Joan Hess - Madness In Maggody

"Probably so, but I had a request from a county judge to send a deputy over to help you out. It seems he plays golf with that Petrel fellow, and it's what ya might call a small political favor. It's too damn hot to have a county judge breathing down my collar or peerin' too hard at the budget."

It made about as much sense as Ruby Bee's ravings. I rubbed my face, twisted my mouth around for a minute, and finally said, "What's this about, Harve? What do a county judge and someone named Petrel have to do with me busting speeders on a hot Saturday afternoon? Traffic's usually up on the weekends, but mostly it's tourists gawking at cows, and people like Raz Buchanon doing twenty miles an hour toward Starley City to buy chicken feed and the latest tabloid."

"Go take a look out the window."

"It's your nickel." I put down the receiver and did as ordered. When I came back, I was almost afraid to pick it up again. "Good Lord, Harve, there's a damn parade of cars and pickups out there, and people walking along the side of the road. Is there an execution scheduled?"

"Where the hell you been all week, Arly?"

I wanted to say France, but settled for a meaningless mumble involving Ruby Bee, houseguests, and baseball practice. "So when did you boys put up the guillotine? Who's the lucky guy?"

"It's the grand opening of that supermarket Jim Bob built hisself with Petrel. According to them, there's going to be all kinds of activities and ceremonies and everybody within thirty miles is coming. Marching bands, ribbon cutting, all that shit. I'll send Les over before the highway gets so constipated that the traffic backs up to my office. I plan to go fishing later, and I don't want to be delayed."

"Send him along," I said with a sigh. "I'll head on down there and see what all Jim Bob's doing to disrupt my afternoon. I was planning to go to the Riviera, myself."

"That the new tavern over in Hasty?"

"Yeah, Harve." I wished him luck with the bass and the wrasse, hung up, buffed my badge, and tucked in my shirt. I didn't figure I'd need my bullets to handle the mob, but I strapped on my.38 anyway, just in case the bargains addled some brains and we had violence in the dairy section of the illustrious Jim Bob's SuperSaver Buy 4 Less.

Edna Louise Skimmer put down the bedpan and stared at the nurse's aide. "I can't believe it," she said.

Marsha Harrier nodded as slowly as she did everything else, which meant she wasn't setting any world records. Her words came out one at a time, like molasses dripping off the edge of the table. "I heard every word of it. I was standing by the door for a breath of fresh air, minding my own business and thinking about this cute little black and yellow bathing suit that's on sale over at the K-Mart in Starley City."

"What did Miz Wockermann say?" Marsha tried to remember if the loony old woman had said anything worth repeating. About the time Edna Louise looked like she was going to explode, Marsha said, "She was too stunned and sickened by the story to say much. So was I. To think of that fellow taking advantage of all those local girls…If something like that happened to me, I would have died on the spot."

Edna Louise sat down next to the bedpan and decided to give Marsha the benefit of her four years of experience as an aide. "You're liable to lose your job if you go blabbing all over town. However, we have a responsibility to our patients to know the reason if they get all upset. Why don't you begin at the beginning and try to finish before the shift is over?"

Traffic was snarly and getting worse. A large area in front of the door was roped off, and those who attempted to step over it were berated by militant high school boys in starchy white uniforms. Ruby Bee's parking lot was filled, as was the motel lot behind it. I could imagine how pleased she was.

I barked at a particularly dim soul who tried to abandon his truck in the middle of the road, and started pointing and waving and making everybody get in gear, so to speak. Those obliged to park a long way down the road weren't real pleased with me, but as we say on the Riviera, c'est la guerre.

Forty hellacious minutes later, Deputy Les Vernon burped his siren to force a path to the edge of the SuperSaver lot and came over to join me. He didn't loom over me, but he had a pit-bull aura about him that promised to be more effective than my winsome demeanor. I left him to it and wandered through the crowd to the front of the store.

Hizzoner and Mizzoner were dressed in their Sunday best. He was slapping backs and acting real genial, but there was something about his production that seemed forced. Every now and then, he shot narrow looks at a silver-haired man in a white suit and string bow tie. I cleverly deduced the recipient of this muted hostility was Petrel.

Mrs. Jim Bob was graciously accepting compliments and kind words with small nods. She could have been in the foyer of the White House, welcoming a select group of politicians' wives for a bridge party.

A big red ribbon barred the entrance. Kevin Buchanon was standing guard beside it, a pair of pruning shears in his hand. His Adam's apple bobbled as always; it was obvious he was taking pride in his assignment to defend the castle. The crowd was swelling as more trucks parked along the highway, and the blistering heat pouring down from above and bouncing up from the asphalt lot was not conducive to a general ambience of goodwill. Men were loosening neckties by the second, and women in panty hose were beginning to sag.

Raz Buchanon, a tobacco-chawin' pain in the rear, was muttering all kinds of rebellious things to anyone fool enough to listen, and Elsie McMay was fanning herself with a creased church bulletin and shrilly demanding to know when they were to be allowed to see the place for themselves. Even Lottie Estes looked mutinous. A bored cameraman leaned against the side of his station's van, and in the front seat a blotchy-faced woman in a sensible suit checked her watch every ten seconds.

Pretty soon, we heard an eerie noise from behind the building, and a dozen or so high-school students in band uniforms came into view, each red-faced and attacking an instrument. I waited to see if Mizzoner would start screeching about unnatural acts, but she produced a pained smile and loyally took her husband's arm. Jim Bob winced. Petrel curled his lip. Kevin snapped to attention and saluted with the shears.

When the band mercifully stopped, Petrel stepped up to a microphone, intoned a few sentences about how pleased he was to serve the community and hoped its citizens could be considered his personal friends, and so on. He then introduced Jim Bob, who reiterated the neighborly sentiments and then introduced Mrs. Jim Bob, who did the same and then introduced Brother Verber, who blessed the building at such length that I started eyeing the crowd, which was milling about and mumbling about hot air and hotshots and that sort of unneighborly sentiment.

Jim Bob wrestled the microphone away from Brother Verber and said, "Amen! There's just one more introduction I want to make afore we cut the ribbon and let you good folks into Jim Bob's SuperSaver Buy 4 Less, where you'll find bargains on every shelf and free refreshments in the international picnic pavilion. I want you all to give a big round of applause for the upstanding young boys of Maggody's championship baseball team. And here they come!"

The band began to play something. A couple of cheerleaders did their best to come cartwheeling across the area in front of the microphone, flashing starlit panties to the spectators' delight. The team, in full uniform from red caps to red-striped socks, marched into view, each looking straight ahead with no-nonsense expressions.

"No, they ain't," howled a voice in the back of the crowd.