Mischief In Maggody

Mason stared at the card, reminding himself he didn't believe in this crap. "Is someone going to die?" he heard himself say with a gulp.

"It does not always mean that someone will die. There will be changes, however, and not necessarily for the best. And the King of Swords, reversed, speaks to me of violence. I do not like what I see, Mason, but the cards do not lie to me."

He couldn't think of much to say, so he settled for a nod and repeated his offer to fetch her something to eat or drink. He was relieved when she ordered him away with an irritable demand to be left alone. Fine with him, he thought as he went out to his car. He'd go over to Ruby Bee's and see if anybody wanted to discuss pro football over a beer. As he backed out of the driveway, he spotted the redhaired beautician coming toward the mailbox. He rolled down the car window and said, "Good morning, Miss Oppers. How are you this fine autumn morning?"

"Did you tell Madam Celeste that Arly wanted an appointment tomorrow morning?"

"You have my deepest apologies, because I forgot all about it. Do you want me to run back inside and ask her if that'll be okay?"

She stood there chewing her lipstick for a long while. "No, that's real kind of you, Mason. But I can see you're leaving, so I'll just tap on the door and have a word with Madam Celeste myself. Things are a little more delicate than I'd first thought they'd be."

Mason considered warning her about his sister's present mood, since her moods weren't all that good even when she wasn't upset. He settled for a smile and another comment about the crisp sunshine and glorious foliage of the trees. He then got the hell out of there and went in search of a beer.

My beeper beeped sporadically all afternoon. That was the only thing that happened, except for a minor heart stopper over a six-foot black snake and a slight sensation of paranoia that came from being alone in the middle of nowhere, with only squirrels, birds, gnats, mosquitoes, and a horde of unseen critters for company. I didn't spot any pay phones among the scrub oak, so I didn't call the dispatcher. Maybe I was psychic, since I knew precisely what the message would be. No still, no ginseng patch. No sign of Robin Buchanon. No sign of anyone else, for that matter. I spent an hour working my way to the top of the ridge in a zigzag. I sat down on a log until the sweat dried, then moved half a mile east and zigzagged back down to the cabin. Robin hadn't come back in my absence. A spider had started a web in the jeep. A bleached sow with an amiable expression ambled out of the brush and went past me without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. The hen, perched on the porch rail, watched me closely as I eased the spider out with a stick, started the engine (I will admit to a small word of prayer as I turned the key), and drove down the road to town.

As I went past Ruby Bee's, I noticed a silver BMW parked among the pickup trucks, but I was too sore and itchy to waste more than a second wondering why anyone with that sort of income would have such wretched taste in their choice of watering hole. I did feel obligated to stop at the PD, despite the knowledge that Kevin Buchanon might stumble through the door while I was there.

The beeper chirped as I parked out front. I told myself I was going to have to grit my teeth and do the right thing, but I wasn't feeling any tingles of anticipation as I called the dispatcher. Who told me that Mrs. Jim Bob Buchanon had left eleven messages concerning the escalating state of emergency.

I was about to call her when Kevin did indeed stumble through the door. Telling myself I really ought to adopt this psychic stuff and set up shop in some distant city, I managed a civil greeting. "You look downright awful, Arly. Did something happen to you?"

"I look like someone who spent more than three hours fighting briars and mosquitoes up on Cotter's Ridge. As soon as I make one call, I'm going home to clean up." I picked up the receiver, hoping he'd take the hint.

Subtlety was not his forte. "Was you looking for Robin Buchanon? Dahlia says the dirty slut done run off and left her babies all alone. Dahlia says the littlest baby was near starved to death. Dahlia says you ought to lock Robin up and swallow the key."

"I'll take Dahlia's suggestions into consideration. Now, if you don't mind, I need to make a call."

"Sure thing. Don't pay me no mind, Arly." He sat down and stared at me as though prepared for small green ante

"You can sweep the back room."

"Okay." He didn't move. Well, his Adam's apple bobbled and his eyes blinked and his lips twitched and his fingers plucked at the hem of his plaid shirt. His rear end, on the other hand, might as well have been epoxied to the chair.

"Is there anything else, Kevin?"

"Whatcha going to do about finding Robin? Do you want me to go with you next time to help you search for her? I could ask Dahlia to pack some samwiches and RC colas so we could search all day."

I held back a shudder. "No, but thank you for the offer. I realized this afternoon just how futile it is to think I can find anything in that many square miles of woods. I'm going to take the jeep back to the sheriff in the morning and see if he can send over some deputies to help. If we have to, we can try for a helicopter from the state boys. By noon tomorrow, the whole case will be out of my hands." I'd decided all that on the drive home-while scratching the i

"But we can find her ourselves, Kevin protested. "I know we can."

"There is no 'we,' Kevin. I am paid to serve as chief of police and you are paid to sweep the floors and empty the wastebaskets. Those are entirely different job descriptions."

"I'll be a deputy for free. You don't have to give me no extra money. It's my civic duty, and-"

"Please sweep the floors," I said with a sigh.

"But I know we can find out where Robin's holed up. Mebbe Dahlia can come with us to help search. If you want, I can call her right now and ask her if she can come along."

"The search is over," I said in a stern voice, trying not to even imagine Dahlia O'Neill trudging through the woods. It was an ecological nightmare. "I am going home. When you finish your chores, you go home and spend a quiet evening in front of the television with your ma and pa."

"But gee, Arly, don't you-"

"Good night, Kevin." I let the door slam for emphasis.

I heard his whines as I cut through the parking lot and waited on the side of the highway while a battered pickup truck ran the light. Then, clutching my coat tightly around my shoulders, I trotted across the street and took sanctuary in my apartment. With the door locked and the telephone off the hook.