by Joan Hess
"Oh," I said wisely. "Have you and she given statements to the police yet?"
"That lieutenant came to the room earlier. Catherine was sleeping, but I went to the lobby and talked with him for a few minutes. There was very little I could tell him about poor Brenda and Jerome, and Catherine's had almost no contact with them at all, beyond the few times Geri gathered all the contestants to discuss the schedule."
She headed for the elevator, forcing me to follow her. I still couldn't figure out what was bugging me about her room, which was apt to be as dingy and cramped as everyone else's. Not even in my wildest flights of whimsy could I hypothesize a majestic suite behind the peeling door.
"Catherine seems to spend a lot of time in the room," I said as Frannie pushed the elevator button.
"It's her allergies. There's something in the air that's giving her dreadful headaches, and she's hardly been able to sleep at night because of the noise outside the hotel. The horns never stop, do they? It doesn't do one bit of good, but they seem to enjoy leaning on their horns and shouting obscenities at each other."
"You're from Kansas, right?" I said, wily professional interrogator that I was. She nodded and, when the elevator door slid open, stepped inside. At the last second, I joined her with a witless chuckle, and continued. "I assume Catherine's in school. What do you do, Frannie?"
She gave me a narrow look, as if I'd asked her for the name of the madam who ran the whorehouse. "I work part-time in a little store. I think it's important that I be there when Catherine comes home from school. I drive her to all her lessons, and sometimes we go out to the mall to shop and have supper in the food pavilion. She's in the honors program, so she's always loaded with homework in the evenings. I sew or occasionally read a magazine. I've tried to watch television, but Catherine cannot concentrate unless the house is very quiet."
"I guess you have to be careful when you turn the pages," I said. It didn't exactly enhance the atmosphere between us, but I was getting tired of hearing about mama's little monster. Definitely a sour pickle, and sour enough to turn one's mouth inside out.
We arrived at the first floor without further discussion of delicate Catherine's needs and desires. Frannie headed in the direction of the office, no doubt willing to vent her maternal instincts despite Geri's propensity for hysterics. I opted for a sofa in the lobby rather than a ringside seat and was getting settled in when Lieutenant Henbit stomped out of the dining room.
"Where're your mother and this other woman who's with her?" he barked at me.
"I am not my mother's-" I stopped as I remembered the last time I'd tossed out the phrase.
"Your mother's what?"
"Keeper. However, if I were you, I'd try her room."
"She wasn't there," he said, still all red in the face and tacitly accusing me of some nefarious scheme to deprive him of his opportunity to speak to her.
"She's probably there now. She and Estelle felt some imperative to discuss their pipes with a plumber on the third floor. By now they're back in their room, arguing the wisdom of lead over copper and analyzing the mysterious death of Cousin Carmel back in 'eighty-six. Or was it 'eighty-seven?"
" 'Eighty-seven," Rick said from behind the counter. "It was a very good year for mysterious deaths and chablis with an impudent personality."
Lieutenant Henbit did not look amused as he continued across the lobby and took the stairs. Once the door banged closed, I looked at Rick and said, "What's the matter? Can't take the heat in the office?"
"That Gebhearn dame is driving me friggin' crazy. If she's not jabbering on the telephone, she's sobbing like someone ran over her poodle. She was not doing well on account of her boss calling, but then the queen mother barged in and started carrying on, too. Jesus! Was there ever a time when this hotel was calm and everybody was just going about his business?"
"I wouldn't know," I said truthfully. "I came only after my mother was arrested for attempted homicide, if you recall. I've been thinking about the so-called mugging in the stairwell, and I can't figure out why Durmond was placed in 217-or who called the police."
He sneered, albeit faintly. "The police seem more concerned about murder these days. They might be willing to assign a special task force to alleviate your curiosity, however. You should ask the lieutenant when he comes down."
"He does seem preoccupied with this other business, doesn't he?" I said, refusing to allow him to irritate me.
"But I think there's a parallel between the two crimes that he's ignoring."
"Do you now?" Rick twisted his ring, but his eyes were on me. For the record, they weren't the friendliest I'd seen and didn't begin to compete with Mr. Cambria's twinkle.
"In both cases, the bodies were relocated before they were discovered. Durmond was taken to 217, and Jerome to the dumpster in the alley. This means that someone went to a lot of trouble when it would have been so much easier and safer to depart the scene with all due haste."
"How do you know Jerome was taken to the dumpster? Maybe he went outside to play with the rats or something and was shot out there by some punk. The cops are not making an effort to keep me informed of their investigation, but I would not be surprised to learn Appleton's wallet and watch are missing."
"As is his luggage," I said with a frown.
Rick stooped under the counter and came to the sofa. "But why is it that you say he was killed someplace else and moved to the alley?" he persisted.
"Because my mother went to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk and saw the body," I said. "She didn't mention seeing his luggage, though. What happened to it?"
I'd been talking to myself for the most part, barely aware of Rick's presence, and therefore was startled half out of my skin when Mr. Cambria said, "What else did Ruby Bee see while on this quest for warm milk?"
I held back a giggle that would have been on the manic side. "Nothing else that I know of, but the lieutenant may be able to worm something more out of her-if he's as clever as he thinks he is. I wouldn't bet on it."
Rick looked at Cambria. "I swear this is the first I've heard of this. The cops didn't say a word about the guy being shot in the kitchen, or about his luggage disappearing. From what I've picked up, they were perfectly happy with him going out to the alley on his own two feet and then either his wife or some punk shooting him there. Only now am I hearing how that screwy broad was in the kitchen while the body was still warm."
"I was there, too," I said, "but after the body had been moved and before the four cases of Krazy KoKo-Nut had been returned."
Rick was twisting his ring hard enough to rip off his finger, and his face was turning paler by the second. "It sounds like there's a history of sleepwalking in this family. First the mother and now this chick go roaming around in the middle of the night, and both spouting off nonsense about what they saw and what they didn't see. I think maybe their brains are packed less carefully than Appleton's suitcases."
I was on the verge of verbalizing my displeasure when a truck squealed to a stop in front of the hotel. All three of us watched a man grab half a dozen flat white boxes and come charging across the sidewalk. "I told you to make some calls," Cambria said softly.
"I did, just like you said," Rick said, gulping. "I got hold of everybody I could think of. The word's out. I dunno what this guy is doing…"
The door opened. "Pizza man!" said the newcomer.
*****
Brother Verber was puffing as he scrambled over a patch of loose rocks in what would be a bubbly, gushy creek in the springtime. He was having a hard time keeping his balance, in that he could barely see over the boxes he was carrying. Every now and then the white ribbon tickled his nose enough to provoke hearty sneezes that sprinkled the slick silver paper like tiny drops of dew.
"I presume we're almost there," said Mrs. Jim Bob. She wasn't as worn out as he was, but the humidity was getting worse by the minute. Heavy gray clouds had massed over the ridge, with occasional flickers of lightning and rumbles that threatened a down
pour at any minute. "We haven't got all day," she continued, her beady eyes boring into his back, "and we can't have much of a fire in the rain. What's more, it's getting chilly."
He almost apologized for the weather, but decided he'd better save his breath and concentrate on picking up any stray cosmic suggestions as to the location of Raz's still. It had to be around there somewhere, he told himself as he stumbled and fumbled through the brush.
"How much farther is it?" demanded Mrs. Jim Bob. "Why, not all that much farther," he said with what confidence he could muster. "The problem is with the directions Raz gave to me after he finished repenting. I'm almost certain he said to take the second logging road and keep to the right all the way, but he was such a pathetic wretch that he might have been addled at the time and meant to have said to keep to the left."
"Then we may be on the wrong side of the ridge? Is that what you're saying?"
"Of course not! We're here to do our Christian duty, and the Almighty wouldn't let us stray down the wrong path, much less the wrong side of the ridge. Any time now we'll come around a clump of trees and feast our eyes on that soul-pollutin' moonshine still."
Mrs. Jim Bob glanced up, but there was no Divine Finger pointing the way to go. "We'd better find it right soon and get this nasty business over with before we find ourselves soaked to the skin." She wrapped her sweater more tightly around her shoulders, wishing she'd thought to bring a coat, not to mention an umbrella. Then again, maybe a shower from heaven would cleanse her soul of the gritty residue of guilt lingering from the night she'd lain in her bed and allowed herself to think about things that violated everything she'd learned from rigorous Bible study and services three times a week.
Brother Verber was shivering, too, although the dipping temperature was not the sole cause. What a tangled web he'd woven, he thought with a wheezy sigh, all because he allowed Satan to hand him a glass and force the wicked whiskey down his throat and into his belly, where it'd festered and boiled and done its best to seep into his loins and turn him into nuthin' more than a sinner driven by mindless lust. Luckily, he'd seen fit to fight for his immortal soul and had won fair and square, and now was again pure of heart and free of lust.
He looked benignly over his shoulder. "Sister Barbara, you are such an inspiration to me and to all the members of the congregation." He was planning to add more, but his foot came down on a loose rock. The boxes went flying every which way as he fell to the ground heavily enough to compete with the thunder and startle the birds into silence.
"Are you all right?" said the inspiration.
He kept his eyes closed while he pondered her question. His head was spinning, to be sure, and his backside was screaming so loudly he was a little amazed she couldn't hear it. He continued his assessment. His back didn't feel broken, which isn't to say it felt good or even so-so, but he made sure he could wiggle his toes just the same. He was getting ready to announce his findings when the Almighty, who'd been real quiet up till now, finally decided to put forth a proposal.
Sister Barbara was slapping his cheeks and making agitated noises, but Brother Verber waited for a moment before letting his eyelids flutter open and his mouth curl into a grimace.
"It's my ankle," he said, making it obvious that the only thing stopping him from whimpering was his resolution to be brave. "It feels like it's on fire." Mrs. Jim Bob pulled up his trouser leg. "This one? It looks fine to me. If it were broken, wouldn't the bones be sticking out?"
"It's the other one, and I don't think it's exactly broken. It's more like sprained real badly and afore too long will commence to swell up and turn purple." He sat up and squinted at it. "Yes, I can see some bruises right below the surface of the skin. I'm afraid this puts a damper on our plans, Sister Barbara, and I'm as disappointed as you are that we can't continue forth to do our Christian duty. I just hope I can hobble all the way back to the car."
Mrs. Jim Bob wasn't overly impressed with his speech, but she wasn't ready to accuse him of lying, not just yet. Instead, she left him to rub his head while she gathered up the boxes, which weren't nearly as festive after having been flung hither and yon. She couldn't leave them on the ridge, she told herself as she made a neat stack. Some fool hunter might come across them, and with her luck, there'd be a receipt in one of them with her name written in big, bold letters that might as well spell S-E-X.
Taking them back to Maggody meant driving down the road while folks out and out smirked at her. Brother Verber's barbecue grill was not an option.
"What we'll do," she said, ignoring his moans and facial contortions, "is sit for a spell and see how much your ankle swells up. If it's not too bad, we can continue on our mission and be back at the car before it starts raining. You do want to destroy the still and these perfidious packages, don't you?"
The fact that she was standing over him with her hands on her hips and a real tight look on her face prompted him to say, "Of course I do, Sister Barbara." He realized he was staring at her trim ankles only inches away. "Of course I do," he repeated numbly.
Chapter Fourteen
I stayed in my room the rest of the afternoon, eating pizza (no anchovies) and trying to sort through everything I knew. Or what I thought I knew, anyway, which was a whole 'nother ball game. The Chadwick Hotel had not seen fit to provide its guests with embossed stationery, but I scrambled through drawers until I found a scratch pad, took a pencil from my purse, and sat crosslegged on the bed while I made numerous lists and drew little arrows all over them. The arrows had points; the lists did not.
I was having such a fine time that I was seriously annoyed when the telephone rang. Furthermore, I hadn't had much luck with calls lately. I let it jangle for a long time, but finally I got tired of listening to it and picked up the receiver.
"Oh, Arly!" Eilene shrieked (her standard approach these days). "There's been a breakthrough! They're still being held hostage in Lebanon, but it looks like they'll be released if negotiations are successful. A man's on his way from Washington, D.C., to act as the go-between. Their nightmare may be over after all this time, and they can come home to their families and loved ones."
"That's great news," I said, feeling as though I was linked to CNN. "Why is the guy having to come from Washington?"
"The terrorist demanded to speak to a black FBI agent, if you can imagine. I didn't know there were any, but the policeman said they tracked one down and sent for him. He's more of an office worker than one of those agents who goes around with a gun chasing drug smugglers and folks who want to shoot the president. He has to fly into Frankfort, and they'll fetch him in a car and take him straight to the café."
"Great news," I repeated weakly.
"I'm just beside myself! I've been pulling out my hair and pacing up and down like a caged animal in a zoo. Earl's just as distraught as I am, although I must say he ain't missed any meals-or any ball games on the television."
"Well, it sounds as if it'll be resolved soon and the bride and groom can resume their trip to Niagara Falls." I tried to think of something else to say, but I'd worn myself out with all the lists and arrows. "Thanks for calling, Eilene. I'll be sure to tell Ruby Bee and Estelle the good news."
"You don't have to tell them about it, Arly. I talked to 'em a while back. Just tell them that Earl says even a plumber's apprentice knows that copper is better than lead. It costs more, but you come out ahead in the long run. Earl couldn't believe a real plumber'd say something that stupid. He says it sounds more like Kevin." I asked her to call back when the hostages had been released, then replaced the receiver and pretended I was studying my lists. So Ruby Bee and Estelle were still on the case, were they? Lieutenant Henbit might not be pleased to hear they were dabbling in his water. I sure as hell wasn't. Whatever was going on under the guise of a cooking contest was a damn sight more dangerous than the chemicals enhancing the soybean flakes.
Rehearsing a few acidic phrases under my breath, I was halfway across the room when there was a knock on the adjoining door,
presumably from the hand of a man who was no longer a professor but was professing to be one just the same. And had a.38 Special in his dresser drawer. Yeah, that man.
I opened my door. "I was just on my way to have a word with some meddlesome broads from Maggody."
Durmond stood there, his shoulders slumped and his face as gray and limp as an old washrag. I'd seen better color on a cadaver. Beneath his eyes were half-crescents darker than bruises. He had on a different shirt, but it was as wrinkled as if he'd changed before he took a nap. I was about to repeat myself when he sighed and said, "May I come in, Arly? I've just had a call from Alex Ripley, and I think we'd better talk before you jump to a lot of erroneous conclusions about me."
"I already have," I said crossly, then gestured for him to enter the room. "Although I doubt they're all that erroneous, unless the entirety of Drakestone College is conspiring to play a practical joke of some kind. I didn't speak to anyone who sounded as though she had that lively a sense of humor."
"I was on the faculty until it was determined that my wife's cancer was inoperable. I stayed home to take care of her, and I just…never returned to the classroom." He gave me a quick look as he sat down, and although his voice remained soft, it took on an edge-the kind with which you can slice a ripe tomato-as he added, "I find it odd that you called Drakestone to check on me, but what's even odder is that you knew the name of the college."
"You must have mentioned it. Maybe Geri said some thing, or Kyle heard it from this investment corporation and passed it along."
"I wasn't added by the corporation, Arly. Kyle Simmons's father arranged to have me included as a contestant. I suggested that he put my name in with the other two replacements, and he did it right before he left for a vacation." The edge became sharper than anything advertised on late-night cable. "But I didn't mention Drakestone to anyone because I didn't want any snoopy sorts to attempt to verify my credentials. There's only one way you could have come up with the name of the college."