Joan Hess - Maggody And The Moonbeams

Robarts's expression darkened, but he managed to keep his temper under control. "There's a dirt road not too far past the convenience store that goes into the backside of Camp Pearly Gates. The Beamers are living in two cabins at the top of the hill. Last I was there, laundry was hanging on a line and there was a garden. They don't know you, though. More likely than not, they won't talk to you."

"Oh, I think they will," I said grimly.

Hammet didn't much enjoy the evening in the closet, clamping his nose to hold in sneezes and trying not to squawk when a bug took to crawling up his pants. Jim Bob had stomped around for a long while, making it clear that he was real unhappy that Sonya and Tonya had left him high and dry. Not that he'd been dry, of course. From the way he kept popping open beer cans, Hammet figured Hizzhonor'd worked through a couple of six packs.

Finally, he'd gone to bed and Hammet had dashed outside to piss off the edge of the porch afore he exploded like a water balloon. Afterward, he'd crept back inside, opened the refrigerator, and taken a carton of orange juice back to the closet. The coats had made a soft bed, and he'd slept pretty well, considering where he was and what he was doing. His foster ma'd been reading the Bible to him most days, and he couldn't remember anything that said, "Thou shalt not sleep in thine enemy's coat closet."

Hammet didn't have a clue what time it was when he awoke to hear banging in the kitchen. Jim Bob cussed a blue streak when he couldn't find the orange juice, and just as much when he couldn't figure out how to operate the coffeepot. Hammer thought briefly about his foster pa, who always made breakfast on Sunday. It was kinda hard to know just what guys was supposed to be able to do, besides work on transmissions, untangle fishing line, and mow the yard. He had a feeling Jim Bob couldn't do none of that, neither.

Once the back door slammed, he eased open the door and listened real hard. The sound of a truck going down the driveway convinced him that the house was his, at least for the time being. It could be that Jim Bob was jest going to the supermarket to pick up a box of powdered doughnuts and a cup of coffee, and that he'd be back in a matter of minutes. Or mebbe he'd gone to work and wouldn't be back for the rest of the day.

Hammet knew he was gonna hafta take some risks if he was to live in the closet for the week. He took the empty lasagna pan to the kitchen. Keeping an eye on the driveway, he crammed it into the back of a cabinet with other pans that looked sorta the same.

A nasty smell was following him like he'd brought home a baby skunk, and he finally decided he was the one stinkin' things up. When he was living up on the ridge, he hadn't ever noticed such things, but after having been forced to bathe on a regular basis, he'd forgotten what he used to smell like when his clothes were dirty and his hair was so sour it could have curdled milk.

He ate a couple of pieces of bread while he watched out the kitchen window. If Jim Bob was fixin' to come right back, he'd do it pretty damn quick. After fifteen minutes, Hammet decided, or at least hoped, that the house was safe for the rest of the day. He went upstairs and opened Jim Bob's closet. He took out a shirt but left the trousers, since there weren't no way he could keep them up. He found some underwear and socks in a drawer, then went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. If he got caught, then so be it. He'd put up a helluva fight, punch Jim Bob in the gut, and run down the stairs and out the back door, whooping all the way like a wild Injun. Weren't no way anyone could catch him once he got to the grass and headed for the trees.

He leaned forward to peer at his face in the mirror. Yep, that was definitely a whisker on his chin. Another week or two, and he'd have to shave it off.

Bonita was quiet as we drove toward the cabins. I wasn't sure if she was feeling self-satisfied for having gotten her way, or alarmed because she had.

"Sheriff Dorfer seems to think you've got a career ahead of you," I said, sounding like my mother. If I didn't watch myself, I'd be asking if she had a boyfriend and what his parents did for a living.

"I'm saving my money for law school. I'll have to borrow and beg, and I don't know how long it'll take me to pay it back. But you just watch for me, Chief Hanks-I'll be a senator from Arkansas one of these days. Maybe the first woman vice-president. Maybe the first woman president. If that doesn't happen, I'll be putting on a robe with the rest of the Supreme Court justices."

"Not gonna mess around, huh?"

"We all have to start somewhere."

I might have been a bit worried about her sanity if she hadn't been so matter-of-fact. She, at twenty-three or so, knew exactly where she intended to go with the rest of her life. I was destined to be the Tomato Mama of Maggody.

"This ought to be it," I said as I turned onto a dirt road.

"According to the directions."

Feeling rather idiotic, I forced a smile as we bumped down a muddy road. "Now when we get there-"

"You're in charge. I understand that."

My smile tightened. "I was going to say that both of us need to tread carefully. I'll conduct the official questioning, but you watch for anyone who might want to confide in you. Take off that hat, Bonita, and undo the top button on your shirt. Admire their garden. Ask to see the schoolroom. Do your best to talk to the children."

"What do you think's going on, Chief Hanks?"

"I wish I knew. We're going to have to pressure them for an ID so that her next-of-kin can be notified. If she brought children with her, then it's going to be a bureaucratic nightmare. The law dictates that they'll have to go with social services until proper custody can be established. I can't leave them with their 'aunties,' no matter how moonstruck they may be. I doubt I'm going to be the Beamer postergirl." I took a deep breath as I navigated down the road. "And call me Arly, okay? This is not a good time for formality."

I may have expected some small token of reciprocity, but she merely glanced at me and said, "Good idea. We don't want to come in like a couple of storm troopers."

The first cabin we came to was bleak, clearly uninhabited. The next two, however, had clotheslines as Corporal Robarts had predicted, along with picnic tables and well-tended gardens. Three children of indeterminate age spotted the station wagon and darted into the woods. A fourth, too young to do much of anything, eyed us as he sucked his finger, his discolored diaper threatening to slide off his hips.

"We're low-key," I said to Bonita.

"Oh, yeah," she said as I parked beside the cabin. "Maybe they'll think we're Avon ladies."

Bonita wasn't quite as cool when one of the women emerged from the cabin, her robe trailing in the mud. Shaved head, as I expected, along with a pasty white face and a serious lipstick addiction. It could have been Rachael, or the clone of the woman whose body we'd found the previous night. It could have been Mrs. Jim Bob, for that matter, had she been kidnapped and indoctrinated into the cult while I was at the PD in Dunkicker.

"Yes?" she said.

"I'm Arly," I said, flashing my badge, "and this is Bonita. We need to talk to you."

"And why would that be?"

"Because of what happened late yesterday afternoon," Bonita said before I could respond. "One of your group was found, and she was real dead."

"Anthony told us about Ruth," the woman replied levelly. "It was unfortunate."

"That she was found, or that she was dead?" I said. "We need some information about her. Are you Deborah?"

"Deborah is not here. I am Judith. There is very little I can tell you about that woman. Ruth arrived only a few weeks ago. She was assigned to assist at the hot-meal program at the church in Dunkicker in order to make her contribution, but she claimed to have migraines that kept her in bed almost every other day. While she complained incessantly, we fed her children, clothed them, and provided for them. I believe these days she'd be called a 'slacker.' This was not the right place for her. I doubt she would have been allowed to stay much longer. This is a religious community, not a shelter for the dysfunctional."