Mischief In Maggody

by Joan Hess

  I hit the ceiling. I pointed out that we had a murder on our hands, which was a damn sight more important than a bunch of convenience-store robberies or the possibility of a bank job. I pointed out a lot more things, and the sheriff pointed out some more, and pretty soon we were both yelling and jabbing the air like woodpeckers.

  Things went on in that vein for most of an hour. The sheriff knew me well enough not to pull any chauvinist tactics, but he wouldn't budge one goddamn inch. Oh, he agreed with me left and right, admitting that murder was a damn sight more important, etc., then repeated his contention that he just couldn't put two or three deputies up in the woods for what might be weeks to catch a couple of weekend gardeners. If they weren't already tipped off and heading for Mexico. Or sitting at home in front of the television, willing to abandon that particular patch. "But no one knows we found the body except for Merle, who hasn't told anyone else, Mason Dickerson, who knows very little, and police officials," I said, turning on the earnestness. "I'll stake out the field myself. It's about harvest time. Give me this one weekend." I turned on the charm for good measure. "Come on, Harvey, you know this will make you look good. You can claim all the credit at the press conference afterward-a big dope bust and a murder rap would sound right nice 'long about reelection time, wouldn't it? If we can't pin murder one on the perps, we'll surely get a manslaughter or negligent homicide. Voters just love to know those homicidal maniacs are behind bars."

  I was so overcome with my boundless earnestness that I nearly clasped my hands in supplication as I stared at him. He chewed on a stubby, cold cigar for a long time, then asked me what I thought I'd do if a truckload of boys showed up to harvest the marijuana. Big, nasty, stupid boys, armed and ornery. Did I think I could politely ask them to handcuff each other while I read them their rights?

  It was a setback. I thought about that unappealing scenario, then said I'd merely observe from a prudent vantage point, and we could nail them when they spread the plants to dry in someone's backroom or barn. We argued some more over minor issues (mostly involving the newspaper and television interviews), and at last he granted me the weekend. The cigar bobbled as he warned me that, should nothing happen, he would send up his boys to destroy the plants. We shook on it, and that was that. I'd just won the dubious honor of hunkering behind a bush for two days by my lonesome, with no backup should things turn nasty, with no one to talk to as my toes froze and my nose dripped. It was the best I could do for Robin's offspring.

  9

  Mrs. Jim Bob nearly had a stroke when the telephone rang. She stared at it for three or four rings, almost scared to answer it in case it was possessed by the devil hisself. At last she snatched up the receiver and banged it against her ear. "Arly?" she squawked.

  "Sorry, honey, this is LaBelle. I just thought you might like to know what's going on. It's been right crazy all afternoon, since Arly and one of the deputies got back to report. Why, when I took my coffee break a while ago, you'd have thought the department was a dadburned beehive."

  "Arly's at your office? Let me speak to her right this minute, LaBelle."

  "I'm afraid I can't oblige you. I was going to grab her and give her your messages in person, but first she hightailed it to the backroom to do official business, and then she holed up with the sheriff. I stepped away from my desk for one tiny minute to take care of a personal need, which has been happening more than I care to admit since I came down with this pesky bladder infection. Anyway, when I came back, she and Merle Hardcock had gone off in another one of our department vehicles. It seems to me she already has one, but-"

  "Gone off where?" Mrs. Jim Bob demanded, fighting off a wave of panic that made her dizzy and queasy and a lot of other unpleasant things. "Why was she with Merle Hardcock? What's going on over there? Did she say she'd call me?"

  LaBelle licked her lips so loudly, Mrs. Jim Bob could hear it. "Well," she said at last, "I can't tell you anything about the murder, because it's confidential."

  "Murder? What murder?"

  "I am not at liberty to disclose that information to a civilian. I am privy to a lot of classified information due to my position, but I'm not supposed to breathe a word of it to anyone."

  "Just like I'm not supposed to breathe a word of how you entered your sister-in-law's corn relish in the county fair, then took home that blue ribbon without saying one thing about who made it?" Mrs. Jim Bob figured that the emergency justified playing hardball this one time, although she doubted she could find the precise scripture in the Good Book.

  "You promised not to repeat that," LaBelle gasped.

  "I'm waiting to hear about this murder," Mrs. Jim Bob replied smugly. "I'd appreciate all the details, LaBelle. After all, you know everything that happens in the whole county, don't you?"

  LaBelle felt obliged to agree.

  When I returned, Hammet was still in front of the television. An empty can on the coffee table indicated he'd had lunch, although even he must have had a hard time with cold, condensed soup. I turned off the set, sat him down next to me on the sofa, and told him that his mother had died in an accident. I made it sound like a hunting accident, although I didn't out-and-out lie. No, I wasn't real proud of myself.

  He looked at me for a long time, then said, "No bear, huh?"

  "No bear. Just a terrible accident up on the ridge. It wasn't her fault, and I doubt she even knew what happened. Once I finish the investigation, I'll tell you more about it."

  "I really thought she'd done been et by a bear. Are you sure there weren't no bear tracks?"

  "No bear, and no bear tracks." I went to the kitchen and ate a handful of crackers, then changed into a clean uniform and went back to the living room. "Come on, we've got to go to Mrs. Jim Bob's to tell the others."

  "What's gonna happen to us then?"

  "I don't know. I suppose I'd better contact the social services office in Starley City and tell them about the five of you. They have special places where you'll be taken care of until something permanent can be arranged." Didn't sound like all that much fun, did it?

  Hammet wasn't especially enchanted, either. "What does that crap about special places and permanent arranges mean?" he demanded, his brow lowered so that he was glaring up at me like a wild animal in the bottom of a pit.

  "A social worker will take you to a foster home-somebody's house-to live for a few weeks. Meanwhile, she'll try to find someone who wants you to become part of the family. You'll have a mother and a father and some new siblings. A nice house, a chance to go to school, maybe a bicycle."

  "I don' want any of that shit. What about Bubba and Sukie and Sissie and Baby? Is they goin' to this foster place, too? Is they goin' to get bicycles and go to school?"

  "I don't know if all of you will be placed in the same foster home, or end up together," I admitted.

  "Then I ain't going."

  "I can't leave the five of you scattered around Maggody. You'll be better off in a permanent setting, as will your siblings."

  "Sez who?" He reached across me to switch on the television, but I caught his hand.

  "Sez everybody, Hammet. You all can't go back to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and exist on roots and berries. Ruby Bee can't raise a baby, nor can Mrs. Jim Bob take in all of you indefinitely. I'm happy to have you visit me here, but I'm not capable of taking care of you on a permanent basis."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm not-that's why. I work all day and sometimes half the night. I survive on Ruby Bee's generosity and canned soup, depending on my mood. I'm not used to worrying about anybody but myself these days."

  "I ain't no bother. I can eat soup jest like you do, and I can chop wood and slop the hogs for you whenever you tells me to."

  "No," I said gently. "You'll be better off in a stable family setting, with dinner on the table and clean sheets on the bed and motherly reminders to take baths and brush your teeth. I've never been a parent, Hammet-I don't know how to do those things."

  "I reckon you're so all-fir
ed smart you could learn-iffen you wanted to."

  I studied him for a minute, then shook my head. "Let's go tell the others what's happened and try to figure out what to do. Once that's settled, I have to leave town for a few days."

  "Goin' on a vacation? That's right nice what with my ma kilt and everything." He stalked through the doorway and down the stairs, his tangled black hair slapping his shoulders.

  As I hurried after him, I fully expected to spot him halfway into the sunset (metaphorically, anyway, since it was still afternoon), but he had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and was talking to David Allen.

  "Is this true?" David Allen asked me as I joined them.

  "I'm afraid there's been an accident of sorts. I'm going to do everything I can to clear up a few questions about it, but first I've got to decide what to do with the children."

  "Siblings," Hammet hissed under his breath. He shot me a dirty look, then went over to David Allen's wagon and climbed on the hood. Hunkered down with his arms wrapped around his knees, he bore an unsettling resemblance to a turkey vulture on a high branch. I had a pretty good idea whose body he hoped to scavenge, should the opportunity arise.

  David Allen glanced warily at Hammet, then turned back to me. "Well, it's dreadful, and I feel really rotten. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you. For what it's worth, I'm trained in crisis intervention and child psychology. Have you made any effort to contact the fathers of the children?"

  A rather obvious question that simply hadn't occurred to me. I was aware of the biological requirements of reproduction, but somehow one did not associate paternal contributions with Robin Buchanon's offspring. I realized David Allen was grinning at me. "No," I said, "I haven't made any effort to locate the fathers. They must have fathers, though. I mean, they have to have fathers out there somewhere, don't they?"

  "If they don't, The National Enquirer will pay a fortune for the story."

  I glanced at vulture-boy. "Do you and the others ever hear from your fathers? Do they visit or send money once in a while?" Said member of Falconiformes Cathartidae spat on the gravel and shook his head. Shrugging, I continued, "I'm not sure we can pin paternity on anyone, but it's a fine idea. I suppose someone ought to question the children, and in particular Bubba, about the identities of the visitors to the cabin. He's the eldest, and may be able to help us."

  "Bubba don' know shit." Guess who.

  I gave David Allen a beguiling smile. "But I think a professional would be able to deal with the situation better than some bumbling amateur trained in fingerprints and traffic citations. They'll respond to someone who's adept at eliciting information from recalcitrant adolescents, don't you think? Besides, I did want to talk to you about enrolling the older children in school, at least for the moment. This will give you a chance to assess the possibilities." I looked at the sun, which was sinking toward Cotter's Ridge. "And I've got to leave town for a few days, and I'd like to pack up and get going before dark."

  "Going on vacation?"

  "No," I said, wounded that everyone seemed to have such a high opinion of my dedication to duty, "it's official business, but I can't discuss it until I get back. I sure could use your help, David Allen."

  "Then you'll get it. I'll take Hammet over to Mrs. Jim Bob's and break the news to the children. We'll figure out what to do for the moment, and I'll see what, if anything, we can determine about absentee fathers. You just run along and do whatever you're planning to do."

  I felt guilty, but I didn't want anyone to know where I intended to spend my weekend. Merle had sworn he wouldn't breathe a word about Robin's body, and he was so daft I doubted anyone listened to him, anyway. He'd also said he intended to spend several days on the banks of Boone Creek, recalculating angles, which suited me just fine. I thanked David Allen several times, meaning every word of it, and went so far as to ask him to have a word with Ruby Bee. I then tried a tentative smile in Hammet's direction.

  "See you in a couple of days," I said.

  He got in the passenger's side of the wagon and studied the windshield-wiper blade. David Allen went around to the other side and got in, then called to me. "I forgot to give this back to you," he said, holding up the beeper. "You don't want to leave home without it, do you?"

  Looking at the blasted thing made me remember how irresponsible I'd been. It was the icing on the cake of incompetency, and the cake seemed to be growing extra layers every minute. I took it from him and clipped it on my belt. "I sort of forgot to return Mrs. Jim Bob's calls-maybe forty or fifty of them thus far," I said with a wry smile. "There's not much of a reason for me to call her now, since you'll be there in a few minutes and be able to tell her in person what's going on. I just don't have time to get entangled in her problems right now. Would you please tell her how busy I've been and offer her my apologies?"

  David Allen assured me that he'd smooth it over, and he and Hammet drove away in the direction of Mizzoner's manor. I went back to the apartment, sat down and made a list of the paraphernalia I needed to take with me on this little camping jaunt, made a list of all the people I needed to talk to (but wouldn't until I got back), loaded up said paraphernalia in the sheriff's vehicle, and locked the apartment door behind me.

  Then, wondering how someone as incompetent as I seemed to be, not to mention coldhearted and self-centered and all sorts of other charming things, could have survived thirty-four years without being locked away in a home for Nazi war criminals, I drove down the highway toward the road that led to the ridge. Although I knew the words to a few camp songs, none came to my incompetent, coldhearted, self-centered mind.

  "Isn't he just the most darling little creature in the whole world?" Estelle said, squatting down in front of the high chair to tweak a sweet little pink toe.

  "He sure is," Ruby Bee said. She leaned against the edge of the counter and fought back a yawn. "Why, last night he gave me the dearest smile while I sang him some lullabies in the rocking chair." She didn't see any reason to mention how many lullabies it'd taken for the baby to go back to sleep, but there'd been a good dozen more than there were sweet little pink toes.

  "Who do you think he favors?"

  "He favors the Buchanon clan," Ruby Bee said, trying not to sound testy, which wasn't easy on four hours of sleep. "Any fool can see the family resemblance. He's got that unfortunate, chimpanzee-lookin' forehead, black hair, and those yellow eyes what remind me of a weasel."

  Estelle stood up and put her hands on her hips. "I beg your pardon, Rubella Belinda Hanks. I am capable of seeing that he has that Buchanon look to him, but thank you kindly for pointing out the obvious. I was referring to the pappy. You do recollect how there has to be a pappy, don't you? He does contribute something to make the little baby, so he might well look like him, too."

  "I know all that, but thank you kindly for reminding me of something I learned at my mother's knee. I swear, these days they talk about it right in the classrooms of the schoolhouse, just like it was arithmetic or state capitals."

  "Does that have something to do with the price of tea in China?"

  "Not particularly," Ruby Bee conceded as she struggled with another yawn that darn near dislocated her jaw. "Do you think you can take Baby over to your house this afternoon? I've got to inventory my napkins and paper products, and I'm way off schedule 'cause Dahlia didn't come in last night."

  "Did she call in sick?"

  "Nope, not a peep. I know she's likely to have been in the shed with Kevin when God passed out the brains, but I was a mite disappointed with her. Thursday night's not a busy night, and I really did plan to leave her out front so I could go in the back room to count napkins and paper products. I need to put in an order before the weekend. What about you taking Baby?"

  "I would if I could, but I absolutely have to redo Elsie's perm. She's been squealing about how she looks like Shirley Temple, and I've got to admit you can see a passing resemblance if you squint."

  "Can't you put the crib in your bedroom?"


  "Can't you put the crib in your storeroom?"

  The two looked at each other for a while, then both turned to look at the sweetest little thing you've ever seen, who was turning red and screwing up his mouth in preparation to howl.

  "You know," Ruby Bee said, deftly inserting a bottle into the baby's mouth, "this precious punkin does have a pappy out there who loves him. If Arly never finds Robin Buchanon, someone's going to have to take Baby and give him a home. It'd be criminal to deprive his pappy of the chance to raise him and wait up till all hours when he's out drinking beer with his friends."

  Estelle climbed on a stool and nodded. "Downright criminal. I think we owe it to the little angel to help Arly find the father. We could even learn the identities of the fathers of the other children-just in case." She wiggled her eyebrows, not wanting to alarm Baby with the dire scenario.

  "I'm sure Arly'd be real grateful. I don't know exactly how to go about it, though. Robin did have a reputation for…having a lot of friends." Ruby Bee wiggled her eyebrows, too. "Men friends."

  "She sure did. She must have known half the county-and in the Biblical sense, if you follow my drift. I don't see how we can find out who all was blessed enough to father any of the children."

  The baby bottle now depleted, Ruby Bee wearily took the stool next to her. "Me neither. It ain't like we can go over to the county hospital and ask to see the birth certificates. I have a hard time seeing Robin in a hospital bed with a doctor hovering over her. She'd have had a midwife-if she had anything at all. It's just as likely that she dropped the younguns while hoeing potatoes in the field. Might not have even noticed at the time, for that matter."