Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 10 (12 page)

“Damn,” Harve drawled, the cigar bobbling. “Did you ask the women all those questions about who could have known they were away?”

“Not a single concurrence,” I said as I closed the notebook. “The burglars obviously weren’t watching the house, or they would have been aware of Katherine’s presence. They weren’t worried about the alarm, either.”

“Any of the other houses have alarms?”

“No, all the victims have in common is that they chose to live in rural areas. One couple retired here from Chicago, another from someplace in California. One husband’s a history professor, one a minister, one a consulting architect. Elsie gets by on Social Security and what I imagine is a modest savings account.” I slapped the notebook on his desk. “This is driving me nuts, Harve!”

“You and me both-and you’re not up for reelection.”

I glowered at him for a moment, wondering what he’d do if I yanked off my badge and stomped out of his office. Probably not much, since my paycheck came from the town council. I calmed myself down and said, “I may as well go by Sterling Pitts’s office and try one last time to talk him into rescheduling his so-called maneuvers. You have the address handy?”

He looked it up in the telephone directory, told me how to find it, and was back to staring at the folders when I left. LaBelle ignored me as I went through the reception area, no doubt disappointed that my head was still firmly attached to my neck. She did not instruct me to have a good day.

The Tri-County Patriots’ Insurance office was housed in a shabby little building on an unfamiliar street. On one side was a warehouse, and on the other a dry cleaning establishment. There were no vehicles in the parking lot, but through the window I spotted a young woman seated at a desk.

I went inside and said, “Is Mr. Pitts here?”

“Oh, no,” she said, popping her gum earnestly. “He won’t be back until Tuesday morning. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I guess not,” I said. “Did he tell you where he was going?”

“He didn’t tell me, but I heard him on the phone with his wife, and he said something about a seminar in Kansas City. Do you need to file a claim or something? I can give you the forms.”

“I just wanted to speak to Pitts,” I said, then went back to my car and headed for Maggody, where I suspected I’d find him.

I drove past the old Wockermann place, but I didn’t see any vehicles in the driveway or indication anyone was in the house. I considered stopping at Estelle’s to ask if she’d noticed any activity, but a UPS truck blocked her driveway. Not wanting to be subjected to a private viewing of the latest batch of fingernail polish, I headed for Ruby Bee’s.

She scowled as I took a stool. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you to inform me before you took off this morning, did it? After all, I’m only your mother.”

“Sorry,” I said humbly, in that I’d missed lunch and it was well past suppertime. “The sheriff asked me to investigate a crime over in Mayfly. I just now got back to town, and I sure could use a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk.”

“I was so worried about you that I got a bad case of heartburn. I had to suffer through happy hour before I could slip away to my unit to take some medicine.” She paused so I could appreciate the immensity of my misdemeanor, then said, “General Pitts and a woman named Judy Milliford checked in about an hour ago. They took separate rooms, so I don’t guess he’s up to any hanky-panky. I put her between me and Kayleen, and him in the building across the parking lot.” I was not impressed with this minor concession to virtue; the locals refer to the Flamingo Motel as the Stork Club-and not because they’re ornithologically challenged. “Have you seen any of the others in this group?”

“I reckon they’re camping on Kayleen’s property. She’s back in town, by the way. She stopped by to tell me, in case I was worried about her having car trouble on that narrow highway from Malthus. I think that’s real considerate of her. Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, still hoping for some supper. “About that sandwich and-“

“Ruby Bee!” shrieked Estelle from the doorway. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do! I couldn’t believe my eyes!”

I spun around, nearly toppling off the stool. “Was your house burglarized?”

“This is a sight worse than that. Get your coat and come with me, Ruby Bee. You got to help me figure out what to do!”

“Does this have anything to do with the militia?” I asked. “Did somebody fire a gun or launch a grenade in your direction?”

This finally got her attention. “No, missy, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them. My inheritance from Uncle Tooly was delivered half an hour ago. The polite young man helped me get the crate into the living room and even pried the top off. Well, I liked to have died when these big ugly birds hissed at me, and the delivery man bolted out the door to his truck and was almost at the stop sign before I got out to the porch.”

“What are they?” demanded Ruby Bee. “How should I know? Are you coming or not? I can’t leave them in the living room. I got two appointments tomorrow, and I can’t see Eileen having her hair trimmed while she’s being hissed at.”

“It’s Friday night, Estelle, and I usually get a decent crowd. I can’t afford to close the bar just because you’ve got hissy birds in your living room.”

I grinned at Ruby Bee. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll hold down the fort while you go to Estelle’s house, as long as you don’t mind if I make myself a sandwich.”

Estelle acknowledged my generous gesture with a nod, then said, “So are you coming or not, Ruby Bee? If you were having some terrible crisis, I’d like to think I’d drop everything and come galloping to your rescue. Remember when you ran out of gas at the flea market and I drove all the way out there, even though it meant canceling an appointment? I seem to recollect it was a good twenty miles each way. And what about the time I went with you to Noow Yark City so you wouldn’t-“

“If you’ll stop jabbering, I’ll get my coat,” Ruby Bee said in a wintry voice, clearly not pleased at having certain incidents dredged up. “It seems to me you might should call that lawyer and ask him what you’re supposed to do with the birds. He’s the one who sent them, after all.”

“His office is closed by now. I can call him Monday, but I’ve got to do something right this minute!”

I waited until they were out the door, then went into the kitchen. I was hunting for the mayo when I heard a voice call, “Hello? Are you open?”

My stomach whimpered as I dutifully returned to the barroom. The voice belonged to a guy approximately my age. He had agreeable features, short brown hair, and a surprised expression as he stared at my badge. To my dismay, he was wearing a camouflage jacket, but he could be nothing more exotic than a hunter stalking a beer instead of a deer. Or so I told myself.

“I’m in covering for Ruby Bee while she’s out on an errand,” I said. “Can I get you something?”

“I stopped for directions. I’m looking for County 102, but I must have missed it in the dark.”

I relinquished my hunter conjecture. “Could your destination be Kayleen Smeltner’s property?”

“That’s right. I guess you heard about us coming, huh? You don’t have to concern yourself. We’ve been doing this for years and never had any problems with the authorities. My name’s Barry Kirklin. What’s yours?”

“Arly Hanks. The turnoff for County 102 is next to a funny-looking metal structure with a trailer parked in the yard. Kayleen, a woman named Judy something-or-other, and your fearless leader are staying in the motel behind the bar. I don’t know which units they’re in, but they’re the only ones out there.”

“Pitts is hardly a contemporary version of Daniel Boone,” Barry said with a wry smile. “I’m kind of surprised that Jake would let Judy out of his sight all night, although it’s not as if she gives him any reason to distrust her. She’s a mousy little housewife, not especially attractive or vivacious. God knows no one would ever accuse her of being sexy.”

“The way Kayleen is?” I suggested.

“Kayleen’s a potential land mine, but she doesn’t seem to realize the impact she has on every man in the room. An interesting mixture of naďveté and sexiness, wouldn’t you say?”

Frankly, I didn’t think it was the least bit interesting. “Do you want a beer?” I asked him.

“Pitts doesn’t permit alcohol on retreats, so I’d better not. I might be in the mood Monday evening-if you’ll let me buy you one.”

“If you survive the weekend, I’ll think about it. As I said, they’re out back in the only units liable to have lights on. Surely someone clever enough to unmask an international conspiracy can find them.”

“Surely,” he said, then turned and left.

/\
/\
/\

Mrs. Jim Bob drove by the rectory, slowing down to peer at the dark windows. Having grilled employees at the SuperSaver, she knew darn well where Jim Bob was, but she had no idea where Brother Verber had been ever since the Wednesday night prayer meeting. She’d been too annoyed to speak to him after the service, due to his failure to appear at her house to discuss the Thanksgiving pageant-which most likely had something to do with a particular person who’d had the nerve to show her painted face again. Maybe he was too kind-hearted to point his finger at the moneylender and order her to slink away in disgrace. Maybe he believed his duty was to welcome sinners into the congregation.

She’d been inside the rectory several times, making sure he hadn’t drowned in the bathtub or suffered a stroke in his bed. As a gesture of Christian compassion, she’d even cleaned up his kitchen, run a dust rag over the furniture in the living room, and straightened up the piles of what he assured her was study material (even though it took a lot of willpower to touch the nasty things with names like Naughty Nipples and Whiplash). Why, she’d gone so far as kneel in the Assembly Hall to pray for the strength to forgive him for his transparently feeble excuse for postponing the pageant meeting.

Surely he’ll be grateful, she thought, as she turned around in Lottie’s driveway and drove back toward her house on Finger Lane. It wouldn’t hurt to keep the rectory more attractive, either. She could have Perkins’s eldest clean for him half a day a week, and she herself would bring fresh flowers from her garden in the spring. Although Jim Bob would object, she’d invite Brother Verber to supper several times a week and make a better effort to make him feel appreciated.

Once at home, she sat down at the kitchen table and started on a list of ways the legitimate members of the congregation could keep him occupied in his free time. Lottie might be persuaded to invite him over for coffee, and the Missionary Society could have him attend their weekly meetings to say grace before refreshments. She’d ask him to accompany her to Farberville to select new fabric for the sofa, and afterwards to have lunch at a tea shoppe.

She said a brief prayer of gratitude to the Lord for blessing her with a creative mind, then got back to work.

/\
/\
/\

“I don’t see them,” Estelle whispered to Ruby Bee, who was standing on her tiptoes next to her while they peeked through the living room window.

“They might be in the crate-or they might be running loose in the house. We need to be real careful. They have sharp beaks and beady orange eyes, and they’re ornery enough to peck the freckles right off your arm.”

“Did you leave the door open when you left?” whispered Ruby Bee, although she wasn’t sure why they were worried that the birds might be listening to them.

“You can see for yourself that it’s closed. I guess the only thing to do is go inside and find them. If they’re in the crate, you put the lid on and I’ll get the hammer and nails. First thing Monday morning they’ll be on their merry way back to that lawyer in Oklahoma.”

“You said Uncle Tooly took to doing experiments. Do you think the birds are freaks that he created in his laboratory? You might be able to sell them to a carnival show, you know. The one at the county fair last September advertised they had a boy that was raised by wolves, a five-legged calf, and a prehistoric fish.”

Estelle bit her lip as she tried to recollect exactly what the hissy birds looked like. They were almost as tall as she was, with gangly necks, scruffy brown feathers, and those demonic eyes. “I wouldn’t have any idea how to get in touch with a carnival, but I know for a fact I won’t get a wink of sleep until they’re out of my house. Are you ready?”

“I guess so,” said Ruby Bee. “You go first. I’ll be close behind you in case I need to jerk you back to safety.”

“It’d be better if you went first so you can get the lid on the crate. The hammer’s in a drawer in the kitchen, and I’ll have to hunt around for nails. I’d feel a sight safer if you were holding down the lid.”

Ruby Bee looked at her. “They’re your birds, not mine, Estelle. If you’re too scared to go in there, you can stay at the Flamingo until you can find someone to get ‘em in the crate. You could persuade Diesel to come down from the ridge and bite their heads off. General Pitts might agree to attack the house.”

“I wonder why Uncle Tooly said in his will that I was to get them. He was a mite odd, but he always seemed fond of me. I had a parakeet when I was in pigtails. He may have assumed that I was a bird fancier on account of that.”

“Piss or get off the pot,” snapped Ruby Bee. “It’s cold and dark out here. Arly can’t handle the Friday night crowd by herself. She went to the police school, but I’ll bet they never taught her how to throw a fractious drunk out of a bar. That takes years of practice.”

Estelle took a last peek in the window. “I don’t see anything. I think I’ll go around to the back and look through the kitchen window window. You wait here.” She disappeared around the corner of the house.

Ruby Bee put her hands in her pockets and tried not to shiver as the wind did its darndest to sneak down her collar. It was crazy to stand here half the night, she thought as she went up on the porch and tried to catch a glimpse of the birds through the glass panes in the door. Surely Estelle was exaggerating. Alfred Hitchcock had made a movie about killer birds, but nobody in real life had ever been attacked like that. Then again, she reminded herself, Uncle Tooly had owned some mighty queer sheep.