Malpractice in Maggody (24 page)

That much I believed. “Was Molly’s car still there?”

“I don’t know. It was dark. There were some cars and vans, but I don’t know what she drove. One of them could have been hers. Look, I can’t afford to get booted out of here. The judge ordered a ninety-day psych evaluation, and I’ll be in contempt if I don’t cooperate. I’m already missing training camp on account of this stupid lawsuit, and we’ve got exhibition games coming up at the end of the summer. I owe it to the team and my fans to get through this and back on the field.”

Dawn wiggled a finger at him. “Don’t forget your corporate sponsors.”

“Them, too,” he muttered.

I would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t been such a jerk. “All right,” I said, “I’ll have a private word with Walter and see if he confirms your story. In the meantime, I suggest the two of you keep a civilized distance. That means stay away from each other. I’ll be back later this afternoon.”

“You’re not going to arrest The Man?” Dawn said, feigning disappointment.

“No, I’m not. Did either of you see Senator Swayze earlier today?”

They both said no. I ordered Dawn to go back to her suite and then went down the hall to the door that led outside, thinking about what I’d just heard. Toby was more of a dumb jock than I’d assumed if he believed Walter would lie for him. But if Toby’s story was true, Walter might not be eager to admit it and risk losing his job. All I could do was ask Walter and hope I could tell if he was lying. He was glib, though, and probably had no qualms about saying whatever was in his best interest.

As I walked toward the back of the building, I glanced into the apartments that housed the doctors and Walter. I could see pearl gray walls and framed artwork, but no signs of the inhabitants. I wondered if there was any way to talk Roy into springing for a can of paint so I could add a little class to my own apartment, which was currently a sort of muddy beige. The only thing hanging on the wall was a calendar from the early 1990s that I’d left to cover a hole in the wallboard.

Deputy Quivers was seated by the pool. When he saw me, he leapt to his feet and sucked in his gut. “I searched the garden, ma’am,” he said. “I crawled under the bushes and examined the flower beds for footprints. I didn’t find nothing.”

Before I could congratulate him on his dedication, Brenda came out of her office and beckoned to me. “Could we have a word in private?”

She was already seated behind her desk when I got there. “Have you made any progress?” she demanded. “This needs to be cleared up immediately so that we can get our patients back on their schedules. They must have boundaries and structure. Right now we’re shorthanded, as you know. Vincent is on the phone, trying to find another psychiatrist who can take over Randall’s duties temporarily. The temp agencies are closed for the weekend, which means I had to assign one of the orderlies to the reception desk. I’ve coached him to say ‘Stonebridge Foundation’ and ‘Please hold’ if someone calls, but even that may be too much of a challenge for him.”

“Aren’t you going to ask about Senator Swayze?”

“Please tell me that she’s back in her suite. I don’t know how much more I can take. Vincent is so distraught he’s already drinking, and it’s not even noon.”

“She’s nowhere in the building or on the grounds,” I said. “I found her journal and read a few entries. Are you aware she wasn’t taking her medications?”

Brenda made a peculiar noise, something between a bleat and a gurgle of despair. “I’ve noticed she hasn’t been as cooperative lately, but I assumed she was going through a transitional stage. How bad is she?”

“I’m not a shrink, but I’d say that she’s delusional and paranoid as hell.” I related the gist of Swayze’s conspiracy theory. “I can’t have her loose in Maggody. If she gets her hands on a weapon, we may end up with a bloodbath. The only thing I can think of to do is get a police officer with a dog out here as soon as possible.”

“No! We cannot risk the media exposure. You have to go find her and bring her back with a minimum of fuss. I can promise you she’ll take her medications, if I have to sit on her chest and pry open her jaws with my bare hands.”

I could easily envision it, which was disturbing in itself. “I’ll drive around town and ask people if they’ve seen her, but if I don’t get lucky, I’m going to have to alert the sheriff. She could be anywhere in the county by now.”

“Oh, god, what if she calls Lloyd?”

“Lloyd’s of London?”

Brenda ran her fingers through her hair, leaving tufted rows that looked like withered stalks of wheat. “Her son, you idiot! Why are you sitting there? Go find her, and call me immediately. I need to talk to Vincent. Maybe we should call Lloyd first and warn him.” She hurried out the door, mumbling to herself.

I sat for a minute in case she came storming back in, then left the office and went over to Deputy Quivers. “I’ve got to go into town for an hour or so. If you get hungry, ask one of the employees to bring you something to eat. The only people allowed to come and go are delivery men; they’ll use the back door of the kitchen. Just keep everybody else here until I get back, okay?”

“You might should have told me that earlier,” he said, his eyes darting like minnows. “That guy with the ponytail left about half an hour ago. That van of his really needs a transmission job. I was thinking I’d tell him about my brother-in-law’s garage over in Hasty. He does good work and—”

”Did he say anything to you when he left?” I said.

“He told me I looked like Barney Fife. Is that one of the deputies? I’m kinda new and haven’t met all the other fellows yet.”

“Yes, Quivers, and I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. Don’t let anyone else leave, and I mean it. Do you understand?” Without waiting for a reply, I went out to my car and drove around to the gate. It was locked. I honked the horn until it slowly swung open. As I drove past the persimmon tree, I noticed it was unoccupied by Mrs. Jim Bob’s spies. Sighing, I headed for Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill to find out if the grapevine was humming.

Waiting for Old Faithful to erupt made Eileen think of Earl. He was regular as clockwork, too. Every single day he’d come in from the field or barn, grab the sports section of the newspaper, and lock himself in the bathroom for half an hour. He’d hardly ever missed a day except for the one time he had the flu and practically lived in the bathroom. She must have gone through a dozen cans of aerosol deodorizer, she thought fondly as she wiggled on the rock where she was sitting. Earl was her Old Faithful, dependable and predictable. She’d learned long ago not to expect any compliments when she’d made a special meal with all his favorites, or when she bought a new dress. Did he think it was gonna kill him to say something nice ever once in a while? Or, heaven forbid, offer to help with the dishes?

Not once since they got married had he put his dirty underwear in the hamper or scraped the mud off his boots before he walked across the clean kitchen floor. Last Christmas he’d given her a vacuum cleaner attachment. On her birthday, he’d given her the same cologne he gave her every year. She had enough unopened bottles on the back shelf in the hall closet to open a shop, presuming anybody else’d be fool enough to buy the cheap stuff.

She felt a faint rumble and scrambled to her feet. Old Faithful was right on time.

Jim Bob spotted Jeremiah McIlhaney looking at cans of chaw by one of the checkout counters. He went over and slapped Jeremiah on the back. “How ya doin’ these days?” he said genially.

“Same as always,” Jeremiah said. “We could use some rain. The forecast don’t look good, though. ’Course, it being June, we’ll get some before too long.”

Jim Bob nodded as if this were one of his major concerns. “You interested in playing a little poker?”

“Might be.”

“Yeah, sometimes it’s good to get out of the house, ain’t it? If Mrs. Jim Bob had her way, I’d be wearing a frilly apron and washing up the dishes every night. Us men got to make it clear that we can do what we damn well please after a hard day’s work.”

Jeremiah gazed at him. “I hear tell you’re spending a lot of your evenings out at the Pot O’ Gold trailer park with some redheaded stripper.”

“Hold it down, buddy. Those checkout girls have ears like elephants. Yeah, there’s a divorcée living out there, name of Divine. Sometimes I go by and screw in her lightbulbs, if you know what I mean. So how about a poker game tonight? You reckon your wife will let you if you ask nicely?”

“I’ll play if I’ve a mind to.”

Jim Bob slapped him on the back again. “Us men got to stick together, don’t we? No women are gonna tell us what we can and can’t do.”

He strutted away, feeling pleased with himself. Mrs. Jim Bob would be in for a surprise if she was still plotting to run for mayor.

When Estelle got home from the supermarket, she could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t like a burglar had been ransacking her house. As far as she could tell, nothing had been moved. The pink mohair sweater she’d left on the divan was right there. The magazines were in a tidy stack by the hair dryer, and the shampoo, conditioner, scissors, perm solutions, and manicure tools were in a tidy row on the shelf. Her living room smelled kinda funny, though it was hard to put her finger on it. Just kinda funny.

She went into the kitchen, still uneasy, and began to unload the bag of groceries. It was only when she opened the refrigerator that she knew for certain that someone had been there. Living alone, she kept an eye on her supplies and shopped only when she was down to a few slices of bread, a single egg, a little bit of bacon, and maybe a pork chop that she might cook for supper. Long about Saturday, she replenished what she needed for the week.

But the heel of the bread was missing, along with the last slice of cheese. The mustard was on a low shelf, instead of next to the mayonnaise. The dill pickle jar was empty. What’s more, there was a butter knife in the sink.

Estelle went back to the living room and sat down to think about it. It could be the foreigners had been in her house. No matter what Ruby Bee said, she knew better than to trust them. Her house wasn’t but half a mile from the Stonebridge Foundation, if you cut across the pasture in back of the Assembly Hall and crawled under a barbwire fence.

She finally forced herself to put away the groceries before the ice cream melted and the celery started wilting. It was hard, though, to keep herself from peering over her shoulder every time a bird peeped or a truck drove past. She figured that Arly had too much on her plate to deal with stolen food, so there was no point in calling her. And if she so much as said a word to Ruby Bee about the foreigners, accusations would start flying like a swarm of hornets and they’d end up not speaking for another week. At least she had a gun in her bedside table—not much of a gun, but better than nothing.

What’s more, she wasn’t absolutely sure she hadn’t eaten that pickle herself.

I
suppose I should have stopped at the PD to check messages, but I was more interested in finding out if Senator Swayze had been spotted roaming the back roads. Well, that and having a nutritionally incorrect lunch. Although I’d had breakfast only a few hours earlier, I felt as though I’d left Springfield days, if not weeks, ago. Jack was probably still in his robe, washing wineglasses and deciding what to do with the rest of the weekend. All I could do was hope that he was staring out a window, missing me as much as I missed him. I wasn’t sure if it was the physical intimacy, the lazy cuddling, the conversation, or the increasingly comfortable companionship. Whatever it was, I was beginning to realize that for the last few years, I’d been content to do nothing more than watch spiders on the ceiling at the PD and sit alone in my apartment at night. Now I was feeling the urge to yank myself out of this self-imposed complacency, for better or worse.

However, being the conscientious cop that I was, I parked in front of Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill. The neon sign for the Flamingo Motel had lost another letter; it now read “V N Y.” I wasn’t sure, but it looked as though the flamingo had shed another feather, too. It must have been molting season in Maggody. I went inside and sat down on a stool. Ruby Bee came out of the kitchen, a dish towel in her hands, and immediately retreated. Although I knew she and Estelle were up to something, I kept a polite smile on my face as I picked up the menu to check the blue plate special for the day.

Ruby Bee reappeared with a pecan pie and set it under a glass dome. Acting as though she hadn’t already seen me, she said, “Why, look who’s decided to grace us with her presence. I hope you enjoyed using my car without permission. You recollect what happened last time you tried it?”

“I’d just gotten my driver’s license and couldn’t resist the temptation, even though I knew that I’d end up grounded for a month of Sundays. Which I was, but it was worth it. And you can’t ground me now, because I commandeered your car in my capacity as a duly-appointed law enforcement agent.” I caught myself before I stuck my tongue out at her. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like a cheeseburger, fries, and a piece of that pie.”

“You don’t want fresh catfish? I just now put a batch in the skillet.”

I shook my head. “I’m definitely not in the mood for catfish these days. Have there been any strangers in here today?”

“Beebop Buchanon was in here about an hour ago, and he’s about as strange as they come. For some reason I didn’t quite catch, he put a dozen boxes of Rit Dye in his bathwater and turned hisself green. He looks like a big ol’ bullfrog, bug-eyed and all. What’s worse, he was paying a mite too much interest in a fly on the window.”

“What about an older woman with white hair?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Ruby Bee gave me a suspicious look. “Someone I should know?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m in kind of a rush, so I’d appreciate it if you start the cheeseburger.”

“In a rush to get back to that place? Did something else happen out there?”

I stood up. “Never mind, I’ll get a sandwich at the deli at the SuperSaver.”

“You just hold your horses, missy. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to fix your lunch. Are you real sure you wouldn’t rather have the catfish and hush puppies?”

“I’m very, very sure,” I said. I sat back down and turned my stool around so I could see who all was wolfing down catfish. The usual suspects were there, along with a couple of truck drivers who were vaguely familiar. The only white hair belonged to Hepburn Hartbern, who lived in a cabin way back in the mountains on the far side of Boone Creek and only came to town twice a year to load up on beans, rice, and flour. He supposedly had a wife, but no one had seen her in a coon’s age, as we say in Maggody. Jim Bob, Roy, and Larry Joe were in a booth, their heads together as if they were plotting to rob a bank. They’d have to go to Farberville to do it, though, because the local branch bank had burned to the ground a few years back. It didn’t much matter, since no one in Maggody had any money except Raz, and he buried the profits from his moonshine operation in quart jars somewhere up on Cotter’s Ridge.

I was idly speculating about the newest location of Raz’s still when Estelle came in and slid onto her stool at the far end of the bar. We exchanged nods. She was somewhat disheveled, which was unlike her. A few tendrils had escaped her shellacked beehive of red hair. Her eyebrows had been drawn with an unsteady hand, and her firehouse red lipstick contrasted with the unnatural paleness of her complexion.

Concerned, I moved to a stool beside her. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“Why shouldn’t I be okay? In fact, I’m feelin’ perky as a petunia.”

Ruby Bee honed in on us. “Good heavens, Estelle—you look like something the cat drug in. Are you coming down with a stomach virus?”

“I was just telling Arly here that I’m fine, thank you very much,” Estelle replied, her nostrils quivering. “I had trouble sleeping last night, that’s all. If you two don’t mind, I’d prefer a little privacy so I can do some thinking.”

“Well, excuse me,” said Ruby Bee. She banged down my plate, then stomped back into the kitchen and began to rattle pots and pans so loudly we could hear the noise over the atonal angst coming from the jukebox.

I slid my plate down the bar and moved to another stool. Between bites, I watched Estelle in the mirror on the wall behind the bar. She was certainly doing some thinking, and the subject was disturbing her. She took a compact out of her purse and inspected her lipstick, then sighed so forcefully that the mirror was in danger of fogging up. Her hand was shaking so badly that she could barely take a sip of sherry. A dribble ran down her chin and landed on the bar.

When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I abandoned my last few fries and went over to her. “You need to tell me what’s wrong,” I said softly.

“I think I must be going crazy, if you must know. I’ve been racking my brain for over an hour, trying to remember if I ate the pickle. I don’t think I did, but I can’t swear I didn’t. Maybe I got up in the middle of the night and made myself a cheese and pickle sandwich. That’d account for the bread. I used to sleepwalk when I was a child. Once my mother found me out in the barn carrying on a lively conversation with the cows. She led me back to bed, and I didn’t remember a thing about it. If I hadn’t found straw in my hair the next morning, I wouldn’t have believed her.”

“And the pickle?”

“They ought to haul me off to that nursing home in Starley City. What if I was to forget how to mix a perm solution and cause one of my clients to end up balder than a walnut? I ain’t fit to hang my diploma from the cosmetology school above the mantel.” She hung her head and blinked back tears. “I’ll be a disgrace to the profession.”

“Because of the pickle?” I persisted, justifiably bewildered.

“And rightly so.” She sighed again. “I might as well tell you and get it over with. I went to the SuperSaver this morning, same as I always do. When I got home, I had this eerie feeling that someone had been in my house. There wasn’t anything I could put my finger on, but it didn’t feel right. I went on into the kitchen to put away the groceries, and that’s when I saw the pickle was gone.”

“Did you lock your doors before you left?”

“I’m not sure. I had my hands full, since I was taking some chicken soup to Edwina Spitz, who’s been ailing of late, and a bag of fabric scraps to Joyce for a quilt she’s working on for the county fair. And of course I had my purse, and at the last minute I decided to take an umbrella just in case. You know how the weather can be in June. One minute the sun’s shining, and the next minute black clouds are rolling in over Cotter’s Ridge. The last time I got caught in a storm, I was drenched to the bone and came darn close to coming down with pneumonia.”

Not all crimes committed in Maggody were of the magnitude of murder and mayhem, I reminded myself. Pickle theft was apt to be a misdemeanor. “Was anything else missing?” I asked.

Estelle began to fidget. “Well, two slices of bread—unless, like I said, I made myself a sandwich. I read in a magazine that sleepwalking can be caused by stress. It ain’t easy knowing there’s a loony bin across the pasture from my house.”

“Was anything else missing?” I repeated.

“Last night I got to worrying on account of the murder over at the Stonebridge Foundation, so I—”

”How do you know about that?”

“LaBelle heard about it from one of the deputies. Yesterday afternoon she went to a Tupperware party at her first cousin’s niece’s house and happened to mention it. You probably don’t remember Dilys Podd that lives in Hasty with her good-for-nuthin’ husband, who must weigh six hundred pounds and had to buy a special-made wheelchair so he could—”

”So LaBelle told Dilys, who told you,” I said wearily. “You got to worrying and then what?”

“Actually, Dilys didn’t tell me. She called Edwina, who used to attend the Pentecostal church over there before her arthritis started acting up, and Edwina called me. That’s why I knew Edwina was feeling poorly and took her chicken soup this morning.”

“Ah, yes,” I said, “now it’s perfectly clear. As much as I’d like to stay here all afternoon and discuss purloined pickles and Edwina’s arthritis, I’ve got other things to do. For the last time, was anything else missing?”

“My gun.”

“Your what?” I gasped. “Please don’t tell me you went out and bought a gun after what happened yesterday. I swear, I’m going to—”

”I didn’t go buy a gun.” Estelle plucked a napkin from a holder and dabbed her upper lip as if she fancied herself to be Scarlett O’Hara confronting the Yankees. “Back when I lived in Little Rock, a gentleman friend gave it to me on account of how I had to drive home so late at night. I thought he was being silly, but I accepted it as a token of his concern for my welfare. Yesterday afternoon I dug through my cedar chest, and there it was, along with some bullets. I didn’t see any harm in putting it in a drawer next to my bed in case one of those lunatics escaped. After all, one of them murdered that sweet little girl from Starley City.”

I sat down on the nearest stool and rubbed my face. “Let me get this straight. You found the gun and put it in a drawer in your bedroom, and now it’s missing. Am I right?”

“Unless I put it someplace else. I have to admit I had some wine last night, more than I’m accustomed to. I’m not much of a drinker, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. But I was real worried about the murderer getting loose, and I kept staring out at the pasture, and before I knew it the wine bottle was empty and I was trying to make a long-distance call to Italy. Maybe I just imagined I got the gun out, and maybe I forgot about eating the pickle.”

“Italy?”

“That is none of your business, and I don’t appreciate you prying into my private affairs.”

I gave up and left. One of these days I might be able to make some sense of the conversation, but I had my doubts. On the other hand, I had a pretty good idea who might have slipped into Estelle’s house to eat the pickle—and taken the gun. It was time to talk to Harve. I drove to the PD and went inside. The evil red eye of the answering machine was blinking, so I hit the play button and sat down behind my desk.

The first few calls were from Ruby Bee and concerned her car and ungrateful daughters who behaved like they were raised in a barn. Mrs. Jim Bob, who apparently was on Edwina’s call list, wanted details about “the cold-blooded murder that mocks the Christian values of our community.” I presumed the reference was to the Old Testament commandment: “Thou shalt not mock Maggody.” The manager of the Pot O’ Gold trailer park reported that a woman named Divine had trashed a double-wide and left in the middle of the night, owing a month’s rent. Elsie McMay was in a dither because two teenagers had trampled her pansies when they cut through her yard on their way to the high school. Kevin wanted to know if I’d had an update on his ma’s whereabouts. Dahlia called to say her granny had run off and was armed and dangerous, so I should shoot her on sight.

I was hoping that someone would mention a trespasser with white hair when the door opened and Harve came in, huffing and puffing as though he’d scaled Mount Everest (as opposed to walking fifteen feet). He crossed his arms and stared at me until I turned off the tape, then said, “Were you planning to call me back any time soon?”

“You want some coffee?”

“No.” He plopped down on the chair and took out a cigar. “What I want is to be fishing on this fine, sunny afternoon. Instead, I’m sitting here, wishing I was fishing. It ain’t the same thing, is it?”

“Is that a trick question?” I asked. “Did you drive all the way out here to ask me that? You could have called, you know.”

Harve kept an eye on me as he lit the cigar. “I came to tell you about those folks out at the Stonebridge Foundation. I’d have sent a deputy, but I can’t trust any of them to keep their traps shut. This has to stay confidential. If the reporters get a whiff of it, I’m going to be collecting unemployment come the next election.”

“What about them?”

“Maybe I will have some coffee.” He flicked ashes on the floor, knowing it would irritate me, then said, “For starters, Dr. Stonebridge got caught prescribing way too many narcotics in Connecticut and lost his license. He moved to L.A., finagled a new license, and opened a practice. Seems some of his wealthy patients back in Connecticut were so grateful not to have their names mentioned in the investigation that they referred him to all their rich friends. He was doing real well for himself out there until he was accused of malpractice once too often. A lot of his patients developed complications, and one lady died after an infection set in. I couldn’t follow all the jargon, but he used some drugs and techniques that aren’t approved by the FDA. He ended up losing his license and coming here.”