Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 02 (17 page)

"You talked to the dead woman?" Mason tried not to let his face twitch, but he didn't have much luck. "You asked her stuff about how she died?"

"I was not able to communicate directly with her; there is a period of adjustment, especially for those who have died a violent death. But I made inquiries of my spiritual guides, and one was able to tell me of the death. This woman was innocent of crime, and had the misfortune of stumbling into someone else's evilness."

"What kind of evilness?"

"Something illegal. Although to me it remains hazy, it seems to involve bushy green plants -- marijuana, I would guess." Celeste put down the cards and scowled. "But the vision was inverted, upside down, as if the plants were rooted in the sky. It disturbs me, in that I cannot make sense of such an inexplicable idea, but the very inversion is linked with the woman's death."

"She was killed by a marijuana plant hanging from the sky?" Mason said, feeling an uncomfortable wetness in his armpits. "How could that kill her?"

"I told you that I am struggling to understand, Mason. Stop gaping at me as if I were an exotic fish in an aquarium. There was an explosion -- a great burst of light and pain, but I could not see from where it came. I must talk to this policewoman, however, and find out what she knows. Perhaps that will help me as I seek the truth."

"Celeste, she's not going to tell you the results of an official investigation. When's the last time you met a cooperative cop? Why don't you forget about this and concentrate on Carol Alice's impending marital woes or the hairdresser's mysterious boyfriend?"

She studied him in silence, then snorted and picked up the cards. "Go fetch Arly Hanks, Mason. And get it right this time, unless you want a oneway bus ticket to the used-car lot."

Mason left the house. He drove by the police department, but there were no cars parked out front, and he assumed the policewoman was still up in the woods. Just as well, he thought with a sigh. Celeste had lost her marbles on this one, and it might be wiser to let things simmer for a while. In fact, it might be smart to stop at Ruby Bee's for a plateful of eggs and grits. That way he'd hear the up-to-the-minute gossip on the dead woman and could decide what to do about Celeste once he had some idea of what was going on. It'd be downright smart.

Merle, the deputy, and I spent a long afternoon at the sheriffs office, filling out reports and stashing the baggies in the evidence locker. Robin's body was sent to the state crime lab, but we all knew what it would take the state boys several days to determine. The birdshot had entered her brain through her eyes, and had killed her within seconds. It was sheer bad luck on her part that she'd caught it like she had.

I had a little explaining to do about the jeep in that it wasn't mine to begin with and it was my responsibility. We decided to leave it for the time being, so we wouldn't arouse any suspicions from our dope growers. As for the jeep thieves -- well, we decided to let them continue doing whatever they were doing. Hitchhiking out of the county. Procreatin' under a bush. Starving to death in the woods. (Guess which was my favorite theory.) The sheriff, a gruff old boy with a surprising amount of common sense, took me to his office and settled me across the desk from him. He then tried to tell me, gently but firmly, that we didn't have the manpower to stake out the marijuana patch until the growers showed up. There'd been a spate of robberies all over the county. A fellow in a ski mask was causing all kinds of grief to the convenience -- store industry. They'd had a tip about an impending armed robbery at a bank branch in Emmet, and they figured they'd have to keep three men undercover there for a week. So, the grandfatherly lecture concluded, we were just going to have to rip out the plants and burn them.

I hit the ceiling. I pointed out that we had a murder on our hands, which was a damn sight more important than a bunch of convenience-store robberies or the possibility of a bank job. I pointed out a lot more things, and the sheriff pointed out some more, and pretty soon we were both yelling and jabbing the air like woodpeckers.

Things went on in that vein for most of an hour. The sheriff knew me well enough not to pull any chauvinist tactics, but he wouldn't budge one goddamn inch. Oh, he agreed with me left and right, admitting that murder was a damn sight more important, etc., then repeated his contention that he just couldn't put two or three deputies up in the woods for what might be weeks to catch a couple of weekend gardeners. If they weren't already tipped off and heading for Mexico. Or sitting at home in front of the television, willing to abandon that particular patch. "But no one knows we found the body except for Merle, who hasn't told anyone else, Mason Dickerson, who knows very little, and police officials," I said, turning on the earnestness. "I'll stake out the field myself. It's about harvest time. Give me this one weekend." I turned on the charm for good measure. "Come on, Harvey, you know this will make you look good. You can claim all the credit at the press conference afterward -- a big dope bust and a murder rap would sound right nice 'long about reelection time, wouldn't it? If we can't pin murder one on the perps, we'll surely get a manslaughter or negligent homicide. Voters just love to know those homicidal maniacs are behind bars."

I was so overcome with my boundless earnestness that I nearly clasped my hands in supplication as I stared at him. He chewed on a stubby, cold cigar for a long time, then asked me what I thought I'd do if a truckload of boys showed up to harvest the marijuana. Big, nasty, stupid boys, armed and ornery. Did I think I could politely ask them to handcuff each other while I read them their rights?

It was a setback. I thought about that unappealing scenario, then said I'd merely observe from a prudent vantage point, and we could nail them when they spread the plants to dry in someone's backroom or barn. We argued some more over minor issues (mostly involving the newspaper and television interviews), and at last he granted me the weekend. The cigar bobbled as he warned me that, should nothing happen, he would send up his boys to destroy the plants. We shook on it, and that was that. I'd just won the dubious honor of hunkering behind a bush for two days by my lonesome, with no backup should things turn nasty, with no one to talk to as my toes froze and my nose dripped. It was the best I could do for Robin's offspring.

9

Mrs. Jim Bob nearly had a stroke when the telephone rang. She stared at it for three or four rings, almost scared to answer it in case it was possessed by the devil hisself. At last she snatched up the receiver and banged it against her ear. "Arly?" she squawked.

"Sorry, honey, this is LaBelle. I just thought you might like to know what's going on. It's been right crazy all afternoon, since Arly and one of the deputies got back to report. Why, when I took my coffee break a while ago, you'd have thought the department was a dadburned beehive."

"Arly's at your office? Let me speak to her right this minute, LaBelle."

"I'm afraid I can't oblige you. I was going to grab her and give her your messages in person, but first she hightailed it to the backroom to do official business, and then she holed up with the sheriff. I stepped away from my desk for one tiny minute to take care of a personal need, which has been happening more than I care to admit since I came down with this pesky bladder infection. Anyway, when I came back, she and Merle Hardcock had gone off in another one of our department vehicles. It seems to me she already has one, but -- "

"Gone off where?" Mrs. Jim Bob demanded, fighting off a wave of panic that made her dizzy and queasy and a lot of other unpleasant things. "Why was she with Merle Hardcock? What's going on over there? Did she say she'd call me?"

LaBelle licked her lips so loudly, Mrs. Jim Bob could hear it. "Well," she said at last, "I can't tell you anything about the murder, because it's confidential."

"Murder? What murder?"

"I am not at liberty to disclose that information to a civilian. I am privy to a lot of classified information due to my position, but I'm not supposed to breathe a word of it to anyone."

"Just like I'm not supposed to breathe a word of how you entered your sister-in-law's corn relish in the county fair, then took home that blue ribbon without saying one thing about who made it?" Mrs. Jim Bob figured that the emergency justified playing hardball this one time, although she doubted she could find the precise scripture in the Good Book.

"You promised not to repeat that," LaBelle gasped.

"I'm waiting to hear about this murder," Mrs. Jim Bob replied smugly. "I'd appreciate all the details, LaBelle. After all, you know everything that happens in the whole county, don't you?"

LaBelle felt obliged to agree.

When I returned, Hammet was still in front of the television. An empty can on the coffee table indicated he'd had lunch, although even he must have had a hard time with cold, condensed soup. I turned off the set, sat him down next to me on the sofa, and told him that his mother had died in an accident. I made it sound like a hunting accident, although I didn't out-and-out lie. No, I wasn't real proud of myself.

He looked at me for a long time, then said, "No bear, huh?"

"No bear. Just a terrible accident up on the ridge. It wasn't her fault, and I doubt she even knew what happened. Once I finish the investigation, I'll tell you more about it."

"I really thought she'd done been et by a bear. Are you sure there weren't no bear tracks?"

"No bear, and no bear tracks." I went to the kitchen and ate a handful of crackers, then changed into a clean uniform and went back to the living room. "Come on, we've got to go to Mrs. Jim Bob's to tell the others."

"What's gonna happen to us then?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'd better contact the social services office in Starley City and tell them about the five of you. They have special places where you'll be taken care of until something permanent can be arranged." Didn't sound like all that much fun, did it?

Hammet wasn't especially enchanted, either. "What does that crap about special places and permanent arranges mean?" he demanded, his brow lowered so that he was glaring up at me like a wild animal in the bottom of a pit.

"A social worker will take you to a foster home -- somebody's house -- to live for a few weeks. Meanwhile, she'll try to find someone who wants you to become part of the family. You'll have a mother and a father and some new siblings. A nice house, a chance to go to school, maybe a bicycle."

"I don' want any of that shit. What about Bubba and Sukie and Sissie and Baby? Is they goin' to this foster place, too? Is they goin' to get bicycles and go to school?"

"I don't know if all of you will be placed in the same foster home, or end up together," I admitted.

"Then I ain't going."

"I can't leave the five of you scattered around Maggody. You'll be better off in a permanent setting, as will your siblings."

"Sez who?" He reached across me to switch on the television, but I caught his hand.

"Sez everybody, Hammet. You all can't go back to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and exist on roots and berries. Ruby Bee can't raise a baby, nor can Mrs. Jim Bob take in all of you indefinitely. I'm happy to have you visit me here, but I'm not capable of taking care of you on a permanent basis."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not -- that's why. I work all day and sometimes half the night. I survive on Ruby Bee's generosity and canned soup, depending on my mood. I'm not used to worrying about anybody but myself these days."

"I ain't no bother. I can eat soup jest like you do, and I can chop wood and slop the hogs for you whenever you tells me to."

"No," I said gently. "You'll be better off in a stable family setting, with dinner on the table and clean sheets on the bed and motherly reminders to take baths and brush your teeth. I've never been a parent, Hammet -- I don't know how to do those things."

"I reckon you're so all-fired smart you could learn -- iffen you wanted to."

I studied him for a minute, then shook my head. "Let's go tell the others what's happened and try to figure out what to do. Once that's settled, I have to leave town for a few days."

"Goin' on a vacation? That's right nice what with my ma kilt and everything." He stalked through the doorway and down the stairs, his tangled black hair slapping his shoulders.

As I hurried after him, I fully expected to spot him halfway into the sunset (metaphorically, anyway, since it was still afternoon), but he had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and was talking to David Allen.

"Is this true?" David Allen asked me as I joined them.

"I'm afraid there's been an accident of sorts. I'm going to do everything I can to clear up a few questions about it, but first I've got to decide what to do with the children."

"Siblings," Hammet hissed under his breath. He shot me a dirty look, then went over to David Allen's wagon and climbed on the hood. Hunkered down with his arms wrapped around his knees, he bore an unsettling resemblance to a turkey vulture on a high branch. I had a pretty good idea whose body he hoped to scavenge, should the opportunity arise.

David Allen glanced warily at Hammet, then turned back to me. "Well, it's dreadful, and I feel really rotten. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you. For what it's worth, I'm trained in crisis intervention and child psychology. Have you made any effort to contact the fathers of the children?"