Joan Hess - Maggody And The Moonbeams

"You were only ten years old."

"But I knew what she was doin' was sinful. I just let her go because I was afraid of her. Now I'm afraid of her again. She's here for retribution on account of she knows that I should have saved her life that night."

"And the Lord told you all this?"

"That's right, and I got to get back to Maggody and take sanctuary in the Assembly Hall. Not even a ghost as vicious as Daisy would have the audacity to come in there."

I was still ten minutes from Dunkicker. "We need to talk about this some more," I said. "You can ride into town with me while I tell you what you really saw."

"I know what I saw, Arly. I don't reckon it'll hurt to let you get me to the highway, then we'll part ways."

As we bumped down the road, I told him about the body in the creek and the peculiar women and children living on the hillside above the lodge. "They must wear white robes unless they're working in town. What with their shaved heads and dark lipstick, they're pretty spooky, especially from a distance."

"If you think you can make up a preposterous tale to keep me from leaving-"

"I'm not making this up."

"The Lord told me I saw Daisy," he insisted, his lower lip protruding.

"The Lord did no such thing," I said. "Maybe you'd better come with me when we confront the members of the cult. You can see for yourself."

Snuffling ripened into blubbering. "If I was to come face-to-face with Daisy, I'd have a heart attack. That'd suit her just fine. She used to poke me with pins just to make me cry."

Great. I had one dead body, one menopausal mother, ten frightened teenagers, and now this pudgy baby who was likely to wipe his nose on my shirt if I didn't keep an eye on him.

At least he didn't leap out of the station wagon as I reached the highway and turned toward Dunkicker. By the time I pulled into the parking lot outside the municipal building, he'd subsided, although I remained leery.

"Pull yourself together," I said. "There's a member of your flock inside who's in dire need of guidance. Did you bring your Bible?"

"Someone needs my guidance?"

"Duluth Buchanon was arrested yesterday for public drunkenness. I have no idea what he's doing here. Maybe you can talk to him, being his spiritual leader and all."

Brother Verber brightened at the thought of sermonizing to a sinner, particularly one behind bars and unable to escape the pieties and scathing appraisals of his proximity to damnation. "Why, I think the Lord would approve of me trying to help this strayed member of the flock. Once I have won his confidence, I'm right sure he'll confide in me."

"Me, too," I said as we went into the brick building. Corporal Robarts was on the telephone, whining. Les and Bonita were drinking coffee and sharing a newspaper.

"You're late," Les said.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Have you heard anything from the lab?"

"Only that they'll send the fingerprints to the FBI. We'll be shooting off fireworks before we hear anything."

"What about the drunk?"

"He's stirring, but as ornery as a polecat. When Bonita here offered him coffee, he swore at her. I think he'll be pissing in a can and eating granola bars for the rest of the day."

Brother Verber licked his finger, and held it up as if to calculate which way the wind was blowing. "I sense there is a troubled soul in need of the comfort only a man of the cloth can bring. Prayer can bring him back on the path of righteousness. If you'll just show me to his cell…"

"Down the hallway," said Bonita, who had sharp eyes and short, wiry red hair. "He's all yours, honey."

He clasped his hands together. "'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.'"

"I can assure you all he wants is to get out, but you do your best." Bonita gave him a shove, then turned around and grinned at us. "Guess I didn't mention that the prisoner spent the night barfing all over himself and soiling his pants. It smells real nasty down there."

Corporal Robarts muttered an expletive, then stuck the receiver at me. "Sheriff Dorfer wants to talk to you."

"Lucky me." I took the receiver. "What, Harve? Got a hangover from the party?"

Harve growled. "Maybe I do, but it ain't as bad as the headache you're gonna get. Panknine's not bad, but he's out of the picture and this Robarts boy can't tie his shoes. You're in charge of the investigation."

"I most certainly am not."

"I am authorized by the county prosecutor to appoint anyone I damn well choose to run an investigation. Les is a good man, but he ain't the next General Patton. Bonita's a bright girl, and once she gets some experience, she'll be coming after my job. If it weren't for my back acting up, I'd do it myself."

I swiped the discarded newspaper sections off the desk and rested my fanny on it. "Has your back ever acted up just before a fishing trip, Harve? Has it ever prevented you from playing poker in the back room at city hall or kept you from putting a case of whiskey in the trunk of your car?"

"Now, Arly," he said in that patronizing tone that always infuriates me, "you know how I hate to stick you with this, but it's not all that complicated. You get a bunch of women living in the woods, one of them's liable to go crazy and turn on another one. You ask 'em a few questions, pull out the tissues when they start crying, and before you know it, you'll have a confession. Les and Bonita will transport her here and do the paperwork, and you can go right back to whatever the hell you're doing down there."

"I'm not supposed to be doing anything beyond being a chaperon, Harve."

"So go collect this murderer, then have yourself a nice afternoon at the lake. Be sure to wear a hat and use plenty of sunblock."

He hung up before I could respond. I replaced the receiver, then looked at Corporal Robarts, who was fuming, and at Les and Bonita, who could not have cared less what Harve said, what the deputy thought, or how Brother Verber was faring down the hall.

"Guess I'm in charge," I said.

Corporal Robarts pulled off his hat and slammed it down. "You said last night that this was my jurisdiction!"

"And you said you'd had your badge for all of one month. Have you ever investigated anything?"

"Milton Higgleton called the other day and said he was hearing voices in his attic. I investigated that. Chief Panknine said I did real fine."

"International drug smugglers or squirrels?"

He looked away. "Squirrels."

"This may be more complicated," I said tactfully. "You, Les, and I are going to question the Daughters of the Moon. Bonita, you lucky girl, you get to stay here and wait until Duluth gets desperate enough to escape Brother Verber's counsel that he'll tell you why he came here."

"That's not fair," she shot back. "Sheriff Dorfer sent me down to investigate a murder, not baby-sit some pathetic drunk. I need it for my resume."

So she could get on with her life, while I grew zucchini and whittled balsa wood ducks that ultimately resembled toothpicks.

"I sympathize," I said, "but at this point he may be a suspect. He has no legitimate reason to be here. Once we rescue him from Brother Verber's suffocating holier-than-thou sentiments, maybe he'll talk to you. I'll make sure you receive credit in the report."

Bonita was not buying it. "Who do you think these women are more likely to open up to-you and me or Les and Corporal Robarts? They didn't take up this lifestyle because they're all that fond of men. Think about it, Chief Hanks," she concluded with the very faintest prick of sarcasm.

I could almost see her sitting on the bench, staring down lawyers with three-piece suits and paternalistic smirks. "Can we find this place without you?" I asked Corporal Robarts. "Please bear in mind that if you say we can't, and it turns out to be fairly simple, then Sheriff Dorfer will hear all about it. It isn't nice to lie to the head of the investigating team, you know."