Malpractice in Maggody (28 page)

“I’m sure I saw somebody,” Heloise insisted. “It was a woman, dressed in blue.”

Mrs. Jim Bob elbowed Eula aside so she could get a better look. “I hope you haven’t been drinking today, Heloise. It can affect your eyesight, along with your judgment. The only thing I see is a blue jay on the top of the fence. Are you quite sure you didn’t catch a glimpse of it?”

Heloise’s eyes filled with tears. “I know exactly what I saw, and I don’t care to be insulted like that. If you think I can’t tell the difference between a woman dressed in blue and a bird, then—then you’re the one who’s been drinking!”

“How dare you?” sputtered Mrs. Jim Bob. “I never touch alcohol! I am a good Christian woman. I read the Scriptures every single morning while I have my coffee, and I keep a Bible in every bedroom. Just who do you think organizes the rummage sale every summer? Who makes sure there are paper plates for the potluck suppers on Wednesday after the prayer meeting? What’s more, I pray for the little heathen children in Africa almost every night before I go to bed.”

“You never touch alcohol?” Heloise shot back. “My Marvin drove by your house the morning after those Civil War reenactors left, and he said there were so many bottles they were spilling out of your garbage can.”

Mrs. Jim Bob cast around for a diversion. “Didn’t I hear that Marvin was arrested last fall for hunting without a license? Maybe you should worry more about his sinfulness instead of making wild accusations.” She picked up the gavel and banged it on the table. “This meeting is adjourned! We won’t have another meeting until I’ve had time to take a hard look at the membership roster.”

No one dared speak. They picked up their purses, filed out of the sun room, and went to their respective vehicles. Lottie was disappointed she hadn’t had a chance to fire her gun. Elsie was real sorry Mrs. Jim Bob had ended the meeting so abruptly, since she’d have liked to hear more about the liquor bottles. Lottie decided to go back to the high school and make sure Darla Jean and Heather were still hard at work on the plans for the exhibit at the county fair. Heloise was so furious she could barely get the key in the ignition. Millicent and Eula were walking side by side, both thinking hard.

In the kitchen, Perkin’s eldest was holding on to the mop handle. She looked as if she was thinking, too, but it was hard to tell with her. More than likely, it was just gas.

I
stopped by the PD to see if Jack had left a message on the answering machine. He hadn’t. I debated calling him, voted against it, and grabbed my overnight bag to dump in my apartment. Roy Stiver was sitting in a bent willow rocking chair outside the antiques store, dressed in overalls, lying in wait for a couple of tourists to stop. Most of them figured they could outwit an ol’ country boy. For the record, Roy winters in Florida and collects first editions of nineteenth-century British poets.

“Hey,” I said as I stepped onto the porch.

“Back so soon?”

I stopped. “Back from where?”

Roy stuck an unlit corncob pipe in his mouth. “Springfield, of course. I used to know a gal up there, name of Peggy Sue Kawalski. She was a right pretty thing, with big violet eyes, dimples, and a heart-shaped mouth. We’d go to a tavern out by a lake and dance till the sun rose over the mountains. When she died from a spider bite, it darn near broke my heart. To this day, I’ve never danced again.”

“Save it for the tourists. You seen anything peculiar today?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘peculiar.’ Raz drove by with water sloshing out of the back of his truck, most likely in case Marjorie got dust up her snout and wanted to take a dip. There’s something kind of unnatural about that relationship, if you ask me. ’Course, you didn’t.” He took a pouch of tobacco out of his pocket and filled his pipe. It took him two or three matches before he got it smoldering to his satisfaction. “There must have been a meeting of the Missionary Society at Mrs. Jim Bob’s house a while back; all of the fine Christian ladies drove by, headed in that direction. Jim Bob’s getting up a poker game for tonight, but it’s Saturday, so that ain’t peculiar. Joyce Lambertino stopped long enough to ask me if I’d seen Larry Joe today. I told her I hadn’t, which is the truth, so help me God. I may have heard he was goin’ fishing this afternoon with Piglet Buchanon, but I didn’t actually see him.”

I was getting impatient with all his hillbilly blather. “Have you seen an older woman with white hair?”

Roy puffed contentedly on his pipe. “Reckon I did. I went inside mebbe an hour ago to take care of some personal business, and I saw her out back in the pasture. For a minute, I thought it was Dahlia’s granny, but this lady was tall and moving faster than a snake slitherin’ through a coon carcass.”

“Which way was she headed?” I asked.

“There a reason why you’re looking for her?”

“Yes, Roy, there’s a reason. Which way was she headed?”

“Toward Earl’s house, but that don’t mean she didn’t keep right on going. That place is such a sty I can smell it from here. If Eileen doesn’t get back afore too long, I’m gonna rent a bulldozer and flatten it. And if Earl’s inside, it’ll be no great loss. There are already way too many Buchanons in this county, and they breed like fruit flies. If I were you, I’d pack my bags and head for Springfield.”

I forced myself to smile. “Thank you ever so much for your advice, Roy. It warms my cockles to know you take such an interest in me.”

“You ain’t got any cockles, and I’m not all that interested.” He put a battered straw hat on his head and rocked back. “Why don’t you run along and find this white-haired woman? I feel a snooze comin’ on.”

I stalked past him and climbed the steps to my apartment. It looked even crappier, now that I’d seen the apartments at the Stonebridge Foundation. I tried not to think of the condo I’d lived in during the brief duration of my marriage. It had been decorated by a professional, and attention had been given to every square inch of it, from the volumes of books arranged by color on the built-in bookshelves to the tidy tassels of the window treatments. The throw pillows color-coordinated with the ashtrays. The sterile kitchen with marble countertops, Tuscan floor tiles, and bronze sink fixtures.

Too bad it had also been furnished with a first-class asshole.

I dropped my bag on the floor, intimidating the cockroaches into taking temporary cover, and studied myself in the mirror. Harve’s remark about second helpings had not been missed, nor had it been welcomed. I decided I looked pretty darn good. My hair was shiny, my complexion a bit softer and rosier than usual. I replaced a few wobbly hairpins to secure my bun, touched up my lipstick, and then went to the PD to fetch my car and drove out to Earl’s.

Bags of garbage were piled in the back of his pickup truck, and all the windows were open. From inside the house I could hear a vacuum cleaner. It was very curious, I thought as I peered through the front screen, not sure if I’d see Alexandra Swayze, Eileen, or Perkin’s eldest, for that matter. I did not expect to see Earl in an apron. He’d changed into clean clothes and shaved—an amazing improvement from when I’d last seen him.

“Everything okay?” I shouted.

Earl turned off the vacuum cleaner and glared at me. “Whatta ya want?”

“I just came by to see how you were doing,” I said. “I haven’t heard anything new about Eileen, but I’ll let you know when I do.”

“It don’t matter to me. Do as you please.”

“One other thing, Earl,” I said as he reached down to turn on the vacuum cleaner. “Did you happen to see a woman with white hair out in the pasture or creeping around your house? About sixty years old, maybe wearing some kind of blue outfit?”

“Nope.” He flipped a switch and the vacuum cleaner began to roar.

I decided I needed a glass of iced tea to erase the memory of Earl Buchanon in a floral-print apron with heart-shaped pockets and a ruffle along the bottom, so I headed for the nearest watering hole. Ruby Bee glanced up as I came across the empty barroom. “Back so soon? Guess nobody’s been murdered out there today. You must be getting bored.”

I sat down on a stool. “How’s Estelle doing?”

“She left an hour ago.” Ruby Bee filled a mug with milk and set it down in front of me, then stood there with an insufferably complacent smile on her face. A cat that had just annihilated a nest of field mice couldn’t have looked more pleased with itself.

“Really?” I said lightly, willing to play her game. “What’s for supper tonight? More catfish?”

She fussed around with a dishrag, taking great care to wipe the already spotless bar, and hummed while she rearranged the metal napkin holders and pretzel baskets. She finally cracked. “I guess you’re not the only one who knows the names of the celebrities out at the Stonebridge Foundation.”

“I guess not,” I said. “The doctors and physical trainer know the names, and presumably whoever delivered each of them knows the names, too. Family members are good at keeping track of that kind of thing, too.”

“Listen up, Miss Sassafras Mouth,” snapped Ruby Bee, “you ain’t so smart. I know for a fact that Dawn Dartmouth is staying out there, most likely dying of heart disease. You may not remember her from that series she was in, but I do. I must have watched it every single Thursday evening for more than ten years. She and her sister were four years old when the show started, and cute as buttons. As they got older, Twinkle was all the time gettin’ into mischief, but she always fessed up in the end. One time she found a litter of puppies in an alley and took them home. Her parents were besides themselves on account of not knowing what to do with nine puppies. In the end, the owner came to the door and was so grateful that she insisted on giving one to Twinkle. Of course Dawn and Sunny were supposed to be one person, but everybody in Arkansas knew better.”

I was baffled. “Dawn and Sunny were one person?”

“I wish you’d pay more attention,” Ruby Bee said. “Dawn and Sunny were identical twins. They were from some little podunk down by Arkadelphia. It was in the newspaper when the show first started.”

“How did you find out that Dawn is at the foundation?”

She arched her eyebrows. She wasn’t nearly as good at it as Estelle, but her effort was more than enough to rankle me. “I have my ways. What I want to know is if she’s dying of a heart disease like her sister. You must have seen her. Is she all sickly and pale and breathless?”

“You’re going way too fast for me,” I admitted, taking a sip of milk. “I’ll give you a medical update after you tell me how you found out about Dawn.”

Ruby Bee complied in detail.

I’d finished the milk during her recitation. “The Mexicans must think you and Estelle are crazier than bedbugs. I can assure you that Dawn does not appear to have any life-threatening diseases. Do you understand the importance of not telling anyone else about this? The same goes for Estelle. Deal?”

“What if I say no?” she asked.

“Then I’ll solve this case, and as soon as I’ve handed it over to Harve, I’ll throw all my worldly possessions in my trunk and go live in a more congenial place. Antarctica comes to mind.”

“You wouldn’t! Why, that’s worse than blackmail! Imagine saying such a thing to your own mother. I ought to take you out back and paddle your bottom.”

“Try it,” I said coldly.

She spluttered and blustered for a few minutes, dredging up all the terrible things I’d done as a teenager (she didn’t know the half of it), and then, when she realized I wasn’t impressed, simmered down. “I wasn’t aiming to tell anybody, and neither was Estelle, so you just go on about your business.”

As I went out the door, I heard her yell something about an autograph, but I pretended not to hear it. I drove back to the Stonebridge Foundation, which I could do with my eyes closed by now, and jabbed the button of the box until the gate opened. I parked in back and came through the arch. Deputy Quivers had been replaced by yet another rookie, this one scrawnier than Kevin Buchanon and likely to be no brighter. I acknowledged him with a flip of my hand and knocked on Dr. Stonebridge’s office door. When I received no response, I opened the door.

Vincent Stonebridge did not look any perkier than he had earlier, and the brandy bottle was empty. He gave me a bleary look. “Ah, Chief Hanks. Have you any good news to report?”

“Not yet,” I said. “Were any drugs missing from the cabinet in the room off the surgical suite?”

“Not so much as an aspirin. Randall must have brought the pills with him.”

“I need the key to the file cabinet with all the medical records.”

“I can’t do that. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that bullshit. Would you like a drink? I think I have another bottle of this very fine brandy in my apartment. We can put on a CD and enjoy some music, get to know each other better. You’re not a bad-looking woman, although you could use some work around your eyes. As the muscles age, they lose their elasticity. Maybe a couple of inches off your waist. Your boobs are nice and plump, though. I’ll bet they’re real firm.”

I waited until I could trust myself, then said, “Give me the key.”

“Oh, all right, if you insist.” He battled with the top drawer and finally managed to open it. He tossed a key ring onto the desk and watched as it slid across the surface and over the edge. “Oops,” he said with a giggle.

I picked up the key ring and left before he offered further assessment of my body. The reception desk was manned by a different orderly, one I hadn’t spoken to. I veered behind him and unlocked the door to the office. I was worried that he might rush off to find Brenda, but if he was perturbed, he was doing a fine job of hiding it. I tried several keys until I found the one that opened the drawer marked “Records: Confidential.” The printing was precise; I had no doubt Brenda had wielded the pen. I pulled out all four of the patients’ files. Rather than risk having her catch me, I took them down the hall to Alexandra’s suite and quietly closed the door behind me. I put the files on the coffee table and found Dawn’s.

Ruby Bee’s recollections were fairly accurate. Dawn (née Janine Louise Dartsmercher) was born in Stubbutt, Arkansas, had become a child star in a popular sitcom, and later descended to Hollywood’s B-list (or C-list, if there was one). The records that had been sent by her L.A. physician made no reference to any kind of potential health problems beyond dependency on alcohol and recreational drugs. I had no idea why Ruby Bee had come up with heart disease.

I read through the rest of the file. Dawn’s sister Sunny had been diagnosed with depression and schizophrenia ten years ago, and died in a hospital. Randall saw this as a significant factor in Dawn’s alcoholism, along with her hatred of her mother and fantasies of sexual abuse. One very screwed-up kid, I thought.

Somewhere in the hall a door opened. I held my breath as footsteps passed in front of Alexandra’s suite, paused, and then continued. My reaction was ludicrous, since I had every right to be in the building until the murder was solved—but if it had been midnight and I’d been reading by flickering candlelight, I would have screeched like an owl.

Once I’d come to my senses, I read through the other three files. Randall was concerned about Toby’s temperamental outbursts and was contemplating additional medications. Walter was worried that Toby was going to take a swing at him. Stonebridge had convinced Dr. Dibbins to sign consent forms for various surgeries that would suck, tuck, and tighten his torso as his weight dropped. Later, Stonebridge would get to work on the face. Unfortunately, none of the procedures would diminish his ego. Alexandra Swayze had been cooperative and seemingly willing to go along with her treatment. She’d signed a form for a face-lift and a chin job. Randall was still trying to persuade her to acknowledge her addiction to prescription pills. All of them were subjected to a myriad of medications, as well as Brenda’s vitamins, supplements, and mysterious elixirs. Dibbins and Dawn were on restricted diets, while Alexandra and Toby were swilling protein shakes in addition to their meals.