Madness In Maggody

Jim Bob waited while the shiver ran its course all the way down and out his tailbone. "Now, we don't have any account to call the sheriff, Mrs. Jim Bob. We don't know for a fact that Lamont dumped something into the free samples. He sure didn't have any reason to do it. The SuperSaver's lost two days of business already, and today's half-shot. The last thing either of us wants is a passel of bad publicity…but we sure as hell got it."

"There will be no profanity in this house," Mrs. Jim Bob said promptly but without heat, preoccupied with how best to pass along the information that Lamont Petrel-rather than her husband-had done his cold-blooded level best to poison every last soul in town. Eula was home and she could be trusted to spend the afternoon on the telephone. Lottie Estes had mentioned having a few teachers from the high school over to admire her chrysanthemums, and they'd linger to chat over coffee.

It simply needed a touch of orchestration, and by prayer meeting on Wednesday, Mrs. Jim Bob told herself smugly there wouldn't be more than a scant handful of folks who would not have heard the truth, presuming Eula, Lottie, and a few others could be availed upon to do their Christian duty.

Despite the fact the gremlin had advanced to bottle rockets, Jim Bob could see what was going on in his wife's mind. He considered restating his argument that Lamont had no motive, then decided he didn't give a damn if Lamont's name was dragged through the swamp in a gu

"I got to make a call to the bank, " he said, and hurried into the house. When he spoke to the loan officer, the gremlin had moved on to dynamite, but Jim Bob managed an oily tone of concern as he explained the closing of the loan would have to wait until his partner was available. And, no, he couldn't say when that would be. He didn't say he hoped to hell it wouldn't be anytime soon, but he thought it.

Hammet was madder than a bobcat in a trap, but I felt no remorse. Joyce Lambertino had called early in the morning and asked if he could spend the day at her house playing with Saralee, and I'd readily accepted on his behalf. I'd ignored all his protests, even the explicitly colorful ones, insisted he put on clean overalls and wash behind his ears, and then pretty much booted him out the door. He'd cussed up a storm all the way to the corner, bless his little heart. I felt like a proud mom on prom night.

But zut alors, it was time to go to the PD and then à Paris, to drift along the Seine in a gaily decorated boat, a glass of champagne in hand and glittery lights of the Left Bank reflecting in my eyes. My tiny hotel was nestled amongst the lights, with its French Provincial furniture and cozy sitting room. A continental breakfast was included in the rate. Lunches would consist of fresh bread, a slice of pâté, and a bottle of vin ordinaire. I was sans souci, or at least I was right up until the front door of the PD opened.

It was my amiable state trooper, Sergeant John Plover, who had a slightly crooked nose, a decidedly crooked smile, freckles, and blond hair that on occasion demanded to be ruffled. He and I had gotten off to a rocky begi

"Whatever." He took off his sunglasses, perched on the corner of my desk, and said, "What's this I hear about half the town being poisoned."

I raised my eyebrows. "What exactly is the bon mot at the barracks, Sergeant?"

"The word at the barracks, Chief, is a four-letter word, perhaps too uncouth for your sensitive ears."

"I'm touched by your gentlemanly concern. I feel quite sure no four-letter word has been uttered aloud within the city limits of my domain, unless, of course, it was the night Hiram Buchanon's barn burned. From all reports, things got way out of hand."

"The word is B-A-R-F, all caps and in a boggling quantity. From what I heard, half the town was doubled up on the floor of that new supermarket, begging for death. Luckily for them, everybody survived. I presume you didn't-"

"Sample the canapés? No way, José. We won't know what happened until we get some test results from the state lab. Harve's determined to write it off as an accident, but I'm not so sure. How'd you hear so quickly?"

"Corporal Anderson was off duty Saturday afternoon, and it seems his cousin's boy is on some baseball team that was included in the opening ceremonies. Anderson's presence was deemed a familial obligation, since he's got a camera."

"Did you drive all the way out here to discuss barf?"

Plover removed himself from my desk and sat down in the ratty chair I keep to discourage visitors. "No, I just thought it was interesting-a typical Maggodian sort of madness. Let me know what the lab reports indicate, will you?"

"You'll hear it more quickly on the barracks grapevine," I said lightly. It was, after all, my jurisdiction and therefore my case. If I wanted the cavalry, I would send for it. "If you didn't come to tease me about that, then what is it that has propelled you to the boonies?"

"Well," he began, then stopped. He studied the floor, the ceiling, the wall above my head, and the mess on my desk. The air conditioner sputtered as always, but not loudly enough to fill the sudden vacuum of silence. "Have you had lunch?"

Fantasies about French bread and pâté were inadequate to sustain me for any length of time. "No," I admitted, "but I was thinking about it. You buying?"

"I might."

We drove to Ruby Bee's in his real, live official vehicle. I tried not to be too envious of such things as a working radio and a working air conditioner and all kinds of mysterious buttons and knobs that no doubt worked also. He parked between two semis and we settled in a booth.

The proprietress came over with menus, looking a lot more cheerful than I'd seen her for several weeks. "We haven't had the pleasure of your company for a while," she said to Plover. "How've you been keeping youself?"

"Fine," he said, smiling back at her. "Me, too," I said, although nobody had asked. My smile may have lacked warmth. "I missed you and Estelle at the practice yesterday afternoon. I called here and at your unit several times, but all I got was a busy signal. It's hard to get much accomplished when my major concern is keeping everybody off each other's throats."

Ruby Bee's expression was that of a puppy that'd been kicked across the room. "Why, land sakes, Arly, you know I'd have given my right arm to get out there yesterday to help you, but business has been real brisk these last two days and it's all I can do to sit down and rest my feet for a minute."

She had a point. The bar stools were all occupied by neckless hulks, and most of the booths by more of the same. The whiny country music from the jukebox was almost drowned out by the babble of the troglodytes and the clatter of utensils.

We were given menus and told to holler when we made up our minds. Once she was out of earshot, I leaned forward and said, "Okay, why are you here?"

The infamous kid with his hand in the cookie jar couldn't have looked more uncomfortable. Plover again found many things to study, none of them remotely in the direction of yours truly. When I kicked him under the table, he cleared his throat and said, "How's the meat loaf? I don't think I've ever tried it."

"The meat loaf is heavenly. You're here on official business, aren't you?"