Joan Hess - Maggody And The Moonbeams

"You are very annoying," I said.

"Any chance you'd like to crawl into my tent and let me really annoy you?"

"No, I would not," I said forcefully, if mendaciously. "Don't leave the area without telling me or Corporal Robarts."

"I'll be here for a few more days." He picked up the can of stew. "Sure I can't offer you lunch?"

I went back to the road and found his car. The license plate had been removed. The doors and trunk were locked, naturally. I contemplated letting the air out of his tires just to prove which of us could be more annoying, then virtuously headed for the lodge.

Raz gazed sorrowfully at Marjorie. "I reckon you would have preferred a mule, but it was a real nice goat. Not pedigreed like you, a'course, but with fine flanks and big brown eyes. You and her could have got along jest fine, even been friends."

Marjorie looked away.

"Uncle Tilbert raised goats till his lactose intolerance got the best of him. He always said they wasn't the smartest animals, but they could find their way home come suppertime, which was more than his young'uns could do. I can't hardly keep from cacklin' when I recollect how his eldest boy upped and married that bearded lady named-"

Marjorie sniffled.

Raz realized he wasn't makin' no progress with goats. "Thing is, I can't just up and go over to Perkins's place, unless I want a load of buckshot in my backside. Even if I was to temporarily borrow Perkins's mule, it'd have to stay in the barn till things quieted down. What kind of companionship are you gonna git with a mule down in the barn? It ain't even air-conditioned."

It was clear from Marjorie's expression that she hadn't considered that.

"If you was to spend your time in the barn," he persisted, "you'd miss your favorite shows on the satellite channels. I'd say offhand that it's a matter of time afore Gilligan drags Ginger behind a coconut tree. What's more, any fool can see that Ozzie and Harriet are headin' for divorce court, with judge Judy presiding." He paused, then went in for the kill. "But if you're down in the barn, as opposed to watching reruns and pay-for-view, then so be it. Don't think I'm going to bring down bags of microwave popcorn, 'cause I ain't. I'll be sittin' right here watchin' Xena's boobs bobble."

Marjorie's eyes watered and her snout began to drip on the new tangerine area rug.

Raz figgered he needed to reconsider his options. Arly was out of town, which was good. Perkins, on the other hand, had been mouthin' off at the barber shop about what all he might do iff'n anybody set foot on his place. It occurred to Raz that a quart of 'shine might help.

All was idyllic at the lodge. The kids were sitting on the lawn, the girls still involved with magazines, the boys with poking each other and making what I was sure were crude remarks. They were doing so quietly, however, since Mrs. Jim Bob was on the porch in a wicker throne, staring at them as though she would, if a profanity was spoken aloud, order Larry Joe to pull out the tools and start constructing a guillotine. She professed to being a devout Christian, but I'd always felt she preferred the Old Testament approach when faced with transgressions of both major and minor magnitude.

"Where's Larry Joe?" I asked.

"Calling his wife," said Amy Dee. "That is like so sweet. If I ever get married, I'd want my husband to call me every day."

Big Mac snickered. "I hear they have rules about how often you can make phone calls from the state pen."

Heather arched her eyebrows. "And you should know, considering how many of your kinfolk are there. I hear tell they have a whole wing set aside for Buchanons."

"Excuse me," came a voice from the porch.

"Not your side of the clan," Heather said hastily. "All I meant, you know, was like how maybe-"

"That will do," said Mrs. Jim Bob. "In case all of you have forgotten, this is the Sabbath. Put away your trashy magazines and gather on the porch steps. We will have a reading from the First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians, in which he expounds on the evils of sectarianism. There is enlightenment to be gleaned."

"Good work, Heather," Jarvis muttered as he rose.

I grabbed him. "I'll bring him back in a few minutes," I said to Mrs. Jim Bob, then dragged him behind the bus, ignoring the alarmed stares of the other kids.

Once we were out of sight, I said, "I need to ask you a few questions."

"About what? Cookies missing from the pantry?"

"Why? Did you steal some?"

Jarvis gave me a sly look. "Wanna frisk me?"

In that he was wearing a threadbare T-shirt and tight shorts, I was fairly certain he had not concealed much more than a cloverleaf on his person.

"Larry Joe said you went back to the softball field yesterday afternoon," I said.

"Yeah, I did. My ma gave me a wallet for my birthday last month. I thought I'd left it up there, but I was wrong. I must have left it at home."

"But you were up there for half an hour."

"Look, I didn't want to come here in the first place," he said. "It was my ma's idea. She ain't doing all that well these days, so I said I'd do it just to keep her happy. By the afternoon, I was getting real tired of all the whining and complaining. These girls carry on like they're in middle school. Big Mac, Parwell, and Billy Dick don't stop bragging about… well, you know. It's not my thing. I went to the softball field, sat in the dugout for a few minutes, and then went back to the cabin."

"You didn't hear anything?"

"Like what?"

"A loud conversation?" I suggested. "A scream?"

"Or someone getting whacked with a softball bat?"

I debated whether or not to tell him that it was possible that Norella Buchanon had been the victim of the brutality. Later, I decided, when we had some sort of confirmation.

"Okay," I said, "we can let this go for the moment. I'm not satisfied with your story, but I'm willing to concede that it makes sense. Don't go off by yourself anymore."

Jarvis returned to the lawn. It was possible that I was not endearing myself to the teenagers, but I wasn't sure that I'd ever had a snowball's chance of winning their confidence. I was, after all, not only a member of the adversarial generation, but also a cop. In this case, two strikes and I was out.

I waved at Mrs. Jim Bob, then drove away before she could dethrone herself. As I reached the highway, I saw what I supposed was Crank Nickle's farm at the intersection. The fences were in disrepair and the barn appeared to be standing by only spit and a prayer. The house was a tribute to tattered tar paper. Mangy hounds sprawled on the porch barely opened their eyes as I drove by.

I hoped they had enjoyed the previous night's activity, although I suspected it would have taken a presidential motorcade and a slew of Secret Service agents to rouse them.

Ruth, when she'd been forced to get out of bed, had worked with Sarah at the church. I decided to stop there, then go by the café and speak to Rachael before I tackled Judith again.

The Baptist church was situated between a body shop and a seedy building with a portable sign that advertised a flea market every other weekend. A few members of the congregation were still conversing out front, but no one openly gawked as I pulled around to the back.

Several pickup trucks with oversize tires were parked near a door. I parked well away from them and went inside, where I found myself in a kitchen. Three hulking boys, neckless and most likely witless, were loading Styrofoam containers onto cookie sheets under the instructions of a Beamer with a noticeably sharp tongue. Same shaved head, lack of eyebrows, and ghoulish lipstick, of course, but in this case dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt beneath an apron. She was shorter than Judith and broader than Rachael, but those were the only differences I could detect.