Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 09 (23 page)

I nodded as if I’d known this all along. “What did you say to Chastity while you waited for Malachi to finish his conversation with the other man?”

“Pretty much what I said to Heather. Chastity tried to convince me not to give it to him, but I was afraid Coach Grapper would find out and kick me off the team. Then my parents would get all fired up and go ask her why, and she’d tell ‘em, and I’d be up to my neck in bull hockey. I said all that to Chastity. She was pissed, but after I wouldn’t back down, she made me promise to wait for her after the revival.”

“Who’s the father?” I asked.

Darla Jean hesitated for a moment, working the straw up and down in her cup. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. Besides, all I know is what Chastity said in the locker room after the first practice. She could have been lying, and it’s a sin to bear false witness.”

“You already told Heather,” I said. “Now tell me.”

“Joey,” she whispered.

“What else did Chastity say in the locker room?”

When Darla Jean mutely shook her head, Heather said, “I don’t see what difference it makes now. Chastity wanted to know where she could get an abortion without her sister or Malachi finding out. Or Joey, for that matter.”

“That’s why you took her to Farberville,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, if not downright omniscient. “Which clinic did you take her to?”

Darla Jean looked up with a trace of defiance. “I told Chastity I didn’t know of any place in Farberville where a minor could get an abortion without parental consent. All she said when she called yesterday morning was that she was desperate for a ride into town. We dropped her off where I told you; she didn’t say where she was going and I didn’t ask her. For all I know, she was planning to panhandle on the street to get enough money to run away.”

I watched a yellow jacket wallowing in a puddle of limeade as I struggled to assimilate all this. It was obvious that Seraphina knew about the pregnancy; she’d fired Joey, then tracked Chastity down at the table where I was currently sitting. They’d argued for more than an hour before Seraphina had left Chastity at the RV and driven away. Or had she?

I thanked the girls for their candor and drove back to the PD. As soon as Harve came on the line, I said, “You mentioned there was no driver’s license in Seraphina Hope’s purse. Was there any money?”

“Just some loose change. You think she might have picked up a hitchhiker that robbed and killed her? I s’pose I can call down at the FBI office in Little Rock and see if they know of a serial killer that might have come this way. I don’t much like talking to those shiny-shoed sumbitches, but I will.”

“Why would he take her driver’s license instead of her credit cards? If he was on foot, why didn’t he dump the body in some isolated spot and take the car?”

Harve rumbled, no doubt belching smoke like an awakening volcano. “I ain’t got time for guessing games, Arly. The county prosecutor’s on my ass like a spotted tick, wanting to know when we’ll have something. McBeen is convinced you strangled the victims just to screw up his vacation plans. I’ve got a damn bevy of reporters outside my office—you can expect ‘em out your way within hours as soon as the autopsy reports are released. Malachi Hope may not be as famous as some of those ol’ boys, but Elvis hasn’t been seen since his granddaughter married that stringyhaired fellow with the glove, and this story’s gonna make good copy.”

I related what I’d learned from Darla Jean and Heather, then said, “Chastity may have stolen the driver’s license to use as proof of age at an abortion clinic. There’s some family resemblance. I didn’t think to ask what Chastity was wearing or if her hair was fluffed out like Seraphina’s, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that it was. She probably took money, too, so she could pay cash. Can you have somebody check with all the clinics and family planning centers and find out if she was there?”

“I don’t know if they’ll tell us without a warrant.”

“This is a murder investigation, dammit, and all we’re asking is if someone calling herself Seraphina Hope came into the office yesterday morning. It doesn’t matter whether they performed a procedure, made an appointment, or even booted her out on her butt for using a phony ID. What matters, Harve, is how Chastity ended up with the license.”

“Are you saying she might have strangled her sister?” asked Harve. “How old is she—fifteen, maybe sixteen? Doesn’t that sound a little cold-blooded?”

“It sounds real cold-blooded,” I said. “She was upset yesterday when I informed her of her sister’s death, but maybe what I saw was guilt. It’s possible that during the argument Seraphina threatened to send Chastity to some sort of fundamentalist boot camp for unwed mothers. Chastity flipped out and strangled her, then drove the car to the creek, stole what she could use from Seraphina’s purse, and was back at the RV when Malachi arrived.”

“How did Seraphina know Chastity was pregnant?”

I permitted myself a smug smile. “I haven’t confirmed this yet, but I think the badges the ushers wear have concealed microphones. The girls had no idea that everything they said was being monitored in the van. Joey mentioned that once the show starts, he listens for indications of trouble. My guess is that Seraphina takes the first shift, choosing potential patsies and making notes based on what they let slip to the ushers. Later, when she’s onstage, Joey or perhaps Thomas Fratelleon communicates with Malachi through a hearing aid. When Malachi presses his temple in order to hear Jesus better, he may be listening to a less divine source.”

“Did he know about the pregnancy?”

“I don’t know. Seraphina might have told him, or Chastity, or he might have been hiding in a dirty towel hamper in the girls’ locker room when Chastity told Darla Jean.”

Harve chuckled at the frustration in my voice. “Guess you’d better get in gear and solve this before you find yourself featured on one of those unsolved-crime shows.”

I replaced the receiver. After some more thought, I drove to the high school gym to see for myself how big the dirty towel hampers were.

What I ended up staring at was the intercom speaker above the door.

—==(O)==—

Brother Verber was on his knees in the sanctuary, his elbows propped on the back of the next pew, his fingers entwined, his eyes squeezed closed, and his face awash with sweat.

“How much trouble could it be to let me heal folks, Jesus? It’s not like I’d tackle things like cancer or heart disease or kidney stones. I’d be pleased as punch to go after bunions, rashes, minor problems like that. Why, for the first year, I won’t try poison ivy. It doesn’t seem fair to let Malachi Hope be the only preacher in Stump County blessed with the ability to heal folks and fill those buckets with dollar bills.”

He took a short recess to pull out a handkerchief and wipe his face, all the while searching his mind for the most eloquent way to phrase his petition. “Jesus,” he began again, “I don’t have to have a cottoncandy machine or a fancy crystal cathedral. That’s not to say a radio show wouldn’t be right nice. It wouldn’t have to be more than once a week for an hour. We might ought to find someone who can play the piano better than Lottie Estes, but she’ll do at first. With all the offerings folks mail in, we can do wonderful things for the heathens in Africa. We can send them shoes and Bibles every month.”

He waited to see if he felt a tingle that would let him know Jesus was mulling over the proposition. The only thing he felt was a dull ache in his knees.

“We can call it ‘Brother Verber’s Hour of …’ ” He stopped and scratched his chin. Nothing seemed to rhyme with Verber, except Gerber, which was baby food, and Thurber, which was a street in Farberville. Maybe they could fudge on the rhyme. ” ‘Brother Verber’s Hour of Fervor’?” he suggested tentatively “Just give me one little ol’ tingle if I come across one you like, okay? I don’t need a bolt of lightning or anything wasteful—just a tingle.”

Ruby Bee knocked on Bur Grapper’s door, and when he opened it, said real smoothly, “Estelle and I thought we’d drop by and see how you’re doing, Bur. We brought casseroles for when all of Norma Kay’s kinfolk arrive for the funeral. Why don’t I just put ‘em in the refrigerator for you?” She pushed past him and into the living room, dearly hoping Estelle wasn’t dashing for the station wagon.

“That’s right nice of you, Ruby Bee,” Bur said as he shuffled back to let them come inside. “I just this morning got hold of Norma Kay’s sister, but I couldn’t tell her when the funeral will be.”

He was wearing a bathrobe and slippers, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. It wasn’t hard to see that he hadn’t shaved in two days. His eyelids were puffy, his nose red, his skin slack and sallow. The floor was strewn with beer cans, but there were no dirty dishes to indicate he’d had a meal.

Ruby Bee had anticipated resistance, even anger, but he looked so pathetic that she said, “You sit down and let me fix you something something to eat, Bur. Estelle, why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and start a pot of coffee while I make some sandwiches?”

Bur sat down on a tattered recliner and picked up a remote control. His thumb moved across the buttons, but the television screen remained as blank as his expression.

“What’s wrong with him?” Estelle demanded in a low voice as she filled a glass pot with water.

“We might have been mistaken,” Ruby Bee said, peering at the skimpy contents of the refrigerator. “His heart may be broken on account of Norma Kay.”

“The only thing about him that’s broken is his nose,” Estelle countered.

Ruby Bee found that on the uncharitable side, but she didn’t say so as she took out eggs and butter. After all, they’d agreed on the purpose of their mission, and squabbling wouldn’t help. “How ‘bout an omelet and toast?” she called to Bur. She took silence for agreement and got busy hunting for a spatula and a skillet. “He barely knows we’re here,” she whispered. “This is a golden opportunity for you to search the other rooms.”

“Me? I wouldn’t know where to start, and besides, what if he catches me red-handed?”

“He ain’t gonna do anything but sit out there and stare at the wall like he’s been hit up the side of the head with a two-by-four.” Ruby Bee raised her voice. “Bur, would you happen to know where Norma Kay keeps her spatula?” When there was no reply, she said more softly, “See? He’s too depressed to catch a cold, much less catch you snooping around in the bedroom. Look for a bundle of letters tied with a ribbon, or a heartshaped box.”

Estelle took a quick peek into the living room. “He hasn’t twitched,” she said, “but what if he starts roaming around?”

“I’ll keep him occupied,” Ruby Bee said firmly. She put on the apron she’d found, turned on a burner on the stove, and took a bowl from a cabinet. “We don’t have all day, Estelle. As soon as this is ready, I’ll sit with him while he eats. If he acts like he’s gonna get up, I’ll say something real loud about how we have to go. You can come out and say you were washing your hands in the bathroom.”

“This stinks worse than a buzzard’s roost.”

Ruby Bee would have put her hands on her hips if she hadn’t been whisking the eggs. “You saw him, for Pity’s sake. He’s nothing but an old man that lost his wife two days ago.”

“I lost her a long time ago,” Bur said from the doorway. He spoke in a monotone, but his eyes were no longer flat and lifeless. “She made me the laughingstock of the town, what with her wanton ways. Now I aim to kill myself. It remains to be seen if I kill you two first.”

Neither Ruby Bee nor Estelle said anything to contradict him. They didn’t say anything at all—not with a shotgun pointing at them.

Cory Jenks did not offer me a glass of iced tea, much less a peck on the cheek. He’d tried to keep me standing on his porch, but I’d given him a choice: his living room or the sheriff’s department. The whimsical description of the interrogation room that had worked so well with Heather and Darla Jean had not been necessary.

“What do you want now?” he said as we stood in the middle of the room. “How many times do I have to tell you that after I got back from Emmet I didn’t go anywhere or see anyone? Do you want to count the beer cans in the trash?”

I moved some papers and soiled shirts off a chair and sat down. “I know you were sleeping with Norma Kay. I don’t have adequate evidence to convince a jury, but—”

“Jury?” he said, so startled he dropped his jock posture and sank down on the edge of his couch. “I didn’t hurt Norma Kay. We may have spent some time together at tournaments, but I didn’t pressure her into anything. Hell, it was her idea from the start. Her marriage was dead; she could hardly stand to be in the same room with her husband. She wanted sex and affection—and I couldn’t afford to rebuff her overtures.”

“Because she might screw up your likelihood of getting the head coach position?” I asked. “Are you implying that she coerced you into the affair?”

Cory studied my overtly hostile expression, assessing his chances of conning me with some crock-of-shit story of sexual harassment. “Not really, but there were things she could tell Bur that would hurt my chances.”

“For instance?”

“For some stupid reason, she thought I might have had something to do with Amos Dooley’s accident. I was at a bar in Starley City that night, with plenty of witnesses, but she saw a truck parked down the road from Amos’s house. How many blue trucks with gun racks are there in Stump County, fer crissake?”

“Let’s talk about your truck,” I said. “Yesterday I had a witness who said your truck was not in your driveway at the time Norma Kay was killed. Now I have another witness who puts your truck outside the gym at that very time.”

“That’s crazy,” he growled.

“She saw not only the gun rack but also the bumper stickers on the tailgate.”

“I was here, dammit!”

“Alone?”

Cory slumped back and began to play with a torn throw pillow. “Yeah, alone.”

“It’s too bad Chastity wasn’t here to give you an alibi,” I said, clucking sympathetically. “I haven’t taken her statement yet, but several people have agreed she was in the RV by 12:30 at the latest latest.” I paused while I ran through the chronology. “Were you still out in your front yard when a white Mercedes drove up the road?”