murder@maggody.com

by Joan Hess

  “We saw plenty of her at the reception.”

  “That may be,” Estelle said pensively as she began to suck the salt off a pretzel, “but I can’t recollect anybody saying much against her since then. Lottie claims she’s perfectly polite, in a kinda crumpy way. Millicent had a civilized talk with her in the supermarket about the price of two-percent milk. Elsie said she was nice as pie at the Suds of Fun the other night when they were both short of quarters for the dryers.”

  “So that means Justin didn’t run off with Gwynnie?” Ruby Bee broke one of her cardinal rules and poured herself a glass of sherry. “You saw her last night, asking him for help and then purring so sweetly while he tried to undo whatever mess she’d made on her computer. It seems to me she does just fine when he’s occupied with somebody else.”

  “I was accused of performing seven illegal operations,” Estelle grumbled. “My only saving grace was that Dahlia managed to do eleven. I don’t care what Justin says—any day now we’re gonna have storm troopers busting into the classroom. I fully expect to face a firing squad in the parking lot beside the gym. Dahlia will be whimpering, but I aim to look them in the eye while I smoke one last cigarette.”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “Not anymore, but in this particular situation, I ain’t one to fret about lung cancer of emphysema.”

  Ruby Bee tucked this into her mental file of things she didn’t know about Estelle over the last thirty years. She dearly hoped she wouldn’t hear a passing remark about rodeo clowns or lounge lizards in glistening black toupees. “So Arly was out there this morning?”

  “Looking grim, from what Eula said. I don’t suppose there’s any point in calling the PD.”

  “No, but I was thinking, Estelle, that Eula might just like to have a piece of banana-cream pie to go with her lunch. I’ve got the briskets and scalloped potatoes in the oven, and the cobblers don’t need tending for a good half hour. What say we run over to the Pot O’ Gold and have a little visit with Eula?”

  Monet Buchanon may have thought he was going to have a beer before lunch, but he was informed otherwise and sent packing down the road while the door was locked. Estelle glanced at the ditch as she drove across the cattle guard.

  “Arly didn’t seem too upset about the gunfire the other day,” she said in a vaguely accusatory way. “Elsie says she believes Arly’s more concerned with staying on Harve’s good side than she is with upholding the law here in Maggody. LaBelle complains that Arly calls all the time and insists on speaking to Harve on his private line, like they have some special relationship.”

  Ruby Bee flung open the door of the station wagon, even though they were ricocheting along the rutted road and she was in danger of taking a brief but possibly fatal dive. “I am getting out of here this minute! If you ever so much as set foot inside the bar and grill, I will—well, I don’t know exactly what I’ll do, but it won’t be pretty. Here I thought we were friends, but then I learn you’ve been keeping things from me for thirty years and repeating slander from the likes of LaBelle!”

  Estelle stomped on the brakes before Ruby Bee sailed out, although, for a heart-stopping minute, it was darn close. “I didn’t mean it like that. Everybody knows LaBelle’s shy an essential vitamin or two.”

  “Continue,” Ruby Bee said darkly.

  “Arly went to the police academy to learn how to deal with this kind of thing, and I have no call to second-guess her. I’m sure she’s doing what she can according to the law.”

  “And?”

  “I say we go on and see what Eula has to say. Where’s the piece of banana-cream pie?”

  Ruby Bee turned around and looked at the backseat. “We may have to save it for another visit. Is there anything else you want to say to me, Estelle?”

  “I already told you I was sorry. Do you still want to see what all we can find out from Eula, or would you prefer to go back to the bar and deal with Monet? It won’t be long before the cobblers are gonna need to be taken out.”

  Ruby Bee sank back with a scowl. You assumed you knew somebody, she fumed, but then it became plain as the nose on your face (and painful as a spider bite on your posterior) that you didn’t. For thirty years, she’d never thought for a second that Estelle would have so much as given LaBelle the time of day, much less passed along gossip regarding Arly.

  Estelle parked next to Eula’s trailer. “You coming in?”

  “I suppose so,” said Ruby Bee.

  “If you’ve changed your mind, I can take you back to the bar. I’ll go on home and give myself a pedicure. I got in a new shipment the other day, and I’ve been wanting to try Fuchsia in Your Face.”

  “If it’s on your toenails, how’s it in your face? Were you a contortionist thirty years ago?”

  Neither of them spoke for a long while. Ruby Bee at last swallowed and said, “We’d better get on with it. The cobblers are baking and I need to open up for lunch afore long. I don’t mind losing Monet’s business, but I have to pay the bills, same as you do.”

  “Eula may not know anything.”

  “Then it won’t take us long,” Ruby Bee said as she opened the door and stepped into a puddle of scummy water. “I swear, I don’t understand how Eula puts up with this.”

  Estelle found a more prudent path to drier ground. “I don’t think she has much choice. She’s got her Social Security checks and Medicare. She may get payments from the postal service, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all else she gets is a Christmas greeting once a year, three months late.”

  Eula opened the door as they picked their way across the sodden yard. “Hurry up,” she said urgently. “He’s been stirring for the last half hour. Any minute he’ll come out.”

  “Lazarus?” asked Estelle as she and Ruby Bee scurried up the steps and made it safely inside. “What’s he gonna do?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Eula said as she sat down and put her hand on her ample bosom. “All I can say is he’s right on the edge. I won’t be surprised when vans from the television stations flock like starlings out there. Geraldo will be interviewing Miz Whitbread, and Lazarus will be on the cover of the National Enquirer.”

  Ruby Bee risked a peek out the window. “You think so? It looks pretty quiet over there.”

  “Right now it may,” said Eula, “but there was all sorts of commotion last night. He must have come and gone half a dozen times, and at one point, I distinctly heard voices.”

  “Voices?” echoed Estelle as she peered over Ruby Bee’s shoulder. “What were they saying?”

  Eula adjusted a pillow and lay back. “It was hard to make out much, but it was obvious they were plotting devilment. I made a point of watching the news today, fully expecting to hear about a string of ritual murders across the county. Charles Manson’s neighbors must have felt the exact same way. Remember how he had all those young people to do his dirty work?”

  Ruby Bee shrank back, stomping on Estelle’s foot in her haste. “Is there anybody else in there with him?”

  “I ain’t laid eyes on Gwynnie, although I’ve seen her go in and out on occasion, sometimes in broad daylight. Leona’d have a hissy fit if she knew about it. She wouldn’t be the only one.”

  “But you didn’t see Gwynnie last night?”

  Eula shook her head. “’Course, I didn’t stand by the window till midnight. My nerves ain’t what they used to be. Bernard used to tease me how I never had any problem sleeping when he worked nights at the post office. I didn’t let on that I never closed my eyes until I heard him coming through the front door at daybreak.”

  Estelle may have been overreacting as she limped to the dinette, sat down, and pulled off her shoe to examine her toes. “So what makes you think Lazarus is about to do something?”

  “Did you see him loading a gun?” added Ruby Bee, hoping Eula’s trailer was bulletproof like the Popemobile.

  Eula allowed them to fret for a moment. “Not five minutes ago he came outside and set a canvas bag on the ground by his motorcycle
. He’s been living here long enough to know those savage little brats steal anything that ain’t nailed down. Just the other day they took three of my brassieres and a real nice half-slip my daughter sent me for my birthday. She’s the only one that seems to remember these days.”

  “Why, Eula,” said Ruby Bee, “if I’d known, I would have made you a cake with pink carnations. My carnations ain’t outstanding, but if you squint, you can see what they’re meant to be.”

  “And I would have given you a free manicure,” said Estelle, unwilling to be upstaged by some self-proclaimed patron saint of cake decorators. “You be sure and call me next year and we’ll make an appointment. You can have your choice of any polish that catches your fancy.”

  Eula was about to mention the date when Ruby Bee eased back the curtain and said, “You’re right, Eula. He just now came out of his front door, wearing a leather jacket and carrying a helmet. Where do you think he’s going?”

  “How would I know a thing like that?”

  Estelle forgot about her injury as she returned to Ruby Bee’s side. “The bag’s not big enough for more than a few body parts. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s his laundry. He ain’t gonna be a hit at the Suds of Fun, if that’s where he’s going.”

  Ruby Bee chewed on her lip. “I didn’t see him lock the door.”

  “What does that mean?” whispered Estelle. “I hope you’re not contemplating a felony, Rubella Belinda Hanks. Arly’s gonna take a real dim view of visiting you on alternate Sundays.”

  “What’d she say?” demanded Eula.

  “Nothing, Eula,” Ruby Bee called, then dropped her voice. “Gwynnie and Chip could be in there, either by choice or tied up on the floor. If he’s going to the launderette, it’ll take fifteen or twenty minutes to get the clothes in the machines and hunt up enough quarters. We could be in and out in a twinkling.”

  “You are talking about breaking and entering. I am not about to engage in a major felony.”

  “I am talking about a rescue mission. There are times, Estelle, when the end justifies the means. I reckon this is one of them. If you want to wait here, you and Eula can have a fine time deciding on fingernail polish. Stay clear of the window if you hear sirens, and don’t feel the need to disrupt your weekends with visitations.”

  “There’s no reason to think Gwynnie and Chip are in there.”

  “There’s no reason to think they’re not,” countered Ruby Bee, who realized her position was unreasonable but was determined to stay on the high road now that she scrambled onto it. “Eula,” she said more loudly, “Estelle’s gonna fix you a cup of tea and find out more about your cuticles. I have cobblers in the oven, so I’ll have to run along.”

  Estelle managed to trod on Ruby Bee’s heel, tit for tat and all that. “I’d better go with her, Eula. We’ll have that cup of tea another time.”

  “I’d like that,” Eula said, her eyes closed.

  Ruby Bee and Estelle left, both feeling as guilty as sin. After furtive glances, they dashed across the road and cowered by the back door.

  When nothing much happened, Estelle said, “This has to be the craziest idea you’ve ever had. He could come back any minute. How do you aim to explain what we’re doing inside his trailer—assuming we have an opportunity to explain before he kills us dead on the shag? We don’t hardly look like real estate appraisers, and the welcoming committee from the Missionary Society brings jars of homemade blackberry jam and coupons from the supermarket.”

  “Can you live with yourself if you could have saved Gwynnie and Chip? I figure we can do a decent job in under thirty seconds.”

  “This is worse than when you crawled into the Dumpster. It was a wonder you didn’t end up with a broken neck.”

  Ruby Bee stiffened. “That is not a moment I care to be reminded of, thank you very much. Are you ready, or would you rather sit in the car?”

  “I’m ready,” Estelle said grimly. “Thirty seconds, and then we leave. Living room, bathroom, two bedrooms, and maybe a hall closet.”

  Ruby Bee tested the knob. “Like I said, he didn’t bother to lock it.” She licked her lips. “Thirty seconds is all it’s going to take. If we find Gwynnie and Chip, we’ll call Arly.”

  “If we find their bodies, you mean.”

  “Let’s just do it.”

  They went into the double-wide. Estelle took the living room while Ruby Bee darted into the bedrooms and flung open closet doors. Several piles of clothes caused her heart to seize up, but she had no choice but to prod them. She made a final dash into the bathroom, made sure the stains in the bathtub were innocent, if disgusting, and crashed into Estelle in the hallway.

  “What?” she said.

  Estelle’s voice was so weak it was barely audible. “Motorcycle,” she croaked.

  Ruby Bee realized she could hear it, too. The sound was a far cry from that of the Popemobile. “Front door or back?”

  “Toss a coin. Either way, we’re plum out of luck.”

  “You have a real bad attitude,” Ruby Bee said as she grabbed Estelle’s arm and dragged her out the back door, which was as good a choice as any. “Now crawl under here and stay quiet.”

  “Like I was thinking I should stand up and recite the pledge of allegiance?”

  “Like you was thinking to shut up,” said Ruby Bee, pressing Estelle’s face into the mud as a motorcycle sputtered to a halt within a matter of feet.

  Circumstances precluded further conversation.

  9

  Mrs. Jim Bob pounded her fist on the door of the rectory as if it were Jim Bob’s flattened race and went so far as to rattle the knob as though other parts of his anatomy were involved, in a manner of speaking. “Open up, Brother Verber!” she shrieked. “I don’t care if you’re in your pajamas, or your altogether! I have to talk to you right this minute! That’d mean now!”

  Brother Verber came hustling around the corner of the Assembly Hall, fittingly dressed in his leisure suit, which he’d taken to wearing lately, although he hadn’t quite found the courage to wear it to services.

  “What’s wrong, Sister Barbara?” he said between gasps (the trousers being on the tight side due to inexplicable shrinkage in his closet). “You sounded like you was being set upon by hooligans.”

  “It might be better if I was. I’d suggest we sit in the Assembly Hall, but I’m afraid someone might come in and overhear us. As loath as I am to criticize members of the congregation, some of them have ears like satellite dishes.”

  “They do?” he said as he opened the rectory door. “I would have said most of them are deaf as fence posts. The minute I commence my Sunday-morning sermon, their eyes turn dull like they can’t hear a word I’m saying. Earl Buchanon is snoring within seconds. If it weren’t for the spellbound attention you and a few others bless me with, why—”

  “This ain’t the time,” she said as she began to scoop up dirty clothes and carry them to the hamper in the bathroom. She owed it to the congregation, and her position in it, to maintain a semblance of respectability on the off-chance some floundering soul might seek spiritual direction and be distracted by underwear on the armchair.

  Brother Verber took advantage of her absence to toss several empty bottles of sacramental wine in the trash and put away the makings of a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich. “How ’bout a glass of ice tea?” he said when she returned.

  “This ain’t the time for ice tea, either.” She sank down on the couch and pulled a handkerchief from her purse. “Did any of your courses at the seminary include how to perform exorcisms?”

  He was so dumbfounded he could barely speak. “Exorcisms, Sister Barbara? You mean heads spinnin’ and green vomit and castin’ out demons?”

  “That’s precisely what I mean,” she said as she wiped her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I try to tell everybody about how these computers would let wickedness sneak into our community? Well, let me tell you—it’s here! We might as well burn our Bibles and dance naked around a bonfire.”


  Brother Verber was real sorry he’d polished off the last of the wine, since at least one of them sure could have used a swallow or two. “Who’s taken to dancing naked around a bonfire?”

  “It’s a matter of time. Haven’t you sensed the moral decay setting in this last week?”

  He tried to think if he’d run into any moral decay lately. “The collection plate was a might skimpy on Sunday, but Baltimore Buchanon was sitting in the back pew, and he’s been known to take out more than he puts in. My toilet’s started to make a right peculiar noise. Until the plumber showed up and pulled the coon out of the septic tank, I was convinced it was possessed by Satan hisself. I had no choice but to do my business at the pool hall. That ol’ boy charged me a dollar every time, which was less than charitable.”

  Sister Barbara closed her eyes and leaned so far forward he was afraid she might topple off the couch and hit her head on the coffee table. Just to be on the safe side, he clutched her knee.

  “That is not what I meant,” she said in a tight voice, “and you are cutting off circulation. Last night at the computer lab …”

  “I sure was heartbroke I couldn’t make it, but I felt it was more meaningful to dedicate myself to doin’ the Lord’s work.”

  “Like what?” she demanded, snapping back like a string bean and removing his hand. “Did someone pass away at the old folks’ home?”

  He shook his head. “No, but if they had, I would have been beside the bed, reciting Bible verses to offer comfort and strength. I have brought back many a soul from the brink of death with my tireless vigils. I’ve been out to pray with old Miz Ripplegram four times now, and she’s rallied like clockwork. The very moment I step in the room, she finds strength to continue on life’s mysterious journey. Faith is an amazing thing, Sister Barbara. Hallelujah!”

  “So where were you?”

  Brother Verber found the need to brush dandruff off his shoulders and lapels. “You might say I was ministering to the homeless. There are many destitute women—and men, too—out there on the dark corners in Farberville, begging for spare change just so they can earn the price of a hamburger and a cup of coffee. It likes to break my heart to hear their stories.” When she didn’t pursue it, he eased back and said, “Now tell me what’s troubling you.”