Joan Hess - Maggody And The Moonbeams

"There's a prisoner in the back room, and I need to feed him," I added.

"Then I'll have Colleen bring him his dinner. Come along, we don't want the biscuits to get cold."

My salivary glands kicked in like automatic sprinklers. I drove behind her to a three-story house of Victorian vintage set in the middle of a neglected pasture. Apparently the budget had gone for the structure and furnishings, with nothing left over for such petty concerns as landscaping. No one over the ensuing decades had seen fit to mitigate the starkness with so much as a shrub or clump of begonias. There were no other houses, or even mailboxes, along the road. The trees at the far side of the pasture seemed to be keeping their distance.

"Colleen is such a jewel," Mrs. Robarts said as she took me into a foyer paneled with mahogany parquet. She took off her hat and put it on a table with spindly legs. "I don't know how Anthony and I could get along without her."

I was more concerned with her culinary expertise. "What a lovely house," I said, my nose twitching like an intruder in Mr. McGregor's garden. I'd never read a Sherlock Holmes story in which he'd missed a meal, and Nero Wolfe had dined without fail on snail, quail, and other gourmet extravagances. Even Miss Marple had been served tea and scones on a regular basis. I had not had a decent meal since the fire at Ruby Bee's Bar & Grill, after which I'd been forced to survive on burritos from the Dairee Dee-Lishus and peanut butter sandwiches. And canned soup, of course; it's one of my basic food groups.

"This was my grandfather's study," Mrs. Robarts said, opening a door so that I could, had I been in the mood, have gaped in admiration at musty drapes, a globe that included India as part of the British Empire, and splintery spines of leatherbound books that had not been opened in fifty years. She gave me a moment, then went on. "My grandmother had a small library on the third floor where she dedicated her time to genealogy. As I may have told you, the family-"

"And this is the dining room?" I said as I moved down the hall.

"Why, yes, please go seat yourself. I need to freshen up, then I'll let Colleen know that we're here. Anthony and I often have guests for Sunday dinner, but I gather he's occupied elsewhere for the moment. Would you prefer your iced tea sweetened?"

"Unsweetened, if it's not a bother." I sat down at one end of a massive walnut table that could have easily accommodated sixteen, a few of whom might have been dukes and duchesses (of Hazard, anyway). The arrangement of dusty silk flowers in the middle of the table and a chandelier dripping with cobwebs suggested that Colleen's duties were limited to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Robarts returned and sat down at the opposite end of the table. "Colleen will be serving shortly."

"This is very kind of you."

"I was concerned about your health when I first laid eyes on you. So many young women these days sacrifice their health in order to emulate models in fashion magazines. When Anthony marries, I want him to choose a solid, well-nourished wife who can bear children. Someone with the spirit of the pioneer women who settled the West, yet with the grace to move into proper society and uphold her position."

I tried desperately to keep my eyes from reflecting anything ranging from panic to petrification. "I hope you're not thinking that…"

"I've always felt he might do better with an older woman. The dear boy does his best, but he needs a firm hand to guide him. Last fall he fell prey to the advances of a teenaged trollop from a trailer park in Bugscuffle. I still cringe when I think of the diseases she might have exposed him to."

She might have been preparing to list them when a sullen young woman brought in a platter of fried chicken. Moments later, bowls of mashed potatoes, creamed peas, and gravy were banged on the table.

"Colleen," Mrs. Robarts warbled, "the proper way to serve is to offer each dish to our guest, and then to me. I thought I made this clear after Preacher Skinbalder graced us with his presence last Sunday after church."

Colleen looked like someone who wore a lot of makeup when she wasn't working. A whole lot of makeup, and not much else. I did not want to imagine what private body parts she'd had pierced. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but might well have exploded like a frizzy fright wig without the restraint of a rubber band.

"Soon as I get the biscuits," she muttered.

Mrs. Robarts smiled at me. "I'm still training her. It's so hard to get good help these days. My grandmother used to oversee a full staff, most of whom were indebted for her instruction. Many of them went on to find suitable employment in private homes and hotels in Little Rock and Hot Springs. The Robarts family was well-known for sending along the right sort."

I would have made rude remarks had the chicken not been so irresistible. I loaded up my plate, gratefully accepted a hot biscuit when Colleen returned from the kitchen, slathered it with butter and honey, and chowed down.

"You must be concerned about Anthony," she said.

I froze, a forkful of peas halfway to my mouth. "Why should I be concerned about Anthony?"

"Didn't you send him to the Daughters of the Moon campsite, knowing there might be a vicious killer out there?"

"You've talked to him, then?"

"He called me on his way, since he knew I was expecting him for dinner. He's very considerate about things like that. I find that rather endearing, don't you?"

"Oh, yes." I resumed eating. "But I don't believe he's in any danger. Our prime suspect, who's also our only suspect, is locked in the cell."

"He's the one who killed poor Ruth?"

I put down my fork and took a swallow of tea. "It's hard to know until we have a positive identification of the victim. If she's who I think she is, then this man was her ex-husband. They weren't getting along."

"How would he have learned that she was here? The Daughters of the Moon are very closed-mouthed."

"So I've discovered," I said dryly. "The woman you knew as Ruth called her mother and said she was staying at an old church camp. The suspect had heard locals talking about the teenagers coming to Camp Pearly Gates, so he simply followed the bus. He arrived in Dunkicker when we did, which was about ten o'clock yesterday morning. The body was found at four. His story is that he parked his truck behind Crank Nickle's barn and proceeded to get drunk. I'm not sure what time Corporal Robarts-"

"Call him Anthony," she said with a coy smile, "and please call me Willetta. I'd always dreamed of having a daughter, but now all I can hope for is a daughter-in-law with whom I can share a warm relationship. I do pray that before I die, I will have grandchildren romping at my knees."

I took another swallow of tea, wishing it were something more potent. "As I was saying, I'm not sure what time the suspect was taken into custody, but it was after the storm came in. He had the better part of five hours to go to the grounds, lurk in the woods near the Beamers' cabins, and follow his ex-wife when she went for a walk." I paused as Colleen came out of the kitchen and put a piece of rhubarb pie in front of me. "You seem to have some idea about the Beamers. The ones I've spoken to are indeed closed-mouthed."

"But Ruth called her mother, you said. What precisely did she tell her?"

"Just where she was staying and that she'd be leaving in a few days. What I'd like to know is how she and the others came here in the first place. It's hard to see them reading ads in newspapers."

Willetta, as I'd been instructed to call her, took a small bite of pie and pushed her plate away. "Did Ruth not give her mother any hints?"

"Not from what I was told. What I'd really like to do is talk to the Beamer called Deborah. You negotiated free lodgings and utilities in exchange for community service. Was this with Deborah?"