Merry Wives of Maggody (7 page)

• • •

Within an hour, the ugly truth began to spread through town, and by suppertime the tension in some house holds was thicker than corn syrup. The Lambertino children didn’t know what to make of their ma and pa, who weren’t speaking to each other. Darla Jean hid out in her bedroom because her ma and pa
were
speaking to each other (but not at all nicely). Bony was disappointed when he realized there would be no bountiful supper served at Uncle Earl and Aunt Eileen’s house. He made himself a sandwich and sat on the front porch. Frederick Cartier eased his car out of the garage, where Mrs. Jim Bob had insisted he park it, and drove to Farberville to track down an old buddy that he’d met at the Hot Springs racetrack decades earlier.

Kevin Buchanon was home alone. Dahlia, the younguns, and the car were gone. When he’d called his parents’ house, his very own ma had said she didn’t know where they were and slammed down the phone so hard his ear still ached. He went to the refrigerator and rooted around until he found the leftover meatloaf. It seemed kind of wrong to heat it up, so he ate it cold.

After a convoluted argument that made no sense, Crystal and Tam Whitby had retreated to different rooms in their house in the treeless subdivision out past the high school. Crystal spent the rest of the evening on the phone with her mother in Lead Hill.

Her mother agreed that Tam was a self-centered bully, and cheerfully pointed out that she warned Crystal back in high school not to go to the prom with him.

Bopeep Buchanon loomed over Luke, reminding him who had a job and who lounged around on his lazy butt and drank beer all day. When she came at him with a potato peeler, he hightailed it out of the trailer at the Pot O’ Gold. In the trailer next to it, Eula Lemoy smiled as she watched him leave. He was passably handsome, but he was responsible for the whiskey bottles and beer cans cluttering the grass. Eula hoped he was gone for good. Since most of Bopeep’s boyfriends lasted only a few weeks, it was likely.

“Just what in hell’s name are you gonna do with a bass boat?” demanded Ruddy Cranshaw as he slammed his fist on the arm of the recliner. “It ain’t like you can bait a hook without getting weepy.” Cora grabbed the remote and sprinted for the garbage disposal.

Audley Riley hurled a can of tuna fish across the kitchen. “If I win this boat, you’ll never set foot on it! I’ll sell it on eBay in a split second, and use the money to remodel the kitchen.” The can bounced off the refrigerator door, leaving a noticeable dent. “And get new appliances,” she added darkly as she reached for a can of chicken noodle soup. Rip deflected it with a skillet, thinking he might make a better badminton player than a golfer.

Big Dick MacNamara sat in his truck, using a rag to mop the blood running out of his nose. Lucille’s left jab was nothing more than a fluke, he consoled himself. He didn’t know why she’d turned crazy when he’d said she could barely walk across a room without tripping on her own shoelaces. He’d been trying to be helpful, that’s all.

Earl Buchanon pointed out to his wife that she couldn’t operate an electric can opener, much less an Evinrude E-TEC. Eileen suggested what he could do with an Evinrude E-TEC. It was highly colorful but anatomically impossible. The conversation went downhill after that.

Roy Stiver, who was blessedly unwed, searched through his kitchen cabinets. after the first two phone calls of desperation, he’d put the fillet back in the refrigerator and was now wondering if he could make Hamburger Helper with canned sardines for his exiled guests. The phone rang again.

• • •

Over in Farberville, things were calmer. Tommy Ridner finished a steak sandwich in the bar at the country club, then ordered another drink. In spite of the real estate slump that was playing holy hell with his income, he was feeling good. Two under par that afternoon had been worth three hundred dollars, most of which he was in the process of spending on rounds of drinks for the members at other tables. He was thinking about his brilliant chip shot at the twelfth green when Dennis and Amanda Gilbert joined him.

Tommy beckoned the waitress. “Put their drinks on my tab, honey,” he said grandly.

Amanda ordered a brandy and soda. “Are we celebrating something? I saw Natalie Hotz on the eighteenth green. Did she finally give you the time of day? You’re so tedious when you drool from a distance.”

“We bumped into each other on the first tee,” Tommy said.

“Someone in her foursome was late, so she let us go ahead of them. I don’t think either of us asked about the time. She’s playing in the tournament this weekend.” He winked at Dennis. “Maybe one of these days she’ll thaw just a tiny bit.”

Dennis laughed. “You believe winning this crappy tournament is going to break the ice? She’s encased in a glacier. You’d need a blowtorch and fifty years to get to her.” He squeezed Amanda’s hand. “Not all women are hot for you, Tommy boy.”

“I can vouch for that.” Amanda withdrew her hand to pick up her drink. “You’d better keep your voices down. The glacier’s sitting at a table near the door, and the temperature just dropped fifteen degrees.”

“I don’t give a shit who wins the tournament,” Tommy continued loudly. “The bass boat’s a whole ’nother story. The sun in my eyes, the wind in my hair, the rod in my hand. I’m thinking I’ll rent a slip at the Prairie Gulch marina. Takes about thirty minutes to drive up there, but the fishing’s good. Lots of college chicks hang out on the weekends. I’m sure some of them would be up for a boat ride to a secluded cove.”

“You’re such a pig.” Amanda took out her compact and inspected her face as if she might have contracted trichinosis from breathing the same air.

“Why are you so sure you’ll win the boat?” asked Dennis. “A hole-in-one isn’t all that common, you know. You’ve made what—eight in the last twenty-five years? I’ve never made one, and I’ve probably played fifteen hundred rounds. That works out to”—he paused to calculate—“twenty-seven thousand holes. I guess I’m due one, since the odds are one in twenty to thirty thousand.”

“You wanna make a little bet?” Tommy said.

“No, he does not.” Amanda deftly clicked the compact closed and dropped it in her purse. “You’re both being ridiculous. If you’ve got money to throw away, why don’t you donate it to the famished golf widows? They can use it for prosciutto and white asparagus.”

Tommy chuckled. “Don’t be a wimp, Dennis. What’s the harm in a friendly bet, especially when the odds are in your favor? Tell you what—if I don’t make a hole-in-one, I’ll pay you a thousand dollars. If I do…” He thought about it for a moment. “If I do, I get a night of hot, steamy sex with your wife.”

“How dare you!” she said, her face turning redder than her hair. “You really are a pig, Tommy Ridner. I’m not chattel to be bartered, like some biblical slave. Furthermore, I wouldn’t sleep with you if you paid me a million dollars. Dennis would never agree to such a vile bet. I ought to slap your face!”

“A thousand dollars,” Dennis murmured. “Hardly seems worth it.”

“Dennis!” Amanda shrieked.

“Okay, good buddy,” Tommy said, “let’s make it five thousand.”

Her head swiveled. “You bastard!”

“Calm down, dear. Everyone’s staring.” Dennis lowered his eyes while he considered. “How about ten?”

“Seventy-five hundred,” Tommy said, winking at Amanda.

She knocked over her chair as she stood up. “I cannot believe either of you! I am leaving—alone! Dennis, find your own way home. Better yet, find your own way to a motel or sleep on a sofa in his filthy sty. And don’t bother to call me. I’m going to my yoga class to night, and tomorrow I have aerobics, a hair appointment, and a lunch date with Chantry. If you so much as step foot in the house while I’m gone, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing! Do I make myself clear?” She stormed out of the bar with the subtlety of an Abrams tank flattening the countryside.

Her audience of two dozen or so, including the waitress and the bartender, stared in awe. after a moment, they pretended they hadn’t been listening and resumed their quiet conversations.

Amanda was not known for moderation in alcohol or gentility.

Tommy waited until she was gone. “She didn’t sound pleased.”

“No, she didn’t,” Dennis said.

They ordered another round of drinks.

• • •

Kale Wasson sat in front of the TV, watching a game show and laughing at the contestants’ stupidity. “Mom, I need another soda,” he said as the show went into commercial. He pushed his stringy hair out of his eyes and leaned back on the sofa. Another boring night at home with his mother. He used to have friends, he thought morosely. Golf had ruined his life. Golf had given him zits and thick yellow toenails. Golf had made his eyelid twitch when he encountered Natalie Hotz. If he was a quarterback or a varsity basketball player, he could be hanging out at a party, maybe feeling up some freshman cheerleader. Drinking beer and driving around half the night. Skinny-dipping at the lake. Getting laid.

In the kitchen, Kathleen hung up the shirt she’d finished ironing.

When she went into the living room, Kale did not look up.

She put down an unopened can and picked up his dinner plate.

“Don’t forget there’s ice cream.”

“Yeah, vanilla,” he said. “How many times have I told you that I don’t like vanilla ice cream? You know, you should be a contestant on one of these brainless games. All you’d have to do is jump around and squeal.”

“Vanilla used to be your favorite.”

Kale grimaced. “I used to ride a tricycle. So what?”

“I’ll try to remember to get a different kind next time. I’m going to pack now. If you want to take any books or CDs, you’ll have to put them in yourself. I can’t keep track of your favorites.”

He began to flip through the channels. “I don’t see why we have to go a day early and stay in this podunk. I’m not about to hunt for an out house in the middle of the night. Why can’t we just stay here and commute every day? It’s all of two hours from here, fercrissake.”

Not that Tibia, Arkansas, was any great metropolis, he reminded himself glumly. If it had a superhero, he’d wear a brown cape and be named the Daring Defecator.

“We could,” Kathleen said with great innocence, “but I thought you’d be pleased to have a little extra time with Natalie. She’s such a nice girl, isn’t she? That manager of hers is something else. A tyrant of the worst kind. She didn’t so much as nod at me at the tournament in Little Rock. I don’t know why Natalie allows herself to be treated that way.”

“Natalie’ll be there tomorrow?”

“I’m sure she wants to get in a practice round. For once, we can afford an extra night at the motel. It’s very inexpensive.”

“Does it have electricity?”

Kathleen smiled at her beloved son. “Of course it does.” She returned to the kitchen and picked up the iron. The only way they would continue to have electricity at home was if Kale won the bass boat. They could surely get at least thirty thousand dollars for it. And if she had to dangle that snippety blonde to persuade him to play a practice round, so be it.

• • •

Natalie voiced the same objections that Kyle had, but timidly. “I don’t see why we can’t drive out there and play a practice round, then come back for the night.”

“So you can go out to the pool and get all cozy with that architecture student?” Janna said. “Don’t think I didn’t see you out there yesterday, crawling all over him. You told me you intended to swim laps, but your hair wasn’t even damp when you got back. Did you make a date with him? There’s no point in lying; I’m not stupid. I heard that you and Tommy Ridner had a cozy chat at the club yesterday. Did you and he make plans to sneak out behind a barn? You’re behaving like a bitch in heat. You told me you’d do anything to make it big in the LPGA. Have you changed your mind?”

“Of course not. I just don’t see why I can’t have a little fun, too.”

Janna took a deep breath while she calculated the most effective response. Dealing with Natalie was harder than breaking in new recruits. It required a careful balance of empathy and authority.

“I understand that, Natalie. You’re not even twenty yet, but you have to make sacrifices now if you want success and happiness in the future. In a few years, you’ll be established, wealthy. There’ll be time for fun. To get there, you have to focus on your goal. Sex is a distraction. When you’re putting for a birdie, your mind can’t wander off.”

“How would you know sex is a distraction?”

“Because I’ve seen casualties in Central America and Iraq. Good soldiers who got careless and didn’t adhere to procedure, for no other reason than worrying about their families or their lovers. The suicide rate in the military is higher than the comparable rate of civilians. Stress causes distraction, leading to selfdestruction.”

“I meant you personally.”

“You’re pushing your luck,” Janna said. “Now pack your suitcase. We’ll leave tomorrow after my class at the gym.”

• • •

I was relieved when the yachtsman did not drop by the PD to reiterate his dinner invitation. There was something almost creepy about him. He hadn’t really told me anything about himself, except that he was a friend of Bony Buchanon’s. It seemed improbable.

I didn’t bother to lock the door of the PD as I headed down the road to Ruby Bee’s. If one of the locals wanted to break in, he was welcome to it. My gun was secured in a metal cabinet, and my box with three bullets was at the back of a desk drawer. Nothing else was worth spit.

Ruby Bee gave me a frantic look as I came across the dance floor. She’d been acting odd for a few days, too distracted to bombard me with questions about my immediate future. Since that had been the norm for the last several weeks, its absence was disturbing.

Almost, anyway.

“What’s up?” I hopped on a stool and looked at the chalkboard with the list of daily specials. Chicken ’n’ dumplings. Fried okra.

Cherry cobbler. Some days I felt like I was eating not for two but for a prenatal football team.

“Estelle’s gone missing,” she said.

“Gone missing where?”

Ruby Bee glared at me. “If I knew where she was, then she wouldn’t be missing, would she? What do you aim to do?”