by Joan Hess
"After the closing. It has to be after the closing, which is set for four o'clock. Arly'd better not so much as look cross-eyed at him until we've closed the loan." Jim Bob realized he sounded a shade frantic, and warned himself to settle down. "We can't accuse him until everything's settled at the bank. I've got my share, but I need his. If the loan folks get spooked, gawd knows what they'll do."
"We do not take the Lord's name in vain in this house," she said mechanically, still wishing she could make a note about the arrest, if only for her own peace of mind. "Perhaps we might plan on having him arrested after you award the trophy," she suggested. "Then we'll have the players clean up the plates and forks and we can all go home knowing justice was served, along with chicken salad and cinnamon rolls." The telephone rang. Confident that it was for her, Mrs. Jim Bob answered with a curt "Yes?" Fifteen minutes later when she sat back down on the newly re-covered divan, she looked as bumfuzzled as he'd ever seen her. Her eyes were zipping back and forth, and her normally tight mouth was nigh onto invisible. It was rare that she needed to think things over, since she pretty much always had her mind made up in advance.
"What was that about?" he asked.
"That was Millicent. She said she'd just heard an amazing story from Darla Jean, and I must say it takes the cake. Darla Jean and another girl were driving into Farberville to shop for school clothes, and they had the misfortune to have a flat tire right by the airport. They were struggling with the spare when they saw someone they knew across the road at that derelict apartment building. Do you know which one I mean?"
He certainly did, but he prudently hesitated for a moment and scratched his head. "Yeah, the one that should have been torn down a decade ago."
Mrs. Jim Bob went on to relate the rescue of Ruby Bee and the ensuing scene with a blond woman on the balcony. "Darla Jean and her little friend couldn't hear anything, of course, and they were about to walk across the street when a truckload of Maggody boys drove up and fixed the flat for them. The girls went on to the mall. I can't begin to imagine what in tarnation Ruby Bee Hanks was doing in a dumpster. And Darla Jean swears Estelle Oppers came out of an upstairs apartment-and she wasn't alone. I find this most peculiar."
"Which apartment?" Jim Bob said, doing his level best not to break out in a telltale sweat, despite the fact his bowels had iced over like a sump hole in January.
"I couldn't say, but the point is that she was in a half-naked man's apartment and Ruby Bee was in a dumpster. I would like very much to find out what those two were up to, but my first duty is to report this to Brother Verber. I'm sure he will share my outrage at this immoral behavior."
Brother Verber had the decency to answer the telephone, and she plunged in briskly.
"This is Sister Barbara. Now you'd best sit down and take notes concerning what I'm about to tell you. It has all the makin's of a splendid sermon."
"Why, certainly, Sister Barbara. I'm sure what you have to tell me is very important, very important indeed. Let me get a pencil and a piece of paper."
She could hear his heavy footsteps and a good deal of huffing and puffing as he fetched his supplies, but he sounded fine when he came back on the line to assure her of his readiness.
"Are you familiar with the Airport Arms Apartments?" she began.
"I don't reckon I am, but I devote all my time to saving souls in our little community. I can't remember when I last had call to leave my trailer parked right here in the righteous shade of the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall."
"I know where your trailer is parked, Brother Verber. The apartment house is that disreputable place across from the airport in Farberville." She waited for him to say something, but all she heard was his breathing, which suddenly sounded right raspy. He didn't say anything, though, so she went on. "What I have to tell you concerns the dumpster."
His breathing took a turn for the worse, wanting to get to the gist of her story, Mrs. Jim Bob was beginning to lose her saintly patience. "Are you having a seizure? You haven't even heard the half of it yet."
"I haven't?" he croaked.
"Millicent McIlhaney said her daughter Darla Jean saw one of our citizens in the dumpster and another come out of an upstairs apartment with a half-naked man with a beer can in his hand."
She was quite pleased that he grasped the implications so readily. She could tell from the gurgly noises he made that he was as outraged as she, if not more so. It was most satisfying.
*****
Martin was waiting in the hospital lobby. The pallor of his face was accented by dark smudges beneath his eyes, but he managed a smile for me. He didn't look like an energetic shortstop; then again, it didn't much matter, because we didn't have the proverbial bat's chance.
I stopped at the information desk and learned that Buzz had been moved to a semiprivate room and was now upgraded to good condition. I asked Martin if he wanted to visit his father. He blinked at me for a moment, then said, "Yeah, Miss Arly. That'd be great."
Buzz was sleeping as we entered the room. The tubes were gone except for an IV in his arm, and his color was better than Martin's. He opened his eyes and said, "Martin, good to see you. I've been real worried about you and Lissie, and it's comforting to know Arly's watching out for the both of you. How are you feelin', son?"
"Okay," Martin said quietly. "You don't have to worry about us."
Buzz glanced at me. "You found out anything about who poisoned us?"
"The preliminary lab report is less than detailed, but they've speculated that it was an industrial pesticide. It may take weeks to get more specific information. In the meantime, I'm trying to pick out snippets of truth from all the rumors and gossip."
"So folks are talking?" He let out a low laugh that became a cough. I poured him a glass of water and hovered beside the bed until he regained control. "Sorry, those damn tubes liked to leave scratch marks all the way to my stomach. What's everybody saying?"
"Ninety-nine percent of it is pure malarky," I said, shaking my head. "The hottest theory is that Lamont Petrel tampered with the packages, then eluded a county-wide dragnet, has been raping women nonstop for the last week, and is numero uno on the FBI's most wanted list."
"He struck me as a nice enough guy. I guess you never can tell, can you?"
"We'll let you rest," I murmured, not in the mood to explain the fine line between hysterically explosive rumors and tedious truth.
Martin and I drove back to Maggody. Hammet was watching television, but as we came into the living room, he switched it off and gave me a worried look. "Is it true what I heard about Miss Ruby Bee being squashed flatter than road kill-and in a big ol' square garbage can?"
"Not exactly," I said. I showed Martin where I'd put his clothes, then sat down across from Hammet and said, "Where'd you hear this latest tidbit?"
"From Saralee, who heard her aunt talking to some lady who was drinking coffee. Lissie said she supposed there was bank robbers' money in the garbage. I dunno, though. I can't figure out why the hell they'd hide money in the garbage."
"Neither can I," I said, amused in spite of myself. Hammet's link to the grapevine was as slippery as anyone's in town. I shuddered to think what the younger side of the population was making of the snatches of conversation they were picking up. Bank robbers and road kill, obviously.
I told the boys to rest up for the big game, then walked across the street to the PD and allowed myself a walking tour of Brussels and a glass of lager at a sidewalk café in the main square. It calmed me down to the point of idle musing, and after a few minutes, I got out my notebook and reread the notes from all the interviews. It became increasingly interesting, this collection of half-truths, gossip, and out-and-out lies, and shortly thereafter some things began to fall into place. Not everything, mind you, because some witnesses (i.e., Ruby Bee) were about as recalcitrant as diving mules.
Cherri Lucinda Crake had admitted to Plover that Lamont Petrel had been at her apartment since the afternoon of the grand opening. She'd continued to deny
that Jim Bob visited her Monday night, but once I decided that was a lie, all sorts of things began to make sense, including Kevin's avowal that Jim Bob had returned to the supermarket and Ruby Bee's screwy story about a serial killer in the motel parking lot. Petrel's motive for disappearing was obvious, and his current whereabouts unknown but within bounds of speculation. I was fairly sure I'd be hearing about it soon, thanks to Hizzoner, but for the moment there wasn't much I could do.
I knew who had laced the tamale sauce and sponge cakes with ipecac, and who had stuck pins in the cupcakes. I knew how and why and when and where, thus qualifying my theory for a journalism class exercise. I moved on to the mysterious poisonings at Buzz Milvin's house. It was possible that the same perp had doctored the coconut cakes, perhaps underestimating the toxicity of the polysyllabic substance. But unless Martin had lied, he hadn't consumed the damn things.
I called Plover and asked him to call back with the lab report on the contents of Martin's stomach. He tried to weasel answers out of me, but I hung up and waited, drumming my fingers on my notebook and staring at the visitor's chair.
It took him only a few minutes to report back to me. "Spaghetti, corn bread, soda pop, crackers, a minute trace of cereal, milk," he said. "Just what the kid's been saying all along. What're you thinking, Arly?"
"That he didn't lie," I said, mostly to myself.
"Lie about what?"
"About what he ate that day, of course." I was hedging, but I wasn't quite ready to explain the fuzzy idea that was struggling to take shape. "I'll get back to you shortly." I hung up, called Ruby Bee, and demanded she repeat the one bit of gossip that nobody had shared with me. She hemmed and hawed, but finally she told me what I'd suspected I would hear. I confirmed it with a second source, then called Plover back to relate my theories.
"I think you're right," he said after a minute of silence. "So what's our schedule?"
"I'm going to call Harve with all this, and then, Sergeant Plover, I'm going to a baseball game. The grande dame of the dumpster is having a party for the team afterward, so I can leave Hammet and Martin in her care. I should be in your office by four-thirty."
After I'd made the final call, I went back to my apartment, put on the pink T-shirt, gathered up the equipment and the two players, and we drove to the baseball field behind the high school.
*****
Most of the town was there for the big shootout, and it took some maneuvering to find a parking place among the pickup trucks and station wagons. Raz was there, as were the Satterings, Perkins and his eldest, Earl Boy Nookim's parents, and the entire force of both the missionary society and the pool hall coterie. Picnic baskets and coolers were everywhere.
The Ruby Bee's Flamingos were milling around near third base, which was not a burlap bag. Georgie McMay, Saralee, and Earl Boy Nookim were exchanging ominous looks, but not blows. Lissie and Jackie were after butterflies, and Enoch was watching reruns in his head. Ray was talking to his father, who went to the bleachers when he spotted us approaching.
I put down the equipment bag, said hello to the team, and shaded my eyes to look across the field at the SuperSavers. If anything, they'd all grown half a foot and a couple had sprouted whiskers. Larry Joe Lambertino was pointing here and there and presumably offering last-minute advice. Hizzoner and Mizzoner stood nearby, both wearing insufferably smug smiles. Petrel was not in sight, but if my theory was correct, he would be before too long.
I turned around to assess the fans in the bleachers. Brother Verber was mopping his face and neck, and looking as composed as a deer caught in the glare of headlights. Dahlia and Kevin were at the far end. Kevin fluttered his fingers at me, but Dahlia didn't even blink, which was fine with me. Joyce was passing out cookies to keep her kids relatively contented. Several high-school girls were sitting together, but a goodly number of their boyfriends were not in sight.
As Ruby Bee walked past the bleachers, there was a low murmur and a few snickers. She held her chin up, however, and I doubted anyone had enough courage to make any remarks within her earshot. Estelle trailed after her, carrying a large plastic bag that bulged oddly but didn't seem heavy.
It looked as if we were all present and accounted for, except for Petrel. I went over to Larry Joe and inquired about procedure. Before he could answer, Mrs. Jim Bob marched over and stuck a piece of paper under my nose.
"I have made all the arrangements," she said with a pinched smile. She consulted her watch. "The pregame ceremonies will begin in three minutes, so I suggest you instruct your team to commence their warm-up."
"Who's the umpire?"
"Why, Jim Bob, of course. I believe he's selected a couple of his employees to umpire out in the field. There are only two minutes remaining."
I thought about protesting, but it wouldn't have done any good and it didn't really matter, since the game was predetermined by relative size (monsters versus dwarfs) and athletic ability (some versus none). There wasn't much reason for our team to warm up, so I told them to sit down and try to remember some of the basic rules.
The SuperSaver cheerleaders tried to rouse the crowd out of its amiable indolence by shrieking and cartwheeling into each other. When they finally gave up (and got up), Mrs. Jim Bob dragged Brother Verber to home plate and clapped her hands until everybody settled down.
"Brother Verber will now lead us in the invocation," she announced.
He wiped his forehead, shot a fearful look at the bleachers, and finally found his voice. "We are gathered here today," he began sonorously, "to test the skills of these two teams of Maggody children-but we are not here with God's blessings. God is wincing as He looks down at this field. He is gnashing His teeth. He is rubbing His hands together and sighing. Why? Do you want to know why God's unhappy today in heaven?"
Nobody admitted to possession of an inquiring mind. After a quick swipe with the handkerchief, Brother Verber sucked in a lungful and told us, anyway. "Because one team is made up of outstanding young boys, each dedicated to the principles of competition and fair play."
"How young are they?" Saralee called.
"Young, little lady. Now this other team"-he made a grandiose sweep in our direction-"this other team has violated the laws of God, not to mention all standards of human decency. This other team has girls and boys playing together! And do you know what that means?" He had to pause to get another lungful, but he had enough sense not to demand any response from the crowd, most of whom were eyeing the Flamingos in case they commenced violating standards right there on the spot. "It means they have wicked thoughts running through their previously innocent little minds. They are seeing each other's bodies, and boys are wondering what all there is under those curvaceous pink T-shirts and the girls are wondering the same about those tight-cut jeans. They are thinking about sex."
"I'm thinking you're an asshole," Hammet volunteered.
"Me, too," Saralee added loyally.
"That's an example of what I'm talking about," Brother Verber said, his nose pulsating and his face beginning to drip. "There is a passel of wickedness in Maggody, and it comes from boys and girls being thrown together-on baseball teams and on porch swings. It leads to lust and depravity and-"
"Magazine subscriptions?" Kevin Buchanon said loudly. It would have been more impressive if his voice hadn't cracked, but now all heads turned to the far end of the bleachers. "What about magazine subscriptions?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I think it's Satan hisself I'm hearing," Brother Verber blustered. "Satan hisself is perched on your shoulder, ain't he? Satan hisself!"
Dahlia had remained motionless thus far. She rose ponderously, inch by inch and with such steeliness that the crowd was holding its collective breath. "What does Satan know about kittens and tomcats except what he reads in your magazine?" she said very slowly and clearly. Her black eyes were burning within the fleshy mounds of her cheeks. Her lips went in and out as she stared at him. She was not anyone to meet in a dark alley. Brother Verber clutc
hed his bow tie. "They was planted by some sinner to discredit me," he managed to say. "They were put beside my trailer so that I would be made to look like a weak-kneed sinner and unworthy of guiding my flock down the path of righteousness."
Mrs. Jim Bob gave him a quick look, then put one fist on her hip and shook her finger at Kevin and Dahlia. "You're a fine pair to be casting the first stone. Everybody in town knows how you two were fornicating on the porch swing."
Eilene leapt to her feet, although she kept a tight grip on Earl's shoulder to hold him down. "That's a lie!"
"Everybody knows," Mrs. Jim Bob replied complacently.
"I say it's a lie," Eilene said, beginning to snivel. Beside her, Earl was too stunned to do anything, and Kevin and Dahlia had sunk down to their seats and then some.
Estelle and Ruby Bee were whispering. They made a decision and Estelle stepped into the lion's den. "Satan may have planted those magazines by your trailer, but he didn't plant them in a certain dumpster at the edge of Farberville, did he?" She put the plastic bag down and opened it. A bright pink figure popped up, its painted eyes wide in surprise and its other anatomical projections jiggling so realistically that the crowd let out a collective gasp. "What about your little inflatable friend?"
Estelle continued. "Surely you felt bad about leaving Suzie Squeezums, didn't you?"
Brother Verber's face resembled tomato aspic, from the color to the quiver. His jaw opened and closed, and we could see his tongue swelling as if he'd contracted a mild case of bubonic plague. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said hoarsely.
"And you're a fine one to speak," Mrs. Jim Bob added, although she was sending dark looks at her companion. "Why don't you explain what you were doing in an apartment with a half-naked man, and in the afternoon, too.? I think we're entitled to an explanation of this outrageous conduct."
"Sez who?" Ruby Bee snapped.
What was I doing all this time? you ask. Nothing. And why not? you ask. Because every last one of them deserved it, that's why. The entire town had been obsessed with tacky rumors. Life in Puritan Salem had been a damn sight saner, and the only reasons these good citizens hadn't pilloried anyone was because we didn't have a convenient spot for the pillory.