by Joan Hess
“But he probably knows Brenda’s little secret. Alice’s. Whatever.”
Harve nodded. “But I ain’t sure how any of this has something to do with Molly Foss’s murder. I just thought you might appreciate knowing who you’re dealing with.”
“I’ll carry my gratitude to the grave, Harve. Any more dark secrets to share?”
“The Mexicans are all clean, far as the feds know. Randall Zumi was pretty much what we expected him to be. His degrees were all legitimate, and he was cleaner than a scrub bucket. I talked to his wife when I got back to the office. Lordy, after listening to her screech and wail for the best part of an hour, I could understand why he killed hisself. She was fit to be tied when she learned we had to order an autopsy, and she made some nasty remarks comparing me to a certain by-product of water buffaloes. I suggested she call her lawyer and hung up.”
“What about Molly’s husband?” I said.
“He was even more direct about expressing his displeasure. I finally got him calmed down, and he agreed to stay away from the foundation. Molly didn’t tell him any details about her job, so it’s not like he can try to sell the story to a tabloid. As for the night she was murdered, he was at the bowling alley until it closed at midnight, and then went to the Dew Drop Inn for a couple more hours. The boys on his bowling team all agree he was with them until they dropped him off at home.”
I hated to ask, but I did. “Anything else I should know about Molly?”
“She had a bad reputation when she was in school, according to her friends, but she settled down after she got married. Went to a business school and learned all the crap she needed to work in a doctor’s office doing the insurance and billing paperwork. One of the girls at the office where she used to work said she wasn’t sorry when Molly quit. There were some rumors Molly was spending too much time in the doctor’s office with the door closed. He denied any sort of romantic entanglement, but he’s married with three kids and a big house overlooking a golf course. Also, the girl at the office said the rest of the staff suspected Molly was stealing money from their purses in the coat room. Just suspected, mind you. Nobody had any proof.”
“Would you mind if I crawled under my desk for an hour or so?” I said. “I don’t think I can take any more background information at the moment. All the circuits in my head have blown their itty-bitty fuses.”
“Suit yourself, but that’s about all. Two of the celebrities—the Dartmouth gal and Toby Mann—have been arrested on occasion for drugs and booze. The other two are upstanding citizens. Stonebridge most likely shouldn’t be practicing medicine, but that’s up to the state board. Alice Cutchens is doing something illegal, but I ain’t sure what and I ain’t gonna worry about it. I could tip off the police in Amarillo as to Walter’s whereabouts, but it’s not like they’re going to extradite him.” He pulled back his cuff and looked at his watch. “It’s not all that late. I might just get in a couple of hours out at the lake.”
“Don’t bet your bass boat on it,” I said darkly. “Let me tell you about that upstanding citizen, Senator Alexandra Swayze.”
Harve listened, his face growing grimmer. When I finished, he took a final puff on his cigar and tossed it into the wastebasket. “You got any extra room under your desk?”
Brother Verber couldn’t believe what-all he was hearing. In truth, he couldn’t make much sense of it. Communists and aliens and a conspiracy to assassinate the president of the United States of America? Drugs that altered your mind? Innocent folks undergoing bizarre surgical procedures that turned them into killing machines?
He fell to his knees and said, “Let us pray.”
The Honorable Senator Alexandra Swayze, who was sitting next to him on the pew, poked his shoulder. “Pray for what? Haven’t you understood a word of what I’ve been telling you, you moron? There’s no one we can trust. If I attempt to call Lloyd, the CIA will intercept the call and track me down. You’ll be thrown into a cell and be left to rot, but only after you’ve been tortured. They’re much more sophisticated than they used to be. These days they can attach electrodes to your genitals. I’ve been told the pain is excruciating.”
“My what?” he squeaked. “You mean my…?”
“I’ll simply disappear, and a few weeks from now a story will be leaked to the press that I was killed by insurgents in one of those obscure Asian nations. You and I are the only ones who can defend democracy against this vile plot. We must take action.”
Brother Verber was still pondering what she’d said about his genitals. He wasn’t real sure what electrodes were, but they didn’t sound like a good idea. He resumed his seat on the pew. “What do you aim we should do?”
“I wish I knew,” Alexandra said. She stayed quiet for a moment, then grabbed his arm so fiercely that he yelped. “We must organize a resistance movement, as the French did during World War II. We’ll infiltrate the core of the conspiracy and stop them. Can I trust you, Willard?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, trying to pull free of her grip. “I can see that we’re gonna have to infiltrate. Why, if the godless communists take control like you said, then what’ll become of us righteous Christian folks?” He kept squirming, but it didn’t do any good. She was a nice-looking lady, but she’d clamped on to him like a pit bull. “How do you think we should organize this resistance movement? Nobody here in Maggody knows how to speak French. Some of them can barely speak American.”
She frowned, which alarmed him even more than the fact he couldn’t hardly wiggle his fingers. “We need recruits we can trust. They must be armed and willing to sacrifice their lives for their nation.” She released his arm and sprang to her feet. Slapping her hand across her chest, she bellowed, “One nation, under God, invisible, with liberty and justice for those who will stand beside us and guide us through the night with a light from the dove.”
Brother Verber edged down the pew until he figured he was out of her reach.
“What’s more,” she continued, “they must be heavily armed. I cannot continue to take sanctuary here while those who are determined to destroy us rampage across the countryside, raping women and slaughtering innocent children.”
“They’re doing that?”
She swung around and pointed her finger at him. “Don’t argue with me, Willard. How many times must I tell you that? Quit this blubbering and pay attention. The left-wing media would like you to think that everything is fine and dandy, but they know what’s really going on. I’ve been a senator for”—she hesitated—“a long time. I don’t know. Years. I’ve been on committees that deal with national security. Important committees. Some branches of the government don’t want you to know the truth. Mail carriers read your postcards and report to the CIA. Garbage collectors sift through your discarded bank statements in search of suspicious donations to charities that are fronts for communist organizations. Grocery stores keep track of your purchases. Worst of all, teachers indoctrinate their students with liberal propaganda and fog their minds with sacrilegious theories. They even instruct them on how to have sex!”
Brother Verber’s jaw dropped. “Teachers?”
“If citizens like you realized the enormity of the crisis that we as a nation are facing, you would rise up. Now is the time for all good men, not cowards and fools. Can I count on you, Willard Verber? Do you love your country? Will you sacrifice your life?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said hastily. “What say we go over to the rectory and have a glass of wine while we decide what-all to do? Sacramental wine, that is. The Good Lord might feel inclined to offer a suggestion or two, if he’s not busy.”
“Wine? Are you suggesting we indulge in alcohol when our very future is at stake? Don’t you understand that they’re already searching for me? Once they find us, you’ll be praying for a quick and painless death.”
She strode to the far end of the pew and back, her face contorted with concentration. He couldn’t quite make out what she was saying to herself, but he could catch an obscenity every few wo
rds. Before he could point out that she was blaspheming, she turned and went out through the vestibule. The door banged shut. He sat for a long while, holding his breath and hoping she was gone for good. Although he’d always told himself he was a red-blooded patriot, he wasn’t all that excited about the idea of sacrificing his life. Or having electrodes attached to his privates, if it was gonna come to that.
He took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his neck. Her story might be true, her being a United States senator and all. She’d been mighty agitated, though, spewing spittle when she talked and waving her hands around like a band director. He’d never taken much interest in politics, but her name often appeared in quarterly newsletters from the seminary, citing her as a beacon in the fight against immorality. Immorality was something he knew well, having dedicated himself to helping his flock by learning all he could about the insidious forces of Satan. He subscribed to magazines that turned his stomach, just so he’d know what evils lurked between the covers. He prowled alleys and preached to loose women, trying to persuade them to abandon their wanton ways and seek redemption. He was a patriot, but his loyalties were to the Lord.
Which meant he didn’t have to put on a beret and go crawling across some muddy pasture. Once again, he fell to his knees, but this time he was praying that he’d seen the last of Senator Swayze.
Harve and I had exchanged seats so he could call his office and try to get a dog to track Alexandra Swayze. He was scowling when he hung up. “I got good news and bad news. What do you want first?”
“What do I want first?” I said. “First, I want to get in my car and drive to a certain campsite by a lake. I want to listen to the birds. I want to watch the sunset. And the next morning, I want to drive toward Canada and never look back.”
“By yourself?”
“That, Sheriff Dorfer, remains to be seen. So what’s the bad news?”
“The K-9 corps is out for the afternoon, down by Hangnell searching for a little kid that strayed from the backyard. The best we can hope for is tomorrow morning, and that’s assuming they find the kid today.”
“Okay, then let’s have the good news,” I said.
“The translator is on her way, and should be here in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. Name’s Norberta. You may have a problem with her. Her contract says she’s on call whenever we need her, but she’s supposed to be in a wedding tonight and she isn’t happy about having to come all the way out here.”
“I’m not exactly dancing on the desk, in case you haven’t noticed. Based on what you told me, I doubt the employees will have much to say. She ought to be able to get home fairly soon.”
Harve rocked back in my chair, but not so far as to hit the wall. “You’ve been acting real strange lately. Even Les noticed it. I know it’s none of my business, but if there’s something you need to tell me, I wish you’d spit it out.”
“I don’t allow spitting in my office,” I muttered. “I’m just feeling edgy, that’s all. Maybe I’ve been here too long. I was bitter when I got here, but I’m over the divorce and now I’m…I don’t know, restless. Part of me wants to redecorate my apartment, and the other half wants to get out of Dodge once and for all.” I stopped before I told him about my fainting spell in the surgical suite. He was in his avuncular mode, but he couldn’t be trusted not to use the admission against me the next time he got pissed off.
“Up to you,” he said tactfully, “but you might want to ease up on the second helpings. You’re starting to look more like a Maggody housewife than a former big city socialite.”
My eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. Whatever’s been going on at the Stonebridge Foundation will get cleared up before long. Hell, you may have a signed confession before that kid in Hangnell is found taking a nap under a bush.” He hurriedly got up and put on his hat, which made him look like a stereotypic dumb southern cop in a bad movie. “Give me a call later, you hear?”
“Sure, Harve.” I waited until he left, then took my rightful spot behind the desk and pulled out a legal pad to make notes about Vincent Stonebridge, the Connecticut drug pusher; Brenda Skiller (aka Alice Cutchens); and Walter Kaiser, wayward hippie in a time warp. This isn’t to say I wasn’t fuming inside.
“Yo, Earl,” called Jim Bob as he went into the house. The stench stopped him in his tracks. It was an unappetizing hodgepodge of spoiled meat, urine, and stale sweat. It was a helluva lot worse than the Dumpster out back of the supermarket. Battling his instinct to get out of there damn fast before he puked, he forced himself to go on into the kitchen.
Earl was seated at the table, wearing a dirty undershirt and trousers smudged with everything but blood. It was obvious he hadn’t taken a bath or shaved in a long while. Bread crumbs and half-eaten bananas and apples had been discarded on the floor. Flies hovered over the crusted remains of a casserole. What might have been a meatloaf was covered with blue fuzz. Gnats were feasting on an open can of chili with a fork stuck in it. It wasn’t hard to see that Earl had been drinking. The counters were cluttered with empty whiskey bottles, crumpled beer cans, and quart jars that had once contained moonshine.
“Whattaya want?” said Earl, staring at the jar in his hand.
Jim Bob stayed in the doorway. “I just came by to see how you was doing. It don’t look like Eileen’s come back.”
“Ain’t you a clever sumbitch.”
“Whatever you say, Earl. Some of the boys are getting together tonight to play poker. You interested?”
Earl’s head swiveled so he could glare at Jim Bob. “Do I look like I wanna play poker?”
Jim Bob tried not to stare at Earl’s mossy teeth and oily chin. “Hey, us men got to stick together. You want Eileen to show up and find you like this? She’ll figure you’re nothing but a big fat baby pining away for its mama. The next thing you know, you’ll be mopping the floor and asking her permission to take a crap. You got to shape up, Earl. Clean up this gawdawful mess, then take a shower and put on some decent clothes. I’ll tell Mrs. Jim Bob to fix us some thick sandwiches and apple pie. Then, tomorrow or whenever Eileen waltzes in, expecting you to be moping like a sickly hound, you’ll be sitting in front of the TV watching a ball game, drinking beer, and eating chips. Maybe you’ll notice she’s back, or maybe not. And if you’re gonna show her just who wears the pants in the family, you make damn sure the pants ain’t soiled. I’ll come by at seven and pick you up.”
Earl grunted. Jim Bob took this as agreement and hurried outside to gulp down some fresh air. He sat in his truck and did some calculating. He’d lined up a total of six players, but there was room for one or two more. He was reluctant to invite doddery ol’ Hirem, who’d fall asleep by eight o’clock, or Seldom Buchanon, who farted every time he got a decent hand. He finally decided to see if he could track down Big Dick McNamara over at the body shop in Emmet. Big Dick could even bring his boy, who was gettin’ old enough to act like a grown man.
Despite what he’d said to Earl, it might not be a real good idea to order Mrs. Jim Bob to fix food for the poker game. He took a swallow of whiskey from the pint bottle in his glove compartment, then drove toward the SuperSaver to tell the flabby sows at the deli to put together a fine spread. It’d be store-bought, but at least he wouldn’t have to get into it with Mrs. Jim Bob.
15
I stuck a note on the PD door that said I’d be back shortly, then drove around town, looking for Alexandra Swayze. Nothing much seemed to be going on at the Pot O’ Gold trailer park, except for a pack of grubby children running wild. Eula Lemoy’s undergarments flapped on a clothesline. The manager was lugging trash bags out of one of the trailers, but didn’t spot me. It was not Alexandra’s kind of place. The picnic tables in front of the Dairee Dee-Lishus were occupied only by a few quarrelsome crows. The parking lot at Ruby Bee’s was thinning out as the lunch crowd left. The SuperSaver was as busy as usual on a Saturday afternoon. I considered driving by Dahlia and Kevin’s ho
use, but I was afraid she’d come thundering out the door and throw herself in front of my car.
When I gave up and returned to the PD, a small woman with short dark hair was waiting beside a monstrous SUV. She wore jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, and was obviously not pleased to be called away from the prewedding festivities. Before I could get out of my car, she climbed into the passenger’s side and said, “Let’s get this over with; I’ve got a hair appointment at three. You’re Arly Hanks, right? I’m Norberta Oseguerra. I don’t want to hear what this is about. You tell me what to ask, I do it, and then translate. ¡Vamanos!”
I didn’t need her to translate the last word. We drove in silence to the Stonebridge Foundation. The gate was closed, but swung open after I identified myself on the squawk box. I parked in the back, and we came in by the pool. Deputy Quivers was sitting bolt upright in a chair, but he looked guilty, so I assumed he’d been napping. “Did they feed you lunch?” I asked him.
“Yes, ma’am, but I couldn’t make out what it was and I was scared to eat it. Do you think I could go over to Ruby Bee’s and grab a quick bite?”
“Try the catfish,” I said. Norberta was at the edge of the garden, admiring some sort of flowering bush. I tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll have someone round up the Mexican employees, and we’ll question them out here, if that’s okay with you.”
“I wish I could get my peonies to bloom like this.”
I left her and went to Stonebridge’s office. His door was open, and he was on the phone, extolling the virtues of the facility and the bucolic marvels of the Ozarks. There was desperation in his voice; he sounded as though he would have sold his soul to Mephistopheles in exchange for a licensed psychiatrist. A half-empty bottle of brandy and a glass were within easy reach.
Brenda Skiller’s door was locked. I continued into the main building and found her in the office behind the reception desk. Except, of course, she wasn’t Brenda Skiller, who was either in an urn on her niece’s mantel or in a cemetery—both of which were preferable to a backyard. I decided to keep the information to myself for the time being.