Joan Hess - Madness In Maggody

"Sanitation truck?" Estelle put down her beer and ran to the window. An enormous white truck was approaching the dumpster. Two metal arms reached out to embrace it on either side, and a rectangular section in the back of the truck slid open.

It was all she could do to keep from shrieking as she dashed out to the balcony. "Stop that!" she shouted sternly. "You in the truck! I said stop that, and I mean it!"

"Are you okay?" Arnie asked from the doorway.

The driver looked up, puzzled, and said, "You talking to me, lady?"

"Who else do you think I'm talking to?"

"I dunno, but I've got to finish my route earlier 'cause of my bowling league having a tournament." He turned back to the controls, and again the metal arms reached for the dumpster.

"Stop!" Estelle screeched as she stumbled down the stairs. Her eyes felt as though they were going to pop right out of their sockets, and the blood pounding in her veins was hotter than chili con carne. "Stop!" she repeated in the same voice. "You're about to commit murder!"

"You're the one who needs to be committed," the driver said. The metal arms slid into their allotted slots. The truck let out a groan as the dumpster began to rise on its trip over the front of the truck to be emptied into its belly.

Estelle was jumping up and down and squawking her head off, but the driver refused to acknowledge her, and Arnie, who was watching from the balcony above, somberly resolved never again to invite women from the telephone company in for a beer. Other residents wandered out of their apartments to gawk at the crazy redheaded lady and offer opinions to each other.

The dumpster had passed its zenith and was beginning to be tilted as a state police car pulled into the lot. Estelle ran to the driver's side and pounded on the window. "Thank God it's you! Make him stop! He's gonna kill her and it's all my fault!"

Plover dutifully ordered the driver to stop. He later admitted, but only in private, that the ensuing scene was the weirdest damn thing that had ever happened to him in his entire career, and if he lived to be as old as Methuselah, he'd just as soon not go through it again.

"Where'd you say you found these?" Kevin demanded, feeling a mite faint as he gaped and gulped at the grainy photographs. He was terrified he would hear footsteps on the stairs outside, but he couldn't stop gaping and gulping. "On the dirt," Hammet said. "I was hightailin' it past the trailer when they came out the window and liked to flap me in the face and make me fall. I jest grabbed 'em and scuttled under the trailer to have a look-see, 'cause it dint make no sense for someone to be throwing things out the window."

"And that was yesterday," Kevin said slowly. His eyes were slightly crossed as he tried to think things over without getting more confused than usual. "Kinda late in the afternoon, you said."

"You ain't gonna tell Arly, are you? I don't want her to get all riled at me for looking at pictures of…" Hammet couldn't find the appropriate words, so he settled for rolling his eyes and twisting up his mouth. He wasn't real sure about Kevin, who didn't appear to be much smarter than a possum heading for certain death on the highway. Hammet had been sitting on the top step outside the apartment and hadn't noticed Kevin until he heard a gasp and realized he'd been caught red-handed with the magazines. Now he figured he was at this dumbshit's mercy. "You ain't gonna tell Arly?" he repeated urgently.

"I ain't gonna tell Arly."

"You ain't gonna tell nobody, right?"

After a moment of silence, Kevin smiled just a tad and said, "I think I'd like to buy those magazines off you, Hammet. How much do you reckon it'll cost me?"

"Why do you want to buy them? They ain't nothing but a lot of…" Again, words failed him and he made a face.

"How much?"

"Gosh, I dunno. It ain't like I bought them myself. I jest saw 'em flying out the window. Here, you kin have 'em for free. I don't want 'em anymore."

"Thanks. I'll buy you a tamale and a soda pop one of these days, okay?" Kevin rolled up the magazines and stuck them in his back pocket. "See you later. I got to talk to someone."

Hammet watched Kevin go down the stairs and pedal away, wondering all the while what he wanted nasty magazines for, anyway. He then turned on the television and settled down for thirty minutes of animated mayhem, which was a helluva lot more entertaining than pictures of folks poking their puds in funny places.

Lissie and Saralee were in the Lambertinos' front yard. I told Lissie where we were going, and Saralee promised to relay the information to Joyce, who reportedly was in the den being kinda quiet and not even watching television or anything.

"Martin's coming home tomorrow," I told Lissie as we drove toward Farberville. "He's going to stay with Hammet and me."

"What about Pa?"

"He's going to be fine, but they want to keep him at the hospital for a few more days."

"That's good," she said, brightening. "Is Martin gonna play ball at the game tomorrow?"

We were passing the airport on the right, and therefore the Airport Arms Apartments on the left. Everything looked calm there; I didn't know if Plover had attempted to charm the fingernails off Crate yet, but he'd promised to report back to me when he knew something.

"Yes, we need everyone tomorrow," I said. We discussed our chances of beating the SuperSavers, which took no time at all, then rode in silence to the hospital. "Martin will be excited to see you," I said as I parked in the flat expanse of concrete. "Let me ask you something, Lissie. Does your pa ever spank you or Martin?"

She shook her head. "All he does is yell sometimes, especially if we don't get our chores done or come in late for supper. Once he made me stay in my room all afternoon 'cause the television was too loud and woke him up. I didn't know it was too loud."

"What about Gran?"

"She just talked about how hard it was on account of her heart and all that junk. She said we gave her headaches."

"But she never spanked either of you?"

"No, she just talked and talked. It was worse. Can we go see Martin and Pa now?"

"In one second," I said, watching her closely. "Martin had some bruises on his behind, and he said he fell out of a tree in the yard. Did he tell you about it?"

"When he was chasing that gimpy squirrel? It sure is hot in the car, Miss Arly. It's making me dizzy and my stomach's feeling like it's full of lumpy oatmeal."

We went into the hospital and took the elevator to Martin's floor. He was watching cartoons, which suited Lissie, so I left her there and went to the basement floor and the intensive-care ward. Buzz had fewer wires and tubes attached, and he was breathing without visible assistance. The nurse grudgingly allowed me a few minutes with our patient, as long as I promised not to tire us out.

"Hi," I said softly.

His eyes fluttered open, and when he saw me, his mouth curled into a faint smile. "Howdy," he said in a hoarse voice.

"I brought Lissie to visit Martin. He's to be released tomorrow and I'll keep him with me until you can come home."

"Thanks." He coughed in a low wheeze, then gave me an apologetic look. "Sorry, but they had these damn tubes down my throat. They told me what happened to Lillith. Did you find the person who did it?"

"Not yet," I admitted. "I'm hoping you can help. The poison seems to have been in the coconut-covered cakes. I had half a dozen reports of tampering that day, although everyone else experienced only mild reactions."

"I bought the cakes on my way out of the store. I just picked 'em up off the rack."

"And there was nothing suspicious about the cellophane wrapper?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think to examine it. I was going to give them to the kids, but I forgot I had them in my pocket until later in the day. Lillith's got a sweet tooth, and we decided to have ourselves a little treat on the sly. I took it and a beer into the living room, opened a magazine, and the next thing I know some nurse is hovering over me and I've got enough needles in me to be a voodoo doll."