Joan Hess - Maggody And The Moonbeams

"I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"I'm not, either. The cell door's open."

"And on your watch. Imagine that." I stomped down the short hallway, ascertained that Duluth was not cowering under a bunk, and returned to the front room. "So when did this happen?"

"He was here when you and Brother Verber arrived at about nine o'clock. I asked him if he wanted coffee and he spat at me, so I figured he could make do with the pisspot in the corner and the sink if he wanted water. After you and Bonita left to question the Beamers, Les, Brother Verber, and me went over to the café for breakfast. We weren't back five minutes when you got here. I didn't think to check before you and me took Bonita to Doc Schmidt's office. The key to the cell door's on a hook on the opposite wall. Maybe Brother Verber unlocked the cell door so's to pray with the prisoner, then failed to make sure it was locked when he came back out."

"So Duluth could have hightailed it as much as two hours ago? A possible suspect in a brutal murder, who may be hiding in the woods at Camp Pearly Gates, where ten teenagers and a scattering of adults are getting ready for Sunday dinner and planning to spend the afternoon at the softball field or fishing off the dock? Is this who we're talking about?"

"It wasn't my fault," he said in a surly voice.

"Then whose fault was it?"

"Like I said, Brother Verber most likely didn't lock the cell door."

"Did you lock the door of the PD?"

"We was just going across the road for breakfast. Chief Panknine never locks the door, even at night. The only time anyone's ever come in after hours was when Miz Neblett brought in her son and locked him in the cell after she caught him smoking dope. Chief Panknine gave him what for the next morning, and the boy upped and joined the army that very afternoon. Ain't never been back, far as I heard."

"All right," I said with great restraint, "here's what is going to happen. I'll call Sheriff Dorfer and ask him to put out an APB for Duluth, who may be in the area-or heading for Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, Louisiana, or British Columbia, where he'll stow away on a freighter for Hong Kong."

"Hong Kong?" he echoed. "Isn't that where they make those karate movies?"

"Don't worry about it. We won't get a posse on horseback or bloodhounds, but the state troopers will be looking for him. Then I need to go back to the campgrounds and make sure the group from Maggody is taking precautions. All you're going to do is sit down, shut up, and take telephone messages. Got it?"

"What about the Beamers and their kids? If he knows karate-"

"Shit," I said as I tried to think. Bonita was snoring in the Woantell Motel, out of commission for at least a couple of hours. Les would not return with Brother Verber any time soon. "All right, I can deal with the group from Maggody and be back here in an hour. You go on down to the Beamer compound, tell them what's going on, keep everybody from straying too far, and sit on a picnic table until Les or I show up. If you see Duluth, shoot him in the leg."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, Corporal Robarts, on the off-chance he does know karate. He may have killed a woman. The Beamers will not appreciate your presence, but we need to do what we can to ensure their safety."

"So I'm just supposed to sit on a picnic table while everybody else searches for this killer."

"That's right-park your butt and keep your eyes open." I waited until he stalked out of the PD, then reluctantly called Harve at home. Odds were good he'd already gone fishing, but it turned out he hadn't yet assembled his gear, which consisted primarily of a cooler and a picnic basket. Sunscreen was mandatory; bait was optional. After I'd finished telling him what had happened, I let him sputter for a moment, then added, "Thing is, we don't even know if the body is that of Norella Buchanon. Duluth may have just sobered up and decided to go home, presuming he had a vehicle parked somewhere. Why he showed up here is a bit of a mystery, though."

"Could he have been looking for you or Ruby Bee?"

This hadn't occurred to me. "I suppose so. He was in charge of all the repairs to Ruby Bee's kitchen. Everybody in Maggody knew where we were going."

"So he drove down to show you paint samples, drank too much on the way, and ended up in a ditch on account of the thunder and lightning. Some folks are fearful of things, no matter how tough they pretend to be. I seem to recollect you let out a screech when a field mouse ran across your foot while we was pulling that body out of the reservoir last fall."

"It was a rat," I said stiffly. "You're saying Duluth came all this way to show us paint samples?"

"Or something along those lines. I'm not claiming he's an interior decorator. Like I said, I'll put out the APB, but you got no call to assume he's hiding in the woods with a softball bat."

"Somebody was," I pointed out.

Harve paused to light a cigar. "I can't argue with that. You need help? I'm not sure I can scare up anybody today, it being the weekend, but I can send somebody tomorrow."

Tomorrow was another day, I thought wearily. "I'll call you tonight and let you know. We should have an ID on the body; if it's not Norella, then… I don't know what to do. Maybe I can get some information from these damn Beamers."

"I hear the bass crooning my name," he said, then abruptly hung up, as if I'd been trying to sell him storm windows or his-and-her cemetery plots.

I checked the cell one last time to make sure Duluth wasn't hanging on to the light fixture, then drove back to Camp Pearly Gates. What I had to say would be tricky; I didn't want to alarm them, but I needed to make sure they were reasonably careful until the situation was resolved. And to explain the whereabouts of Brother Verber, which would require more tact than I felt capable of on a few hours of sleep and one forkful of pancakes.

I parked and went inside the lodge. Mrs. Jim Bob sat at one of the tables in the dining room, muttering to herself. Her lipstick had been applied by an unsteady hand, and her hair was unkempt, as though she hadn't bothered to run a comb through it. I would have told her she looked like hell, but I had a feeling my comment would not sit well. I went into the kitchen. Ruby Bee was finishing up the breakfast dishes while Estelle put away food in the oversize refrigerator. The aroma of pot roast and garlicky potatoes perfumed the air, sweeter than wisteria blossoms. I reminded myself that I was going to have to tuck away something unless I wanted my blood sugar and insulin levels to engage in a high-spirited game of Ping Pong.

"Everybody okay?" I asked brightly.

Ruby Bee slammed down the dish towel. "Just where have you been? All you seem to do is come and go, Miss Revolving Door. Don't you think, as your mother, that I'm entitled to an explanation?"

"What's more," said Estelle, "you seem to think you can take my car whenever you want. Did it ever occur to you that I might have preferred to use it to drive Darla Jean to get her ankle seen to? I felt like a dang fool when we drove up in that awful excuse for a bus. Two nurses coming off duty asked me if I cleaned carpets."

"Do you?"

"You're about as funny as a flat tire."

I backed off. "So how's Darla Jean?"

"Nice of you to ask. Her ankle's sprained, and we're supposed to keep ice on it the rest of the day. I'm gonna be so worn out from going up and down those stairs that I won't have the strength to reel in a fish, presuming I get more than a nibble. Which I most likely won't, but that's beside the point."

"Do either of you know Norella Buchanon?" I asked.

Ruby Bee sat down at the kitchen table. "Is that who got herself killed?"

Estelle joined her. "That'd be Duluth's wife, right? I bleached her hair once or twice, but she was trash and we didn't much talk. She had a real mouth on her, though. She carried on so much about how she was forever being snubbed at the supermarket that I finally took to telling her I was booked up."