Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 10 (28 page)

“It can’t hurt to have one, can it?” I said as I left.

I could sense his presence at the window as I paused to collect my thoughts, but I ignored him. I now knew where Barry had been Friday evening, and had a pretty good idea where Jake had been. I tended to believe their story about Reed’s truck having been parked in town, which meant Dylan (who wasn’t Dylan, but Tonnato had never mentioned his real name) had been in town, too.

I turned slowly and stared at #4. Perhaps Ruby Bee’s would-be rapist had been someone who was more interested in listening to conversations than assaulting fiftyish women. This someone might have been equipped with the same sort of device Tonnato had used. In that there weren’t phones on the ridge, an empty motel room had been appropriated.

Willing myself not to think about Ruby Bee’s reaction when she saw the paint on her door, I used the key she kept under a flowerpot to let myself into her unit, and took the pass key off a hook in the bedroom. I wasn’t sure I’d find anything in #4 to confirm my suspicion, but I walked across the lot and went inside.

Estelle’s overnight bag was on the floor. Various items of clothing were scattered around the room and half a dozen bottles of fingernail polish were lined up on the top of the dresser. According to Ruby Bee, a chair had been moved, a lamp unplugged, and-horror of horrors-the toilet seat raised. I did not have to overly tax my deductive skills to conclude that a male had plugged in some sort of electronic apparatus, sat at the table, and at some point responded to a call of nature. If he’d been present while the meeting was taking place in the next room, he couldn’t have risked even a tiny penlight and instead had relied on a tape recorder. And was aware that batteries have a knack of going dead at the crucial moment.

Dylan wouldn’t have taken the tape recorder and eavesdropping device back to the camp, where they might have been discovered in his gear. The bed of Reed’s truck was cluttered with junk, but stashing them there was dangerous, too. Kayleen had mentioned in the illegally recorded conversation that she and Sterling had continued to talk until ten o’clock. Dylan had returned to the camp shortly thereafter.

I lifted up one side of the mattress, but the cover of the box springs showed no evidence of being slit. I wormed my way under the bed and examined the bottom of the cover, then emerged and tried the shelf in the closet. Nothing was hidden in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Growing frustrated, I removed drawers, felt behind the radiator, and crawled under the table to make sure nothing was taped there. Dylan would not have disposed of his equipment on the first night of the retreat, and he had no way of knowing it would be his last night.

“Where is it?” I said, beginning to wonder if I was chasing the whiffle-bird, which is a first cousin of a wild goose. He hadn’t attempted the old purloined-letter ploy, in that the Flamingo Motel doesn’t bother to provide newfangled amenities like clock radios.

Discouraged, I restored everything to its proper place, checked to see that all the drawers were closed, and smoothed the bedspread. Although I hadn’t disturbed the insipid print of fluffy kitties, I conscientiously straightened it so Estelle wouldn’t worry that one leg was getting shorter in her old age.

As I stepped back to make sure the print was perfect, it struck me how difficult it would have been to align it in the dark. I removed it, found a recess in the wall, and removed a tape recorder and a small metal gizmo that resembled a circuit board. My ebullience faded as I opened the lid of the tape recorder and saw that the spools were empty. I reexamined the recess, but found no cassette.

Dylan must have taken it with him, I thought as I replaced the electronic toys and hung the print on the wall. If by some fluke one of the militia had found the recorder, at least there would have been no proof that someone had been bugging the room next door. Harve hadn’t discovered a cassette in any of Dylan’s pockets or with his camping gear. In a more cosmopolitan setting, Dylan might have tucked it in an envelope and dropped it in a public mailbox, but the town council has yet to replace the one that the local teenagers shot full of holes.

I locked the door and was heading for #1 to return the passkey when Les got out of his car. “I just finished talking to LaBelle,” he said. “She said to tell you that McBeen heard from the state lab. The victim died of nicotine poisoning. It’s supposed to be one of the most toxic drugs around.”

I decided the passkey could stay in my pocket for the time being. “I’m going back to the PD to call McBeen. Don’t let any of these wackos leave, and when Kayleen comes back from church, tell her to stay here. Got that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting me.

It was turning into one weird day.

Ruby Bee had busted up a chair to start a fire, but they hadn’t boiled water because they couldn’t find a pan that wasn’t rusty and caked with grime, and they’d never quite figured out what they’d do with the water anyway. Estelle was kneeling next to Dahlia, who was panting and hooing through another contraction.

When Dahlia’s heavy breathing dropped back to normal, Estelle forced herself to smile reassuringly and say, “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You did real fine.”

“You sure did,” said Ruby Bee.

Dahlia’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t say anything and turned her face toward the wall. Over the last hour she’d become downright surly, glaring like she’d bite any hand that came into range. Ruby Bee was beginning to wish there’d been a polar bear in the back room after all.

Estelle got up and tiptoed across the room to where Ruby Bee was peering out the window like she thought a midwife might drive up any second. “The labor pains are coming every three minutes,” she said in a low voice. “It’s gonna happen whether or not any of us, including Dahlia, has the foggiest idea what to do. I always closed my eyes when it happened in a movie so I wouldn’t pass out cold like my second cousin Zelda did. She hit her head and had to have seventeen stitches. They had to shave off her hair, and she walked around for four months looking like a hedgehog.”

“Was she Uncle Tooly’s daughter?” Ruby Bee said in a crabby voice, since this whole mess was his fault. And Estelle’s as well, since she should have had the sense not to accept anything from a person killed by sheep.

“No, she was not.” Estelle looked back to make sure Dahlia was doing all right, then said, “Why don’t you rip that other sheet into pieces we can use for towels?

“I bought those sheets at Sears not more than a year ago. If I’d realized that when I took them out of the closet, I would have found some old ones.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll be using them after this,” said Estelle.

“I want something to drink,” Dahlia suddenly said. “My lips are cracking and I cain’t hardly talk.”

Ruby Bee dropped the sheet. “I’ll go back to the station wagon and look for a cup or something. You stay here, Estelle.”

“Well, thank you, Dr. Spock,” said Estelle.

Ruby Bee thought about responding in a suitable fashion, but the idea of getting away from the cabin, if only for a few minutes, was so appealing that she darted out the front door like a preacher leaving a whorehouse. Once out in the wind, she regretted her spontaneous offer, but there wasn’t much else to do but trudge down to the station wagon.

She came close to screaming when she saw someone coming up the road. However, she managed to get her heart out of her throat as she recognized Kayleen. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I heard Kevin Buchanon disappeared, and I was afraid he came up this way on account of feeling responsible for Dylan’s death. It was a terrible tragedy, but he should be at Dahlia’s side during her last few weeks of pregnancy when she needs him the most.”

“She needs him right this minute,” Ruby Bee said without hesitation. “She’s in labor, but not for long. Don’t you have some medical training?”

Kayleen quickened her pace. “I’m trained as a nurse’s aide, but mostly I worked in nursing homes.”

“The contractions are three minutes apart, and Dahlia’s holding up real well. She swears all her puffing and panting is what she learned on some tape and is what the doctor wants her to do. Have you delivered a baby?”

“No, but I watched several deliveries while I was a student. Did you boil water?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Kayleen said as she fell into step with Ruby Bee.

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Mrs. Jim Bob sat alone on the front pew in the Assembly Hall. Brother Verber had not miraculously appeared and proclaimed himself born again, or plain born, or anything else. Lottie Estes had played a couple of hymns, but she’d run out of steam and everybody’d everybody’d left to take advantage of this unexpected free time.

She’d lost them both, she thought, her thin lips quivering. Her source of spiritual fortitude had cast his lot with the strumpet, and her source of income had taken it upon himself to spend a weekend playing poker and drinking Satan’s poison. Where could she find comfort in her bereavement? Not here, in the cavernous room where the last notes of Lottie’s laborious renditions lingered like a chest cold. The Methodist preacher wore blue jeans and rode a bicycle, and the Baptist preacher in Emmett was known to chase fast women.

Even the Lord had not seen fit to answer her prayers. She got down on her knees and gave it one more shot, but Brother Verber did not emerge from the storage room, nor did Jim Bob crawl down the aisle on his belly like the viper he was.

Mrs. Jim Bob stood up and smoothed her skirt, gazed sadly at the unoccupied pulpit, and went out to the porch. She was standing there, trying to decide if she should go home or sit for a spell in the rectory, when she spotted Jim Bob’s four-wheel coming down the road.

Her despondency was replaced with blind, mindless rage. Without hesitating, she ran across the lawn and into the street, waving her arms above her head and shrieking for him to pull over. The four-wheel squealed to a stop at the side of the road and Roy stuck out his head.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She lowered her arms but not her voice. “Where’s that low down, lying, adulterous scoundrel?”

Roy figured she wasn’t referring to Larry Joe. “The last I saw him he was still at the deer camp. Larry Joe and me decided to come on back to town.”

“That doesn’t make a whit of sense, Roy Stiver, and you know it. Is Jim Bob off with one of his women?”

Red-faced, Roy told her the whole story, although he omitted the number of bottles of whiskey and cases of beer they’d gone through in the last forty-eight hours. Once he’d finished, he realized how outright stupid it sounded, but he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t believe you,” said Mrs. Jim Bob. “Three grown men running around the woods like chickens with their heads cut off because they thought they saw a monster? Of course their eyes were so blood-shot from indulging in whiskey that it’s a wonder they didn’t see the Mormon Tabernacle Choir up there too-or maybe you did and forgot to tell me. Did they sing for you?”

“It’s the honest-to-God truth,” Roy said, squirming in the seat as she glowered at him. “I dropped Larry Joe off at his place not five minutes ago. You can call him if you don’t believe me. Are you sure Jim Bob’s not at home right now?”

“Don’t you think I know who’s in my own house? No, there’s a woman involved. I can smell her cheap perfume as I stand here. I can see her painted face and tight dress. Jim Bob arranged for her to meet him at the deer camp, didn’t he? You’d better come clean if you know what’s good for you, Roy Stiver.”

“Look, Mrs. Jim Bob, I told you what happened. If Jim Bob was responsible for that creature, then he fooled Larry Joe and me.”

She came to a decision. “Get out of the car.”

“I was thinking I’d dump my stuff at the store and then drive it out to your house.”

“Get out of the car!” she said, spitting out each word as if it was a watermelon seed.

Roy obliged. “What are you aiming to do?”

“I am going to the deer camp to catch him in the act of fornication.” She climbed into the four-wheel and shook a finger at him. “Fornication is a sin, and so is bearing false witness. You might step inside the Voice of the Almighty Assembly Hall and beg for forgiveness.”

“Good idea,” said Roy. He watched her drive away, then walked down the road toward his antiques store, thinking maybe it was time to take up deep-sea fishing.

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“I got your message,” I said to McBeen as soon as he answered the phone. I’d considered driving into Farberville to talk to him at the morgue, but it seemed like things were heating up rapidly here in my own stompin’ ground. “Nicotine poisoning, right?”

“I wouldn’t have said so if it wasn’t.”

“Then tell me about it,” I said.

“Nicotine has a rating of six on the toxicity scale, which is the top. That’s a frightening statistic, since it’s a legal pesticide and readily available at any garden store. There was a case awhile back when a man soaked some cigarettes in a jug of water, strained it, and used it to make iced tea for his bedridden wife. She died in a matter of days. Absorption through the skin or eye doesn’t take near that long. Based on the witnesses’ accounts, the victim in this case was sitting up one minute and dead ten minutes later.”

“That’s what they all claimed,” I said. “Could there have been nicotine on the bullet?”

“The state lab says not. I’ve got the body on the table, and we’ll go over every inch of it for evidence of penetration. You might ought to have another talk with the other boy who was there.”

“He’s not available at the moment.” I listened to him snorting impatiently while I thought. “Here’s something that may help, McBeen,” I added. “The victim was facing the bluff when he got shot in the shoulder. I can’t see Kevin being implicated in the poisoning, so you probably should roll the body over and take a look at the backside.”

After I’d hung up, I found the notes I’d taken while interviewing Jake Milliford, the only one of the witnesses who’d said he could see Dylan. He’d claimed Dylan stood up and turned around; then Kevin jumped up seconds before the rifle was fired. It seemed likely Kevin had reacted to something more significant than a squirrel breaking into chatter, but since he wasn’t around to discuss it, I’d have to settle for the less-than-lovable Jake.