Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 04 (20 page)

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Everybody and everything looked dingy as I went into Ruby Bee's and crawled onto a stool. "Coffee," I said, ignoring said everybody, which consisted of the proprietress behind the bar, Estelle on her usual roost, and over in the booths a smattering of truck drivers, supermarket employees, and the trooper I'd bawled out the night before. He slid down in his seat, but I lacked the wherewithall to ascertain that he was officially off duty. I barely had a wherewithout.

"Nice of you to bring back my car," Ruby Bee said as she set down a cup of coffee.

I took a sip. "I didn't bring back your car."

"You can't just take people's property like in a Communist country," Estelle said from the end of the bar. "What's more, you owe your mother an explanation for waking her up like that and causing her to sit up half the night sick with worry, Miss Don't Give a Hoot."

My mother the martyr nodded vigorously. "There weren't no way on God's green earth I could get back to sleep till nearly dawn, and then I had to get up to start my pies. If there's not enough gas for Estelle and me to go to -- "

"Stop," I said with a growl. "I didn't get much sleep, myself. I am not commandeering your car; I am borrowing it because I need to run up to Missouri. It has to do with the investigation, but I am not -- repeat, not -- going to explain the purpose of the trip. Take Estelle's station wagon wherever it is you're going." I took all the change from my pocket and let it clatter on the counter. "Gas money, ladies."

I stalked out of the bar, fuming so hard I nearly ran into Carlotta and Harve.

"Oh, here you are," she said. "I know this sounds callous, but we've got to keep shooting in order to come in anywhere near budget. Sheriff Dorfer has agreed to handle security at the sites, and we'll keep the sets closed ... if you don't object."

"Can't see that it'll hurt," Harve said uncomfortably.

I took a closer look at him. "Why are you in civilian clothes, Sheriff Dorfer? Considering the craziness going on, it doesn't seem like the best time to take the day off to go fishing."

It was the very first time I'd seen him blush, and it was not a pretty picture. His nose and ears were scarlet, and blotches were creeping up his neck like eruptive hives. He ducked his head and hunted around in his pocket until he found a cigar stub, stuck it between his lips, and mumbled something as he struck a match. Shakily struck a match, that is.

"I didn't quite catch that," I said, amusement replacing the deep aggravation that only Ruby Bee and Estelle could arouse in me (and did so on a daily, if not hourly, basis).

He mumbled something again, but Carlotta put her hand on his arm and said, "Since the sheriff's going to be there, we offered him a small role as a local farmer seeking spiritual guidance. It won't propel him to stardom, but he thought it might be entertaining for his friends and family to see him on the screen one of these days."

"Gonna be in the movies, huh?" I said. "Wow, Harve, I'm impressed. Can I have your autograph?"

"This lady called me at the office and asked if they could keep working on their movie. I couldn't see any reason for them to sit in their rooms, so I said it was all right with me. This way we can keep them in a group and under guard."

Carlotta shot me a dry smile, but she sounded appropriately humble as she said, "We are so grateful to you people. This murder is a terrible thing; we're all devastated with shock and grief, and we want nothing more than for you to catch Kitty's killer. Hal's popping pills like they were peanuts, and Gwenneth's convinced her death is imminent. None of us got much sleep last night. Is there any news about Meredith and Fuzzy?"

I shook my head. "I talked to Plover earlier this morning. His men are working their way along the road in both directions, and we may have to start beating Cotter's Ridge and the banks of Boone Creek if we don't have any luck. It doesn't make any sense for either of them to have gone into the woods, but none of this makes any sense."

"Surely they'll turn up," she said without conviction. "Meredith's a great guy, and even Fuzzy has his endearing moments. But, as the sheriff mentioned, it won't do any good for us to sit and worry."

"I don't care," I said. "It's just as well for you to be together and protected, if only by an aspiring student of the art of cinematography. I'll be gone for a few hours, but I may need to find you all when I return. Where will you be shooting?"

She consulted her clipboard. "The entire schedule's been modified until we know if Meredith's coming back. We're slotted for two scenes at that oddly shaped church at the south end of town. I don't anticipate any problems there, unless our amateurs are overcome with camera fright. An hour there, maybe twice that, and then we'll shoot as many as we can at" -- she scanned the page -- "Jim Bob Buchanon's house. Two exteriors and three interiors. I should think we'll be there until dark."

"Wait a minute -- you're doing two scenes at the Voice of the Almighty?" I said, mystified. "What does Brother Verber have to say about this?"

"He also has a small role," Carlotta murmured.

"He does?" I said, more mystified.

Her expression was impossible to read, and her voice was as bland as spring water. "He fit into the picture perfectly, and was delighted to offer his church as a site. I did a few revisions, and voila!"

Throughout this exchange, Harve was scuffling his foot in the gravel like a child in the principal's office, although it's doubtful a child would be allowed to puff on a cigar butt in such an august setting. "Well, I'd better get my men organized down at the Assembly Hall. Where'd you say you was going, Arly?"

"I didn't. Have fun, Harve, and don't forget to emote."

"What's that mean?"

"Carlotta will tell you all about it," I said. I frowned at her. "Do you have another photograph of Meredith?"

"I have some standard portfolio shots in the room. Why do you need one?"

"I don't know if I need one or not, but I'd appreciate it if you'd loan me one for the day."

Carlotta returned with an eight-by-eleven glossy print of a smiling man with pleasant but unremarkable features. I went back to the PD, checked the map once more, and drove north toward Pineyville, Missouri, intending to use the time wisely to organize my thoughts about the murder. Discipline did not prevail. So Harve and Verber were in the movie, along with Mrs. Jim Bob and Dahlia. By the time I returned, the entire population might be signed up. Hell, I might end up not only with a full dance card but also with a new career.

I began to whistle "Hooray for Hollywood" as I passed the sign that denoted the city limits of Maggody ...

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"You must take me this morning," Mrs. Jim Bob said into the receiver. "The movie people are shooting here today, and that's certainly more important than going to a flea market on the other side of the county."

"No, it ain't," said Estelle. "Ruby Bee and I have been aiming to get over there for more than a month, and I arranged my appointments so we could go this morning. I might change my plans for one of my regulars, but I don't seem to recall you darkening my doorstep since Eve ate the apple. Why don't you call that highfalutin place you patronize in Farberville?"

Mrs. Jim Bob figured it wouldn't be politic to admit she already had and that they were booked solid for the morning. She had a sneaky suspicion they would have accommodated her if she tipped more generously, but she didn't go into it. "Now, Estelle," she wheedled, "there's no reason to get your nose all bent out of shape. I was planning to start using you even before the Hollywood people showed up. I was telling Jim Bob just the other night how much more convenient it would be for me to patronize Estelle's Hair Fantasies instead of driving all the way to -- "

In that she was talking to a dial tone, she gave up and replaced the receiver. "You know," she said loudly to Perkins's eldest, who was out in the hallway waxing the floor, "not only is Estelle snooty, she has a lack of charity in her heart. One might wonder if she's not jealous because no one offered her a role in the movie. Now, I'll grant you that I prefer to have my hair done in Farberville, but that's no reason for her to act this way in what is clearly an emergency."

Perkins's eldest adjusted the headset and turned up the volume of the transistor radio in her pocket. She was growing fond of rap music and becoming a devotee of the lyrics.

"I don't suppose you've ever fixed anyone's hair?" Mrs. Jim Bob called from the other room. The inaudible response was not a challenge to interpret. "Considering how you wear your hair, I'd be the first to agree with you that you lack expertise in that area. From the looks of it, I'd be surprised to hear you wash it once a month. Cleanliness is next to godliness, as those of us who attend church know."

Jim Bob came into the kitchen. He'd been given a list of chores over coffee, even though he'd tried to weasel out of them by claiming he had to be down at the store to receive deliveries. But the trash was in the cans; the cans hosed; the grass mowed (out in front, anyway); the shrubs trimmed (on the side visible from the window); his closet neat (he doubted they were doing closet scenes, but she was adamant); his papers stashed in desk drawers; and his wife, for some inexplicable reason, was again sitting in the living room having a grand conversation with the walls.

If the truth be known, he was planning to take off from work because he was as excited as his wife. Carlotta had said that Gwenneth, the Marland guy, and the saint-somebody guy would be on the set all afternoon. Gwenneth D'Amourre, Jim Bob thought, sucking on his teeth. If her honkers were half so luscious as they'd been in Tanya Makes the Team, he figured he'd be in heaven. Not in Brother Verber's and Mrs. Jim Bob's version, which was chock full of harps and angels and that kinda crap. His heaven had honkers.

Saliva trickled down his chin as he went out the back door and drove down to the supermarket, but he didn't notice. The assistant manager did, though, and gleefully told everyone in the break room that Jim Bob was nearing the time when he could hide his own Easter eggs.

"I wanna be a bad street dude," Perkins's eldest said along with the voice blasting into both ears. Her ample rump swishing with the beat, she moved down the hall. "I tell you, Mama, I gonna be rude."

"Did you say 'rude'?" Mrs. Jim Bob said from her post in the next room. "I'm glad you agree that no matter how hard I strive to maintain a Christian attitude, there's no getting around it. That Estelle Oppers is just plain rude!"

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Kevin struggled to wake up as his head bounced against the upholstery of the front seat. His ears were being gripped so tightly he almost yelped, but before he could do much of anything, his head bounced again, this time hard enough to rattle his brains.

"Git up, I said," Dahlia muttered as she leaned over the back of the seat, hanging onto his ears like they were pitcher handles, and determined to shake him awake if it killed him. "Git up afore I rip your fool ears off your head and feed 'em to the bears."

"I'm awake, my darling, so you kin let go now." Once he was free, he sat up and rubbed his eyes while he tried to recollect where they were and why. It came back to him like a splash of ice water. "What do you reckon we ought to do?" he asked humbly.

" 'We'? There ain't no 'we,' Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon. What you're going to do is get out of this car and commence to crawl around in the bushes until you find that wire. Then you're gonna put it back where it came from and drive me to town. While I'm making the movie, you kin go tell Arly about that dead body in the cabin."

"That sounds like a real good plan. What is it you're gonna do whilst I hunt for the wire, my sponge cake?"

"Sit right here with the doors locked," she answered tartly. "Sometimes I wonder why I agreed to be bespoken to you, 'cause you're more addled than a preacher in paradise. There's a dead body not but a stone's throw from us, and that means there's likely to be a murderer lurking around for his next victim. That's why I'm staying in the car and you're hunting the wire."

"Of course, my dumpling," Kevin said, although there was something about her logic that didn't fit well. He looked at the snarly woods. He'd been on the hysterical side when he threw the wire, what with Dahlia screaming at him and the Hollywood nightmare possessing him, and he disremembered the precise direction he'd chosen.

He caught her reflection in the rearview mirror, and it was enough to propel him out of the car and into a mud puddle. "You lock the doors real tight," he said solicitously, "and I'll just get the wire and put it back real fast."

The wire didn't weigh much, and he figured it couldn't have gone too far. What he hadn't gotten around to mentioning to his Venus was that he'd also thrown the key ring at the same time -- not intentionally, of course, but because it was in the same hand.

The woods were clogged with scraggly pines, vines thick enough to choke a bull, clumps of hungry thorns, and the rotting remains of tree trunks. Heavy clouds threatened to produce another deluge. Birds shrieked at him, and a squirrel sputtered as it assessed him through rabid black eyes. There was a path of sorts, not much to speak of but better than fighting the briars and mushy leaves hiding snakes, so Kevin gave Dahlia a halfhearted salute and forged into the wilderness. By the time she rolled down the window to ask where in tarnation the picnic basket was, he had disappeared from view.