Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 03 (13 page)

-- ==+== --

Mrs. Jim Bob sat in her Cadillac and fumed for a good five minutes. Brother Verber was acting downright possessed hisself with the possibility of witchcraft in Maggody, and she was getting a might fed up with it. She'd already pointed out more than once or twice that now they knew what the women had been doing in Ruby Bee's during those days when the place had been closed: they'd been planning the vulgar demonstration and that was that. Mrs. Jim Bob hadn't really believed her friends and neighbors such as Elsie McMay and Eilene Buchanon would actually do anything so all-fired evil; she'd just mentioned the possibility of witchcraft to ... well, to make conversation.

But Brother Verber was clinging to the theory like a wad of gum on the bottom of a school desk. He was on his knees inside the Assembly Hall, arguing with the Almighty and not being real respectful, if she said so herself. His face was shiny and beet red, and his eyes were on the bright side for one supposedly engaged in pious prayer. All she could get out of him were distracted nods and a few words about Christian duty. As if she weren't one of the most dutiful Christians in the entire congregation.

Mrs. Jim Bob switched on the ignition and went to evince a little Christian duty by consoling Truda Oliver over the embarrassment of having her husband's employee fried to a crisp during the fire. As she pulled into the cul-de-sac, she was relieved to see Truda's car in the driveway. When duty beckoned, Mrs. Jim Bob did not shirk or make excuses, but she really did need to get home within the hour to make sure Perkins's eldest had dusted the venetian blinds and vacuumed under the love seat and seen that the children didn't get into trouble.

Truda didn't look real thrilled when she answered the door, but she managed a smile and invited Mrs. Jim Bob in for coffee and a piece of apple strudel. After they were settled in the living room, Mrs. Jim Bob politely inquired how Sherman was holding up in the face of this most humiliating tragedy.

"He's been at the main bank all day. They've discovered that the Nookim woman has been embezzling money for the last three years. Sherman's beside himself, of course, although nobody's blaming him."

"He was the branch manager, and therefore responsible for everything that happened at the branch," Mrs. Jim Bob pointed out as she nibbled the strudel with an appreciative smile, even though it wasn't as flaky as her own. "She might not have gotten away with it as long as she did if Sherman had paid more attention to what his employees were doing."

"That's true," Truda said, wondering how the strudel might taste with a pinch of rat poison. "However, he has remained in charge of the bank's portfolio, and the board is aware that that occupied a great deal of Sherman's workday. And he trusted Johnna Mae."

"I myself have always had some doubts about Johnna Mae Nookim's character. Her father, Dewey Buchanon, owned a dry goods store over in Hasty until he and his wife got terminal cases of influenza twenty years back -- and a good thing they did. If they'd known Johnna Mae was going to up and marry a Nookim, they'd have locked her in her room until she came to her senses. Everybody knows the Nookims are nothing but white trash; you can tell by the way they all slouch around with long, greasy hair and never hold down a decent factory job or make any kind of effort to amount to something. Putter hasn't supported his family since I don't know when."

"Which is why Johnna Mae's salary was so important," Truda said in a sharp voice.

Mrs. Jim Bob overlooked it out of consideration for Truda in her humiliation. "Important so she could steal honest people's money from the bank. What's going to happen to her?"

"Elsie called earlier to say she'd seen Johnna Mae in Arly's car and that they were driving toward Farberville."

"To lock her up where she belongs," Mrs. Jim Bob said smugly. "Well, we should all be pleased that this whole sordid ordeal is over. Johnna Mae most likely killed Brandon and burned up the bank to cover her theft. She's not going to fret over her salary for a long time. That wicked outside agitator can take herself back to Little Rock, where all the women are uppity lawyers who have no idea how to conduct themselves like proper ladies. I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear they run around in trousers, smoke cigars, and swear like sailors. And as for those loud-mouthed demonstrators -- present company excluded, of course, since you're one of my dearest friends -- they've had their comeuppance and are all home in the bosom of their families where they rightly belong, fixing supper for their husbands and making sure their children are brought up to attend Sunday school and mind their manners around their elders."

Truda gazed at Mrs. Jim Bob, but she was mentally revising her strudel recipe to include a heaping teaspoon of rat poison. "I suppose so," she said at last. "There will be all sorts of headaches for Sherman down the road. He said there's been no decision about the branch. The building is destroyed. They may want to bring in a trailer, or they may just close the branch. If they do close it, we may retire down in Florida somewhere. Sherman knows some real estate folks who claim property values are real solid."

"How nice for you," Mrs. Jim Bob said, thinking how the strudel needed a tad more cinnamon and a lighter touch with the dough. "If and when the time comes, do let me know and I'll have a farewell luncheon for you. I'm sure all the members of the missionary society will have forgotten all about this incident and will be more than delighted to attend."

Truda wondered what a cup of rat poison might do to the strudel.

-- ==+== --

The Closed sign was still on the door of Ruby Bee's Bar and Grill, much to everyone's disgust. It had been nearly a week now, and the frito pies at the Dairee Dee-Lishus were hardly any competition for a piping hot blue plate special, which included not only a roll and two vegetable choices but also dessert. Even Jim Bob was getting tired of microwaving burritos from the Kwik-Screw, and he scowled as he drove toward Starley City and the titillating promise of a romp with Cherri Lucinda, his itty bitty titty kitty, as he was fond of calling her when she consented to one of his more imaginative ideas and then didn't cry afterward.

Inside Ruby Bee's, Estelle and Ruby Bee herself were slumped at the bar, both praying they'd hear the telephone ring and Dahlia's voice announcing she'd found Kevin. Dahlia had packed a hefty bag of provisions, having decided for some reason that Kevin was apt to be lost in the national forest along Boone Creek. Hours earlier she'd put together the final bologna sandwich, slung the bag -- a plastic garbage bag, to be precise -- over her shoulder, and vowed to beat the bushes until she found her Kevin and snatched him from the jaws of a bear or waded out into the creek to snatch him from the jaws of a gar or whatever. She'd refused the halfhearted offers of company and thudded proudly out the door and into the waiting arms of Mother Nature.

When the door opened, Ruby Bee turned around to bark something at being closed but stopped as she caught sight of a young blond girl carrying two suitcases and a stack of folders and holding a collection of irregularly sized envelopes between her teeth. A streak of grease ran across one cheek like a dueling scar. She dropped the suitcases, put the folders on a table, and took the envelopes from her mouth.

"I'm Staci Ellen Quittle and I'm looking for Carolyn McCoy-Grunders," she said in a squeaky, breathless voice. "I'm her secretary from the Women Aligned Against Chauvinism in the Office office. I was supposed to be here earlier, but I had a flat tire."

The girl looked so worried that Ruby Bee couldn't help but give her a maternal smile. "Carolyn's in number two out back, freshening up. Why don't you wait here and have a nice glass of iced tea?"

"Thanks," Staci Ellen said gratefully. "I never changed a flat tire by myself before. I must've read the manual ten times before I figured out how the jack worked, and I like to never get those bolts loose."

Estelle raised a well-drawn eyebrow. "But you're such a delicate little thing. I'm surprised a truck driver didn't stop to change the tire for you."

"A whole bunch of them stopped and offered to do it, but I told them I could do it all by myself, thank you." Staci Ellen scratched at the greasy smear on her cheek, then stared at her finger. "Wow, I must look awful. I don't know what my boyfriend would say if he saw me now."

Ruby Bee eyed the stack of folders threatening to slide off the table. "Carolyn must be planning to do some work."

"Oh, yes, she said there was a problem up here that might require her and me to stay for several days. She didn't tell me what exactly, so I grabbed all the folders on her desk and brought them along, just in case. The one involving the Maggody resident is on top."

The three women looked back in time to see the folders slither to the floor. Staci Ellen gasped. She jumped off the barstool and ran across the room to start gathering them up. "Ms. McCoy-Grunders is going to be furious with me. I just know it. She doesn't think I've got a brain in my head. Now all the folders are mixed up and she'll start yelling at me."

Estelle and Ruby Bee went to the rescue. Pretty soon they had the folders fanned across the table and were putting all the loose papers in the appropriate places.

Ruby Bee nudged Estelle. "Look at this. This is Johnna Mae's letter to the WAACO office, stating how she was discriminated against for taking maternity leave."

"That's supposed to be confidential," Staci Ellen said with a nervous gulp. "No one is allowed to read the contents of the folder."

"We can't sort them if we don't look at them," Ruby Bee said. She placed her finger midway down the page and said, "Right here where it says how Johnna Mae was demoted and then fired, someone underlined Brandon Bernswallow's name in red ink. What do you think that means?"

Estelle made a clucking noise as she peered at the page. "It's on the peculiar side. There aren't any other names underlined on any of the other papers. I don't see why Johnna Mae would have done it. She probably doesn't even have a pen that writes red ink."

"This is confidential," Staci Ellen said, shooting increasingly frantic glances at the door. "Ms. McCoy-Grunders will flat out fire me if she catches you reading that. She'll say it was all my fault."

"It's not a bit your fault," Ruby Bee said as she put the page inside its folder. She and Estelle kept exchanging looks the whole time it took to sort through the remaining papers and get the folders all nice and tidy.

When they'd finished and Staci Ellen had returned to her iced tea, Ruby Bee pulled Estelle into the kitchen and closed the door. "I think we've got something here, but I ain't real sure what. I'd hazard a guess that Carolyn knows something about that Bernswallow fellow."

"She didn't mention anything."

"I realize that. That's what's making me suspicious."

"What do you aim to do about it?" Estelle asked, screwing up her face like something itched that she couldn't reach. "Are you gonna tell Arly?"

"I guess I ought to, but then she'll say something to Carolyn and Carolyn will bawl out that sweet little Staci Ellen and fire her. I'd feel terrible if I was responsible for that." Ruby Bee considered how terrible she'd feel if that would be the case and decided she couldn't do such a thing just yet. "We can't say anything to Arly until we find a way to do so without getting the girl fired. Maybe we could sort of hint around with Carolyn and see if she'll drop something we can repeat to Arly."

"Like how she knew him from before and just forgot?"

"It'd be real handy if she did," Ruby Bee said, sighing. Arly could turn real petulant when she got the fool notion in her head that certain people weren't candid with her, that certain people might just take a civic interest in assisting in minor elements of the investigation to make sure justice was done. Arly didn't even care if the certain people provided valuable information in the end. Her voice still got icier than a widow woman's bed in December. Ruby Bee knew this much from personal experience.

Estelle seemed to read her mind like it was the yellow pages. "You know perfectly well that Arly ain't going to like it."

"Arly ain't going to find out about it. This is going to be strictly between you, me, and the kitchen sink. Staci Ellen sure isn't going to say anything and lose her job. For once Arly's not going to get all hot and bothered because we didn't pass along a minor little doodad that most likely doesn't mean a thing. If and when we decide we need to tell her, we'll think of a way."

"I think," Estelle said pensively, "that this is what they mean on television when they talk about being in the fast lane, where you risk life and limb every inch of the way. And you, Rubella Belinda Hanks, don't even have a driver's license."

"I know that." With a snort, Ruby Bee went back to the bar to see if Staci Ellen wanted a fresh piece of lemon in her tea.