Misery Loves Maggody

"It was just a suggestion," said Estelle as she stalked away.

I didn't know what Mrs. Jim Bob had learned about Jim Bob's current woes, but it didn't seem wise to suggest that she share a room with Cherri Lucinda.

"Okay," I said without enthusiasm, "here's what we can do."

12

Kevin had long since driven all the way around Farberville and was heading west in the direction of the Oklahoma border. He hadn't seen Dahlia's car anywhere along the way-not parked in front of a store or next to the side of the highway, which is where he figured it'd be if she had a flat tire. He'd done his best to teach her how to change a tire, but she'd always just given him a puckery look until he fixed it himself and they could be on their way.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. The state police car was still behind him, and now there was another following it. Since he was being real careful to stay well under the speed limit, he wasn't worried about them. It was getting on toward Saturday evening, after all, and they were most likely going home to have supper with their families and watch television. If only he could be doing the same, he thought wistfully. Instead, he had no choice but to go search for his wife so he could bring her back to her sweet little babies.

It was hard not to imagine the worst. What if she'd been run off the road by a motorcycle gang and was plastered against the steering wheel, unconscious and in danger of icing over like a white wedding cake? She'd been frettin' about money ever since she came home from the hospital. What if she'd been so desperate that she'd been hired by a drug dealer to take his filthy wares to Oklahoma? She could be in a jail in Muskogee or Sallisaw, hanging down her head in shame. Or what if she'd met some fellow with plenty of money and was lying in his arms in a motel room? What if the room had velvety red wallpaper, a mirror on the ceiling, and a king-size water bed? That would explain why she kept slapping away her lawfully wedded husband whenever he wiggled up next to her under the covers and let his fingers ramble over her wondrous ripples of flesh. Was she doing it 'cause she loved this fellow-or was he giving her money?

Kevin's eyes clouded with tears. It was his fault, not hers. If he was bringing home more money every week, she wouldn't have been obliged to sell her body to a stranger, even if he drove a fancy car and bought her boxes of chocolates and great big bottles of perfume that smelled like diamonds.

He blinked as he watched a car with the sheriff's logo cut across the grassy median and fall into line behind the other two. Maybe there was some sort of policeman's ball up the road a piece, and they were all gettin' ready to dance the night away. He slowed down to encourage them to get on to their party, but none of them pulled into the passing lane. In fact, they were acting like he was leading them right to the door of the Elks Lodge or wherever they were going.

Kevin had never before considered himself a natural-born leader. This was kind of nice, though. Here he was, gathering up all the law-enforcement agents in Stump County so he could guide them to where they wanted to go. He rolled down the window and waved at them so's to assure them that they were in good hands; in response, they turned on their blue lights, adding a downright festive air to the occasion.

It was only fitting that he was in a Bronco, and a white one at that, since he pictured himself in a big white cowboy hat with a little feather tucked in the band. Feeling like the trail master at the head of along line of covered wagons, each filled with stouthearted settlers, rosy-cheeked children, and all their worldly possessions, he took them onward into Indian territory.

I was keenly aware I was playing Russian roulette. After some dickering and many homilies from Mrs. Jim Bob emphasizing her moral superiority, she agreed to take my bed in the room originally assigned to Estelle and Ruby Bee. I moved my things into the next room, pla

I'd put my toothbrush in the bathroom and was hoping to sneak away to the hospital, when Mrs. Jim Bob barged through the adjoining door with Brother Verber in tow.

"Explain what's going on," she said. "Jim Bob is in jail for killing some woman? Why isn't he in Hot Springs? Have you spoken to him? I want answers, Arly Hanks-and none of your smart talk."

I looked longingly at the door to the hallway, but forced myself to stay put. "I don't know for sure why Jim Bob is here. He must have changed his mind when he reached the interstate, and decided to come to Mississippi instead. Two of the women on the Elvis tour were staying in this room. He invited one of them to… go down to the casino. I was there myself last night. Lots of good, clean fun."

"There's nothing good or clean about wagering," she said, her lips pinched.

Brother Verber loomed over my shoulder. "Sister Barbara knows of what she speaks. 'The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life.' That's from a letter the Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans."

"I said wagering," said Mrs. Jim Bob. "You don't get wages when you wager."

"You don't? It'd seem like you would."

"Well, you don't." She looked at me. "I don't believe I've heard the whole story as of yet."

"Perhaps Jim Bob should tell you himself. I'm pla

"I can see from the way you're squirming that you're avoiding the truth," she said. "I have to know what he did."

Brother Verber grabbed her hand. "I'm here for you, Sister Barbara, no matter how painful this turns out to be. I'll be at your side, praying for you night and day until your ordeal is ended."

"I'm not sure it's started," she said as she disengaged his hand, then retreated across the room. To my regret, she did not continue out the door. "Did he come here on account of this woman that died?"

"No," I said, relieved to be able to answer truthfully. "As far as I know, he'd never met her until late yesterday afternoon. The problem is that he had the adjoining room. Witnesses say he was the only man who could have been on the balcony"-I pointed at the one in question-"when Stormy was pushed. He claims he wasn't."

"Was he?"

I stood up. "He says not. Let's go into town and you can talk to him yourself. I'll get Estelle and we-"

"She's not in the room," said Mrs. Jim Bob. "She said to tell you she was going to take a shuttle bus to another casino. I hope she's not gambling. A fool and her money are soon parted, and the good Lord knows she's a quart low on common sense, probably on account of sniffing all that perm solution over the years. I have often prayed for her, just as I have for your mother and you as well. It's hard to picture you with a proper husband and children, but the flame of hope must never flicker and die out."

"Amen," intoned Brother Verber, then winced as I glowered at him.

So Estelle had escaped once again, I thought as I hustled them down the elevator and through the lobby. The only flame of hope I had involved Estelle's whereabouts; if she had left The Luck of the Draw, all was well-but if she hadn't, I was liable to find myself sleeping under a bush.

Or in a cell.

Japonica smiled as we came into the PD, but her heart wasn't in it. "Everything all right?" she asked me, eyeing my companions with justifiable wariness.

I introduced them, then said, "They'd like to see Jim Bob, if that's allowed."