Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 10 (22 page)

I told Barry that he and Reed could move into #6, and Kayleen was distributing sandwiches to her guests as the deputy and I left the room. In #5, I could see Sterling hunched in front of a computer screen, his expression indicative that he wasn’t having much luck in his endeavor. Wondering if he was trying to make contact with the Colorado group, I took a sandwich and soda out of one of the sacks and went back across the lot.

He jerked open the door before I could knock. “It’s about time, Chief Hanks. I’m beginning to feel light-headed from lack of food. Proper nutrition is vital to maintaining mental acuity.”

“Is that protected by the Constitution, too?” I said as I handed him the sandwich. “Does one of the amendments guarantee three square meals a day?”

“The Constitution should be treated with reverence, not derision. It’s our only defense against the federal government and its illegitimate manipulation of individual rights.”

I fluttered my eyelashes. “Hope ham ‘n cheese is okay, General Pitts.”

/\
/\
/\

“Yeah, yeah, I heard it,” Jim Bob said, flipping over his cards and pushing back his chair. “More than likely Diesel’s playin’ Injun and taken to beating a tom-tom, or maybe those screwy militia boys are firing cannons at the low-water bridge.”

Larry Joe peeked at his hole card to see if it had transformed itself into an ace, then gestured at Roy to rake the pot. “That don’t explain what I saw-and I know I saw something straight out of one of Brother Verber’s hell-and-damnation sermons. It was evil.”

“I heard it, too,” inserted Roy as he arranged the chips into tidy stacks.

“So what?” said Jim Bob. “That doesn’t prove it’s a friggin’ demon here to punish us for taking a few days off to relax. Now if I was at the delectable Cherri Lucinda’s love nest, I might be worried that Mrs. Jim Bob had struck a deal with Satan. I wouldn’t put it past her to sell my soul for a new Cadillac. In fact, I can see her writing up the contract, with Brother Verber there at her side to notarize it.”

Larry Joe went to the window to peer out at the utter darkness. “This ain’t anything to joke about, Jim Bob. Roy saw the tracks in the mud, and you yourself heard that noise.”

Jim Bob grunted. “I heard a noise, not a demonic screech. I reckon I need to make a trip to the outhouse. Will my rifle be enough protection, or should I take a submachine gun and a bible?”

He grabbed a flashlight and went out the door, mumbling to himself about nervous Nellies. The weeds had been trampled into a serviceable path that led around the corner of the trailer and fifty feet down the hillside to an outhouse fashioned of irregular scraps of plywood and a warped sheet of siding. The corrugated tin roof provided minimal protection from rain and gusts of wind.

After he’d finished his business, he came back out and pointed the flashlight at the tangle of vines that Larry Joe kept harping about. He saw exactly what he expected to see, which was nothing more than whatever Mother Nature had planted. Larry Joe had been teaching school too long, Jim Bob decided as he let the beam of the flashlight bobble on the runty trees. Maybe being surrounded by all those hormones had addled his mind.

Jim Bob decided to have himself a little fun. He positioned himself behind the rusty carcass of an old truck, switched off the flashlight, and threw a pebble at the kitchen window. The resulting clink was sharp and loud. Within seconds, Larry Joe’s face appeared in the window, and Roy’s just behind him. Their expressions expressions were so bumfuzzled that it was all Jim Bob could do not to start laughing.

Eventually they moved away from the window. Jim Bob gave them a couple of minutes to persuade each other that a bird had crashed into the window, then threw another pebble. This time Roy reached the window first, with Larry Joe a close second. Their jaws were wagging something fierce, and Jim Bob could see the whites of their eyes.

He found a third pebble and was leaning back to scare the holy shit out of them when he heard a crackle directly behind him. He spun around. What he saw was enough to make him drop the flashlight and bolt for the trailer.

/\
/\
/\

Despite her in-laws’ objections, Dahlia had insisted on being taken home so she could be there if Kevvie turned up. Now she kinda wished she hadn’t, what with the wind rattling the loose shingles and rustling the leaves alongside the house.

She turned on the television for company, and was heading for the kitchen when another of those dadburned contractions stopped her in her tracks. The doctor had called them by some fancy name and told her she’d be getting them as the due date got closer, but that wasn’t much comfort when her innards were being squeezed like someone was wringing out wet laundry. To top it off, Kevin junior kicked so hard that a warm dribble ran down her leg.

Once the contraction eased, she went on into the kitchen for a diet soda and a handful of carrot sticks, then sat down across from the television. The silly sitcom did nothing to keep her from brooding. Kevvie had no business going off like this, she thought as she chomped away like a leaf shredder. Here she was, within weeks of havin’ the baby, and she was all alone, tormented by the contractions, poking her finger all the time, visiting the potty every ten minutes, and reduced to carrot and celery sticks whenever her stomach rumbled.

“I hope you don’t turn out like your pa,” she said to Kevin junior. “He’s about as useless as a one-horned cow. What’s more, he’s liable to git his sorry self fired on account of missing work. Jim Bob’s kin, but he ain’t gonna be thinking of that when he kicks your pa out the door. We’ll all end up at one of those homeless shelters.”

The very idea set her lower lip to quivering, and tears to sliding down her cheeks. Her granny had grown up during the Depression, and her stories about scrimping for food were scarier than any tales told around the campfire during church camp-shoes with cardboard soles, clothes from charity stores, watery soup and stale bread.

Dahlia was reduced to snuffling when the telephone rang. She lunged for the receiver. “Kevvie?”

“No, this is Idalupino down at the SuperSaver. Listen, I just heard something peculiar. My second cousin Canon Buchanon was just here, and he said he saw Kevin’s car parked by the low-water bridge. Nobody was in the car. He didn’t see a body floating in the creek or lying on the gravel bar, but it was right dark and he was leery of going into the woods after what happened this morning. Anyways, I thought you’d want to know about the car.”

“Thanks,” Dahlia said numbly. She replaced the receiver and slumped back, doing her best to come up with some sort of explanation for what she’d heard. It had to do with that militia game, she figured, since Kevvie’s pa had told them about all those grown folks pretending to be soldiers. Eileen had been real scornful, but Dahlia had been a little proud that Kevvie had been chosen for such an important role. She wasn’t clear about why they were told they were gorillas, unless they were pretending that Cotter’s Ridge was a jungle.

A contraction interrupted her laborious thought process. She grimaced and moaned her way through it, then went into the bedroom and searched the dresser drawers for another pamphlet that might tell about an evening meeting. Finding nothing of significance, she checked under his pillow and on his shelf in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

She trudged back into the living room and dialed her in-laws’ number. The line was busy. What if, she asked herself, Kevvie was lost on Cotter’s Ridge, all cold and scared and hungry? Or even worse, if he’d been shot like that other fellow and was bleeding like a stuck pig while she sat at home eating carrot sticks?

The line was busy at the PD, and nobody answered at Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill. Canon Buchanon was living in his car these days, so there wasn’t any way to call him to find out if he’d heard any gunshots while he was down by the low-water bridge. She tried her in-laws’ again, but Eileen was still on the line, probably talking to Millicent McIlhaney.

Frustrated, Dahlia ate the last carrot stick and finished the soda. On the television screen, a man with big teeth was begging her to buy a contraption that cut potatoes into fancy slices, but she couldn’t bear to listen while Kevvie was in terrible danger. She turned off the set, put on her coat and gloves, went outside, and started down the road. It was a good two miles to the low-water bridge, even if she cut through the schoolyard and the pasture behind the old Emporium. It would take nearly an hour, she realized, and when she got there, all she could do was holler Kevvie’s name and pray he answered.

She slowed down as she approached Raz’s shack. A light was on in the front room and smoke curled out of the chimney. More important, his truck was parked in the yard. She reminded herself that even though he was an ornery cuss, he was a neighbor and a Buchanon just like Kevvie.

Still, it took her a few minutes to find the courage to go up to his porch and knock on the door. “Raz?” she called. “Lemme in before I turn blue.”

The door opened far enough for him to glare at her through the crack. “I don’t much cotton to uninvited company. Whatta ya want?”

Dahlia glared right back, hoping her knees weren’t knockin’ so loud he could hear them. “I want you to drive me to the low-water bridge and help me find Kevvie up on the ridge.”

“Cain’t do it. Me and Marjorie are watching a movie about a talking mule. It’s the first one all week that’s caught her fancy.”

“You listen to me, Raz Buchanon, and you listen good. I haft to go find Kevvie, and I don’t have time to walk all that way. If you won’t help me, I’ll break down your door and wring your neck. Then I’ll git the key to the truck and drive myself.” She held up a ham-sized fist. “I don’t aim to raise a child on my own. What’s it gonna be, Raz?”

He scratched his chin. “Tell ya what, we’ll take you there, but we ain’t about to go up on the ridge. Marjorie’s still crumpy from the last time we wuz there.”

“Leave her here,” Dahlia said coldly.

“By herself? Why, I couldn’t do that. She’s a pedigreed sow, ye know, and has a delicate nature.”

“All right, then git her and let’s go. I gotta rescue Kevvie before the end of the month when I have the baby.”

Within minutes, Raz, Marjorie, and Dahlia were headed for County 102. Raz was making his displeasure known by hitting every pothole. Marjorie sat in the middle, her eyes closed. On the passenger’s side, Dahlia stared out the window, battling nausea from the stench in the truck, wishing she’d used the potty before she left the house, and wondering what she was gonna do when Raz left her at the bridge and drove away. The first thing would be to find a bush and relieve herself, of course, but after that … she just didn’t have a clue.

A very bored dispatcher informed me that the Chowden County sheriff would be in his office first thing in the morning, and no one else knew anything about the case. I replaced the receiver and rocked back, trying to sort out the profusion of problems that had popped up like crab grass in the last week. They came in all sizes and degrees of magnitude, from the brutal murder in Mayfly to the disappearances of local residents. At the moment Kevin, Ruby Bee, and Estelle were out of pocket, as well as two unnamed ostriches. At least Brother Verber had reappeared from his unauthorized outing.

There wasn’t anything I could do about Dylan’s death until the autopsy was final, nor could I make any progress with the burglaries until I talked to the sheriff. I could clear up one minor issue, however, so I locked the PD and drove to the rectory to ask Brother Verber if he was the person whom Earl had seen coming down from the ridge at noon.

Mrs. Jim Bob’s Cadillac hadn’t moved. I was reluctant to question Brother Verber in front of her, but I didn’t want to put it off until the following afternoon after church. As I walked up the gravel path, the door swung open.

“It’s high time, I must say!” Mrs. Jim Bob began, then stopped and took a harder look at me. “I thought you were somebody else.”

“There are days I wish I was.”

“Have you finally decided to do the job you were hired to do?”

“I saw the lights and assumed Brother Verber was back,” I said as I went into the trailer. “What are you doing here, looking for photographs to paste on milk cartons?”

She appeared rather unkempt, even by my admittedly lackadaisical standards. Her hair was mussed, and her skirt and blouse were so wrinkled she might have slept in them. To add to the overall effect, one of her pumps was blue, the other brown. She stared at me, most likely trying to come up with a withering response, then abruptly sat down on the edge of the sofa.

“I’m worried about him,” she said in a low voice. “He’s not as worldly as some would have you think. No matter how hard I’ve tried to convince him otherwise, he thinks drinking is fine as long as it’s sacramental wine. The Good Lord may think differently, and so may the state police.” She looked up at me with a piteous expression. “Would you have heard if he was arrested?”

“I’m sure I would have,” I said. I was dangerously close to offering sympathy when I saw Ruby Bee at the end of the hallway, a finger pressed to her lips. Gulping, I made myself look at Mrs. Jim Bob. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. A couple of hours, maybe. I got to where I couldn’t stand wandering around my house. He has to come back soon so he can prepare tomorrow’s sermon. I want to see for myself that he’s safe and sound.”

“I, ah, don’t think you should stay here,” I said lamely.

“Why not?” Mrs. Jim Bob countered, regaining a bit of her more typical vinegary spirit. “It’s not like I broke down the door to come inside. Brother Verber himself mentioned that he keeps a key under the mat. He wouldn’t have done that if he minded me using it. Besides, this place was a real mess, and I took it upon myself to clean it up and stock the refrigerator with a few casseroles and a pot of chicken soup. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to find me here.”

I caught a glimpse of Estelle behind Ruby Bee, both of them frantically signaling me not to acknowledge their presence. “Well, sure he would be, but … but I think I ought to call in a missing person report to the sheriff’s department so they can start searching for him.”