Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 02 (26 page)

"Holy shit."

This is said not in a loud voice, but in a coarse whisper. The fact that the words are intelligible is to be both noted and commended, because the woman has been incoherent for several minutes. As well we all would be ...

... because they had chopped the marijuana plants. The clearing was nothing but rows of stubble. The sons of bitches had come during the brief time I was gone, and they had stolen their plants. Not exactly from under my nose, since my nose had been occupied with the delivery of a baby. But pretty damn close.

I sank down and leaned against a tree, ignoring the immediate sensation of cold wetness that engulfed my rear end. It could not be. I'd been on the stakeout since Friday night, expecting, or at least hoping for, some activity either Saturday or Sunday. But during daylight, for Pete's sake! They had to be escapees from a loony bin to drive up the trail in the dark. Kevin and Dahlia hadn't made it in full sunlight; I'd survived only because I had a sturdy four-wheel jeep and enough sense to creep so slowly I could have been lapped by a snail.

And then there was the sheer coincidence -- which was too much. I'd waited around for twenty-four hours, vigilant and alert and all that professional stuff. Had they so much as driven halfway up the trail, I'd have been ready for them. Had a foot snapped a twig, I'd have had my camera focused. But no one had appeared. I'd waited until dark and gone into town for maybe nine hours total. The sons of bitches had come and gone during those nine hours. Not a minute too early, not a minute too late. Just as though I were an airplane and they were air-traffic controllers watching my blip on a radar screen. And I'd gone blip, blip, blip down the road and all the way home.

I dragged myself to my feet and went over to the trail. I could see the water-filled ruts their vehicle had left. The tracks from my vehicle ran over theirs, however, so it was clear that they'd come while I was gone. There were two sets of footprints, but no one had dropped a calling card. I glared at the trail and ground my teeth for a long while, then went back to the cleared clearing and ground my teeth some more. I said some things that scorched little tufted ears. I went all around the perimeter to search for evidence, then methodically examined every inch of stubbly ground. On my hands and knees.

After I finished not finding so much as a turtle dropping, I thought of some more things to say, some of them about my night visitors and some about my dereliction and its resultant disaster. Some about my avowal to the sheriff that I'd catch the sons of bitches who had murdered Robin Buchanon with their lethal toy. Harve had taken a risk by allowing me to stake out the marijuana patch without any backup. We both knew what the standard procedure was, but I'd been so damned eloquent and sincere and charming that he'd let me do it.

I'd blown it. I went to my campsite, made another cup of instant coffee, and gulped it down. It was so hot, it scalded my tongue and brought tears to my eyes. That's what I told myself, anyway, as I angrily rubbed my cheeks.

"Hallelujah, it's getting light," Ruby Bee said as she looked through the window. The yard was disgraceful, all scratch dirt and weeds, but the woods beyond looked right pretty in the fresh sunlight.

Estelle twisted in the rocking chair so she could see the window. "Well, it's about time. I don't know when I've spent such a miserable night. I hate to think how many splinters I have in places I don't care to mention. We would have been a sight more comfortable in the station wagon. I could have taken the front seat, and you could have stretched out in the back."

"While freezing to death, I suppose. I told you to go lie down in the bedroom. You're the one who got all nervous and insisted we both sleep in chairs by the stove."

"I didn't think the bed looked hygienic," Estelle countered, "and it was real crude of you to insinuate until all hours of the night that I believe in ghosts. I am not some hysterical widow woman; I merely have standards. The quilt on that bed is dingier than unbleached underwear. You never know what kind of diseases Robin carried, along with bugs and lice. I simply mentioned that the chairs were apt to be cleaner. Of course my station wagon is always clean." Ruby Bee thought of all kinds of things to say, including references to the undeniable truth that Estelle snored louder than a tractor on an incline, and the likelihood that the station wagon had been destroyed by bears by now. Instead, she went over to the table and tapped the Bible. "Then we wouldn't have found this. It was the reason we came here, wasn't it? How would you have felt if we'd slunk back to town empty-handed, with Arly waiting to ask how Baby's doing?"

"We do have a few interesting tidbits, don't we?"

"As sure as I'm standing here, eyeballs are going to pop out of some people's heads when we announce our news. I can hardly wait to see their faces. I don't imagine Robin has coffee and blueberry muffins anywhere around, so I guess we better start back for town. Do you want to visit the facilities before we leave?"

Estelle shuddered. "I couldn't live with myself if I did. What about you?"

"I think I'll wait for a nice bush along the road," Ruby Bee replied, giving in to a shudder herself. "At least I'll be able to see the spiders before they crawl on me. Do you have tissues in your purse?"

"I never go anywhere without being prepared for emergencies of this exact kind. Unless you want to leave a note, let's go find ourselves some bushes."

Ruby Bee gathered up the flashlight and the family Bible and stashed both in her purse. Once she was satisfied the fire was out, she and Estelle went out to the porch, closing the door carefully to keep out any varmints, then hurried across the yard and down the trail, where bushes were in abundance. Once they'd each had a few minutes of privacy, they began to trudge down the road, telling each other that it wasn't all that far and they'd probably make it in plenty of time. For what, they weren't real sure. However, haste seemed like it ought to be essential, and so they stepped lively.

"Wake up, my dumpling; I thought I heard voices," Kevin whispered.

Dahlia's head hung forward and she was snoring softly, like an asthmatic old hound dog in front of a campfire. He prodded her shoulder, but it didn't do any good. He wiggled around, relishing his seat in the soft valley of her broad thighs, then let his face fall against a pendulous breast. Nibbling gently so's not to disturb his beloved, he finally dozed off, a contented smile on his face and his Adam's apple rippling in time to the snores.

I packed up the camping gear and took it to the jeep, not worrying that the perps might see me on the trail. It was a little late to lock the barn door. I then went back to the marijuana patch, but no clues had popped up in my absence. There was no point in trying to take plaster casts of the foot prints or the ruts in the trail; they were mushy, uneven puddles rimmed with mud. Not exactly prime evidence in a court of law.

When I could think of no further evasive tactics, I fired up the radio and prepared to confess to that father confessor, LaBelle.

Once I'd finished the dismal recitation, she said, "Heavens to Betsy, Arly, do you think they were watching you all that time and just waiting for you, to leave? That's enough to make your skin crawl, ain't it?"

"I don't think so," I said slowly. "No one knew that we had discovered the pot patch and Robin's body. There'd be no reason to think the patch would be under surveillance. I didn't mention anything about my trip except that I'd be out of pocket for a couple of days. You, the sheriff, and I are the only people who know anything at all." I heard a sharp intake of breath, and it wasn't mine. "You didn't tell anyone, did you?"

"Merle Hardcock knows about the body. Mebbe he said something."

"He told me he was heading straight for Boone Creek, and would be there all weekend. He also swore on his motorcycle helmet not to say one word about finding the body. Did you tell someone about the murder, LaBelle? That information, coupled with my absence, could have tipped off the perps. Did I spend two miserable nights in a pup tent for nothing?"

"Didn't you tell the Buchanon children that they were orphans?"

"I told one of them, and asked a friend to break the news of her death to the others, but I told them it was an ordinary hunting accident. We get one or two of them a year, so no one's likely to suspect foul play. Did you tell someone there'd been a murder?"

"When are you coming back to town, Arly?"

"Damn it, LaBelle, did you -- "

"I got to go, honey. My bladder's about to pop on account of this infection and the medicine that teenaged doctor gave me. I'll tell Harvey the news. Bye-bye."

I let her escape, mostly because I intended to wring it out of her scrawny neck when I got to the sheriff's office. It had not been an amusing weekend, nor had it been worthwhile. Sitting under a bush all day and sleeping on rocks all night would have been justified only by the identification and subsequent arrest of Robin's murderers. Thirty-six hours of futility justified the strangulation of one dispatcher -- once I found out to whom she'd blabbed. The Veterans' Auxiliary? The congregation of the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall? The Mormon Tabernacle Choir?

As I drove down the road, it occurred to me that I could do something about Kevin and Dahlia now, since it didn't matter if a battalion searched the ridge. Hell, bring in the dogs, helicopters, the Mounties, and the Marines. I wasn't sure what I would do to Kevin when he surfaced, but I was in such a black mood that torture seemed too tame. My mood continued as I bumped down the road, found blessed pavement, and headed for Maggody at a rather brisk pace.

I was still fuming and muttering when I passed the Voice of the Almighty and realized it was Sunday morning. All sorts of folks were on the grass in front of the building, shaking hands and relating the hottest gossip before they went inside for a dose of piety. I was almost past the group when I saw the most peculiar thing I'd ever seen in my life (and remember I strolled the streets of Manhattan in an earlier life).

I slammed on the brakes to stare. David Allen Wainright stood at the edge of the grass. He was tugging at his collar and looking about as cool as a heifer in a slaughterhouse. Next to him were all the Buchanon children. All five of them. Bubba and Sissie were watching the church folks as if they anticipated attack. Sukie morosely sucked on a finger. Baby sat on the grass, chewing on a chunk of sod. My buddy Hammet was the only one in the group who looked pleased with himself; his mouth was stretched in a big grin, and his eyes darted about as if a circus parade could be heard in the distance.

I got out of the jeep and joined them. "Hi, guys," I said cautiously. "What are you doing here, of all places?"

David Allen gave me a bleak smile. "Welcome home. The children opted to sleep at my house last night, and insisted on attending church this morning. Here we are."

"Hi, Arly," Hammet said. "Did you have a nice trip? Where'd you go? I hope you don't mind too awful much, but we all stayed at your house for a whiles yesterday. I made ever'body be real neat and clean, but you may be able to tell we was there."

"Don't worry about it. Why did you insist on church this morning?" I asked, feeling as perceptive as a sump hole in late summer.

"That holyfied woman said we was going to hell like our mama. We thought we'd better see what all there was to the story. She talked a whole bunch about the wages of sin, too. Wages are money, and according to her we all sinned most of every day. Now that Ma's murdered, we got to thinking we'd like to bury her in a pretty box."

David Allen and I studied each other for a long time. When it became clear he wasn't going to field that one, I looked down at Hammet. "That's a real nice idea, Hammet. No matter what happens, we'll make sure your mother is buried in a pretty box."

The good citizens of Maggody had been shooting many a glance in our direction, but no one seemed to have the courage to order us off the lawn. After a few more minutes of milling, they responded to some mysterious signal and started through the door.

Hammet took my hand and tugged it. "Come on, Arly. The show's gonna start without us iffen we don't go inside now."

"I can't go in there," I said. "I'm dressed in dirty clothes and my hair's a disaster. I've got some business to do at the sheriffs office. Besides, this isn't exactly my idea of a good time."

"Aw, please?" he said, his face crumpling.

I was about to reiterate my reasons when a pickup truck stopped at the edge of the highway to discharge passengers. Ruby Bee Hanks and Estelle Oppers thanked Raz for the ride, climbed out of the cab, took a minute to wipe their incredibly muddy shoes on the gravel, then ambled over to our little group. All this time I gaped. And wondered if I'd finally lost my mind. If I was brain dead at last. If I'd been fed marijuana in my sleep.

"Morning, Arly," my mother said briskly. "Why, this is most amazing to see you here, not to mention the children." She jabbed Estelle with a bony elbow. "And Baby, too. Isn't it amazing, Estelle?"

She didn't look all that amazed, and neither did Estelle, who was still wiping her shoes on the grass. I, on the other hand, was merely flabbergasted.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, perhaps sounding a bit shrill. "Why did you get out of Raz's truck? Why are your shoes and stockings muddier than Boone Creek? Aren't you a member of the Baptist church? And isn't said church down the highway a half mile or so?"