Joan Hess - Maggody In Manhattan

Durmond tapped his chest. "The department approached the senior Mr. Simmons, after which he agreed to put my name down as a contestant in exchange for immunity. He then felt the need for a long vacation, as did Geri's boss. Sure, they both know who owns Interspace Investments, but coupled with fear was a significant amount of greed. They're also keenly aware of the wisdom of distancing themselves from anything that might lead to indictments."

"So they threw a couple of kids into the pit to save their hides? That's not exactly sporting." I resumed my flight pattern, although I did keep an eye on the carry-on bag. "Rick's a kid, too, which is why Cambria rushed here from Florida after the incident in the stairwell and agreed to take the role of doorman. Neither of them wanted an outside security man to monitor the arrivals."

"You're not bad at this business," he said (and high time). "But we don't have any proof that the Krazy KoKo-Nut cartons contained cocaine, and you've produced a very good reason why Rick and Cambria didn't shoot Jerome. Then, of course, we still have a problem with the murder at the Xanadu and the subsequent disappearance of the recently bereaved widow."

"I can't handle every last detail," I said gracelessly. "After all, it's what you get paid for, isn't it? I'm just a hick from Arkansas. You're the big-time fed. You can have a long talk with Lieutenant Henbit about this while I pack my bags, gather up the overgrown girl detectives, and find out about the next flight out of this absurd city. I didn't want to come in the first place, and I don't want to hang around a hotel owned by mobsters." I snatched up the carry-on bag and opened it with enough vigor to rip the teeth out of the zipper. It was merely a gesture, in that none of us would be allowed out the hotel door, but as gestures go, it had a certain style.

"Well, then," he said, moving his hands aimlessly as if he were a confused conductor, "I suppose I'll call Henbit from my room. He already knows who I am and why I'm here, naturally, but he might have further information that Sonny and I can use. I'll…talk to you later, if you're in the mood."

I jerked open the door and stood there until he was in his room. I didn't exactly slam it, but I may have failed to ease it closed. Why was I in this snit? Because I was sick and tired of people not being who they claimed to be, from the professor who was a fed to the plumber who dealt drugs to the ex-husband who was a philandering son of a bitch whose concept of morality rose and fell with his prick (inversely, that is).

Flopping onto the bed and bursting into tears appealed enormously, but I resolutely clenched my teeth, jammed my fists in my pockets, and stared blindly out the window until I was cooled off enough to think.

Another bugaboo bit the dust. I reopened my adjoining door, confronting his, and loudly said, "And you weren't mugged between the first and second floors, either! You were on your way to the third floor when-"

The door opened. Durmond had removed his shirt, and the sight of the vivid red scar and heavy bruising around it took the wind right out of my sails, so to speak. It was a damn good thing I wasn't vying for the America's Cup.

In a much calmer voice, I continued the sentence. "When you were shot, not by some punk but by one of the dealers-or even by Rick. They had the same problem as they did in the kitchen. in order to draw attention away from that part of the hotel, they moved you into one of the rooms and stripped you to add to the muddle. Rick must have called the police and been pleasantly surprised when Ruby Bee returned in time to take a wild shot through the door. I wonder what he thought when you came up with your story?"

"That I was confused, I suppose." He flushed as he realized I was staring at his seminude torso. "Ah, let me grab a shirt and we can…Would you like another drink, Arly? I'm out of canapés, but…"

It was obvious he was still confused, but he didn't deserve to be in any better mental shape than I was. We regarded each other with varying levels of bemusement, neither of us quite sure what to do next. We finally figured it out and tacitly decided to do it in his room. And did it damn well, too.

Once again, Brother Verber was staggering up the hillside, panting like a Lamaze student, sneezing every now and then, sweating copiously, and praying with impressive sincerity that the moonshine still would pop up from behind a rock any minute. The major differences were that he was obliged to limp and that the storm was squarely overhead and making it clear it was gonna get down to business real soon.

"Around these rocks?" Mrs. Jim Bob said, trudging behind him. "Are you sure it's there, or are you still addled from your fall? We have been up here and down there and over this and behind that to the point I couldn't find the car if you paid me. I'd like to think you would have known if Raz was lying to you, you being trained in that sort of thing, but I'll admit I'm beginning to wonder, Brother Verber."

"We have to keep the faith, Sister Barbara. That's the only way to tell the saints from the sinners, and we both know which side of the bed we get up on, don't we?" He wished he could wipe the sweat out of his eyes, but there wasn't any way to juggle the boxes and get to his handkerchief. A raindrop bounced off his balding head, adding to the ambience of impending doom. "It sure does look like rain. Maybe we ought to think about putting off this Christian mission until we have a nice, sunny day?"

"We are not putting this off for anything," she said firmly, although she was equally dismayed by the growls from the sky and the occasional raindrop. "You're the one who said it wasn't all that far, if I recollect, and you're the one who's going to lead us to the still and light the fire. If you ask me, you'd better save your breath for the climb."

The two differences have already been mentioned. Now two things were about to happen, neither expected and neither to be savored in the manner of a glass of iced tea on a hot afternoon. The first happened right off. Just as Brother Verber was finding the courage to admit he was confused (if not as lost as a flea on a sheepdog), he saw the still in a clearing.

"Oh my gawd," he said, blinking in disbelief. "I mean to say, praise the Lord. Sister Barbara, we have reached our goal. Let us fall to our knees and offer thanks for the success of our mission to rid the community of moonshine and perfidy."

"It's about time. We've been wandering in circles for more than three hours."

Brother Verber was too amazed with his luck to insist on an impromptu prayer meeting in the woods. He would have patted himself on the back, had it been possible, but had to settle for a smug chuckle and the knowledge that he had been guided by the Lord on account of the undeniable purity of his soul. He put down the packages and studied the still, a real artistic arrangement of copper coils, a big ol' vat, some gallon jugs, and a goodly collection of mason jars in wooden crates. The remains of a fire, nothing more than some charred wood and feathery white ashes, were visible below the vat.

Something twitched from underneath. He was curious enough to squat down and poke the shadow with a stick. "Something's under here," he said. "One of the Lord's little critters needs to be on its way afore we commence our mission."

"What is it?" she said, joining him. Destroying the still and burning up unspeakable lingerie was one thing-two, actually-but she didn't want any roasted groundhogs on her conscience.

This led almost immediately to the second unexpected thing. The Mephitis mephitis (also called polecat, zorrino, and, by the less couth, wood pussy) was frightened by the jabs to its hindquarters. Instinct took over and it backed out from its haven, lifted its tail, and spewed out a message that had stopped many a predator ten times its size. Having succeeded, it stalked indignantly into the brush to hunt up some tasty grubs for supper.