Misery Loves Maggody

"I did no such thing," Baggins said indignantly.

Estelle jabbed a finger in his direction. "I saw you talking to them, Hector Baggins. Don't go pretending they wanted your grandma's recipe for turnip greens. You were so scared you almost pissed your pants."

"Did not!" he snapped.

"Did, too!" she shot back.

I intervened before they degeneratated into spitting and hairpulling. "Yes, you did. All they wanted was Stormy's bag, but she was hanging onto it like a cockleburr. They had no luck Thursday night in Memphis, and they had no luck Friday night because C'Mon Tours never showed up at the motel in Tupelo. The two men arrived here today. One of them forced his way into this room and searched the bags. Someone tipped them off that Stormy had graciously offered to bring Estelle's and Ruby Bee's bags to their room, so eventually the same man created an opportunity to search their bags, too. It did not end well for him."

Cherri Lucinda waved her hand. "Okay, so what you're saying might explain why Stormy came along with us. But you're also saying this bald man and the other one weren't even here when Stormy was pushed off the balcony at dawn this morning. Did Jim Bob do it after all?"

"He most certainly did not?" snapped Mrs. Jim Bob. She narrowed her eyes. "Why does that concern you, missy? Have I seen you somewhere before?"

Japonica moved into the space between them. "Go ahead, Arly. This is better than a miniseries."

I shrugged. "No, Jim Bob didn't do it. The person who did it was desperate for money, and he had a good idea what he might find in Stormy's bag, assuming he could get it. Desperate for money because he's a compulsive gambler. How much did you lose last night, Rex?"

"A significant sum," he said crossly.

"I thought he was an Elvis scholar," said Taylor. "Besides, he's a college professor. He's most assuredly not the sort to be a compulsive gambler. They shoot craps in filthy basements and hang out at racetracks."

"Not always. Rex is so dedicated to gambling that he do

"Who says I was?"

"I do," said Mackenzie. "The hairpiece had me fooled, but now that I have a good look at-"

"So what? You asses refused me credit just when I felt my luck change. I had to recoup my losses. I play a very sophisticated system that is inherently foolproof, but it takes time for the odds to shift in my favor."

Chief Sanderson glared at him until he looked away. "So he's a frustrated gambler. How does that get him in here-and out?"

I leaned against the edge of the dresser. "He ran out of cash long about dawn. He'd often met his bookie at the Dew Drop I

"No, I didn't," said Cherri Lucinda. "The hairpiece had me fooled, too."

Estelle waggled a finger at her. "I saw you staring at him before we were halfway to the interstate."

"Well, I wasn't, so there's no point in arguing about it anymore."

"I think you should go on," Taylor added.

I agreed. "He learned about the missing money from the local news. Her behavior on the tour gave him a good idea where the money might be. He found a uniform in a linen closet, picked up a tray from room service set on the carpet by someone's door, and persuaded her to let him inside. She went ballistic and he ended up shoving her over the railing. Before he could leave, he heard Jim Bob and Cherri Lucinda come into the adjoining room. He stayed on the balcony for a few minutes. The scream from below must have been terrifying, but possibly not as much so as finding a dozen ladies in the hallway. Luckily, they were too distracted to notice him as he emerged, and assumed he had come from the service elevator to pick up a tray. Most of us would have leaped to that conclusion."

"It was an accident," Rex said. "She threatened to scream, so I did my best to keep my hand clamped on her mouth. She was a very strong young woman. I believe she intended to push me off the balcony, which means I acted in self-defense. It was very unfortunate. Had she simply given me the money-money that wasn't hers, in any case-none of this would have happened. I tried to tell her that we both would have been millionaires within a matter of hours. I have a foolproof system, you know, and my luck would have changed."

Nobody seemed impressed with his logic. After a moment of silence, I said, "And now we're back to the bald man, garroted in the next room, and his colleague, shot earlier in this very room. Who tipped them off about the room numbers? Who was in the hotel when Stormy took three identical bags upstairs? Who could have supplied one of them with a hotel uniform?"

Mackenzie chuckled. "You just explained how Malanac found a uniform in a storage closet. For all I know, you have a uniform in your overnight bag."

"I don't have a list of room numbers," I said, "and maroon is not my color. Have you had transactions with these men in the past? Casinos have been known to launder drug money."

"Not here," he said in a surly voice.

"They piqued your interest with their questions about Stormy, didn't they? They expected your cooperation, but you decided you might just keep all the goodies for yourself. When the man with brown hair got too close, you barged into the room and shot him, claiming you were protecting your revered guests. Where did you come from, Mackenzie? Could it have been the next room? Did you find the bald man in the casino and tell him that you knew where the bag was?"

He eyed the distance to the door, but Chief Sanderson was blocking the potential path. "I'm not saying another word until I have a lawyer."

Japonica seemed to have forgiven me for past transgressions. "So where's the bag?"

"At the hospital," I said. "Mistakenly assuming it was Ruby Bee's, I took it to her earlier today. A few minutes ago I called Carlette and asked her to put it in a safe place overnight."

"Carlette? You told her where to find a bag with coke and fifty thousand dollars? She just got out of prison three months ago for a drug conviction. She's probably three quarters of the way to Alabama by now." She brushed past her boss. "I'll go call the state police. Sweet Jesus, of all the people to tell…"

"Sorry," I called.

I'd never have nifty braids.

"Okay," boomed Brother Verber, "let's conga!"

The line formed behind him, with much snickering and good-natured pinching. Those sitting sedately at the bar stared as the line began to snake through the packed casino. The lyrics didn't make much sense, but it was impossible to ignore the ebullience of the performers.

"'Violence and wickedness and extramarital affairs; with sluts that ain't your wife; yadeedahdeeyahdeedah and zionism; this is the sinful life? This is the sinful life?'"

Several men in gray suits grabbed their cell phones and commenced barking urgent demands. Unfortunately, the head of security was not in his office.

"B-twelve," Dahlia muttered over and over, as if this were a magic spell. "B-twelve."

Martha Hitebred sat down next to her, settled her purse on the floor, and began to get ready for the evening's entertainment. "Goodness gracious, Dahlia, you've got half the table covered."

"B-twelve."

"How much is the jackpot?"

Dahlia glowered at her. "Three thousand. Hush and let me concentrate. These cards are all that's left in the bank account."

The man calling the balls rattled off something that was not B12. Dahlia pictured sweet Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie's little faces. She had to win for them so they'd have shoes in the winter and bicycles for Christmas (when the time came, anyway).