Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 09 (22 page)

I debated whether to start with the most recent letter and work my way back, or tackle them in chronological order.

Choices, choices.

“You aim to question Cory Jenks?” Ruby Bee asked me as she set down a plate of buttermilk pancakes and sausage.

According to my calculations, I was still short on sleep by about eight hours. Norma Kay had kept me up until two with her steady litany of complaints of injustices, sacrifices, and pathetic entreaties for Malachi’s prayers. If she’d been at Ruby Bee’s drinking coffee (instead of at the state lab on a stainless-steel table), I would have lectured her up one wall and down the other about personal responsibility. All of which was why I was feeling surly.

“When I get around to it,” I said.

Ruby Bee was equally chipper. “And that’ll be when you’ve finished stuffing your face, I suppose. I don’t recollect Perry Mason asking the judge for a recess so he could go have a pizza.”

“Sure he did,” I said between bites. “I think his favorite was pepperoni-or was it Italian sausage?”

This sent Ruby Bee into the kitchen, which was what it was intended to do. I was not left to eat in peace, of course. Cabinet doors were slammed and pots and pans banged about so I would appreciate exactly how irritated she was. Ruby Bee is many things, but never subtle.

“I want to ask you something,” I said when she came out of the kitchen. “Did you notice any differences between the first night of the revival and last night’s performance?”

Momentarily defused, she thought for a moment. “On the first night, Seraphina came floating down in a big billow of pink smoke. You could see the wires, but it was still enough to take your breath away. She sang a real sweet song about the angel of love coming into folks’ heart and helping them to find Jesus. Last night Chastity just came out and sang a second hymn. I guess she couldn’t bring herself to do what her sister used to do. I wonder why they didn’t just skip that part?”

“All the lights and music are run by computer. It may require major programming to make any changes,” I said, trying to remember what Joey had said about controlling the special effects from a van.

“The ushers were subdued last night,” Ruby Bee continued, oblivious to my faint frown. “That’s understandable, what with their coach being murdered. On the first night, they were as friendly as puppies. Darla Jean took my arm and escorted me right down to the front row, all the while asking how I was doing and if I had any health problems that Malachi should pray about. I considered mentioning my ingrown toenail, but decided not to.”

“Did you fill out one of the cards?”

“Darla Jean made me take one, but I didn’t have a pencil handy and Estelle’s pen was leaking all over her fingers, so I put the card in my purse.” She paused, her eyes flickering as she thought. “Do you reckon Malachi knew about folks’ problems from reading their cards before he came out onstage? He’d sure have to have some memory to keep all the names and details straight. What’s more, on the first night I was sitting so close to Petrol Buchanon that I couldn’t help but be aware of his body odor-and I happened to notice he stuck his card in his pocket instead of writing anything on it. Just the same, Malachi Hope called Petrol by name, prayed over him, and told him to stand up out of his wheelchair and walk. Estelle and I weren’t all that impressed, since we’d seen him walking under his own steam toward the tent before the revival started. He had a walker, but he was moving right sprightly for an old geezer.”

I finished my coffee and slid off the stool. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Are you going to Cory’s house now? The fact that he and Chastity were carrying on like that gives him a motive to kill Seraphina, assuming she found out about it. Maybe she went to Norma Kay to get Cory fired. That’s why Cory killed her, too.”

“He killed two women in order to continue coaching the Maggody Marauders?”

“Well, maybe he was afraid he’d go to jail on account of Chastity’s age.”

“Even if he were convicted of statutory rape or contributing to the delinquency of a minor, he’d end up on probation. The state prisons are packed to overflowing with violent criminals; having consensual sex with a fifteen-yearold wouldn’t earn him a cell.”

“I’m just trying to help,” she said, sighing.

She looked so dejected that I went behind the bar to give her a hug. “I know you are, but I wish you wouldn’t,” I said. I also wished that Third World nations would quit having civil wars, Mexican food would be determined to be fat-free, people would stop talking about cyberspace until I figured out what it meant, and a publisher would show up at my front door with a milliondollar contract for my memoirs.

Ruby Bee arched her eyebrows. “What about John Robert Scurfpea? He might—”

“Do I smell something burning in the kitchen?”

As she bustled away, I headed across the dance floor. Cory Jenks would have to wait while I made a small detour by the PD to call Harve and hash over the significance of the thread linking Norma Kay and Seraphina.

The door of the PD was ajar, which meant what precious little cold air the air conditioner produced was escaping. It also meant I’d had a visitor. Or still had one. I eased open the door and looked around, but the stacks of notebooks and folders on the desk appeared to be undisturbed. The pile of catalogs and magazines in the corner had shifted, but that could have happened during the Mesozoic period when a brontosaurus thudded by. (Did I mention I’m not much on housekeeping?) The answering machine, bless its fiendish red flasher, was still on the desk. I continued inside and was reaching for the telephone when I heard a noise in the back room.

It was not the snarl of a homicidal maniac, but I rather wished I had a weapon more lethal than a rolled-up copy (complimentary) of Field & Stream. Reminding myself that I’d once been trained in selfdefense, I tiptoed across the room, mentally composed a sentence along the lines of “Come out with your hands up or I’ll shoot,” and stepped into the doorway.

And promptly crashed into Kevin Buchanon.

Both of us were too alarmed to do more than stagger backward, gasping and gaping. Kevin looked as if he might pass out; I myself was having trouble keeping my balance as I banged into the desk.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded when I found my voice. “Get your sorry ass out here and explain before”—I struggled to find a suitable threat—“I get out my gun and shoot you between the eyes! I mean it, Kevin.”

He came to the doorway. “Golly, Arly, I din’t mean to scare you. I came by to ask you something, but you weren’t in here so I went in the back room to see if you were there. Then all of a sudden, I heard somebody sneaking into the PD, so I thought I’d better make sure who it was in case it was a criminal that was going to steal your gun.”

“And you were going to render him unconscious with that?” I asked, pointing at the flyswatter in his hand.

He blushed, but it was not becoming. “I ‘spose I’m acting doddly on account of being about as worried as my skin will hold.”

Accepting the inevitability of the situation, I sat down behind my desk and said, “About Dahlia, right?”

“Yeah, like I tried to tell you yesterday, Malachi Hope called her up on stage and told her that if she trusted Jesus, she was cured of diabetes. She swears she felt a tingle when it happened, so it had to be true. Now she’s back to eating cookies and pork chops, even more than she used to in order to make up for when she was on the diet. I tried to talk to her, but she just keeps saying that I’m blasphemin’ if I don’t believe Jesus cured her.”

“Oh, shit,” I said under my breath.

“Please, can’t you make her go to the clinic?” Kevin said, leaning so far forward I had a distasteful view of his latest outbreak of pimples. “She finally agreed to go to the revival last night and make sure Malachi Hope knew she was pregnant when he cured her, but her name din’t get called and she says she won’t go tonight because she’s gonna fry up some chickens.”

I leaned back and gazed at the ceiling. Taking a drumstick out of Dahlia’s fist would be more dangerous than snatching a piece of raw flesh out of a pit bull’s mouth. The so-called miracles from the previous evening had struck me as nothing more than subterfuges to fill the aluminum buckets; now they took on a more sinister air.

“Would you like to come to supper?” Kevin said eagerly. “Mebbe you can reason with her after we eat and she’s in a good mood.”

The thought of watching Dahlia devour an entire chicken and everything else she could reach was enough to make me queasy. “I don’t think I’ll have time,” I managed to say with a measure of regret, all of it feigned. “I’m going to interview Malachi Hope later today. Perhaps I can persuade him to call Dahlia and order her back on the diet until she sees her doctor.”

“Will he do it?”

“He may, if I threaten to file charges for practicing medicine without a license. That’s the kind of publicity he might prefer to avoid. In the meantime, don’t worry too much about Dahlia. She’s been off her diet only two days.”

“Thanks, Arly,” he said. “You know, when I was in the back room I got to remembering how I used to clean the PD for you and be your unofficial deputy. Jim Bob keeps saying how he’s gonna fire me, so I was wondering if—”

“No!” I gestured at the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

He stood up and made it to the door without tripping over his feet. “If you change your mind, just lemme know.”

“May I have my flyswatter?”

He stared at it as if it were an alien life-form that had wormed its way into his hand during the conversation. “Do you want I should put it back where I found it?”

“On my desk will be fine, Kevin.”

Once he was gone, I decided to put off calling Harve and made a list of the so-called miracles Malachi Hope had performed for the gullible crowd. Some of the specifics, such as Leslie Biden’s ulcer and Dahlia’s diabetes, could have been gleaned from prayer cards—but Ruby Bee had said that Petrol Buchanon had not filled one out and Malachi had used his name. The mysterious Wilma had been reluctant to be singled out; even if she’d filled out a card, she would not have described her clothing. Malachi had, though, right down to the color of the flowers on her hat. If Jesus hadn’t told him, someone else had. I sat back and tried again to recall what Joey had told me about the special effects.

Ten minutes later I parked in front of the McIlhaney house. Before I could get out of the car, Darla Jean came out the front door and flew across the yard as if the prison guards and bloodhounds were not far behind.

“You looking for me?” she said.

“You and Heather,” I said, nodding. “Let’s go find her, and then the three of us are going to have a talk.”

Darla Jean looked back at her house as she got into the car. “I already told you what I know.”

“Now you’re going to tell me some things you didn’t know you knew. Where’s Heather likely to be?”

“She’s at home. I just got finished talking to her on the telephone five minutes ago. I don’t understand how I can tell you things I don’t know.”

But I did.

I drove to Heather’s house, and shortly thereafter the two girls and I sat down at the picnic table next to the Dairee Dee-Lishus. They were not pleased that they might be spotted in close proximity to the enemy, but I was hoping some of their teammates might show up and contribute to the subject.

“Okay,” I began, “what instructions did Seraphina give you before the opening night of the revival?”

From her expression, it was obvious Darla Jean had been expecting a different question. She had been holding her cup so tightly that limeade had trickled down her fingers, but now she released her grip and said, “She told us to put on the badges and make sure we greeted everybody by name and talked with them so they would feel comfortable.”

“In a loud voice,” Heather added. “She said most of the folks that come to the revival are older, so their hearing might not be real good. She said old folks get cranky if they can’t make out what you’re saying.”

“Were you supposed to ask questions?” I said.

Darla Jean shrugged. “Yeah, if we didn’t know ‘em, we asked their names and where they lived. If this was the first time they’d been to a Hope Is Here revival. If they were wanting Malachi to say a special prayer. I smiled so much my cheeks were aching by the end of the first hour.”

I turned to Heather. “Last night I saw you escort the woman named Wilma to her seat. What happened with her?”

“I guess she’s shy. I had to ask her three times what her name was before she mumbled that it was Wilma. When I asked her about the special prayer, she finally said she was worried about losing her job. I couldn’t get another word out of her, even after I lied and said I liked her hat. It looked to be right out of a thrift shop.”

“What did Leslie Bidens say to you, Darla Jean? Did she mention her ulcer?”

“Yeah, and she made me swear not to say anything until she finds out for sure how serious it is. I suggested she write it down on the prayer card, but she just took the card from me and stuffed it in her purse.”

This pretty much fit my theory concerning Malachi’s inside knowledge. I moved on to the next issue. “I want you to tell me every last word you said to Heather after Norma Kay told you to deliver her note.”

“I can’t tell you,” she said, staring down at the table.

“I promised that I wouldn’t.”

“Two women have been murdered,” I persisted. “I can’t stop this madness unless I know what’s been going on. A half-truth’s no better than a lie. If you don’t tell the whole truth right now, I’m going to take you and Heather to the sheriff’s office and keep you in separate interrogation rooms until you change your minds. Some real unsanitary suspects have sat in those rooms, spitting and scratching. The sheriff has been trying for years to convince the mayor to supplement the budget so the rooms can be fumigated, but he hasn’t had any luck.”

Heather’s imagination was working well. Gulping, she said, “Go ahead and tell her, Darla Jean. If you won’t, I will.”

“Okay,” Darla Jean said unhappily. “I pulled Heather over to one side and asked her if she thought Coach Grapper had found out somehow that Chastity’s pregnant and if the coach was going to tell Malachi. Heather said she didn’t see how Coach Grapper could have, so I went behind the curtain and delivered the note like I told you earlier.”