Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 06 (28 page)

“To tell him what?” said a voice from behind them. A female one, but on the unfriendly side.

They spun around and gasped at the gun in Frannie’s hand. “Nothing! We don’t have anything to tell him. I didn’t mean what I said,” Estelle gabbled, her fingernails digging into Ruby Bee’s arm so harshly they were close to drawing blood.

“We—we were just looking around,” Ruby Bee said, “and there’s nothing here but a big mess. You can see for yourself, Frannie. Why doncha put down that gun before you hurt someone?”

“I heard everything you said,” Frannie continued, not putting down the gun and not getting any friendlier. “You said my daughter was engaging in tawdry behavior with that slimeball manager—and did the same thing with Jerome Appleton. Do you want to know what really happened?”

Estelle shook her head, while Ruby Bee bobbled hers. Frannie managed to overlook this display of mixed messages and said, “That man seduced my daughter, a girl of sixteen. She should have known better, but she allowed him to take advantage of her and use her as if she were a prostitute. I found out about it and made it clear to her that I would not tolerate that kind of thing. She’s won several beauty pageants, you know. She’s in the honors program and will be offered scholarships when she graduates. I’ve already begun to sew her college wardrobe. I have plans for her. I cannot allow her to destroy her future by … by …”

Estelle and Ruby Bee were as unnerved by Frannie’s increasingly shrill voice as they were by the wobbly barrel aimed in their general direction. To make matters worse, Frannie slumped against the wall and began to cry, the gun bouncing as she shook with sobs. They waited for a minute to find out if they were gonna get shot, but Frannie seemed to have forgotten about them and was lost in her misery.

At last, Ruby Bee stepped forward and took the gun. She used her free hand to grab one of Frannie’s arms, Estelle took the other, and they led the docile woman to the elevator. As they waited, a giggle drifted down the dark hallway.

Agent Clark Rhodes approached the porch of the café with his badge in his teeth and his heart in his throat, or thereabouts. His jacket was neatly draped over his arm so the terrorist could see he was unarmed, and his hands were in the air in the classical submissive pose and shaking like autumn leaves in a breeze.

He took his badge from his mouth. “Rhodes, FBI,” he shouted, as worried by the heavy weapons aimed at his back as by what he assumed was leveled on him from behind the blinds. Rhodes did not relish melodramatic confrontations, which is why he had opted to be a statistician rather than a field operative. On the flight from Washington, it had occurred to him that he’d been chosen because of his expendability—not a cozy thought.

“I’m doing exactly what you ordered,” he added. “I’m unarmed and alone, and by the way, my wife’s expecting a baby in two months. It’s our fourth.” Actually, it was their first, but it couldn’t hurt to paint a more touching portrait of the grieving widow and children at the graveside.

The door was opened by the largest, most sullen woman he’d ever seen. Her dark eyes were burning into him, and her mouth was harshly puckered above a bevy of chins. She wore a tent-sized dress that was badly wrinkled and stained. Her hair, a mass of greasy strings, brushed her mammoth shoulders like a wet mop. “Whacha staring at?” she demanded.

“I thought you were … a brother,” Rhodes said weakly.

“Then you ain’t no Ira Pickerel. Do I look like someone who takes hostages and threatens to kill ‘em?”

“You’re not Marvel, then?”

“Lord Almighty! I wouldn’t have bet a plug nickel there was anyone on the planet stupider than Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon, but now I ain’t so sure! Are you gonna stand there all night like your feet are planted, or are you gonna do like Marvel said?”

Rhodes stepped inside and the door slammed behind him. He was so bewildered that he felt relieved when he saw the slender black man on a stool, a gun in his hand and a broad grin on his face. “Rhodes, FBI,” he said, “and you’re Marvin Madison Evinrood Calhoun, a.k.a. Marvel, right?”

Marvel nodded, since he didn’t think it would be appropriate to highfive the dude. “I am delighted to see you, my man Rhodes. Big Mama and my main man over there in the corner are delighted, too. Make yourself at home, and how about a piece of chicken?”

“Let’s have ourselves a daddurn picnic,” Dahlia said as she trudged back to the booth and jammed herself in. “We can roll Kevin out in the middle of the floor and use him for a centerpiece. We can stick plastic flowers in his ear.”

Marvel frowned at her until she subsided, then gestured for Rhodes to sit down on the last stool. “Good of you to come, brother. I seem to have gotten myself in a bad situation here, and you’re just the man to help me out. By this time tomorrow, you can be flying back home and these fine folks can continue their honeymoon.”

Rhodes looked around. “When I was briefed, I was told you have two hostages. I only see one. I hope you haven’t …”

Marvel laughed. “Oh, he’s over there somewhere. I guess he forgot his manners. Kevin, say yo to the brother.”

“Yo,” came a voice from the shadowy region beneath the corner booth.

“Now, let’s move along,” Marvel continued. “Big Mama, you sit real still and keep an eye on the door. My man Rhodes and I are going into the kitchen where we’ve got ourselves some talking to do. If I happen to come out and find you or my main man up to some nonsense, I’ll put a bullet in your ear. Are we clear?”

Dahlia growled something, but Rhodes was too close to fainting to pay any attention, and when Marvel gestured with the gun, he barely managed to stand up and head in the indicated direction.

“My wife’s name is Carol,” he said as he went into the kitchen, exceedingly conscious of the barrel in his back.

“Let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible,” Geri said with the perky determination of a kindergarten teacher. “Originally, I’d arranged for each of you to have a two-hour block in the kitchen for security reasons. However, it’s really much too late for that, so we’ll have two in the first slot and three in the second.”

We had a goodsized group in the dining room. Gaylene sat alone at one table, painting her fingernails a subtle shade of screaming scarlet. At the next table, I sat with Ruby Bee, Estelle, Frannie, and Durmond. Frannie had announced that Catherine was ill, and Ruby Bee and Estelle had backed her up with such gushy agreement that I had no idea what was going on, although I doubted it was anything I’d appreciate. Brenda sat dejectedly between Lieutenant Henbit and one of his detectives. Kyle hovered behind Geri, no less relaxed than he’d been when mentioning his kneecaps. I realized he’d known for some time that Interspace was owned by the mob; his father had been less reticent than Geri’s boss. Henbit had been reluctant to permit the contest, of course, and I’d had to take him to my room and present my arguments with enough skill to outshine the Broadway stars several blocks away. He’d finally admitted that it couldn’t hurt to test some of my theories, called Geri in the hotel office and told her to round up the contestants, and then called his precinct to arrange for Brenda to be delivered in a fashion not unlike a pizza.

Durmond touched my knee beneath the table. “Are you sure this is the thing to do?”

Geri put down the clipboard in order to clap her hands, alleviating me from the need to answer that I had no idea whatsoever. “Please, let’s all pay attention, shall we? If we insist on personal conversations, we’ll be here all night, and I for one have plans for tomorrow that preclude this fleabag hotel.” She glanced back as Rick came across the lobby. “Good, I’ll use you as a judge, along with Kyle and that doorman person. I do hope that’s acceptable to all of you, because I’m in charge and you really have no choice. The first two contestants will be Gaylene and Durmond. Come along and please don’t dawdle.”

The two obediently rose. Durmond looked unexcited at his big chance, but Gaylene giggled and waved, and she swept out of the dining room as if heading for the Miss America runway. The head count remained steady, however, as Rick and Cambria entered and sat down as far away from us as they could. Their conversation would have been diverting, had I been able to hear it. Rick was already damp, but drops of sweat were forming like pimples and he tugged at his ring so furiously that I had visions of the poor taxidermist in Wyoming or wherever. Cambria wasn’t twinkling.

“I guess I’ll check on Catherine,” Frannie said, pushing back her chair.

“No one leaves the room.” Henbit motioned to a figure beyond the French doors. “And that officer will encourage your compliance.”

Frannie put her elbows on the table and cradled her face in her hands. Estelle patted her on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry. She’ll be all right and will come on down as soon as she … freshens up.”

“Sure she will,” Ruby Bee said.

The lieutenant’s presence did not encourage conversation, and we sat in uncomfortable silence for a long while. After what might have been half an hour, Catherine came out of the elevator, crossed the lobby, and sat down next to her mother. I’d hauled in enough teenagers to realize that, despite her purposeful motion and bland expression, she was under the influence of alcohol. On her face was a thick layer of pancake makeup that almost disguised a black eye.

Others could see it, too. Ruby Bee and Estelle began to whisper, and Brenda gaped as if Catherine were an alien. Henbit nodded at his minion.

Earlier I’d remembered why my flippant remark to the lieutenant had stirred up a sense of déjŕ vu. “I’m not my mother’s keeper,” I’d told him in the exact same tone I used on Jerome Appleton when he’d emerged from Catherine and Frannie’s room. Frannie had been out shopping, however. Jerome had tried his bully routine on me because he’d been up to no good (in several senses of the phrase). I decided to risk the wrath of Henbit and see what I could learn about Catherine’s most recent activities—and I knew just where to begin.

I tapped Ruby Bee’s shoulder. “I called your room earlier and no one answered. I wanted to pass along a message from Eilene, all the way back in Maggody, Arkansas. It has to do with copper pipes.”

“I guess I was showering,” she said.

I looked at Estelle, who swallowed and said, “And I must have dozed off for a spell.”

“The telephone didn’t wake you up?” I gave them the full benefit of my incredulous gaze. “You’ve both been lying like a rug going on four days now, and it’s beginning to get on my nerves. You couldn’t have left the hotel. That gentleman in blue would have shot you in cold blood. Where were you?”

“Frannie’s room,” Ruby Bee said nervously. “We went down to have a nice chat about Kansas, and the town where she and Catherine live. It sounds like a mighty fine place.”

I was going to see if Frannie would back up this latest lie, but she was whispering fiercely to her daughter, who was listening with a smile that … that I’d seen in my mirror a few hours earlier. Minus the frustration.

The suspects were present, and it wasn’t difficult to settle on Rick. He now looked as if he were hearing the details of his upcoming live cremation, which he might well be, considering Cambria’s moist tirade in his ear.

“Rick has a room on the third floor, doesn’t he?” I said to Ruby Bee. Her twitchy shrug confirmed my hypothesis.

Geri came to the door. “Good, Catherine’s here. I think we can speed things up, if we all work together.” She consulted her clipboard. “Durmond’s KoKo-Nut Kream Pie is almost ready to chill, and Gaylene has made enough KoKo-Nut Kabobs to allow all of you a sample. Isn’t that lovely?” She was obviously much happier now that the contest was underway and she could see the light at the bow of the ferry. “Now we need Ruby Bee, Brenda, and Catherine in the kitchen. You may come if you wish, Frannie. If you please, ladies?”

Brenda glanced at Lieutenant Henbit, who nodded. As she passed our table, Ruby Bee joined her and murmured her condolences as they left (or one would think; she was more than capable of pedestrian interrogation). Catherine followed them, but at the last moment veered toward Kyle, wrapped her arms around his neck, and began to nuzzle his mouth and chin.

“Aren’t you a little piggy?” she cooed.

Frannie yanked her back before Kyle could find a suitable response. As we stared, she slapped Catherine’s face so sharply that the girl stumbled backward and fell across the sofa.

“Are you all right?” Geri gasped as she hurried across the lobby, knelt, and pushed Catherine’s hair out of her face. This could have been motivated by compassion, but those of us with a cynical bent wondered if Geri was driven by terror that this somehow might delay the cookoff.

“Huh? ” Catherine said, blinking, then put her hand on her cheek and began to moan. The sound did not ring true, however; there was an eerie undertone of satisfaction.

Geri stood up. “This child is drunk. Her breath absolutely reeks of it, and she’s clearly out of control.” To Frannie, she added accusingly, “As are others of us. I must insist that you take her upstairs and allow her to sleep it off. As for the contest, the rules specify that the contestant must be prepared to produce the entry at whatever time I specify. I’m not about to wait until she’s sober. Therefore, she’s disqualified. The Krazy KoKo-Nut company will still pick up your expenses, but under no circumstances is her participation to be included in any future résumés.”

I was impressed. The others seemed appalled by the scene or stunned by Geri’s announcement … with the exception of Ruby Bee, who was tallying up the contestants on her stubby, white, grandmotherly fingers. I could read her thoughts: and then there were four.

“She has to stay in here,” Henbit said from the doorway of the dining room. “Both of them.”

Frannie dashed past him and huddled in a corner, her face hidden. Catherine rose rather majestically, threw a kiss to Kyle, sauntered through the doorway, and resumed her seat as if nothing had taken place. Then again, she might have missed it all. Geri herded Ruby Bee and Brenda down the corridor, and the rest of us sat back and tried not to stare at either Vervain. After a while, I asked Durmond if his cream pie would prove to be a work of art, a veritable tribute to artificial flavors and colors. He admitted he had reservations. This prompted Gaylene to wax poetic about her kabobs, and this served to keep us diverted for most of an hour. At some point Frannie sat down at a vacant table and picked at the crumbs on the tablecloth. Catherine’s chin dropped as she nodded off, her snores faint and ladylike, her cheek still striped with four red marks.