Malpractice in Maggody

by Joan Hess

I tossed the receiver to Randall and told him we’d finish our conversation later. When I got to the reception room, Brenda Skiller was waiting, her hands on her hips like a belligerent coach.

  “I thought I made myself clear earlier,” she began, making no effort to hide her exasperation. “I may not have specified that answering the telephone was among your simple-minded duties, but—”

  “It’s an emergency,” I said. “Someone’s picking me up at the gate.”

  I scrambled down the porch steps and out to the brick driveway, my thoughts too muddled to come up with any kind of rational explanation. The idea of Ruby Bee shooting Estelle was too absurd to imagine. What’s more, Estelle was a helluva lot more nonchalant than I would have been. What was she doing? Bleeding, of course.

  Silly me.

  When Ruby Bee pulled up, I almost dove into the front seat. “What on earth is going on? You shot Estelle?”

  “Don’t get your pigtails in a poke, missy,” Ruby Bee said darkly as she turned the car around and drove back toward Maggody. “It’s not like I shot her on purpose. The gun just went off.”

  “What gun?”

  She gave me one of her snootier looks. “The gun I bought the other day to protect myself. I took it out to show Estelle, not realizing it was loaded. The man who sold it to me warned me to be real careful about that, but then he rambled on for so long, I just plunked down my money and left.”

  “Okay, so you didn’t know it was loaded when you shot Estelle. How badly is she hurt?” I said, resisting the urge to whack her with her own handbag (which was definitely loaded).

  “How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t shoot her? Her foot happened to be in the way, that’s all. She’s carryin’ on something fierce over what most folks would dismiss as a piddly accident.” She braked at the stop sign and took her sweet time peering both ways before turning onto the highway. “The bullet grazed her big toe. From the way she shrieked, you’d have thought it hit her smack dab in the heart and she only had a few seconds before she keeled over dead. Nobody dies from gettin’ shot in the big toe, for pity’s sake. I offered to put a Band-Aid on it, but she insisted on me taking her to your office in case she passed out. She figured the ambulance would have an easier time finding her there.”

  I untangled my legs and sank back in relief, then jerked up as I grasped the grimmer implications what she’d said. “Where did you buy this gun? Didn’t you have to wait twenty-four hours while the seller requested a background check on you?”

  “If you must know, I bought it at a little gun show over in Oklahoma. I swear, I’ve never seen so many guns, knives, and tattoos in one room. I got out of there as fast as I could.”

  “Please explain why you felt the need to buy a gun,” I said.

  “Ever’body in Maggody has one these days on account of the crazy folks locked up at that foundation place. Mrs. Jim Bob organized a committee to keep watch and report suspicious activity. I told her I wasn’t about to sit in a persimmon tree all night with a pair of binoculars. I’m not the only one. Even Elsie and Lottie are beginning to complain, and I heard there was a squabble at the last meeting of the Missionary Society.” She parked in front of the PD and got out of the car. “Don’t pay Estelle any mind if she starts in about all this terrible pain she’s in and how much blood she’s lost.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said, wondering how many other local residents were keeping handguns in their bedside table drawers. Most of the men hunted deer or bunnies or other hapless furry critters, but they knew enough, at least when they were sober, to keep their rifles locked up where their kids couldn’t get to them. The thought of the members of the Missionary Society sipping tea while they compared calibers and admired each other’s inlaid pearl handles was chilling. And if they’d bought them at backwater gun shows, they’d have no clue how to handle them safely.

  Estelle was sitting behind my desk, her foot propped up and wrapped in a dish towel. The evidence, a lime green high heel with a rhinestone buckle and slight rip near the pointed toe, was centered on the desk. She waggled limp fingers in our direction. “Thank gawd you’re here. I keep having these dizzy spells, like the room is closing in on me. My heart’s still racing faster than a twoheaded toad fallin’ down a well, and I’m having a hard time catching my breath. I reckon I’m in shock.”

  “Shall I throw you in the backseat and race to the emergency room in Farberville?” I asked. “Better yet, I could take you with me back to the Stonebridge Foundation. There are two medical doctors who’d be delighted to sew up your toe and keep you overnight for observation. You’ll be safe, since there are bars on all the cell doors to keep the drooling psychopaths from sneaking up on you while you’re asleep.”

  “Good grief, Arly,” said Ruby Bee, “I told you the bullet barely grazed it.”

  I smiled at Estelle, who was turning paler by the second. “But we can’t be too careful, can we? Sometimes these minor wounds can cause blood poisoning, or even gangrene. You don’t want to end up painting the toenails on a prosthetic foot, do you?”

  Estelle pulled off the dish towel and dropped it in the trashcan. “All the same, you ought to take Ruby Bee’s gun away from her afore she shoots somebody else.”

  “I did not shoot you,” protested the accused gunslinger. “Besides, you’re the one who insisted that I take the gun out of the drawer and show it to you. You should have seen ol’ Hubbubba Buchanon when it went off. He liked to piss in his britches in his hurry to get out the front door. And of course there was Estelle, hopping around on one foot and gobbling like a wild turkey.”

  Estelle rolled her eyes. “I seem to recollect you were a mite upset yourself, Rubella Belinda Hanks. As well you should have been, considering you’d just shot me.” She handed me a piece of paper from my scratch pad. “Some prickly man from somewhere up north called while I was waiting. He had me write all this down, but he wouldn’t so much as give me a hint of why you’d care about these places. You aiming to take a road trip?”

  I looked at the note, which was nothing more than a list of cities: Wichita, Denver, Laramie, Casper. They were, I realized glumly, locations where Eileen’s credit card had been used in the last eight days. She was traveling northwest at a good clip. Earl, Kevin, and Dahlia would not take the news well, even though it implied Eileen was alive and kicking.

  “Well?” demanded Ruby Bee. “Are you aiming to take a road trip? Being your mother, I have a right to know.”

  I stuffed the note in my pocket. “The only place I’m going is back to the Stonebridge Foundation. How’d y’all know where to find me?”

  “Brother Verber told Mrs. Jim Bob,” Estelle said. “She called Ruby Bee, wanting to know what you were doing there. I’d like to know, myself.”

  “So would I,” added Ruby Bee, giving me a baleful stare.

  I sat down on the visitor’s chair. “Was Brother Verber in the persimmon tree? Jesus H. Christ, if I’d known, I would have gone over there and shaken the tree until he and every last persimmon came tumbling down. This surveillance nonsense has to stop right now! What’s more, I want one of you to call Mrs. Jim Bob and get a list of everyone in town who purchased a gun in the last week. I’ll bet not one of you has a license. Harve can haul the lot of you to the county jail and let you cool your heels for a couple of weeks. Maybe the Missionary Society can save the souls of prostitutes, junkies, biker chicks, and sloppy drunks who’ll be sharing the cells with you. I wouldn’t count on it, though.”

  “Well, I never!” said Estelle. She stood up and came around the corner of the desk, apparently having survived the mortal toe wound, and poked Ruby Bee. “You tell her that’s the rudest thing anyone’s said to me in all my born days!”

  Ruby Bee wasn’t taking it much better. “Now you listen up, young lady. We had no choice but to buy the guns to protect ourselves, since you sure ain’t gonna do it. That serial killer already knows where to find me. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he told all the other inmates, too
.”

  “They are not inmates,” I said in a steely voice, “nor are they there because they’ve committed violent crimes. They’re”—I tried to find an innocuous phrase—“people in need of help to restore their health. And before you jump on that bandwagon, they do not have contagious diseases. You are not in danger of contracting the plague, yellow fever, malaria, or smallpox.”

  “Then what are they doing in a place like Maggody?” Estelle asked suspiciously. “Seems to me there are plenty of hospitals all over the country. Are they hiding out from the law?”

  I was on thin ice, and the temperature was rising. Anything I said would be spread all over town within an hour. On the other hand, allowing this increasingly hysterical speculation wasn’t going to help. Mrs. Jim Bob might already be on the trail of discount Howitzers and grenade launchers. “Okay, I’ll tell you this much. There are only four patients, and they’re relatively famous in their fields. They don’t want any publicity.”

  “Famous?” said Ruby Bee. “Like who?”

  “I can’t tell you,” I said, “but you’ve probably never heard of any of them. Instead of fretting about their identity, you’d better spend your time warning the local ladies’ militia that if they don’t turn in their guns to me by no later than noon Monday, there’ll be hell to pay. I’m serious about this.”

  Ruby Bee and Estelle glanced at each other, then looked meekly at me.

  I didn’t have a chance of staring them down, so I shrugged and said, “Take me back to the foundation, please. I have some unfinished business there.”

  “Like a case of murder?” said Estelle.

  Ruby Bee sniffed. “It ain’t like you have to go back to give them manicures. Besides, the man who took you over there is a deputy sheriff. Has he taken to moonlighting as a cabdriver?”

  “Never mind, I’ll drive myself.” I went out and got into Ruby Bee’s car, adjusted the seat, and made my escape. Not a great escape, to be sure, but a satisfying one. I wondered how long it would take Ruby Bee to notice that I’d stolen her car.

  Mrs. Jim Bob was on the phone when Jim Bob came home for lunch. Ignoring her, he made himself a ham sandwich and started toward the living room to see if he could catch a ball game on TV while he ate. He’d almost made it when his wife said, “Where do you think you’re going? Perkin’s eldest vacuumed in there, and I don’t want crumbs on the carpet. Brother Verber’s coming by later this afternoon for tea.”

  Jim Bob returned to the kitchen doorway. “So I’m not supposed to sit in my own living room on account of Brother Verber? Maybe he should be paying the bills every time you decide to decorate it.”

  “Maybe you should spend more time praying for forgiveness and less time with your harlots at the trailer park,” she replied automatically.

  He poured himself a glass of buttermilk and leaned against the edge of the counter while he ate. “Who were you talking to when I came in?”

  “Joyce Lambertino. She reported that half an hour ago Ruby Bee drove right up to the gate in front of the Stonebridge Foundation. A minute later, the gate opened and Arly came racing out and threw herself in the car. Ruby Bee drove away so fast Joyce liked to have choked on the dust.”

  Jim Bob washed down the last of his sandwich with a gulp of buttermilk. “What was Arly doing there? Gettin’ electric shock therapy?”

  “Nobody knows for sure. When I called Ruby Bee earlier this morning, she claimed she didn’t even know Arly was there. It’s hard to believe they invited her to drop by for coffee and cinnamon rolls. Except for the foreigners living at the Flamingo Motel, no one’s seen any of them. I’m beginning to think this is a matter for the FBI.”

  “Have you been making fruitcakes all morning?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said, drumming her fingers on the dinette table. “You have to admit that it’s suspicious the way they keep to themselves. For all we know, it could be a terrorist cell.”

  “Plotting to blow up the silo at the co-op?” Jim Bob couldn’t help himself from smirking. “Maybe you should call the Pentagon so they can send in the Marines.”

  “You are the mayor of Maggody, Jim Bob Buchanon, not the village idiot. You have the responsibility to keep this town safe from outsiders. If you can’t live up to your duty, then the citizens ought to elect someone who can.” Mrs. Jim Bob licked her lips as she considered this. “It’s a sad day when women have to protect themselves while men sit around and play poker. There’s no law that says a woman can’t be elected mayor.”

  “You’d run against me?” he said incredulously.

  “Someone needs to, and it sure isn’t Roy or Larry Joe. They’d make just as much of a mess as you have. No, it’s going to take a woman’s hand to get this town organized and on the map. If I was the mayor, we’d have a city hall, civic clubs, mandatory summer programs to stop the teenagers from engaging in sinfulness and debauchery at Boone Creek, and committees to plan festivals and put up Christmas lights every year. We could have one of those living nativity scenes in front of the Assembly Hall, bringing in tourists from all over the county.”

  “You can’t run against me!” he sputtered. “You’re my wife, fercrissake! How would it look? Who’s putting these ideas in your head? Just give me a name and I’ll—I’ll go knock the snot out of ’em! No wife of mine is running for office.”

  “Then I suggest that you put your glass in the sink and go running back to the SuperSaver. I need to get started on a poppyseed cake for tea.” She opened a recipe book and began to thumb through it. “No, I’ll make date bars instead. Brother Verber couldn’t get enough of them at the last potluck supper.”

  I pushed the button on the squawk box by the gate and dutifully identified myself. I wouldn’t have minded if the gate remained closed, but it swung open. I parked in the back and went into the grassy expanse between the garden and the pool. A young woman with stringy blond hair was seated at one of the tables next to the pool. She was wearing sunglasses and a bikini. The latter was an unfortunate choice. She glanced up, then looked back down at an open notebook in her lap.

  She was probably the actress Randall Zumi had mentioned, but I’d already forgotten her name. I said, “Hi, there. You look awfully familiar. Haven’t I seen you on TV or in a movie?”

  “Don’t bother with the bullshit.”

  “No, I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere,” I gushed as I sat down across from her. “Give me a hint.”

  “Okay, here’s a hint—get lost.” She picked up a pen and began to scribble in the notebook. “And while you’re at it, have someone bring me a bottle of water. The service around here’s lousy.”

  “Yes, miss. You want me to massage your feet, too?”

  She pulled off her sunglasses and stared at me. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m filling in for Molly Foss.”

  “I heard about that. Seems somebody tried to teach her to swim last night, but she was too stupid. If you’re taking over her job, shouldn’t you be in the office filing or something?”

  “Shouldn’t you be in therapy, getting your ego deflated?”

  She slammed down the notebook and pen on the table. “I don’t think I like you very much.”

  I leaned back and crossed my legs. “And I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire. Now that we’ve found common ground, why don’t you take a deep breath and relax? How’s it going with the withdrawal? Nightmares, nausea, tantrums?”

  “All of the above,” she said warily. “I’m Dawn Dartmouth. I was in a TV series a long time ago. If you’ve seen me since, you must have very poor taste in trashy cable movies. And you are…?”

  “Arly Hanks. I’d tell you more, but I’m not supposed to disrupt the patients’ fragile psyches or cause setbacks in their therapy. Is sunbathing on your schedule?”

  “I refused to suffer through another boring yoga session, so I skipped it and came out here. The doctors at this hellhole have to be careful. The last thing they want is a reputation for running a prison camp. Th
ey want to be known as the poshest, most discreet rehab hospital in the country, where the rich and famous are trampling all over each other to pay fifty grand a month.”

  I couldn’t help myself. “Fifty grand a month?”

  “That’s just for starters,” Dawn said drily. “Additional services provided by the world-renowned cosmetic surgeon Dr. Vincent Stonebridge aren’t part of the package. He’s already got me down for a thermage tissue tightening, lipo, and a laser peel. That’s another fifteen grand, and he’ll probably have more bright ideas later.”

  “Sheesh,” I said. “Are the others destined for cosmetic surgery, too?”

  “How would I know? It’s not like we all sit in a circle and share secrets. If you believed all the shit you hear at parties in L.A., you’d think no one has ever so much as had a tooth capped. Some of the women have had Botox so many times that they can barely move their lips. And those washed-up actresses who sell exercise videos and tacky jewelry on cable have had so many face-lifts that their eyebrows have disappeared under their hairlines.”

  “Really?” I said, leaning forward. “Was Dr. Stonebridge their doctor?”

  “A lot of them, but if I name names, I might as well buy a cabin in Idaho.” She paused, then made a face that reminded me of the gargoyles at Notre Dame. “Not that I wouldn’t kill for a baked potato with sour cream, chives, and caviar right now. You would not believe the crap they serve here. For lunch today, I get a bean sprout, three peas, and a rice cake. One night I woke up and realized I’d been chewing on my pillow. I don’t suppose you have a candy bar in your pocket or anything? I don’t have any cash, but I brought credit cards.”

  “Sorry, Dawn. As soon as Dr. Skiller caught a whiff of chocolate on your breath, I’d be standing in front of a firing squad. Is that why you’re here—to lose weight?”

  She put on her sunglasses. “I had a little legal problem back home, kind of a misunderstanding. From the way everybody jumped all over me, you’d have thought I’d actually run over the cop instead of just bruising him. If I’m a good girl and get straight, I’ll get off with probation and community service. I was thinking I could volunteer to raise money for art galleries in homeless shelters. I mean, just because someone’s homeless doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have anything to look at except graffiti.”