Madness In Maggody (15 page)

When I got
to the PD, I called Harve to see if he'd heard anything from the state lab on the second and third incidents of poisoning. He hadn't, but the lab moved exceedingly slowly and neither of us bothered to feign any surprise.

"You working on the list of witnesses?" he asked.

I told him what Cherri Lucinda Crate had said the previous night on the balcony of the Airport Arms Apartments. "It's screwy," I added. "I can't think of any reason either of them would bother to lie about it."

"Folks lie all the time," he said succinctly.

"I know they do," I said, sighing, "but usually for some perceptible motive. Jim Bob's whereabouts at eleven o'clock Monday night aren't relevant—or at least I don't think they are. What may or may not have happened in her apartment is only of prurient interest."

"Guess you better run it by him again, tell him what the gal said and ask him what all he's got to say. Hold on a minute, Arly, I got to see a man about a horse."

I leaned back in my chair and propped my feet on the desk. If the V formed by my feet was the gizmo at the end of a barrel, I'd have a clean shot at my visitor's seat across the room. I twitched my feet for a minute, frowning, then let it slide and picked up the notes I'd written after talking to Dahlia. Almost all the scribbles had question marks at the end, and when Harve came back on the line, I went over them with him.

"So the sauce could have been spiked Friday night or Saturday morning," I said. "But according to Jim Bob's statement, the SuperSaver was uninhabited that night because there wasn't any cash in the registers. Dahlia and the other two cooks showed up early in the morning and were in the kitchen until the tamales were taken out to the pavilion."

"Which puts us right back where we were. Unless you want to pin it on the cooks or a cheerleader, one of the folks in the area went over to the table and dumped ipecac on the tamales. And unless we got a copycat, that same person got nastier and nastier till the Smew woman died."

"Damn it, I wish we knew what was in that coconut cake," I said. "At some point Monday evening or during the night, someone must have set the tampered cakes out where they'd be the easiest to pick up."

"Weren't many folks there during the night," Harve pointed out. "You'd better look harder at those who came by before the SuperSaver closed and had reasons to resent it."

Like Ruby Bee. "Wait a minute," I said, getting so excited that my feet nearly slid off the desk. "According to Jim Bob, the regular schedule calls for Buzz Milvin to come in at nine, total the register tapes, and count the money. Jim Bob verifies it and takes the money to the night depository in Starley City. But something changed Monday night, and Jim Bob sent Buzz with the money and then went to Cherri Lucinda's apartment or not, depending on whose story you believe."

"So the store was empty for what—about an hour?"

"Not exactly," I said slowly, "but I think it's time for a long talk with Kevin Buchanon. Dahlia hinted at dark secrets. Kevin will spill the beans if I have to handcuff him and hoist him into the sweet gum tree in his backyard."

Harve chuckled and wished me luck.

I called the hospital and learned that Buzz was out of immediate danger but still hooked up to various support systems and unable to have visitors. Martin Milvin was fully conscious and would be released after twenty-four more hours of observation. I wanted to pass along the news to Lissie, but Joyce's line was busy and I was primed to tackle Kevin Buchanon.

He was sitting on the porch swing, looking as distracted as Dahlia had earlier, although he wasn't shoveling cookies into his mouth. "How's it going?" he asked as I came onto the porch.

"Not well," I said. "You've heard that Buzz and Martin Milvin were poisoned and Lillith Smew may have been murdered?"

"Yeah, my ma heard something from somebody last night when she was swapping recipes. Buzz is a pretty good ol' guy for the most part, and I feel real bad for all of them."

I gave him an icy look. "Then maybe you'll cooperate? I don't know what you and Dahlia have been up to, but I want to hear the truth—and I want to hear it now."

His face turned splotchy and he began to gulp loudly. He grabbed the arm of the swing, staring at me as if I'd announced I'd come to arrest him for murder and execute him on the spot.

"Calm down," I said, retreating to the edge of the porch and hastily assessing my chances if I stepped back into the azaleas. "I just want to know what happened Monday night, that's all."

"That's all?"

I nodded. "That's all, Kevin—unless you're in the mood to confess to serial murders or unsafe sex."

Apparently I'd said something else wrong. A gurgling noise came from his throat, as if it had been slashed. "You're one of them," he gasped, pointing a trembling finger at me. "I didn't think you was like them, but now I know. All you folks do is gossip and tell tales and turn innocent stories into big fat lies!" He covered his face with his hands and moaned, his shoulders jerking and his feet pounding on the porch in an unsteady cadence.

Eilene came to the screened door. "Morning, Arly. What on earth's the matter with Kevin?"

"I don't know," I murmured to her. "I made a small joke, not very funny, and he suddenly...went to pieces and...I don't know what to tell you, Eilene. I didn't mean to upset him."

She came out onto the porch and rapped him on the head. "Stop this nonsense at once, young man. Do you want someone walking by to hear you carrying on like this? After what happened last week, I'd like to think you'd be a little more worried about making a spectacle of yourself."

Kevin moaned loudly. Anyone walking by would be more likely to wonder if the family had adopted a terminally ill coyote.

"Did something happen last week?" I asked. I couldn't see how it related to my investigation, but the intensity of Kevin's reaction was curious.

Eilene gave me a bright smile, but she sounded embarrassed as she said, "Just a little problem between Kevin and his fiancée. Kevin's pa had a word with him in the woodshed afterward, and I don't believe there'll be any more of that."

"Good," I said vaguely. I told Eilene to tell Kevin I'd come by later when he was more in the mood to discuss Monday night, then went to my car and pulled out into Finger Lane.

And saw the brick pillars on either side of Hizzoner's driveway, a J and a B, both beckoning to me. If I couldn't get anything out of Kevin—except a primitive display of histrionics—then it might be a good time to have a run at Hizzoner...in his own home and, with any luck, his own wife at his side.

The investigation hadn't progressed, but I discovered I was in a much better mood as I drove up the winding road to the pretentious redbrick house on top of the hill.

I rang the doorbell several times. I was about to leave when Hizzoner opened the door, said, "Wait, I'm on the telephone long distance," and slammed the door.

I walked up and down the porch until he returned five minutes later. "I've got some questions," I said, wondering if he remembered our conversation the previous night at the bar and grill.

"So do I," he said. "I wish to hell you'd tell me where Lamont Petrel is. If I don't get forty grand to the wholesaler by tomorrow, he'll slap a lien on the store and we won't be able to close the loan. Then the folks with the construction loan'll get antsy, and gawd only knows what they'll do. I can come up with my share, but I sure as hell can't cover the whole ball of wax. I'm having to make payroll out of my pocket as it is, because the SuperSaver gets closed down every time I turn around to piss downwind."

He was upset, but not especially at me, which was a refreshing change. I almost felt a twinge of guilt as I said, "My questions have to do with your purported visit to Cherri Lucinda Crate Monday night at eleven."

He grabbed my arm and pulled me off the porch and away from the house. "What's purported about it?" he said in a low voice, keeping an eye on the front door.

"I questioned her last night, and she said she was alone Monday night, doing her nails and watching a movie. She said she hadn't seen you in a long time, and even asked how you were doing."

"That little bitch! She knows damn well I was there. Are you sure you questioned the right person?"

"Airport Arms Apartments, top floor on the end," I said, shrugging. "She said she was Crate, but I didn't demand to see her driver's license."

"Blond hair and two-inch fingernails?"

"She had a towel on her head, so I didn't see her hair. I did see the fingernails, though. They were rather striking."

"That's her." Jim Bob began to pace between the shrubs, his brow wrinkled and his mouth twisted to one side. "And she said she hadn't seen me anytime lately, did she? I've got a hundred witnesses who could say different. Jesus H. Christ, I dunno what the hell's going on. Maybe I'm going crazy, what with the bank breathing down my neck like a slobbery dog, and the wholesaler whining, and Petrel off somewhere working on his tan or screwing some waitress while I get all the shit."

"You have no idea where he is?"

"If I knew where he was, I wouldn't be neck-deep in shit! I'd be dragging him back so we get this straightened out." He banged his fist against his palm, no doubt wishing Petrel's face was available.

"The state police will find him eventually," I said. "But I have to know what happened Monday night. Why did you send Buzz to make the deposit?"

"What the fuck difference does it..." He stopped pacing and looked down at the lawn for a moment, his eyes narrowed with thought. "Petrel's car still parked at the Flamingo Motel?"

"As far as I know." I waited for him to continue, but he gave me a studiously flat look and I couldn't for the life of me guess what he was up to. "Does that tell you something?" I said at last.

"Yeah. He didn't drive it away. Listen, I got better things to do than stand here answering a bunch of dumb questions. I sent Milvin to Starley City 'cause it was too damn much trouble to go myself. I don't know why Cherri Lucinda said I wasn't there, but it's not a big deal one way or the other. I didn't stick pins in the cupcakes. Run along and do something useful, Chief. Peel dead animals off the highway or bust one of the kids for smoking pot. Better yet, see if you can teach that runty team of yours how to play baseball. The game's still on, ain't it?"

He strutted across the porch and went into the house. I'd had such impressive success with my three witnesses that I knew absolutely nothing I hadn't known before, except that Dahlia and Kevin had had a spat, Jim Bob was in financial trouble if Petrel stayed gone, and the game was still scheduled for Thursday afternoon.

*****

Heather Riley gaped
at Darla Jean, her jaw going up and down as if she was chewing taffy. "Say that again," she said in a stunned voice.

"Now I'm only trying to talk to you for your own good, Heather, 'cause it's not healthy to keep stuff like that bottled up inside you. It'll give you ulcers, and your grades will go down and you'll get kicked off the pom-pom squad."

"Just repeat what you said," Heather commanded.

"I heard Elsie McMay tell my ma about what that horrible man did to you," Darla Jean said, worried that she ought not to have brought up the subject if Heather didn't want to talk about it, after all. But she had, so she plunged ahead and explained to Heather about hearing that she'd been raped by Lamont Petrel and run down by a truck and been so traumatized that she hadn't told anybody.

Heather hugged herself as she listened to the story, and when Darla Jean ran down, she merely said, "So I'm traumatized, huh?"

"It's most likely caused amnesia. That's my opinion, 'cause I saw a show on television where the exact same thing happened. Staci said she thought maybe you just wanted to spare Beau Swiggins from having to beat the guy up, but Rene and Debbi and Melanie all agreed that was stupid, because Beau's bound to find out sooner or later."

"Beau doesn't know?"

"Of course not, Heather! You think we'd talk about you behind your back?"

"Is he still dating that Janine from Emmet with the big boobs and fat ankles?"

"Yeah, but Billy Dick said he asked if you've dated anybody since you two broke up. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Billy Dick said Beau said he'd beat the shit out of anybody that even asked you out."

"Is Janine putting out for him?" Heather asked. When Darla jean nodded, she said, "All the way?"

"But I think he still loves you. He's just going with Janine to get back at you for not being a cheerleader for the SuperSavers. Billy Dick shared the beer with him, but it wasn't the same, I guess."

"I guess not," Heather said distractedly. The lurid story had upset her initially, along with the knowledge that every last soul in town—except for Beau, apparently—had been discussing it nonstop. Somehow Jim Bob putting his hand on her knee had now escalated into some guy named Petrel raping her on the office floor and leaving her traumatized to the point of amnesia.

She considered the possibility that she had been raped and then blocked it out, but decided that was nonsense because she remembered every last second of the tacky interview. She'd stomped out of the office and was stomping home when she ran into Miss Estes, who'd noticed Heather's red cheeks and mentioned the risk of heatstroke and so had ended up hearing about Jim Bob.

And Beau was doing it with Janine, who'd do it with her pa and all her uncles if they asked nicely. It wasn't Beau's fault he was going with a slut who probably flopped down on her back, spread her knees, and told him it was open house.

He'd been pissed when she refused to be a cheerleader, and he'd even said she was just a prude and a cockteaser who wouldn't prove that she loved him by taking a blanket to a particular place beside Boone Creek where a lot of love was proved on a nightly basis and quite a bit more on weekends.

But how was he going to feel when he found out she had been raped and was currently amnesiated? Awful. He'd feel downright awful and be sorry and beg her to go steady again.

"Are you okay?" Darla Jean asked. "You have the funniest look on your face. Are you beginning to remember?"

Heather massaged her temples and, without a whole lot of effort, assumed a bewildered expression. "I think I am, but just bits and pieces. It's kinda like a puzzle with a whole lot of pieces missing. The trauma's still there, just like you said, but I'm in a foggy tunnel and it's dark and I can't quite make out anything."

Darla Jean was impressed. "That's spooky, ain't it? Can you remember what he did when he threw you down on the floor? Did you cry or kick him? Did it...hurt when he...did it?"

"It hurt something terrible. It was the worst thing in my entire life, and I'm just going to have to face it before I develop ulcers." She looked down at her bedspread while she did some more remembering. "I struggled with all my might. I yelled and kicked, but he held my wrists in one hand while he ripped off my clothes with the other."

"Oh, my gawd," Darla Jean said. She sat down next to Heather and patted her knee. "Then what happened?"

"I cried out for Beau," she said simply. "It was silly, of course, 'cause there weren't no way he could hear me and come save me from being brutalized by that monster."

"He's gonna absolutely die when he hears that. It's gonna cut his heart in pieces like it was a buzz saw ripping into a log."

"But we can't let him find out. You've got to swear to keep this between you and me, Darla Jean. Beau'd get so upset, he'd go kill the guy, then he couldn't play football and maybe get a college scholarship. It'd ruin his life."

"I won't tell a living soul," Darla Jean vowed, almost in tears from hearing all this nobleness and sacrifice. She knew Billy Dick would be just as touched, although she'd have to make him swear not to repeat it to anyone, ever. Especially not to Beau.