Joan Hess - Maggody And The Moonbeams

"So why did you bring this up?" I asked Larry Joe.

"It shouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to go there from the cabin and get back. I told him to hustle."

"Did he have an explanation?"

"No, and he was real twitchy, like he'd gone through a patch of chiggers. I was trying to pin him down when it started raining and we skedaddled to the lodge. The girls were shrieking about their hair getting ruined and screaming ever' time thunder boomed. It was all I could do to keep them moving. I guess I forgot about Jarvis."

"But he might have known Norella?"

"She was teaching their Sunday school class until Mrs. Jim Bob found out that the topics most weeks were the same Old Testament stories I used to read under my covers with a flashlight. It drove my ma crazy, since I was reading the Bible like she wanted me to do. Once Mrs. Jim Bob caught wind of it, Norella was demoted to the nursery and drummed out of the Missionary Society. Not too long after that, her and Duluth got divorced. Neither of them's been back to church since then."

"Jarvis most likely detoured to smoke a joint," I said. "I want all the tools and softball equipment locked in the back of the bus." I expanded on the scenario for the rest of the afternoon, then added, "Unless we find whoever did this, I'm afraid everybody's going to have to sleep at the lodge again tonight."

"On a concrete floor," he said glumly.

"Mrs. Jim Bob thinks we ought to pack up and go back to Maggody, but I don't think it's that critical yet. If I haven't gotten anywhere by tomorrow afternoon, I suppose we can call it quits and go home. I wouldn't want you to have to take out a second mortgage to pay a chiropractor."

Larry Joe looked at the bleachers, which were progressing. "We take on the job, we finish it. That's my first rule in shop class. Well, the second one, anyway. The first has to do with not thinking you can get away with stealing tools. The shitheels managed to make off with a tablesaw last year. You know how much those things weigh?"

"Gee, not offhand," I said. "Just make sure that every one of the girls is within your eyesight, and that the boys don't go off unless they go together. They don't have to hold hands, but I don't want any of them on his own, not even to go behind a bush to pee."

"So Duluth killed Norella? What was she doing here, dressed in a robe with her head shaved?"

I stiffened. "Did you recognize her?"

"Hell, no. I wouldn't have recognized Joyce if she looked like that. 'Course it was getting dark, but even so."

"We're still trying to get an ID. In the meantime, the kids won't object to an afternoon of sunbathing on the dock and swimming in the lake. I'm trusting you to keep them safe."

I left before he could ask more questions. I hurried by the lodge, ducking behind the bus and station wagon in hopes I wouldn't be spotted, and went on down the road. I stopped at the cabin and allowed myself a moment to regroup, then continued to the place where I'd fought through the brush to Jacko's campsite. Okay, brush is brush, but this time I heard an NPR pundit expounding on the latest setback in civilization.

He was seated on an aluminum folding chair, eating stew out of a can and regarding the fishing boats on the lake. His plaid shirt was of different hues, but his khakis and canvas hat were familiar.

"I was wondering when you'd come back," he said.

I caught my breath. "And why would you be doing that?"

"I thought you might have some questions."

I realized that I most certainly did.

Jacko held up a spoon. "Want some? The carrots are mushy and the beef's chewy, so it balances out: mush, chew, chew; mush, chew, chew. Sounds like a ballroom dance, doesn't it?"

"I don't think so," I said, staying where I was. "Not much of a fisherman, are you?"

"It's not much of a lake."

"Then why are you here?"

He grinned. "Just taking a break. I can listen to my music, dress up like the coverboy for Field and Stream , and fall asleep listening to the crickets and owls. No cellphone, laptop, or late-night television. This trip I've been rereading Henry James. You like him?"

"A break from what?" I asked. "Prison?"

"You overestimate me." He put down the can of stew but remained seated, which was for the best, since I didn't want to be obliged to whack him with the stick I had my eye on. "Merely an office job riddled with tedium and tacit despair. Several times a year I make a point of getting away."

"And where would this office be?"

"In a galaxy far, far away, at least for this week."

"I can run your license plate," I said, "and I will if you don't answer my questions. What are you really doing here?"

"Ah, yes, I heard you're a cop. You don't exactly dress like one, do you?"

"Heard from whom-the crickets and the owls?"

"And how well-educated you are, considering your profession. You recognized Vivaldi and had the sense to turn up your nose when I mentioned Henry James. Do you write poetry when you're not running a speed trap?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't rhyme. Why are you here?"

"Why are you worried about me?"

"Well, you're no fisherman, obviously. Even those clowns out on the lake are pulling up crappies. The best you seem to have caught is Dinty Moore."

"And that's a crime?"

"As I said, I'll run your plate. There was a homicide yesterday afternoon. It seems to have happened about the time you were taking a stroll, unaware of the thunderstorm. If I'd been you, I might have stayed by my tent."

He appraised me for a moment. "What if I said I'd hiked into Dunkicker for a hot meal at the café and been caught on the way back?"

"I'd say you were lying."

"Okay, so I'm not here to fish. That doesn't mean I killed anyone."

"Why are you here?" I repeated. "Is there something about the swarms of gnats and mosquitoes that appeals to you? Cold stew, poison ivy, the occasional cottonmouth dangling in the branches above your head? Aren't you too old to be working on a merit badge?"

"I'm, well-I guess you could say I'm along the lines of a private investigator."

I'd suspected as much, but I still wasn't sure how to respond. "So you're keeping tabs on the Beamers?"

"I was hired to look into things."

"By whom?"

"You know I won't tell you," he said with a wink meant to distract me, which it did, but only momentarily. "Privileged and all that shit. I'm just making sure the children are healthy for the time being. My employers will make the next call."

"No, I will. A woman was murdered yesterday, and you just happened to be walking down the road in a downpour. You must have seen the clouds gathering. Why on earth did you opt to walk to Dunkicker?"

"Exercise?"

"No, Jacko, or whatever your name is," I said. "We're grateful that you were there to bring Darla Jean to the lodge. No one's arguing with that. But if that's all you have to say, I'll have no choice but to have you taken into custody until you can produce a better explanation than a sudden urge to appreciate nature at its worst. The food in the Dunkicker jail is likely to be better than canned stew. The view, on the other hand, is not so picturesque."

"You've talked to these women, right? They brought their children and started preparing themselves for what they call the Rapture. The family that hired me is worried. They suspect their daughter might…"

"Harm the children?"

"Yeah," he said. "Can you blame them? Jonestown wasn't that long ago; it may have been an anomaly, or it could happen again."

"Which woman have you come to find?"

Jacko shook his head. "I have no information concerning the homicide yesterday. I walked to the gate, then realized the storm was moving in and headed back. I found the girl under a scrub oak and carried her to the lodge. That's pretty much all I have to say. Run my plate if it entertains you; you'll discover that I live in Springfield, Missouri, and have no outstanding warrants for felonies, misdemeanors, jaywalking, or overdue library books. I may be a lousy fisherman, but I am an upstanding citizen. I'd show you my plaque from the Jaycees if I hadn't left it at home."