Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 04 (19 page)

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"Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon, you're as good as dead! I hope you know that," Dahlia said, her face beet red with anger. In the splotchy moonlight he could see her fists, which were the size of softballs and clearly poised for contact. "You're more useless than a dog without a flea," she continued, moving past the car door. "If I get my hands around that scrawny neck of yours, you're gonna regret the day you was born. I'll bet your ma did right there in the delivery room!"

Kevin sidled around the car, keeping it between them and prepared to do so all night, or until his honey bunny calmed down, which wasn't looking like it would happen real soon. An owl screeched somewhere in the woods; the noise startled him, but not enough to make him look away from the avowed murderess with the burning eyes and ominous fists.

"Now, sweetums," he begged, easing around the trunk as she advanced, "I told you how I did what I had to do. I couldn't let those people woo you into going to Hollywood. I love you too much for that." He smiled hopefully at her, but he kept moving, nevertheless.

"You love me so much that you kidnap me by bringing me up here, driving so fast I'm feared to jump out, and then rip that wire out of the car so we're stuck?" She took a step. "It's as plain as the nose on my face that you're nothin' but a jealous, low-down, lyin' sumbitch, and a sight meaner than a two-headed snake. If I don't get to be in the movie, I aim to rearrange your face so your kinfolk won't recognize you!" She took another step, but so, did he, and she figured she wouldn't have much success lungin' across the hood. Lungin' was not one of her fortes. "You find that wire this very minute and fix this car, and I mean it."

"I threw it as hard as I could out yonder in the bushes," Kevin said, whimpering. "There ain't no way I can find it in the dark."

"If you find it in the morning, can you put it back where it goes and get me to town?"

Kevin crossed his fingers, in that car repairin' was not one of his fortes. "Of course I can, my beloved. I'm truly sorry I did what I did, and I promise I'll never do anything like this again. My brain just kinda snapped, and all of a sudden I was feeling like I'd drunk a quart of field whiskey and didn't know what I was doing. Kin you forgive me?" He considered getting down on his knees, but he couldn't risk giving her an advantage.

Dahlia stopped puffing and stared at him. "The only way I'll forgive you is if I I'm in the movie tomorrow. If I'm not, you can kiss your ugly face good-bye forever."

"You will be," he said earnestly.

She put her hands on her hips and turned around to study the only shelter within twenty miles -- twenty miles of narrow, rutted road, rotten logs, fearsome dark shadows, bears, and who knows what other starving, slobbering, sharp-fanged animals. A raindrop hit her nose, and pretty soon another splattered on her chin. The one that hit her forehead dribbled down her cheek like a tear.

"Come on, Kevin," she muttered, "there ain't no point in standing out here in the rain. You may not have the sense to come out of it, but I reckon I do. Fetch the flashlight and the food and the blankets. It's most likely filthy in there, but it'll be tolerable for one night."

The flashlight and the food and the blankets, Kevin repeated to himself in an increasingly frantic voice, having implemented his first kidnapping with a minimum of planning. Robin Buchanon's cabin had been deserted for a lot longer than a year, and it hadn't been a Holiday Inn honeymoon suite to begin with. Now it was likely to house rats, spiders, roaches, snakes -- all the things his love goddess didn't much fancy.

"You wait there on the porch while I get everything," he called. He got back in his pa's car and opened the glove compartment. There was a flashlight and a chocolate bar. Dahlia usually carried a few provisions in her purse, but she hadn't brought it with her. She was anticipating a picnic supper, sleeping bags, and some form of protection.

He could lock himself in the car, he supposed, where he'd be safe until it was light enough for her to find a rock and smash the windshield. He told himself knights in shiny armor didn't do that sort of thing, tempting as it might be, and took his two treasures to the porch.

"I'll fetch the rest after you're inside where it's safe and dry," he lied gallantly. He pushed open the door and gestured for her to proceed him. He even went so far as to shine the light for her so she could avoid the animal life.

"O my Gawd!" she said with a scream, retreating so rapidly that she stumbled into him and the two continued off the porch, arms and legs flailing like windmill blades in a hurricane, and right on into the muddy yard. "Kevvie, there's a dead man in there!"

He was having some difficulty breathing, in that she was sprawled on top of him, but he did the chivalrous thing and said, "Are you sure, my love object?"

"His eyes was wide open and there's a knife sticking out of his throat," she managed to say, before she fainted. Kevin dearly hoped the rain would revive her before too long.

-- ==+== --

I arrived in Hasty half an hour later. Unlike the previous fires, this one was not under control. Cars and pickup trucks blocked the road, and the spectators were out, although most of them were dressed in bathrobes or raincoats and no one carried coolers and lawn chairs. With the darkness, the rain, and the smoke, it was difficult to recognize anyone; if Billy Dick and Willard were present, they were not in sight.

I abandoned the car in a driveway and hurried among vehicles and clumps of people. A sheriffs deputy allowed me through the line. Wade and his volunteers were huddled a good block away from the fire, which was burning furiously despite the rain. Sparks swarmed upward like a plague of lightning bugs. The air was bitter with the stench of burning rubber and gasoline. The road was littered with debris from periodic explosions.

As I caught Wade's arm, a muffled boom sent balls of fire into the sky. All of us instinctively retreated a few steps. "What happened?" I demanded.

"Someone heard a bomb go off, looked out the window, and called us," he said. "We arrived three-quarters of an hour ago, but there isn't anything we can do, and I'm not risking anyone's life for a damn gas station. Rain'll see to it sooner or later."

"Could there be someone inside?"

"The guy that works there made it out a window. He has a nasty burn on one leg, and we sent him to the hospital. I don't know how many storage tanks there were, but they must have been full. We've been watching fireworks since we got here."

Harve found us. His black plastic raincoat clung like glittery lizard skin, and a battered canvas hat decorated with fishing flies did little to keep the rain off his stony face. "I'm getting mighty tired of our firebugs," he said. He started to take out a cigar butt, then realized he wouldn't have much success in the steady rain. "If we ever catch them, they're gonna be real sorry."

I told him and Wade about my earlier interview. "They were playing with me," I added. "Ever seen a cat with a baby rabbit?"

Another boom sent us skittering to the shelter of a doorway, where Harve felt he could risk lighting a cigar. "How ya doing with the other case?" he asked as he struck a match.

"We've had a minor setback. However, I may have stumbled onto a connection that might mean something," I said, sighing. I was going to pull him aside to explain further, but he seemed more interested in the fire, and I finally went to my (Ruby Bee's) car and drove back to Maggody.

-- ==+== --

Darla Jean McIlhaney stared at the shadows on her bedroom ceiling. Frederick Marland had called earlier in the evening with the bad news: Arly knew. The good news, he'd assured her, was that Arly didn't know everything. Once Darla Jean'd stopped crying, he'd told her what to say, and had stayed on the telephone to coach her with the lines until she felt comfortable with them. Sorta comfortable, anyway. She was never comfortable telling lies, not even when she knew she'd get grounded if she told the truth. This particular truth could get her grounded until she was old enough to settle into a rocking chair alongside Adele Wockerman at the county nursing home. Telling Arly that she and Frederick had parked on a dark road and fooled around wouldn't make her parents break into applause, but the truth was downright gawdawful and she was planning to admit only to some kissin' and neckin' and a lot of chattering about famous Hollywood stars.

The worst of it was that the gossip was out there, somehow. Otherwise, how could Arly have found out so easily? She rolled over and looked at the clock. It was too late to call Heather or Traci to find out if anyone was talking about having seen the car at the motel. But she couldn't sleep and she couldn't stop sniveling, and finally she dialed the number of Frederick's room.

"Yeah?" he answered in a thick, irritated voice.

"It's me," she whispered. "I can't do anything but toss and turn since you told me about Arly coming to talk to me. What if she knows about the motel?"

"We went over this for an hour. There's no way she can find out about it. If she knew, she'd have asked me for details. You don't want me to relate details, do you?"

Darla Jean grabbed her pillow and clung to it as if it were a life preserver and her bedroom a shark-infested pool. "No, and you promised you'd never say nothing. I still don't understand why it matters where you were if that lady actress had an accident. I mean, why does -- "

"Standard police procedure," he interrupted. "I need to sleep, darling. Carlotta's handling the camera in the morning, and we're shooting as many scenes as we can. In that I'm playing a sixteen-year-old, I don't need bloodshot eyes with bags under them. I told you what to say to Arly. If you can't lie, tell her whatever you wish. Good night."

He hung up, but her call had disturbed him and left him wide awake. A drink was in order, he decided, and he got out of bed to find the small flask he kept in the bottom of his suitcase. Sharing a room with Fuzzy had taught him the wisdom of hiding anything he himself had hopes of drinking. As he filled a glass, he glanced out the window and noticed that directly across the lot, a light was on in Carlotta's room.

Interesting. Were she and Gwenneth staying awake to guard the door, or was Carlotta pecking out revisions while Gwenneth amused Hal in the next room? In a way, he felt sorry for his blond costar. Hal had something on her, something from her past, and he alluded to it often enough to keep her under his control. Frederick had heard rumors that she'd been offered roles by other companies. Not major companies, of course. Her talents were limited, and her capacity to express anything more complex than enthusiasm was unremarkable.

Despite his irritation with her, he realized he felt fraternal affection for her. They'd run away from bad family situations to Hollywood, and arrived with the shared curse of imperfect teeth, blotchy skin, pathetically punk hair and clothing, and arrogance. They were both young and inexperienced in the murky, power-perverted ways of the industry. Since their "discoveries," Hal's thumb had held both of them down as if they were insects. Frederick had already decided Wild Cherry Wine would be his last film with Glittertown, but he wasn't sure Gwenneth could break away as painlessly as he could.

Then again, he thought as he finished off the drink and returned to bed, every now and then her baby-blue eyes turned gray and her voice hardened like that of a motorcycle gang mama. Maybe Sister Gwenneth was capable of all sorts of things.

-- ==+== --

So, at nearly one in the morning, an incredibly late hour for this much activity in a back corner of Stump County, some folks were awake and others not.

The majority of the citizens of Hasty were, because it was hard to sleep through bombastic explosions, cars, sirens, horns shouting, and general bustle, the likes of which had never been seen before in town.

In contrast, most of the citizens of Maggody were asleep, with a scant handful of exceptions. Billy Dick's mother was dishing up eggs and grits at the truck stop; her back was aching something terrible, but her shift didn't end until six. She refilled an endless line of coffee cups and tried to smile.

The chief of police was in her bed, but she was glaring at a cast-iron character she'd found in a drawer. It was more than three inches high, cheap and crudely made. The seams were rough, the features indistinct, the base slightly crooked. But anyone with half a mind could see it was a wizard in a pointed cap and a long cloak. He had a beard, a crooked nose, and a sharp chin, but where his eyes should have been, there were unfathomable holes.

Ruby Bee sat in her living room and wondered where her car was and if there'd be enough gas left in it to go to the flea market in Piccard.

Carlotta was talking on the telephone, although the only person (locally, that is) who knew this was the trooper, who'd seen her light go on and dashed down for a peek in the window to make sure she wasn't in the throes of being murdered. He was kinda disappointed.

Hal, Gwenneth, and Anderson were all beset with insomnia, for a variety of reasons.

But others were asleep, like Mrs. Jim Bob, whose dream was chaste, and Jim Bob, whose wasn't. Brother Verber's dream was chaotic, to put it charitably. Raz snored on his lumpy bed, and Marjorie snored on the floor nearby; (any speculation about the content of either's dream must be of your own doing.) Estelle was in the midst of a steamy dream starring Vidal Sassoon. Since she didn't know what he looked like -- and it was her dream, after all -- he closely resembled Buddy Meredith.

The bit players, like Eula, Elsie, Lottie, Kevin's parents, and Dahlia's granny, not to overlook the younger set, such as Heather, Traci, and Dwayne (Darla Jean's boyfriend), were asleep. As were Perkins and his eldest, Roy Stivers, the hippies who owned the Emporium, the two or three drunks sprawled in the mud outside the pool hall, and others of no interest whatsoever to the "sequential development of the plot." There may be a little white lie in there somewhere, but not a vital one.

Moving beyond the city limits of Maggody, Kevin and Dahlia had opted to sleep in the car until morning, since it wouldn't be seemly to cohabit with a corpse. Still in his chivalrous mood, Kevin had volunteered to take the front seat so his beloved would have more room in the back. He hadn't really had much choice, but he made the gesture early in the game and felt real proud of hisself.

Sergeant John Plover's teeth were grinding as he slept; it made no difference, since he slept in solitude. Eventually Wade Elkins and his fire fighters made it home. Harve Dorfer's deputies did, too, but he went to his office and slept on the couch.

Toward dawn the rain stopped, and by then every last soul was asleep. Serenely or fitfully, with smiles or with grimaces, under ironed sheets or under nothing but chilly air, all were asleep.

Chapter 13

41 WILD CHERRY WINE" (REVISED 5/24)

26 INT. CHURCH -- DAY -- LONG SHOT

PREACHER PIPKIN and HARRY DORK walk down the aisle of the church. They stop and shake hands.

DORK

I appreciate you takin' the time to talk to me, Preacher Pipkin. I'm feelin' better, and I reckon I better get back to the farm.

PIPKIN

Glad to help, Harry. Now you just keep your distance from that pretty little heifer and pay more attention to your wife.

Dork exits, and CAMERA FOLLOWS Pipkin as he sits down in a pew and wipes his face with a handkerchief. CAMERA WIDENS to cover Loretta as she comes in furtively and sits in the pew behind him. Pipkin does not acknowledge her.

(CONTINUED):