by Joan Hess
Hammet glanced up. "It ain't haunted. I done lived there for eleven years and I never seen any ghosts or spooks."
An earlier remark came back to me. I took Hammet's shoulder and propelled him away from the others. Then I bent down so I could watch his eyes as I said, "On Friday I told you that your mother had been killed in a hunting accident. Before the church service started, you said that she'd been murdered. Why'd you say that?"
"That's what the holyfied lady told me and my siblings. They already knew afore David Allen and I got there. She said Her'd been blown to kingdom come by some kind of booby trap."
I had a pretty good idea how Mrs. Jim Bob had learned that tidbit. After all, she'd called LaBelle for two solid days trying to reach me. It was difficult to picture Mrs. Jim Bob growing marijuana in the National Forest, or slithering up in the dark to chop the plants while yours truly was otherwise occupied in town. I concluded (admittedly with a flicker of disappointment) that she was not my air-traffic controller.
"Did you or any of your siblings tell anyone that your mother was murdered?" I asked Hammet.
"No, we din't say nuthin'. After we left the lady's house, we went to your apartment and watched television 'til it got late and they started showing this picture that stayed the same. That's when we decided to see about this foster crap and decide iffen we wanted to do that or tell about our pappies. We knowed all along; we jest wasn't sure if it were the thing to do."
I, too, would have had reservations about claiming a filial relationship with Verber and/or Jim Bob Buchanon. "So David Allen convinced you to confess?"
"When he got home, he said all kinds of stuff about how we might get sent to other places and not necessarily get a bicycle. It were mighty scary, so I told him we'd tell him after church."
"But instead you prodded Bubba and the others into a public display that caused all sorts of embarrassment for the two fathers," I said, trying not to smile.
"We was gettin' tired of hearing how we was sinners going right to hell on an express train and everybody else was so friggin' perfect they was going to heaven to play harps and dumb shit like that. We decided mebbe some other folks might be on the same train."
Never underestimate the cunning of a Buchanon bush colt.
I returned him to David Allen's custody and went back inside the church. I found Mrs. Jim Bob in the foyer, a tissue clutched in her hand. She gave me a tight frown and said, "What do you want? Did you come to make snide remarks about my husband? Did you come to snicker at me?"
Moi? I shook my head and lectured myself to avoid any temptation to snicker until I was alone, at which time I'd let loose like a gross of candy bars. "No, I came to ask you a question. I know that LaBelle told you about Robin Buchanon's murder up on the ridge. I need to know if you told anyone else, anyone at all."
"LaBelle did mention something about it late Friday afternoon. In that I am not a common gossip, I did not repeat one syllable of it to another living soul."
"You told the Buchanon children."
She turned on her beadiest look. "I had experienced some difficulty in dealing with them. I called several times for you so I could tell you to fetch them, but you didn't have the common courtesy to return my calls. In fact, I called more than a dozen times and LaBelle swore she beeped you without fail." She glanced down at the beeper clipped to my belt. "I guess you're too deaf to hear that thing. Or maybe you think you're too important to answer the mayor's wife's calls. Anyway, I found it necessary to tell those vile bastards about their mother's well-deserved fate. It was the only way I could get them under control."
I realized how much I loathed the woman. However, it was not the time to mention as much, so I settled for a grim stare. "Did you tell anyone else about the murder?"
"Do you think I'd converse with the cleaning girl? Of course I didn't tell anyone else. I was occupied with the mess those bastards left. There are going to have to be some repairs done at my house, and I'm holding you responsible, Arly Hanks. My husband will have a little chat with you later concerning upholstery and paint and carpet cleaners."
"No problem. Let's do the nursery first, shall we? Baby simply adores blue. Sukie, on the other hand, favors brown."
I went back outside, armed with the useless information that neither she nor the Buchanon children had told anyone about the murder. But someone had known that Robin's body had been discovered by the pot patch, and that it was probable that I'd stake out the scene of the crime. Otherwise the gardeners would have wandered up the road to harvest the crop in broad daylight, not the least bit concerned about being caught. The only reason they hadn't-and had managed to track my movements was because they knew I knew. Only I didn't know what I needed to know. Such as: Who? How? Where was the dope now? Why did I feel as though I was in the land of Oz?
As I stood there waiting for a round-trip ticket for a tornado ride, a high school girl rushed up to David Allen.
"Oh, Mr. Wainright," she gasped, "I'm so grateful to find you. The most terrible thing happened. Carol Alice Plummer went back to Madam Celeste! Now she's all despondent and talking about suicide and killing herself and not marrying Bo Swiggins. She won't even eat. Her pa's madder than a wet hen, both at Carol Alice for being such a silly goose to believe that stuff, and at Madam Celeste for saying it in the first place."
David Allen wrinkled his forehead. "When did she have this session?"
"Yesterday evening. I went over to look through magazines with her, and she was on her bed moaning about suicide. I didn't have any idea how to talk her out of it. I tried to call you, then Carol Alice's pa called me and I told him everything." Snuffles gave way to a flood of tears. "I wish I didn't have anything to do with this!"
He glanced at me as he handed a folded handkerchief to the wailing girl. "This woman causes a lot of problems. Isn't there some way to convince her to conduct her seances elsewhere?"
Ruby Bee bristled. "Carol Alice is too immature, that's all. Madam Celeste has been very helpful to Estelle and me, not to mention to Gladys and Elsie and plenty of other folks. We wouldn't have this Bible if Madam Celeste hadn't told us she saw a list."
"That's right," Estelle added.
The whole thing was driving me crazy, crazy, crazy. I poked a finger at Ruby Bee's chest. "Estelle said earlier that there was some urgent need to learn the identity of the children's fathers. You were so frantic that you consulted Madam Celeste. Why?"
"We were trying to help," she sniffed, retreating under my maniacal glare. Estelle, a loyal sort, retreated along with her.
David Allen stopped patting Heather's shoulder long enough to say, "I bet I know why, Arly. Hammet and his sibs took Baby out of a station wagon and carried him off. I doubt they left a little note."
By this time, most of the congregation not directly involved in the paternity dispute had wandered outside. Everyone seemed to think the second act had started on the gravel stage, and managed to drift a little closer for optimum rubbernecking. Across the street Nate and Zachery came out of the Emporium and stopped to watch us. I was surprised the news vans didn't roll up, or the Goodyear blimp drift across the sky.
"You lost Baby?" I said. "Is that what sent you to Robin Buchanon's cabin yesterday afternoon? You thought that his father might have kidnapped him?"
"We would have gone anyway," Ruby Bee snapped. "The child cries night and day, and I'm too old to be forced to put up with it. If you hadn't dumped him in my lap, I wouldn't have-misplaced the little dumpling."
Estelle nodded. "It was a terrible strain on your mother. Why, she's sprouted dozens of gray hairs since you abandoned Baby on her doorstep."
"I did what?" I howled.
"Dozens of gray hairs?" Ruby Bee howled.
"What about Carol Alice?" Heather howled.
"You'll never touch me again as long as I live," Mrs. Jim Bob howled (from inside the church building, presumably to her husband-but you never know).
"She was a Jezebel," Brother Verber howled (same locale).
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br /> Lupine madness provided some degree of catharsis, not to mention a great deal of satisfaction to the audience. Once things quieted down, I told everybody to have a nice day, got in the jeep, and drove sedately down the highway to the PD. For all I knew or cared, they could have formed a pack and loped into the forest to eat bunny rabbits for Sunday dinner.
The office was dusty, which reminded me that I really needed to do something about Kevin and Dahlia-just as soon as I dealt with the dopers. Having resolved that for the moment, I sat back in my comfy old chair and called the sheriff. We had a long talk about the disastrous stakeout, and he was kind enough to say he'd probably have done the same thing. Neither of us believed it, but it was a nice gesture. He then put me on hold and went to talk to the treacherous LaBelle. When he came back, he said he was confident she had not spilled the beans to anyone except Mrs. Jim Bob. He said he'd do something about the missing lovebirds and suggested I take a well-deserved nap. I told him I didn't deserve anything, sympathy included, and hung up.
The dim light and utter quiet were conducive to thought, so I thought for a long while. I thought about who'd planted the dope and subsequently chopped it. You're undoubtedly screeching Nate's name at this page of this book, because that much was pretty obvious: Zachery's steady supply of dope, Nate's absence at the critical moment, the lightless truck on the road.
That didn't explain how he knew when to return to his patch, however, or who was with him, or where the dope was at the moment. And it didn't prove a damned thing. Obviousness doesn't equate with evidence. And I really did want to nail the sons of bitches for Robin's murder.
I went across the street and up the stairs to my apartment, wondering how much of a mess the Buchanon children had left. As Hammet had promised, it wasn't all that much worse than usual (my feckless Manhattan housekeeper refused to follow me to Maggody, and I never was one for scrubbing toilets; Ruby Bee says I'll get typhoid one of these days). I took a shower, changed into clean clothes, ate a bowl of cornflakes (the only edible item that hadn't been devoured by my guests), and drove back to the Emporium.
The truck was gone. I went inside and found Rainbow in the office. We discussed Poppy's baby and the miracle of birth and the cosmic truth or consequences of Jupiter in the eighth house. I then asked her where I might find Nate.
"I don't know," she said, her smile slipping just a bit. "He's been impossible lately, and if you ask me, his karma has been rotten. He's not the least harmonic. He either lies around the office waiting for mysterious telephone calls, or he vanishes in the truck. He missed Daffodil Sunshine's birth, you know. It was a vital family experience. We were supposed to share!"
"Was he lying around the office yesterday waiting for a call?" I asked.
"Yes, and then about the time it got dark he got his call. He announced he had something to do and drove away. I told him Poppy was having contractions, but he laughed and said it was gas. Now that's rotten karma if there ever was one."
I agreed. After once again declining to have my chart done, I went back to the jeep and myopically gazed at the Voice of the Almighty while I tried to determine my next brilliant move. When nothing struck, I drove down the country road where I'd seen the truck. I doubted Nate could have stashed a hundred pot plants in Estelle's back bedroom without her noticing. I wasn't particularly pleased with Madam Celeste, but I had no reason to think she and Mason were involved in felonious activities. Past their house there was only the rusty car, the dilapidated chicken house, the low-water bridge, and Hasty-ten miles down the road.
Surely he hadn't planned to drive all the way to Hasty without headlights, I told myself as I turned around and drove back toward Maggody. As I approached the psychic's house, I saw Mason pull into the driveway.
"Everybody says ask Madam Celeste," I said aloud, tightening my fingers around the steering wheel until it would have yelped, had it been capable of yelps. "I'll ask Madam Celeste."
I parked by the mailbox and went over to Mason, who was unloading groceries. "Sorry I didn't get back to you on Friday," I said. "Something came up and I had to leave town."
"I shouldn't have knocked on your door at six in the morning. Celeste has been so darn weird about this dead woman's face that I'm scared not to do what she says. She sits in the solarium night and day, laying out tarot cards or shaking the Mesopotamian sand and then reading it. She even canceled all her appointments."
"Except for Carol Alice Plummer. That's the one she should have canceled."
A sack of groceries hit the ground. "Oh, no," he groaned. "Did Celeste get that sweet little girl all upset again? She was sniveling in the solarium the other day, so I made up some silly predictions to cheer her up. Why didn't she just stay away?"
I handed him a can of corn that had rolled between my feet. "The girl's suicidal, which doesn't sit well with her parents or her boyfriend. I guess I'd better have a word with your sister; she really can't upset the local girls like this." And slip in a question about activity on the road the previous night.
Mason said he'd go over to Carol Alice's house and see if he could calm her down with some jovial fortune-telling. The front door was unlocked and there were sodas in the refrigerator, he told me as he drove away.
Madam Celeste was still in the solarium, the cards spread in front of her on the Formica table. When I'd first met her, she'd been sparkling and fizzing like a glass of champagne. Now she looked gray and exhausted. There were black smudges under her eyes, and her hair hung limply on her thin shoulder. I sat down across from her. She regarded me without interest, then moved a picture card a fraction of an inch and let her hand fall away.
"I understand you helped the police in Nevada," I said softly.
"I did, but they resented it."
"I wouldn't resent help. I need all the help I can get. Did Mason tell you that a woman's body was found in the woods south of town?"
"He did."
"I've been investigating the death."
This time her eyes were brighter, although narrowed to slits. "Then you saw this woman's face?" When I nodded, she said, "There had been an explosion, no? Her eyes were opened in shock, her nostrils clotted with blood, her lips cracked and covered with flies?"
"That's a reasonable description," I said cautiously. "Mason said that you'd seen the face before-in a trance."
"I saw a face, but I do not know whose it was. A woman, yes, and dead. The cards insist that there is evil afoot in this town, that there are men who lie and stir up mischief. Not childish mischief, but malicious mischief for their own dark purposes."
"Do you know their names?" Dumb, naive, foolish, but I had to ask. Hell, she might have whipped out a list for me, perps in alphabetical order. Footnoted with addresses and telephone numbers. Not exactly courtroom evidence, but at least a nudge to get me going in the right direction. And it couldn't hurt. So there. Stop smirking.
"Of course not," she said in an irritated voice. "If I knew their names, I would have insisted you come here at once to receive my information and act on it."
"Oh," I said, wondering if I looked all that compliant. "Well, I agree that something's going on in Maggody. Did you happen to see or hear anything last night shortly after nine o'clock?"
"I was here, studying the cards. I saw the King of Wands, the Nine of Swords, and-"
"No, I mean out on the road. A truck. Voices. Lights."
She stood up and went to the window. "I saw no lights in the pasture, but cows do not have flashlights, nor do they converse or drive around. There is nothing out there except the fossils left by the chicken farmer who once worked that land. He is an interesting fellow, by the way."
"Does he live nearby?"
"He lived in this house for forty years, and died in the bedroom where Mason sleeps. He says Mason snores louder than his wife did." She spun around to stare at me. "I cannot help you. You have found the dead woman. Both of us have seen her face-perhaps. I am sure now that it was not that silly high school girl."
&nbs
p; Wishing she'd made it plainer to Carol Alice, I went over to the window and studied the pasture, the chicken house, and the distant windbreak of trees. My eyes went back to the chicken house. "Did you hear anything from down that way?" I asked, pointing at the sorry structure. "Maybe a car door slam, or a voice?"
Madam Celeste turned back and followed my finger. "Yes. I heard a thud, but I presumed the rain had loosened a board." Before I could inquire further, she opened the back door and went down the few stairs to the grass. Then, as if pulled by a magnet, she walked toward the chicken house in the far corner of the field.
"Wait a minute," I called as I hurried after her.
She moved ahead purposefully, oblivious to my presence, with all her attention on the building. Although her gaze was directed straight ahead, she did not stumble on the clumps of weeds or snakish vines. I checked once or twice to make sure her feet were making contact with the ground. I couldn't help it.
Once we got there, she stopped several yards from the door. Others of us panted and tried to control our imaginations. I did have enough of my wits intact to see tire tracks in the mud, along with many footprints, as though an army had marched past. Or two men had made numerous trips between the vehicle and the chicken house.
I touched the psychic's arm. "Don't go any farther. I'm fairly sure that there's a half acre of marijuana plants drying in there, and I don't want to screw up the evidence." She brushed off my hand and walked across the evidence to the door. "Yes, green plants rooted in the sky. I have already seen them. There is malevolence inside this place. I can feel it. It frightens me."
She was not alone. I plowed through the evidence and again tried to pull her back. "I don't think we ought to even open the door, Celeste. Let's go back to the house so I can call the sheriff for a backup. Doesn't that sound like a good idea?"
"I must open the door."
She did. For a minute the two of us gaped at darkness, although I could make out the shadowy forms of inverted plants dangling all the way into the darkness. Celeste felt on the wall just inside the door, saying, "There is light somewhere. Very hot, very bright."