Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 02 (21 page)

"He's going to kill me," she answered, shrillness replaced with flatness.

"I won't let Bubba or Hammet or any of the children near you," David Allen said. "I promise that they'll keep nice and quiet so we all can talk about their futures."

"He's going to kill me. He said so, plainer than day."

David Allen came to the conclusion that it wasn't doing any good to converse through the door, and it was clear she wasn't coming out anytime soon. He went downstairs, where he found the four Buchanon children hunkered on the floor in front of the refrigerator amid a clutter of bowls and bottles.

"Having a picnic?" he inquired in a jovial, hearty tone meant to win their trust and ensure their cooperation.

The intensity of the slurps and belches increased, but no one bothered with a reply. He opened cabinets until he found a bourbon bottle pushed way back in a corner, and poured himself several inches of courage. Only then did he squat down next to Hammet and give him a comradely wink.

"What do you think, buddy? Shall we talk about fathers?"

Hammet put a handful of cole slaw in his mouth. "Ain't none of us know anything about that," he said in a jovial, hearty tone that sounded suspiciously familiar to David Allen's professional ears. "You ain't going to find our fathers, so there ain't no point in harpin' any more about it. When's Arly coming back?"

Bubba growled through a piece of chicken. "Who gives a fuck when the policewoman comes back? She's just a damn whore anyways."

Hammet slung a handful of slaw across the little picnic area. "Take that back, you shit-faced sumbitch, or I'll stuff that chicken wing up your nose!"

"Sez who?" Bubba said, rising to his feet. He ignored the strands of slaw dripping off his chin as he crushed a Tupperware bowl under his foot. "Wanna make me?"

David Allen decided the time was not appropriate for a discussion of paternity. He went to his vehicle and lit a cigarette. He did not glance up as a curtain fluttered in an upstairs room. When the cigarette was finished, he drove down the driveway without once looking back.

"Isn't he a living doll?" Ruby Bee held up Baby so that the little legs dangled like a ballerina's.

"I do not have time to admire babies," Madam Celeste said through the screen. "I am studying the cards. Come back later."

"But this is right up your alley," Estelle said. "This is just like that case back in Las Vegas when you found the poor little boy's body out in the desert. This is a police investigation."

"So now you are police? How interesting. When did you change professions?"

Estelle shoved Ruby Bee closer to the door. "You remember how Ruby Bee's daughter is the chief of police, don't you? We're just helping Arly while she's gone on a trip."

Celeste shook her head. "I do not know what's happening, but I do know that I am not a babysitter or even the sort to make stupid noises over a baby. Go away and leave me alone."

Mason came out of the den. "Hi, Miss Oppers, Miz Hanks. Wherever did you get that adorable little baby?" Ignoring his sister's hiss, he went to the screen door and opened it. "Y'all come right in so I can get a better look at this baby of yours."

While he bent down to tweak toes and make stupid noises, Estelle gave Madam Celeste her most meaningful look. "This baby's mother is the woman who was found dead up in the woods somewhere."

"That's right," Ruby Bee added, not sure her look was quite as meaningful as Estelle's, especially since she wasn't sure what precisely it was supposed to mean.

"So?" Celeste shrugged, apparently not sure either.

Estelle came a few steps farther into the hall. "We want you to tell us who's the father of this baby. We figgered the identity might manifest itself if you had the baby here with you."

"Why? What difference does it make?"

Mason straightened up. "Well, if the mama's dead, the baby sure does need a daddy, doesn't he?"

Estelle bobbled her head. "And you're the only person who can help us, Madam Celeste."

The psychic moved farther back until her face was distorted by shadows. "I am not an adoption agent or a social worker. I do not like babies, and I cannot work when one is in my presence. Or in my house."

Estelle took Baby from Ruby Bee and tucked him under her arm. "Well, I'll just stash this little sweetums in the car while you get settled at the table in the solarium. It won't do a toad's hair of harm for Baby to sit outside by himself for a few minutes. Think how happy he'll be to learn who his daddy is!"

Celeste told Mason to bring an extra chair to the solarium, then wearily gestured for Ruby Bee to follow her through the living room. She and Ruby Bee were both at the table when Estelle joined them.

"Do you think Baby'll be okay in the station wagon?" Ruby Bee whispered to Estelle.

"Do you think I'd put him there if I didn't?" Estelle retorted, offended by the very idea. "Nobody ever comes down this road anymore except for a occasional chicken truck headed for Hasty. We don't have caravans of Gypsies going up and down the road, looking for babies to steal. Baby's as safe out front as he would be in your storage room."

"Hush!" Madam Celeste said as she closed her eyes. "You are worse than a squawling baby."

Estelle snorted, but very quietly. Beside her, Ruby Bee tried to keep her mind on the matter at hand and not worry about Baby out in front.

Brother Verber woke up with a groan. His back hurt something awful from the night on the couch, and his knees felt like they were gripped by rubber bands. On the television set across the room cartoon characters moved their lips like amateur ventriloquists as they discussed invasions and wicked princes. He looked at the clock.

"Holy Jesus," he muttered as he sat up. His foot knocked over the glass of sacrificial wine, sending an odorous splash of red all over the braided rug and the pile of study material. It was nearly eleven o'clock. There was something he was supposed to do, but he couldn't for the life of him think what it was. A bedside visit to some dyin' member of the flock? A meeting with the church elders to talk about the behavior of the newest Sunday-school teacher, who'd been seen coming out of a coed skating rink in Farberville? A counseling session with some of the sexually depraved parishioners?

He used his handkerchief to wipe off the study material, wishing it was the counseling session, now that he'd had the opportunity to engage in some right serious research into the possibilities of depravity. On the cover of one of the manuals was a photograph of a young man wearing a black mask, a studded leather collar, and not much else. Noticing the model's rippling thighs brought it all back.

Brother Verber looked at the telephone receiver, which still dangled at the end of the cord. Sister Barbara was expecting him to come by for a piece of pecan pie. Or she had been expecting him more than thirty-six hours ago, anyway. But he hadn't gone because ... (Brother Verber tugged his earlobe) ... he'd felt the need of atonement for ... (he scratched his stubbly jowl) ... the sin of ... (he squirmed like a nightcrawler in a coffee can of dirt) ... arrogance. Yeah, that's why he hadn't gone by to praise her for her Christian zeal in taking in those bastards and trying to instill in them a healthy dose of decency and morality and humility and eternal gratitude.

It was because she was more pious than he was, and he'd seized the necessity of praying in solitude. It wasn't because he didn't want to lay eyes on those filthy bastards. It wasn't because he wished to avoid unpleasantness. No, he told himself, wincing as a lightning bolt flashed across his head, he was doing the correct thing by isolating himself in humble prayer without permitting the intrusion of the telephone to disrupt his concentration.

And since it was Saturday, he mused as he eased himself back onto the couch, he needed even more isolation so he could work on his sermon. In fact, he was going to need isolation all day long. Comforted by the necessity of all that impending isolation, he mentally ran down the list of his favorite sermon themes: charity covering the multitude of sins; the wages of sin being death; the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man avail thing much; by their fruits ye shall be knowing them.

None of them struck just right. As he rolled over, he saw the centerfold of one of his study manuals. The woman was clad in the typical sinful blacklace underthings, which never seemed to go under things since these harlots never wore things over them. He picked up the magazine and held it a few inches from his nose. Looking at the photograph inspired him in more ways than one.

"Shall I continue doin' this, my angel?" Kevin asked, raising his head so he could see his beloved's face over the generous contours of her body.

Dahlia gave him a tender smile. "You're doin' right well. Why, one of these days you're going to know exactly what to do without me having to tell you." She opened her lips to allow the escape of a tiny burp. "I'm beginning to feel like I'm in heaven."

"You are? Gee, that's great, honeybun." Gulping nervously at what he felt was an epic challenge to his manhood (and perhaps a civic responsibility as well), Kevin returned to work.

Dahlia entwined her fingers under her neck and gazed at the ceiling. She thought about how she loved Kevin, for his devoted diligence, if nothing else. Some might say he was kind of a slow learner, but she figgered they had all the time in the world -- and then some. After all, wasn't nobody ever going to find them. Not Kevin's sharp-tongued mother nor his mean ole pa, not her own granny with the scary quotes from the Old Testament and her glass eye that all the time fell out and rolled under the recliner like a marble, not thundering Brother Verber, not even Arly, who might throw Kevin in jail for what all he did.

"Just a smidgen higher," she murmured contentedly.

11

"I thought you were going to Starley City to get the crystal shipment," Rainbow said, coming into the Emporium office.

Nate was sprawled on the couch, a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. "I hafta to hang around for a call," he said through a yawn. "I'll get over there Monday."

"A long-distance call?"

"Just a call." Nate yawned again, and settled himself farther down in the cushions. "Don't bother to ask, because I don't want to discuss it. Or share it, as you'd say. It's personal business." And it would get him out of this godawful town and back into the pool halls of Farberville, where he belonged. Hell, he'd have enough bread to hit all the pool halls in the state, if not the whole damn country. Cold beer and hot women. No more of this aren't-we-centered crap. No more screwing a woman who shrieked about cosmic convergence when she came, or half listening to her discussion afterward about the starlit seeds vibrating in her womb, of all goofy things. No more nonsense -- if, of course, his partner was right about being able to predict the moment the policewoman abandoned the stakeout long enough for them to chop the dope and get it out of there.

Too bad his partner was opposed to just going up there and doing whatever was necessary to the woman. They were already facing a murder-two rap at worst, a negligent homicide at best. They were waist deep in shit; one more death wouldn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference. He realized Rainbow was staring at him. "What's wrong with you?" he said, scowling at her.

"You're not one of us," she said as she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway. "Your soul is still tortured from bad experiences in the past, isn't it? You're not capable of seeking a higher spiritual plane; you're not even able to explore the present physical reality. You'll never be able to counterbalance those discreative intentions or cleanse your inner channels."

"Blah, blah, blah. You know what -- you make me sick. Every time you start gabbling about spiritual planes and cosmic harmony, I want to puke. Hell, maybe I'm pregnant like our fat little friend out behind the counter."

Rainbow's smile tightened until her lips ached. "Then why are you a member of our family, Nate? Why don't you pack your tattered duffel bag and find some new friends more like yourself?"

"When I get the word from my astrologer, maybe I will. Like when Capricorn rises in Gemini, the moon is in the seventh house, Jupiter aligns with Mars, and all that crap, maybe I will." Laughing, he turned his face to the back of the couch.

Rainbow went to the front of the store and dug through a drawer for her astrological miniguide. She was frowning at the squiggles when Poppy waddled over to her. "Capricorn doesn't rise in Gemini," she murmured, puzzled.

"I never said it did," Poppy said. "So what?"

"I was just checking. When's your appointment with the midwife?"

"I was supposed to go this afternoon, but Nate said not to take the truck. My ankles are so swollen I doubt I can walk all the way out there. I guess I'll try to go tomorrow or the next day." Poppy ran her hand over her bulging belly. "If it's not too late."

"You think ... ? This would be a very auspicious day for a birth, astrologically. Nate's mutters made no sense, but anyone can see that a child born today will have a very solid basis in Scorpio. Oh, Poppy, let's align our vibrations and see if we can induce labor!"

Poppy wasn't all that eager to induce labor, a.k.a. labor pains, but she managed a smile as she closed her eyes and began to hum through her nose. It would be nice to have a Scorpio baby; Scorpios could be very determined and levelheaded.