Mischief In Maggody

"That's the stupidest thing I've heard all morning," I replied with an impish grin of my own.

Mrs. Jim Bob perched on the corner of her bed so as not to wrinkle the bedspread. She'd been there most of the night. Her best linen skirt was crumpled so badly, it looked as if an army tank had run across her lap. One of her nylons had come unclipped and hung around her ankle like dead skin. Her hair was uncombed. Her best blouse was splattered with something; she couldn't remember what. Her own blood, maybe, unless it was ketchup or mud or something even worse. She didn't care what it was.

The bedroom door was locked. She was pretty sure it was, but she continued to get up every fifteen minutes or so just to check. It came to about fifty times she'd checked thus far, but she didn't care. There was water in the master bathroom, and a grayish candy bar in Jim Bob's night-table drawer. It wasn't like she was going to die. On the contrary, she could barricade herself in the room for a long time, and those despicable creatures couldn't get their filthy hands on her no matter how hard they tried.

Downstairs, somewhere, she couldn't tell exactly, came the sound of shattering glass. For a while she'd tried to envision what each explosion was-the pseudo-Ming vase on the dining-room table, a window, the screen on the television. She hadn't thought to keep a list, and by now she couldn't recollect what all might still be intact. Not much, though.

She went over to the window and stared down at the driveway. Brother Verber hadn't come by for a piece of pie, but it was just as well, since the bastards had chanced upon the pie within a few minutes of storming the house. That was when she was still clinging to the premise that she was in control. Oh, she'd tried to be nice about it and not scold the little one too sharply about the smudge on the new beige carpet. A slap on the hand had stopped the whining. And, she'd told herself at the time, it was important to establish that they were there only out of the goodness of her heart, for which they should be deeply and eternally grateful.

It hadn't turned into a nightmare until she'd a

Which got her back to Brother Verber and his no-show. He was the one who'd counseled her to bring the bastards into her home-or what was left of it. He'd been full of praise for her self-sacrificing, saintly, charitable generosity. Why, if he'd said not to do it, she might well have heeded his advice. But he'd been right enthusiastic. He didn't seem to think it was a sin to disobey her husband, even though she'd said "love, honor, and obey" in a clear, steady voice and had certainly meant every syllable of it at the time.

Which got her back to Jim Bob.

She retreated to the bed and sank down on the edge so as not to wrinkle the bedspread. At last she took the telephone book and looked up a number. She didn't much want to admit things weren't going real well, but she didn't see what else she could do-if she wanted to be the mayor's wife and live in a fine house on top of the hill, complete with professional landscaping and new beige carpet. Her finger was trembling so hard, it took her a long time to fit it in the little circles, but she did.

"That is the second stupidest thing I've heard all day," I said. "The only reason it's not the stupidest is that I've already heard it."

"But it makes perfickly good sense," Ruby Bee said. She plopped a spoonful of yellow goop into Baby's mouth, then wiped the little chin with a dishrag. "Madam Celeste has the ability to help you find Robin Buchanon, and you're downright mulish not to ask her to assist in the investigation. I told you how she advised Gladys Buchanon to look in her top dresser drawer for her glasses, and there they were. Now, you can't close your eyes to the significance of something like that."

"Watch me." I closed my eyes until it got boring. When I opened them, I saw Ruby Bee bent down in front of the high chair, shoveling in more goop. "It's out of the question, and I don't want to discuss it further. Madam Celeste is a quack, as in duck."

"She is not," Estelle said in a scandalized voice. She was sitting at the bar, smiling approval at each successful spoon of goop. "Wipe his chin, Ruby Bee; he's liable to chap. Now, Arly, I don't know where you get off saying that sort of thing. Did you hear the story behind Madam Celeste's move to Maggody?"

"Something about a lost boy," I said. "Right out of a book about flying children, pirates, and fairies. I just came by to check on Baby and let you know where I'll be for the next six hours of my life. I did not come by to argue about something that is out of the question."

Estelle held out her hand to inspect her scarlet fingernails. "Well," she said airily, "isn't it timely that you'll have the opportunity to tell Madam Celeste yourself."

"No, I won't. I'm going up to Cotter's Ridge to see how many chiggers and ticks I can find. I'm going to come back to my apartment and take a long, hot bath and read a trashy thriller until my toes shrivel up. If I see fit, I may go hog wild and open a can of chicken noodle soup." I did not add that I would then go over to David Allen's house for a rematch and a bottle of champagne. Nobody's business.

"Tomorrow," Estelle continued in the same complacent voice. "That's when I told Mason to tell her that you were coming. At eleven o'clock, and try not to be late this time, Arly. You can see that it upsets Madam Celeste."

"No."

"Estelle as good as made an appointment," Ruby Bee said.

"Estelle can cancel it," I said, starting for the door.

"Madam Celeste has a very busy schedule, and I don't aim to do anything to upset her," Estelle said.

I stopped and turned back with my firmest expression (my ex-husband used to refer to it as "the Ice Queen Clone"). "This has nothing to do with me. I am not going to allow Madam Celeste to muddle up this investigation. I am not going to allow you two to muddle it up, either. You may make and break appointments to your hearts' desires, but I do not even want to hear about it. Am I making myself clear?"

"Like Boone Creek," Ruby Bee sniffed.

"In April," Estelle snorted.

I turned my back on the pair and stomped out the door. It would have played better if my beeper hadn't started chirping before I made it to the jeep. In that it was the first time it had done anything except disrupt my lines, it took me a few seconds to punch the button that indicated I'd received the message. And of course the radio in the jeep was dead, owing to someone's inquisitive, dirty little fingers.

I went back inside the bar and over to the telephone, ignoring all the raised eyebrows and smirky smiles aimed in my direction. I called the dispatcher and asked for the message, which turned out to be Mrs. Jim Bob Buchanon, an emergency, call as soon as possible. "What kind of emergency?" I asked the dispatcher.

"I don't know, Arly. She sound pretty weird, though, like a character in one of those zombie movies. The last time I had a call like that was from an eighty-four-year-old woman who'd just put two loads of buckshot in her husband's face. Seems he'd been fooling around with some girl at the community college. Night school, naturally. She pled temporary insanity 'cause of unbridled passion, and the jury hooted so hard the judge threw it out of court. It was about a month after Hiram's barn burned."