murder@maggody.com

by Joan Hess

  “I don’t think she did,” I said gently. “Someone took him there and sent him inside, knowing that he’d get help. Did he say anything?”

  “Of course not,” she said, sitting down and for the first time seeming to assimilate what I’d said. “Are you sure it was Gwynnie?”

  “I saw the body.”

  “So what am I supposed to do, Arly? Do I have to go to the morgue or call someone to deal with the … I just don’t know what to do now,” she said, beginning to cry. “Gwynnie’s mother is in Africa, and I have no way of getting hold of her. Chip’s in the back room, playing with his blocks. His father’s dead. I feel like I should be making calls, but I don’t know who to call. Nothing like this has ever happened. Please tell me what to do.”

  “Call Daniel,” I said. “He can be here in a couple of hours. Once he’s back, we’ll all figure out what needs to be done.”

  “Was it that Jessie Traylor?” she demanded.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “He was here last night, and so angry. Gwynnie went outside and tried to reason with him. I couldn’t hear what they said, but I could tell they were at odds. There was no point in asking Gwynnie when she came back inside; she wouldn’t hardly give me the time of day these last few weeks.”

  “Any idea why?”

  Leona began to twist her hands. “I don’t know for sure, but Jessie was pressuring her to get married. Daniel was dead set against it. He thought Gwynnie needed to earn her GED and find a job.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I murmured. “How’s Chip doing?”

  “There’s no point in you speaking to him. I asked him where he’d spent the night and how he got to the hospital, but all he did was babble. He barely knows a scant handful of words. Questions are likely to upset him. Daniel left the number of the motel on his desk. I’d better call him.”

  “I’ll be back later,” I said as I stepped over a plastic dinosaur and took my leave. Once on the porch, it occurred to me that I was out of the loop. I wasn’t sure who Jessie Traylor was. I knew that Gwynnie had been leaning on Justin Bailey, but I didn’t know how hard. Chapel Bailey hadn’t been fond of her. Nicholas Brozinski, aka Lazarus, had been roaring around the trailer park the previous night. Eula Lemoy was armed, and therefore dangerous.

  Some days it didn’t pay to get up.

  Make that most days, considering my you-may-qualify-for-food-stamps salary.

  I decided my best bet was to swing by Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill and see what I could find out. Richard Burton sought the source of the Nile; I surely could seek out less esoteric information.

  The proprietor herself was bustling around behind the bar, doing her best to ignore me as I came across the dance floor. “You have mud on your ear,” I said as I climbed onto a stool. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you have something worthy of the Centers for Disease Control seeping through your veins. The Pot O’ Gold is cited annually by the county health department for violations. Nobody’s ever done anything to remedy them, of course. That wouldn’t be in keeping with the age-old traditions of arrogance and ignorance. The arch over the cattle guard ought to read, ‘We ain’t gonna get whatever it is, and iff’n we do, so what?’”

  “Your mouth ought to be cited,” Ruby Bee said in a most unfriendly voice. “I was concerned about Gwynnie and Chip.”

  “So you crawled under Lazarus’s trailer? Was your next destination the roof of the Dairee Dee-Lishus?”

  “It’s kinda complicated.”

  I waited in case she might care to elaborate, then let it go and told her what had happened. “Chip’s at Leona and Daniel’s house,” I concluded. “It doesn’t sound as if he suffered any ill effects from this.”

  Ruby Bee’s hostility had evaporated. “That poor girl,” she said, swiping at her eyes with the hem of her apron. “I really think she was hoping to do the right thing. She may have been rambling in the back pasture, overlooking the obvious. She was awful ambitious for someone in her position, but maybe that’s what you’re supposed to be if you want something better for your child.”

  “Are you referring to Justin?”

  She filled a glass with ice tea and set it in front of me. “It was kinda painful to watch in class. She’d simper and carry on, but as soon as he went to help someone else, she’d be clattering away a mile a minute on the keyboard. A few minutes later her screen would be filled with gibberish and she’d be whining for him.”

  “Chapel told me that Gwynnie was coming by their trailer after class.”

  “She needed approval. Justin was kind to her.” She paused and looked down. “Maybe too kind. After one class, I saw them talking behind the gym. They were standing real close.”

  “Too close?” I asked softly.

  “It was dark. Justin ain’t the sort to do something like this. What’s more, neither of them has lived in Maggody long enough to know about Robin’s shack. Somebody local must have …”

  “Somebody like Jessie Traylor?”

  “Well, he’d have heard of it, but so would everybody else that grew up around here. He’s a nice boy, Arly. He was so smitten with Gwynnie that he begged her to run off with him to Eureka Springs and get married. She could have done worse. He has a steady job and Gwynnie said he was good with Chip.”

  I took a swallow of tea. “Was he a participant in the computer classes?”

  “He came the first night,” Ruby Bee admitted, “but then Daniel made a scene at the reception and Gwynnie told him to stay away, or at least that’s my understanding. The other night I thought I saw him on the far side of the parking lot, hanging around like he was waiting for her, but I couldn’t be sure. And last night, too, come to think of it. There’s only the one utility pole by the entrance to the gym. Twenty feet away, it’s darker than the inside of a cow.”

  “Maybe I’d better speak to him,” I said as I reluctantly pushed aside the glass. “Where does he live?”

  “In that house just past the Pot O’ Gold. His pa had a contract with one of the poultry companies, and used to operate a few chicken houses. A windstorm came through, and of course ol’ Traylor hadn’t bothered with insurance. His wife took off after that. He was killed in prison.” She grabbed the glass and dunked it in a sink of water. “I’d better see what I have in the freezer. Times like this, I always believe there’s nothing more comforting than a green-bean casserole and a lemon pound cake. Mrs. Jim Bob does a real nice molded pineapple salad with cream-cheese icing. The Missionary Society can provide the ham. I need to make some calls.”

  “Gwynnie’s body isn’t even in the morgue.”

  “Life goes on,” said my-mother-the-philosopher, “and so should you. You take charge of seeing justice is served; the rest of us will look after the survivors.”

  I tried to remember the Traylor family as I drove toward the house. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t recall encountering the parents, and Jessie must have been in elementary school when I made my escape from Maggody. I certainly hadn’t dealt with him in my professional capacity, but there were all sorts of folks living peaceably on the fringes. Some of them might be making fertilizer bombs in their garages or crack cocaine in their kitchens, but there just weren’t enough hours in the day to conduct periodic door-to-door searches. I did not want to be around if and when all the ponds in Stump County dried up after a particularly brutal summer drought.

  Work on it.

  The Traylor homestead was held together with spit and a prayer. The yard was dirt-hard. The windows were curtainless, but a few defiant daffodils bloomed along the edge of the house and a planter on the porch was thick with yellow and purple pansies.

  I parked behind a pickup truck that was liable to be older than its current driver. Wishing I’d demanded to hear more of Jessie Traylor’s background, I went to the door and knocked.

  After several minutes, he opened the door and gazed blearily at my badge. “Arly Hanks? You got to excuse me. I’m about to start on the night shift, and I always try to cat
ch a nap so I won’t doze off and lose a finger or two.” His ears turned red as he realized he was wearing only baggy briefs that threatened to slip off his hips. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “I need to talk to you about Gwynnie Patchwood,” I said.

  “I don’t see what there is to talk about,” he said as he ground his fingertips into his eyes. “She told me to get out of her life. I never made the honor roll, but I know when to take a hike.”

  “This was last night?”

  “Yeah,” he said, waving me inside. “Lemme start some coffee. ’Scuse the mess.”

  He left me in a living room that was far neater than mine. The wood floor was deeply scarred, and the upholstery allowed glimpses of the cotton filling. The walls were barren and in need of a fresh paint job. The mess he’d alluded to seemed to consist of a beer can on a table and a book with a title that implied even dummies could master the Internet.

  I went to the kitchen door. “Mind if I look around?”

  His shoulder blades twitched. “For what? The only drugs you’re gonna find are in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and most of ’em have been there for twenty years. I’m old enough to have a six-pack of beer in the fridge.”

  “You live alone?”

  He banged down the coffeepot with such force that he had to grab the waistband of his briefs before he put both of us in a most uncomfortable situation. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, Chief Hanks? Did Daniel and Leona Holliflecker accuse me of trespassing or endangering the welfare of a minor? Gwynnie’s not some sweet little schoolgirl in pigtails. She knows her own mind.”

  “I heard you had an argument with her last night,” I said, allowing him to believe the Hollifleckers were the reason for my presence. “What was that about?”

  “You run a mighty tight town if you can go around demanding folks tell you their private business. Did Mayor Buchanon declare martial law?” His hands were shaking as he finished filling the coffeepot with water and took a can of coffee from a cabinet. Brown granules scattered on the counter as he dumped in several scoops. “Aren’t you supposed to have a warrant to come charging in here like this?”

  “You invited me into the house,” I reminded him. “Let’s talk some more about last night. A witness saw you at the edge of the gym parking lot. Were you waiting for Gwynnie?”

  “I sure as hell wasn’t waiting for the ice-cream truck. Daniel Holliflecker may not have to let me inside his gate, but the parking lot’s public property. I’m a taxpayer, same as him!”

  The kitchen was beginning to feel a little overheated for my taste. “I’m going to the living room, Jessie. Why don’t you put on some clothes and join me? If you’ll be straight with me, I’ll return the courtesy. Otherwise, we may end up in an interrogation room at the sheriff’s department. I’d hate to make you late for work.”

  Five minutes later he came into the living room, dressed in torn jeans. His feet were bare, but we weren’t headed for a place where shirts and shoes were required for service. “Listen, Chief Hanks,” he said, sitting across from me, “I don’t know why you’re here. I ain’t done anything wrong.”

  “Then why don’t we get this over with?”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said dully. “I waited outside the computer classroom last night, hoping to talk to Gwynnie. When she saw me, she just stuck her nose in the air and drove off. I came and got my truck, and caught up with her about the time she arrived at the Hollifleckers’ place. She made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with me ever again. After that, I drove home and drank whiskey.”

  “So last night was the end of your relationship with her? You were hurt, but did nothing more than skulk back here and drown your rejection in whiskey?”

  He scratched his chin. “That pretty much covers it. I’ve gotten over other girls, and I’ll get over her. She’s kinda a pain in the butt, always complaining about how she has to do all the housework, cook, and chase after Chip. She wants expensive clothes and a new car and maids and a nanny and all sorts of things I can never give her.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “So there’s no way she and Chip could have appeared on your doorstep an hour later?”

  “In my dreams,” he said with a grimace. “I stayed up most of the night, coming to terms with things. She won’t ever be content with me. Chip might be, but he’ll never have the chance to find out.”

  I gestured at him to sit down next to me on the sofa as threadbare as his dreams, then told him what had happened. He was still hunched over, his face cradled in his hands, when I left.

  11

  I drove over to the high school and parked by the corner of the gym. The portable classroom was likely to be locked, but I needed some sort of visual image to figure out what had been going on while I’d dedicated myself to sitcoms (did I mention I was sans cable?). Yes, I should have leaped on, signed on, logged on, whatever. Maggody could not remain my private asylum indefinitely; the inmates were turned loose way too often. Not even Roy Stiver could survive a steady diet of Buchanons and what seemed to be an unending assault of crazies. He spent four months in Florida every year; I couldn’t afford that, but crawling into the storage shed behind Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill for a couple of weeks held appeal, in a musty sort of way.

  I’d probably find at least one Buchanon in the rafters to keep me company. Hanging upside down, wings folded.

  I was surprised to discover the door was not locked. Feeling as though I was trespassing, I went into the trailer. It was decidedly not the war room at the Pentagon. Nothing beeped or bleeped or shrilled or trilled as I looked at the two rows of cubicles with shoulder-height partitions made of particle board. Unlike similar spaces I’d seen in offices in New York, none of the desks were decorated with anemic plants or photographs of equally anemic children. Computers took up most of the space on the desks. The chairs had obviously been gleaned from an array of sources.

  I was contemplating a blank screen when Brother Verber opened the door and poked his head inside.

  “Ain’t interrupting, am I?” he said.

  “Only if you’re planning to commit a felony. I’m really not in the mood for felonies just now.”

  He came through the door, dressed in a garish green outfit that reminded me of the consequences of a bad meal in Tijuana. “Why, Arly,” he said, clasping his hands together, “what a wonderful opportunity for us to spend a few minutes together. Mrs. Jim Bob keeps telling me how sinful you are, but I’ve always clung to the belief that I could keep your soul out of Satan’s clutches. Many are the nights I’ve prayed for you.”

  “Are you cruising for converts? You may have better luck when Ruby Bee’s cranks up for happy hour later this afternoon. Many a good ol’ boy’s crying in his beer by seven o’clock, begging his dead mama for forgiveness and wondering how he came to shoot his pappy and run over his dawg.”

  He made sure the door was closed, perhaps so we wouldn’t be overheard by anyone attempting to monitor our conversation via spy satellite. Can’t trust those Ruskies, or maybe Belaruskies, these days.

  “There are evil things coming through the Internet,” he said. “I have an obligation to the members of my flock to make sure that they are protected. I am here to do that for them, just like I can for you. Will you pray with me? Will you fell on your knees and admit that salvation is within your reach?”

  “This isn’t a baptismal bathtub, Bubba Verber. It’s a trailer. Rumor has it that it was being used to teach sex education at the elementary school last semester.”

  So I made it up. Big deal.

  “God moves in mysterious ways,” he intoned with only the faintest hesitation, “as does Satan. I can have no rest until I disarm the devil and herd the strays safely into the fold.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “When I arrived, I didn’t see any sinners grazing out past the gym. Is there any particular reason why you think Satan’s hanging around here on a Saturday afternoon?”

  “Satan don’t care w
hat day it is. He’s looking to do evil whenever he can, even on the weekends.”

  “What’s he doing as we speak?”

  Brother Verber’s forehead began to glisten. “It’s confidential. Anyways, Justin Bailey told us we should all be using the computers when we wanted. I was thinking to put the gist of my Sunday morning sermon on the web site. That way, folks can ponder the implications in advance and be settled on the pews in the morning, eager to shout ‘Hallelujah!’”

  “And what is the gist?” I asked as I wandered in and out of the cubicles, finding nothing more intriguing than gnawed pencils. “Our Father who art in cyberheaven, hallowed be thy E-mail address?”

  “Something along those lines. Our horizons have to expand with this new millennium. Maybe there’s no longer room for traditional churches, and spiritual rewards are gonna be found on the Internet. Just the other day I stumbled across a web site that promises a two-bedroom condo in heaven and a bottle of holy water in the here and now, all for nineteen ninety-five. The Voice of the Almighty Lord can do it for half the price, plus your shipping and handling. My calling is to find a way to reach out to all these lost souls surfing the Net in hopes of finding solace.”

  “Extra for a deck with a barbecue grill?”

  “Redemption ain’t cheap, as you yourself must know.”

  “As I must,” I said, restraining myself out of some deeply buried sense of Southern decorum. Proper ladies do not swear. They do not kick dogs (except out of sight of the hired help), and they do not lose their tempers unless it is required of them. All Brother Verber was doing was pushing some buttons that. Mrs. Jim Bob has already worn clean. “Is the computer lab unlocked all the time?”

  “I seem to think Justin locks up at night. He’s only running a couple of classes during the day, so he encouraged us all to come by whenever we want. Ruby Bee’s up here most afternoons, listing her menu on the web site and exchanging recipes with ladies as far away as Tallahassee. I know for a fact Estelle’s found a new source for wholesale cosmetics and has been ordering left and right. I ain’t quite sure what Dahlia’s doing, but she carries on something fierce. She makes a point of blocking out the screen whenever I come by. She can do that. It’s just as well Jesus didn’t invite her to walk on water with him.”