can appear on one of those afternoon talk shows that features trailer park trash!”

  “Gwynnie,” he groaned, “you know I wouldn’t never say anything bad about you. You seemed to like me just fine until this computer man came along. Yeah, he’s going to earn more money than I ever will, and live in a two-story house and drive a convertible, but that doesn’t mean he’s set his cap for you. He’s got a college degree, and you don’t even have your GED.”

  “He’s got a wife, too,” Ruby Bee said in a low voice.

  Gwynnie’s face was bathed in an unnatural hue as she stood next to the neon beer sign. “I know that. The only reason I’ve been talking to Justin is because he’s smart and might be able to help me find a way to go someplace where I won’t have to lie awake all night. Daniel’s taken to threatening to whip Chip over ever’ little thing.” She leaned across the bar to gaze earnestly at Jessie. “I can’t risk so much as being in the same room with you. It’s not just me that might have to suffer the consequences.”

  Ruby Bee was appalled. “I had no idea things were that bad, Gwynnie. If you don’t feel safe, then you and Chip can move into the motel at no charge. Y’all can stay in the unit right next to mine. That way, if Daniel shows up, he’ll have to deal with me first. The very thought of him taking after that sweet little baby of yours is enough to make me sick.”

  Estelle came out of the ladies room. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said with no trace of apology in her voice. “I’m not one to butt into people’s private affairs, but it seems to me that we ought to drive you to the Hollifleckers’ house so you can pack your things and bring Chip back here. The Flamingo Motel ain’t the fanciest place in town, but it’s clean and safe.”

  Ruby Bee glared at her. “You think Mrs. Jim Bob’s gonna offer Gwynnie her guest room? The motel rooms out back may not have wallpaper and maple four-posters, but there’s not a blessed thing wrong with them. You know darn well I had the carpets shampooed in the fall. Just last month, the exterminator came and sprayed for fleas.” She glanced at Gwynnie. “I have it done every spring.”

  “I don’t recollect you installing an ice machine,” Estelle countered.

  “Why would I install an ice machine?”

  “Folks might want ice.”

  “Folks might want lima beans, too,” snapped Ruby Bee. “Should I install a lima-bean machine as well?”

  Estelle picked up her glass of sherry before Ruby Bee could get to it and pour it down the sink, which she’d been known to do when provoked. “You might ought to cut back on your medication. Arly’d be real distressed if she heard you carryin’ on like this.”

  “She’d be more distressed if she had to arrest me for manslaughter,” Ruby Bee muttered as she began to swipe down the bar.

  Jessie grabbed Gwynnie’s hand. “I bet Ruby Bee might agree to baby-sit if we took off for a few days and got married in Eureka Springs. We could have a weekend in a real nice bed-and-breakfast with fancy curtains and perfumed soap. Some of them have private hot tubs right there on the balcony.”

  Gwynnie pulled her hand free and moved away from him. “The last thing on my mind is splashing around in bathwater, Jessie. There’s a court order that says I have to live with Leona until I’m eighteen. That’s two months from now.”

  “A court order?” said Ruby Bee, putting aside her dishrag. “What judge would make you live in the same house with a man like Daniel?”

  “It’s kinda complicated. You’re really, really sweet to offer to let me stay here, but I have to think about what’s best for Chip and me.” She plucked a napkin from a metal holder and wiped her nose. “I put down new shelf paper in all the cabinets but the two on the far side of the range. It’s getting late. I’d better pick Chip up at Dahlia’s and start fixing supper. I can finish up tomorrow if you want.”

  Estelle’s face was almost as red as her hair. “This court order is nothing but malarkey! We are not about to allow you to spend another night cowering under the blankets, worried sick that your baby might be hurt.”

  Gwynnie held up her hand. “It ain’t that bad. Daniel doesn’t drink so much during the week, and Leona usually keeps him under control. The troubles don’t start until the weekend, when both of them …”

  “Leona, too?” gasped Ruby Bee.

  Jessie looked as though he wanted to dive across the bar and sweep her up in his arms like a hero in tights and a cape. “Gwynnie, for God’s sake, fetch Chip and stay in the motel for the time being. I don’t know any lawyers, but we can find one that will do something about this court order. It might not be a good idea for me to go to the house, but I’ll wait here to carry in your suitcases. In the meantime, I can go over to the supermarket and buy some apple juice and animal crackers for Chip. He likes those, doesn’t he? That way, when—”

  Gwynnie blew her nose and stuffed the napkin in her pocket. “I am not your feebleminded little sister, Jessie Traylor. Don’t go telling me what I ought to do!” She shoved her way through the doors into the kitchen. Seconds later, the back door slammed.

  Ruby Bee and Estelle exchanged looks, neither of them quite sure what to say. Jessie slumped over his beer, looking as if he wanted to wave his hand at the firing squad and give them the go-ahead to blow him off the bar stool. It’s unlikely the jukebox would have survived.

  “I ain’t got any idea what’s wrong,” Kevin said, trying not to snuffle on account of his pa watching television in the next room. His pa had made it known a long time back that he didn’t tolerate sissies, especially under his own roof. “I go by four, five times a day, and Dahlia seems grateful to see me, but if I so much as hint that we might ought to talk … well, I been slapped upside the head so many times I’m seeing double. She don’t have any problem long as I change diapers and spoon oatmeal into my darling babies. Soon as I try to persuade her to tell me what’s wrong, it’s all I can do to skedaddle before the frying pan bounces off my head.” He rubbed a scab on his chin. “She got me here with a can of string beans. If it hadn’t been empty, they’d be picking teeth out of my sinuses.”

  Eileen set down a glass of milk in front of him. “So you’re planning to live here for the next few years while your wife dunks things over? You’re a grown man, Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon, as well as a husband and father.”

  “And a damn freeloader!” bellowed Earl, then turned up the volume so it sounded like the wrestling match was taking place ten feet away, endangering not only the porcelain bust of Wayne Newton on the end table (a wedding present from his great-aunt Bernis), but also the clay ashtray Kevin had made at church camp some fifteen years ago. Even though it resembled a lump of dog poop, it held the po
sition of honor on the mantel. Eileen always got misty when she dusted it.

  “Pay no mind to your pa,” she said. “He knew better than to have that second bowl of chili. I reckon one or the other of us will be sleeping on the couch tonight, but that’s none of your concern. You and I are talking about the sorry state of your marriage.”

  “You think I don’t know it?” Kevin said, so overcome with grief that it was all he could do to dunk a cookie in the milk and get it to his mouth. “I was real surprised when my beloved said she wanted to keep going to the computer classes. You’ve watched her, Ma. All she does is hunker in front of the screen and mumble, like she was whispering secrets. Last night I asked Mr. Bailey what he thought she was doing, but he just shrugged.” He blindly fumbled for another cookie. “It’s like she’s carryin’ on with some ghost inside her computer that nobody else can see or hear. Maybe Brother Verber was right when he said Satan might be lurking on the Internet.”

  “That borders on blasphemy,” Eileen said sternly as she snatched away the plate of cookies. “I have to agree that Dahlia’s upset about something, but that doesn’t mean she’s stumbled across the devil’s own web site.”

  Earl came into the kitchen. “I was thinking a meat-loaf sandwich might be just the thing afore the championship bout. The Vegas Avenger is takin’ on City Boy Lloyd. It don’t get any better than that.”

  Eileen gave him a look. “You want me to draw you a map to the refrigerator, Earl? We’ve only lived in this house for thirty years.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You and your son are two of the most helpless folks I’ve ever met,” she said as she untied her apron and dropped it on the floor. “I am tired of being a tugboat!”

  Earl’s jaw dropped. “You’re a tugboat?”

  “You heard me! Heaven forbid either one of you can begin to make your way in or out of this particular harbor without me. Has it ever occurred to you that you can fix a meat-loaf sandwich all by yourself, Earl? That big white thing over there—it’s the refrigerator. That aluminum contraption on the counter is, last I looked, the bread box. It’s been there since you gave it to me on our twenty-fifth anniversary—and what a touching gift it was.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” asked Earl, backing away. “You was complaining about the old bread box.”

  “There is more to life than meat-loaf sandwiches.”

  Kevin licked his lower lip. “Maybe you should take an aspirin and lie down, Ma. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  She turned on him. “If you knew how to operate the kettle, which you don’t. Your pa couldn’t fight his way out of a vacuum cleaner bag, and neither could you. I reckon Dahlia can use my help for the time being.”

  Eileen left the kitchen in a manner that suggested she would not take well to being detained by so much as a pitiful bleat of protest.

  Earl glowered at Kevin. “Got any bright ideas?”

  “I had a word with Gwynnie,” Leona said as she hung up her skirt and closed the closet door. “She claims she hasn’t seen Jessie since the reception at the church. She spent the last three days at Ruby Bee’s, and has agreed to put in a few hours tomorrow. She’ll volunteer in the nursery during the Sunday morning and evening services. In exchange, we’ll continue to baby-sit Chip during the computer classes.” She made sure her nightgown was buttoned before she sat down in front of the dresser to apply cream. “I wish you wouldn’t treat her as if she was a criminal,” she said, leaning forward to make sure she dealt with every nook and cranny on her face. In the mornings, she stretched her muscles; in the evenings, she allowed herself the pleasure of a facial massage. Her most private fantasies involved living in a wildly expensive spa, not for a weekend, but for a decade or so, with muscular young men named Sven hovering outside her door.

  Daniel was lying in bed, a hardback book propped open on his woefully neglected abdomen. “I do not treat her as a criminal,” he said. “I am concerned that she might lapse into behavior that we find unacceptable. Chip didn’t appear from a cabbage patch. Obviously, Gwynnie has engaged in fornication. It’s our responsibility to see that she does not do so again until she’s of age. Once she is, I won’t be at all surprised if she begins earning her living on street corners. I know she’s your niece, Leona, but you must admit her mother was hardly a positive role model.”

  Leona grabbed his book and threw it across the room. It crashed against the wall in the way only a biography of an obscure nineteenth-century politician could, which was with a satisfactory thud. “After my brother died, Dolores may have become obsessed with church work, but she never so much as took a drink or smoked a cigarette. She’s currently at a mission in Kenya or Kenbabwa or Kenbaziland or whatever they call it these days. They keep changing the names. There ought should be a rule about that.”

  Daniel had enough sense to remain where he was. “We have living proof that Gwynnie is a disaster waiting to once again occur. She’s more willful than any mule in Maggody. She was fifteen when she had a baby, for pity’s sake. All she had to do was sign the adoption papers and that would have been the end of it. Don’t you know why Dolores decided to do missionary work in Kenya? We’re the ones living in shame, while she’s off giving smallpox vaccinations and singing hymns in some church in the jungle.”

  “Living in shame, Daniel? Haven’t we been over this time and again for the last month? Gwynnie’s reckless behavior in no way reflects on our reputation in the community. Brother Verber hinted just yesterday that I might be selected to organize this year’s bake sale. I’d like to think part of our profits will go to Dolores’s mission.”

  “Gwynnie’s a time bomb,” he insisted.

  “Somebody is,” muttered Leona as she went downstairs to the living room. She gathered up plastic trucks and a terry-cloth dog, tossed them into the playpen, then poured herself a glass of vodka and retreated to her little room at the back of the house. Her choice of reading material was the Bible. The Book of Revelation was her favorite. There was nothing more exciting than a bloodthirsty apocalypse. Bring on the beast.

  Life in Maggody was as soporific as anything I could buy over the counter, or even in the back room of the pool hall. The moon had made an obligatory appearance above the ridge, despite halfhearted efforts from clouds to obscure it. If Diesel was on the move, I couldn’t hear him. Midges and black flies were still plotting their annual onslaught; we were safe until April showers brought May puddles. The only sounds to disrupt the night were from sexually enthused bullfrogs on the banks of Boone Creek and trucks rumbling through on their way to the Missouri line. I’d been careful to close my curtains so that I would not be exposed to the unremitting stoplight below my window. There was only so much entertainment to be had from the progression of green to yellow to red to green to yellow to red.

  I had decided I was well beyond the need for a lobotomy, when the telephone rang. I staggered to the couch, and was in what might be described as a less than professional mode as I snatched up the receiver.

  “What?” I snapped, fully expecting Ruby Bee to tell me that she’d found a dead silverfish in a kitchen drawer.

  “This is Leona Holliflecker. I just checked Gwynnie’s room, and she ain’t there. Chip’s missing as well.”

  “Give me a minute.” I turned on the overhead light and rubbed the grit out of my eyes. “Do you think something’s happened to them?”

  “Would I be calling you otherwise?”

  I had to acknowledge she had a point. “It’s close to midnight, Leona. When did you last see her?”

  “After supper, she gave Chip his bath and put him down for the night, then went off to the computer class. When she got back, she came back to tell me she was home and said she was going upstairs. When I stopped by her room on the way to bed …”

  “So she was there an hour ago?”

  “Two hours ago, anyway. Chip’s blanket is gone, but not much else. His clothes are in the dresser, and so are hers.”

  “You didn�
��t hear them leave?”

  “I didn’t hear anything, but I’ve been in the back of the house, getting ready for Sunday school. I like to reread the assigned passages so I can make a contribution to the discussion. On my way to bed, I detoured to see the front door was locked, but it was half open. I thought I’d better make sure Gwynnie and Chip were safe.”

  I forced myself to sit up straight. “It sounds as though Gwynnie grabbed Chip and headed for greener pastures, Leona. She might not have found life in Maggody to be to her liking. The idea is not incomprehensible.”

  “She would have taken his clothes,” she said with a muted belch. “She would have taken hers, too. If she was all that miserable, all she had to do was say so. My sister in Omaha is willing to take them in. She’s already got a dozen mangy dogs. What’s another two mouths to feed?”

  I struggled for a suitable answer, then gave up and said, “Gwynnie’s been missing for two hours. I can’t do anything tonight.”

  “You most certainly can. I know for a fact she’s been running to Justin Bailey for advice. He may not realize she’s underaged, but he has no business fooling around with her. You need to march right over to his trailer and demand to speak to him. If he’s not there, the sheriff should be looking for him. I aim to crass pages!”

  “Crass pages?”

  “I meant to say press charges. I’m so upset my tongue’s tripping over itself.”

  “Leona,” I murmured, in the clutches of the classic loss for words.

  “If you won’t go there, I will,” she countered shrilly. “Gwynnie is my niece. She may have had her problems, but I will not abide this teacher taking advantage of her!”