Madness In Maggody (18 page)

*****

Brother Verber had
searched every inch of the mobile home, and he was fairly sure he'd gotten all his study material together—except for the two missing issues, which sure as heck weren't under the mobile home or lying in the grass beside it or anyplace of which he could even begin to think.

Their disappearance into thin air was why he was sweating like a pear-shaped pitcher of iced tea. Droplets of sweat were running down his face, some of them curling around his nostrils and gathering on the corners of his mouth like foam from a rabid dog. His back was wet and his armpits downright soggy. He kept wiping his palms on his trousers, but it didn't last long enough to be worth the effort.

He stared at the gray plastic garbage bag filled with back issues of study material. He couldn't set it in the metal can outside the Voice of the Almighty, because there was obviously a devious burglar in and around the grounds. He wasn't about to put it under his bed or in his closet. He considered putting it in the can behind the Emporium, but as he glanced out the window, he saw the hippie woman stacking crates and decided she looked like the kind of person who knew exactly what was supposed to be in her garbage cans and what wasn't.

It was a vexing problem, and to make it worse, he didn't know where Mrs. Jim Bob was or when she was likely to come banging on his door again.

Brother Verber mopped whatever body surfaces were readily available, squared his shoulders, and picked up the garbage bag. Maggody was too small. He was going to have to take a ride to a place where the garbage cans were anonymous and their contents unlikely to be scrutinized by anyone who would then point the finger finger of accusation in his direction, even though he had a perfectly legitimate reason for possessing half a dozen issues of Rubber Maid and twice that many of Kittens and Tomcats, less two, of course. The August issue of Of Human Bondage. A collection of paperback novels, all selected in order to acquaint him with the steamier sins of his flock and featuring characters named Rod and Dick and Pussy Wantsit. And his most recent addition, Suzie Squeezums, neatly deflated and tucked away in her plastic carrying case.

He went out to his car, tossed the bag in the backseat, and drove out of Maggody, sweating all the more as he fondly thought about his little Suzie.

*****

There was a
pickup truck in front of the Dairee Dee-Lishus as I drove up and parked. A group of teenaged boys were jostling each other in front of the counter window, including the mutant Buchanon who'd tangled with Saralee during the grand opening. He glowered at me, muttered to his companions, and slunk away behind the truck as I approached. The others waited, their expressions wary.

"So what you want?" Mandozes barked at them through the window. "You want to admire the scenery, you take a hike. Here is where you order food and drinks."

"Forget it, spic," one of them said. He looked at me. "Is it true about this Petrel guy?"

"Is what true?"

"He raped a bunch of women, escaped from the cops, broke into Mr. Lambertino's house earlier today, and shot a deputy when he escaped again, is it true?"

"You're worse than the missionary society," I said irritably. "Petrel was last seen at the grand opening of the SuperSaver, and no one's admitted seeing him since then. No rapes have been reported to me or to the sheriff. No one broke into the Lambertinos' house and no one's been shot. Where'd you hear this crazy story?"

One of them said his ma, another his sister. The most cocky of the pack said he'd heard it at the pool hall, and from someone who ought to know.

"And who might that be?" I said.

"I don't remember," he said, snickering.

Before I could insist, they piled in the pickup truck and drove away. I went to the counter window and said, "Sorry, Mr. Mandozes. I didn't mean to run them off before they ordered."

"The cheap little sons of puntas only buy drinks," he said without inflection.

"I need to ask you a few questions. Is there a place in back where we can speak?"

"Go around," he said, jabbing toward the corner with his thumb. "I will allow you in my fine, private office. We can sit at my grand walnut desk and allow my secretary to serve refreshments on a silver tray."

I went around to the back and Mandozes opened a door. His office was no more than eight feet square, and dominated by sacks of cornmeal, a case of hot-dog buns, boxes of paper goods, plastic bottles of cleaning supplies, a collection of mops and brooms in the corner, and a card table littered with bills and invoices.

"This is a fine private office," I said gravely. "I only wish mine were as fine as this."

He pulled a chair out for me. "Then you must sit at my desk while we speak. My secretary is gone at the moment, but when she gets back, she will shine the tray. In the meantime, can I offer you a limeade?"

I nodded. He went to the front, leaving me to contemplate a calendar with a winter scene and a drawing of a cactus done by an immature but sincere hand. I was about to admire the latter when a small furry thing darted from under the mop head and regarded me appraisingly.

I did not shriek, although I did get my feet off the floor pretty damn quick. "You have a visitor," I called.

"Vaya!" Mandozes said sharply.

I wasn't sure to whom the command was directed, but the mouse scuttled back to the corner and disappeared. I looked more closely at the shelf of cleaning supplies, and was not surprised to see a box of rat poison next to a bottle of bleach. When Mandozes returned with my drink, I said, "I guess you have a running battle with mice?"

"Yes, but it is the least of my worries. I have also a running battle with the wholesale grocer in Starley City, who wants me to pay his bills with money I do not have." He sat down across from me and twirled the end of his mustache like a bandito. "You have questions, you said?"

"You were at the SuperSaver Monday evening, right?"

"I was. I asked the checker when the deli would open, but he claimed to have no knowledge of such things. I am curious how many tamales they think they will serve after what happened."

"They didn't look very appetizing on Saturday," I said with a wry smile. "You said you tasted one and spit it out. You're lucky, because they were laced with syrup of ipecac before they were served."

"Is this so?" he said. He pushed the paper cup in front of me and said, "But you are hot and thirsty, so please try the limeade and see if it is good. You are my son's baseball coach. It is the least I can do to offer you this small hospitality."

He was still playing with his mustache and smiling as I picked up the cup and took a drink. "It is very good," I said coolly, "and welcome on a hot day. When did you taste a piece of tamale at the grand opening?"

"A few minutes after they came from the kitchen. The fat girl put the tray down and left, and I pushed through the crowd to the table to try one. They tasted very bad, very sweet and oily."

"Who was in this crowd?"

"Gringos look alike," he said, shrugging. "The woman who has red hair like a fire hydrant and wanted Raimundo to play baseball was there. Ruby Bee, who owns the bar and is your mother—she was there, too. The short woman who sells vegetables. A woman with the mouth of someone who has eaten a green persimmon. Many men in denim pants and caps. Some children, all shoving and shrieking. A crowd is made of many people, is it not?"

That was pretty much what I'd heard from other witnesses. I took another sip of limeade while I considered my next brilliant ploy. "Okay, what about Monday evening when you went to the SuperSaver? Did you buy anything?"

"Bah! I will not give them my business. I will drive to Farberville before I will spend my money there."

"There's a display rack by one of the registers that was filled with cupcakes and sponge cakes," I said. "Did you notice anyone standing in front of it or handling the packages?"

"Or putting ipecac in them?" His laugh was brittle and unconvincing.

I wished there was one person in the whole town who wasn't as knowledgeable as I about the case. Just one who didn't receive hourly news bulletins from the grapevine. "How'd you hear about it?" I asked for form's sake.

"My wife went to the produce stand to buy a few things. While she was waiting for change, two other women came and were discussing the poisoning of another. My wife's English is not so good, but she is quick in the mind. So you have come to ask me if I am responsible, Chief of Police Hanks? Do you want to know if I put Ipecac in the tamales and in the cakes so that the SuperSaver would be closed?"

"Basically, yes."

"I did not, but if you find out who did, come by and have another limeade with me and tell me the name. I will send him a nice sack of genuine Mexican tamales."

*****

"Duck," Estelle whispered,
grabbing Ruby Bee's shoulder so violently that they both wobbled and sat down hard on the gravel. "Get around on this side of the dumpster, and hurry!"

Ruby Bee rubbed her rump. "What is wrong with you, Estelle Oppers? I'm going to have bruises all over me from being knocked over like a bowling pin. You had no call to—"

"Just get around on this side, and quick." Estelle scrabbled around the edge of the dumpster, and after a sniff, Ruby Bee followed her, even though certain parts of her anatomy were sure to be black and blue before morning.

"Now what?" she asked haughtily. "You want I should get inside and hunt up a nice picnic supper for us?"

"I saw a familiar car, that's what," Estelle retorted.

"Whose?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I swore on a stack of Bibles. Crawl around this way and take a gander for yourself "

Ruby Bee took a gander, and when she sat back down, she was having trouble with her eyeballs and her hands were fluttering like a pair of moths. "What on earth...?"

"Hush!" Estelle hissed, going so far as to clamp her hand over Ruby Bee's mouth because the footsteps were coming closer and closer. The two huddled down on the far side of the dumpster, both wondering how they were going to explain the situation should they be caught, because it wouldn't be easy. Something thudded inside the dumpster. The footsteps receded, and after another moment of pained suspense, a car door slammed and the engine started. They held their breaths until the tires crunched across the gravel lot and the sound of the engine was mingled with the stream of noise from the highway.

"Well, I never," Estelle gasped.

"I never, either," Ruby Bee said as she let out her breath and eased off her knees. She picked a piece of gravel off one kneecap, then looked at Estelle. "He threw something in the dumpster. I heard it."

"And I didn't?" Estelle said, picking at her own kneecap.

"Now what do we do?"

They both thought about the challenge of retrieving whatever it was that was somewhere in the foul confusion of the overflowing dumpster. Where there was rotting garbage, there were apt to be unspeakable things. From the scattered litter in the general vicinity, it was obvious the dumpster contained broken glass, razor-sharp lids, dirty diapers, oil, grease, and filth, all baked in the sunshine and thoroughly ripe.

"You said you needed a tetanus shot, anyway," Ruby Bee suggested with more decisiveness than she felt. "I'll give you a boost inside, and you can grab the evidence real quick."

"I beg your pardon," Estelle said, gazing down her nose like she fancied herself to be the Emily Post of Dumpsterdom. "For one, you're not tall enough to give me a boost. I, on the other hand, am tall enough to give you a leg up and help you when you're ready to climb back out."

The debate raged for a good fifteen minutes, but eventually Estelle won out, interlaced her fingers in a stirrup of sorts, and grunted softly as she hefted Ruby Bee over the edge of the sixfoot metal wall. The resultant remarks from the interior were about as graphic as she'd ever heard, but she didn't comment on them because she figured she'd be saying the same things and perhaps even more.

After a minute or two, Ruby Bee said, "I think I see something. It's not as...nasty as the other bags, and it's kind of on top of...other things. Let me see if I can get over there and—"

The next sound was a harrumph of sorts, but said with great unhappiness and accompanied by an explosive clatter and the tinkle of breaking glass. Estelle clutched her cheeks and said, "Are you all right?"

The door of the upstairs apartment they'd been watching opened and a figure in a white bathrobe and a terry-cloth turban yelled, "What the hell's going on down there?"

Estelle threw herself around the corner, praying she hadn't been spotted. From inside the dumpster, a low voice said, "Dandy. This is just dandy."

Another door opened. A wizened man dressed in baggy shorts and a baseball cap came out on the balcony. His chest was covered with matted black hair and his arms resembled rolls of barbed wire. He had a beer in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. "Damn rats back in the dumpster?" he asked his neighbor. "I saw one the other day big enough to tip the thing over and drag it away."

"I just heard the crash, Arnie," the woman said, still scowling down at the dumpster.

"Tell you what, I'll get my shoes and my shotgun and go have a look. It's bad enough living in this dump without having rats taking up residence in the parking lot."

"Go for it," the woman said. She went back inside and closed the door. The man stuffed the last of the sandwich in his mouth, finished the beer, and went back into his apartment. The door remained ajar.

"Now what?" said a most unfriendly voice.

"I don't know. Lemme think about it," Estelle whispered, panicked to the point of hyperventilation, which was unfortunate considering the redolence of the moment.

"Good idea...thinking, that is. You're the one who got me into this. I'm squatting in garbage, and liable any minute to come nose-to-nose with a rat, and you're going to think about it. Would you like to know what I think?"

It came to Estelle about the time she thought she was going to pass out from the panic. As distasteful as it seemed, she had no choice and had to do her duty. "Just wait there," she told Ruby Bee. "I'm going to distract him so he won't shoot you." She stood up, brushed the dust off her skirt, patted her hair back into shape, lifted her chin, and took off for the stairs that led to the second floor.

The wail of desperation was lost as a plane roared overhead and went in for a landing.