Joan Hess - Maggody And The Moonbeams

I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand. "And what about you, Naomi? Is your memory any better now that you know we'll have your name and address in an hour?"

"Not just yet," she said, visibly disturbed. "Maybe I ought to go back to be with the children. The little ones aren't comfortable with strangers. They've been around Anthony every now and then, but this Mrs. Coldwater is likely to have them all poopin' in their pants."

"So, are you the Beamer from Springfield, or the one with the fondness for bingo?"

She made it to her feet, took a step, and collapsed. It might have held more dramatic effect had she not gone facedown in a muddy bed of asparagus.

Judith, Bonita, and I stared, mesmerized by this unanticipated belly flop. If we'd been required to hold up scorecards, I would have given Naomi at least a six for style. Maybe a six-point-four.

Bonita came to the end of the picnic table. "Is she all right?"

"Shouldn't we do something?" said Judith. "It looks uncomfortable."

"Feel free," I said. "She's your loony sister, after all. Maybe Rachael or Sarah can toss the robe in the machine at the laundromat tomorrow. So she's from Springfield?"

"I don't know."

"Get off it," I said, going over to the supine figure to make sure she wasn't snuffling mud. "One of the cars behind the body shop must belong to Naomi, and another to Sarah. That leaves one for Ruth, and one for whom-Ester?"

"Ester left by bus," Judith said. "I presume she arrived that way, too. Deputy Robarts brought her out here, and when she said she wanted to leave, he came and picked up her suitcase while she waited at the PD. She told him she'd break down if she had to say goodbye to her children."

"That leaves Deborah, unless there are other Beamers you haven't mentioned." I nudged Naomi with my foot. "She's starting to come to her senses. One of you needs to help me haul her up-and stop gawking like she fell into a pile of hog manure."

Judith began to pick at a blister on her thumb. "We use organic fertilizer. Anthony buys it for us from a chicken producer in Azure. We have more than a dozen mouths to feed, you know, and the soil here is thin. We need to put up a lot of vegetables to get through the winter months."

"Chicken shit," said Bonita, her nostrils flaring. "You're saying she plopped in chicken shit. She's your suspect, Chief Hanks."

I doubted that I could pull rank on her with any success. "Supreme Court justices wade through shit every day. Consider this practice."

Judith stared at me. "Supreme Court justices? Do you think I'm Sandra Day O'Connor in disguise?"

"I wish I knew just who you were," I said irritably.

"Naomi's a fellow Beamer."

"She'll get up when she's ready," Judith said, crossing her arms. "Is Mrs. Coldwater intending to take away the children?"

"Ruth's children can't stay here, and neither can Ester's. They'll have to go to a shelter until legal guardians can be located."

"This is all they have right now. They've had upheavals in their lives, and a strange environment will only traumatize them all the more. Can't you let them stay here for an other day or two so I can talk to them?"

"If I could trust you," I said, "I could delay the paperwork. As things stand, we don't even know their names. We may have to take all the children until we can sort them out."

"All of them?"

"I warned you this might happen," I said without sympathy. "You, Naomi, Sarah, and Rachael may wallow in the chicken shit to your hearts' content. The children will be returned to civilization, where they will thrive on sitcoms and hot dogs until the DFS sorts through all this."

"You have no right to take away my children," protested Naomi as she sat up. She flicked a brownish clump off her nose and glared at me.

"I have every right to take them into protective custody," I said, unsure if I did but damn sure Mrs. Coldwater didn't. "You are potential suspects in a murder investigation. You've refused to provide me with your names and background information. I don't know what's going on here, but it smells like-like chicken shit!"

"My goodness, Arly," said the purported Mrs. Coldwater as she came up the path. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when you was carrying on like that."

"What did you learn?" I asked her, pulling her aside before she ventured into telltale familial territory. "Have you documented the children?"

"Not hardly. The little ones were right friendly, but those older ones were too terrified to speak to me, even when I invited them to the dock for a pizza party this evening. You'd have thought they'd been threatened with rubber hoses and thumbscrews if they so much as opened their mouths. I couldn't get a first name out of any of them."

Anthony came stumbling around the corner of the cabin. "I just had a call on my cellphone from Les. He's got Duluth Buchanon back in custody. He wants to know what he should do."

"Tell him to handcuff Duluth to the bunk," I said. I turned to Judith and Naomi. "I'll allow the children to stay tonight, but Corporal Robarts is going to remain here to make sure you don't attempt to leave."

"That's not fair," he said, pouting. "I was here all afternoon. Can't Bonita take the next shift?"

"No, she can't. Once everyone's asleep, you can sit in your car, but keep the windows down and try not to snore."

"But Duluth's in custody. Can't I at least go back to town and have a decent meal?"

I was quite the center of attention as I debated his request. Bonita clearly wanted him to dine on grubs and toadstools. Ruby Bee, who would be serving pie and refilling iced tea glasses at her own funeral, was likely to invite him to the lodge for pizza. Judith and Naomi would have preferred that we leave once and for all.

To everyone's surprise, I said, "Okay, Corporal Robarts, follow me in your car. I'll drop Bonita and Mrs. Coldwater at the PD and then we can go to your house. Your mother invited me for supper. I'd pick up a bottle of wine if I could, but it's Sunday."

"Sunday in Dunkicker," said Judith. "What could be finer?"

I didn't have the nerve to ask her what she meant.

Raz left Marjorie in the front seat of the truck and made his way through the woods and under a barbed-wire fence to the back of Perkins's pond. He squatted and remained motionless, jest as he always did when revenooers was creeping around Cotter's Ridge. Bugs was drifting over the scummy green water and grasshoppers was whirrin' in the tall weeds. And, as luck would have it, Perkins's mule was chomping away near the fence.

"Mulie, mulie, mulie," crooned Raz, whose grandpappy had been a renowned mule charmer back in the days of the Great Depression. "Look what I got for you. Come on, mulie, mulie, mulie. It's real good, nigh onto two hundred proof of the county's finest white lightning."

The mule's ears quivered.

Raz made sure Perkins hadn't come out to the porch, then crept closer and took the lid off the jar. "You just mosey down this way and I'll give you a li'l taste to wet your whistle."

The mule moved away, its eyes wary.

Raz took a mouthful of 'shine and smacked his lips. "Reckon you don't know what yer missin, mulie. It's pure as mother's milk and jest as sweet. I'll bet that sumbitch Perkins makes you drink pond water. This here stuff's so clear you can see right through it and it sure as hell don't stink of dead fish. No sirree, this is good."

The one thing you shouldn't do to a mule is rush him, Grandpappy had always said. You had to take your time and give him a chance to get used to your voice, to figger out if you was friend or foe. Raz took another swallow, then put the lid back on and slithered under the fence.

Sooner or later, he thought, that ol' mule was goin'ta amble over and stick his snout in the jar. When the time came, Raz was plannin' to have a pair of wire cutters pokin' out of his back pocket.