Madness In Maggody (21 page)

I stopped at the information desk and learned that Buzz had been moved to a semiprivate room and was now upgraded to good condition. I asked Martin if he wanted to visit his father. He blinked at me for a moment, then said, "Yeah, Miss Arly. That'd be great."

Buzz was sleeping as we entered the room. The tubes were gone except for an IV in his arm, and his color was better than Martin's. He opened his eyes and said, "Martin, good to see you. I've been real worried about you and Lissie, and it's comforting to know Arly's watching out for the both of you. How are you feelin', son?"

"Okay," Martin said quietly. "You don't have to worry about us."

Buzz glanced at me. "You found out anything about who poisoned us?"

"The preliminary lab report is less than detailed, but they've speculated that it was an industrial pesticide. It may take weeks to get more specific information. In the meantime, I'm trying to pick out snippets of truth from all the rumors and gossip."

"So folks are talking?" He let out a low laugh that became a cough. I poured him a glass of water and hovered beside the bed until he regained control. "Sorry, those damn tubes liked to leave scratch marks all the way to my stomach. What's everybody saying?"

"Ninety-nine percent of it is pure malarky," I said, shaking my head. "The hottest theory is that Lamont Petrel tampered with the packages, then eluded a county-wide dragnet, has been raping women nonstop for the last week, and is numero uno on the FBI's most wanted list."

"He struck me as a nice enough guy. I guess you never can tell, can you?"

"We'll let you rest," I murmured, not in the mood to explain the fine line between hysterically explosive rumors and tedious truth.

Martin and I drove back to Maggody. Hammet was watching television, but as we came into the living room, he switched it off and gave me a worried look. "Is it true what I heard about Miss Ruby Bee being squashed flatter than road kill—and in a big ol' square garbage can?"

"Not exactly," I said. I showed Martin where I'd put his clothes, then sat down across from Hammet and said, "Where'd you hear this latest tidbit?"

"From Saralee, who heard her aunt talking to some lady who was drinking coffee. Lissie said she supposed there was bank robbers' money in the garbage. I dunno, though. I can't figure out why the hell they'd hide money in the garbage."

"Neither can I," I said, amused in spite of myself. Hammet's link to the grapevine was as slippery as anyone's in town. I shuddered to think what the younger side of the population was making of the snatches of conversation they were picking up. Bank robbers and road kill, obviously.

I told the boys to rest up for the big game, then walked across the street to the PD and allowed myself a walking tour of Brussels and a glass of lager at a sidewalk café in the main square. It calmed me down to the point of idle musing, and after a few minutes, I got out my notebook and reread the notes from all the interviews. It became increasingly interesting, this collection of half-truths, gossip, and out-and-out lies, and shortly thereafter some things began to fall into place. Not everything, mind you, because some witnesses (i.e., Ruby Bee) were about as recalcitrant as diving mules.

Cherri Lucinda Crake had admitted to Plover that Lamont Petrel had been at her apartment since the afternoon of the grand opening. She'd continued to deny that Jim Bob visited her Monday night, but once I decided that was a lie, all sorts of things began to make sense, including Kevin's avowal that Jim Bob had returned to the supermarket and Ruby Bee's screwy story about a serial killer in the motel parking lot. Petrel's motive for disappearing was obvious, and his current whereabouts unknown but within bounds of speculation. I was fairly sure I'd be hearing about it soon, thanks to Hizzoner, but for the moment there wasn't much I could do.

I knew who had laced the tamale sauce and sponge cakes with ipecac, and who had stuck pins in the cupcakes. I knew how and why and when and where, thus qualifying my theory for a journalism class exercise. I moved on to the mysterious poisonings at Buzz Milvin's house. It was possible that the same perp had doctored the coconut cakes, perhaps underestimating the toxicity of the polysyllabic substance. But unless Martin had lied, he hadn't consumed the damn things.

I called Plover and asked him to call back with the lab report on the contents of Martin's stomach. He tried to weasel answers out of me, but I hung up and waited, drumming my fingers on my notebook and staring at the visitor's chair.

It took him only a few minutes to report back to me. "Spaghetti, corn bread, soda pop, crackers, a minute trace of cereal, milk," he said. "Just what the kid's been saying all along. What're you thinking, Arly?"

"That he didn't lie," I said, mostly to myself.

"Lie about what?"

"About what he ate that day, of course." I was hedging, but I wasn't quite ready to explain the fuzzy idea that was struggling to take shape. "I'll get back to you shortly." I hung up, called Ruby Bee, and demanded she repeat the one bit of gossip that nobody had shared with me. She hemmed and hawed, but finally she told me what I'd suspected I would hear. I confirmed it with a second source, then called Plover back to relate my theories.

"I think you're right," he said after a minute of silence. "So what's our schedule?"

"I'm going to call Harve with all this, and then, Sergeant Plover, I'm going to a baseball game. The grande dame of the dumpster is having a party for the team afterward, so I can leave Hammet and Martin in her care. I should be in your office by four-thirty."

After I'd made the final call, I went back to my apartment, put on the pink T-shirt, gathered up the equipment and the two players, and we drove to the baseball field behind the high school.

*****

Most of the
town was there for the big shootout, and it took some maneuvering to find a parking place among the pickup trucks and station wagons. Raz was there, as were the Satterings, Perkins and his eldest, Earl Boy Nookim's parents, and the entire force of both the missionary society and the pool hall coterie. Picnic baskets and coolers were everywhere.

The Ruby Bee's Flamingos were milling around near third base, which was not a burlap bag. Georgie McMay, Saralee, and Earl Boy Nookim were exchanging ominous looks, but not blows. Lissie and Jackie were after butterflies, and Enoch was watching reruns in his head. Ray was talking to his father, who went to the bleachers when he spotted us approaching.

I put down the equipment bag, said hello to the team, and shaded my eyes to look across the field at the SuperSavers. If anything, they'd all grown half a foot and a couple had sprouted whiskers. Larry Joe Lambertino was pointing here and there and presumably offering last-minute advice. Hizzoner and Mizzoner stood nearby, both wearing insufferably smug smiles. Petrel was not in sight, but if my theory was correct, he would be before too long.

I turned around to assess the fans in the bleachers. Brother Verber was mopping his face and neck, and looking as composed as a deer caught in the glare of headlights. Dahlia and Kevin were at the far end. Kevin fluttered his fingers at me, but Dahlia didn't even blink, which was fine with me. Joyce was passing out cookies to keep her kids relatively contented. Several high-school girls were sitting together, but a goodly number of their boyfriends were not in sight.

As Ruby Bee walked past the bleachers, there was a low murmur and a few snickers. She held her chin up, however, and I doubted anyone had enough courage to make any remarks within her earshot. Estelle trailed after her, carrying a large plastic bag that bulged oddly but didn't seem heavy.

It looked as if we were all present and accounted for, except for Petrel. I went over to Larry Joe and inquired about procedure. Before he could answer, Mrs. Jim Bob marched over and stuck a piece of paper under my nose.

"I have made all the arrangements," she said with a pinched smile. She consulted her watch. "The pregame ceremonies will begin in three minutes, so I suggest you instruct your team to commence their warm-up."

"Who's the umpire?"

"Why, Jim Bob, of course. I believe he's selected a couple of his employees to umpire out in the field. There are only two minutes remaining."

I thought about protesting, but it wouldn't have done any good and it didn't really matter, since the game was predetermined by relative size (monsters versus dwarfs) and athletic ability (some versus none). There wasn't much reason for our team to warm up, so I told them to sit down and try to remember some of the basic rules.

The SuperSaver cheerleaders tried to rouse the crowd out of its amiable indolence by shrieking and cartwheeling into each other. When they finally gave up (and got up), Mrs. Jim Bob dragged Brother Verber to home plate and clapped her hands until everybody settled down.

"Brother Verber will now lead us in the invocation," she announced.

He wiped his forehead, shot a fearful look at the bleachers, and finally found his voice. "We are gathered here today," he began sonorously, "to test the skills of these two teams of Maggody children—but we are not here with God's blessings. God is wincing as He looks down at this field. He is gnashing His teeth. He is rubbing His hands together and sighing. Why? Do you want to know why God's unhappy today in heaven?"

Nobody admitted to possession of an inquiring mind. After a quick swipe with the handkerchief, Brother Verber sucked in a lungful and told us, anyway. "Because one team is made up of outstanding young boys, each dedicated to the principles of competition and fair play."

"How young are they?" Saralee called.

"Young, little lady. Now this other team"—he made a grandiose sweep in our direction—"this other team has violated the laws of God, not to mention all standards of human decency. This other team has girls and boys playing together! And do you know what that means?" He had to pause to get another lungful, but he had enough sense not to demand any response from the crowd, most of whom were eyeing the Flamingos in case they commenced violating standards right there on the spot. "It means they have wicked thoughts running through their previously innocent little minds. They are seeing each other's bodies, and boys are wondering what all there is under those curvaceous pink T-shirts and the girls are wondering the same about those tight-cut jeans. They are thinking about sex."

"I'm thinking you're an asshole," Hammet volunteered.

"Me, too," Saralee added loyally.

"That's an example of what I'm talking about," Brother Verber said, his nose pulsating and his face beginning to drip. "There is a passel of wickedness in Maggody, and it comes from boys and girls being thrown together—on baseball teams and on porch swings. It leads to lust and depravity and—"

"Magazine subscriptions?" Kevin Buchanon said loudly. It would have been more impressive if his voice hadn't cracked, but now all heads turned to the far end of the bleachers. "What about magazine subscriptions?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I think it's Satan hisself I'm hearing," Brother Verber blustered. "Satan hisself is perched on your shoulder, ain't he? Satan hisself!"

Dahlia had remained motionless thus far. She rose ponderously, inch by inch and with such steeliness that the crowd was holding its collective breath. "What does Satan know about kittens and tomcats except what he reads in your magazine?" she said very slowly and clearly. Her black eyes were burning within the fleshy mounds of her cheeks. Her lips went in and out as she stared at him. She was not anyone to meet in a dark alley. Brother Verber clutched his bow tie. "They was planted by some sinner to discredit me," he managed to say. "They were put beside my trailer so that I would be made to look like a weak-kneed sinner and unworthy of guiding my flock down the path of righteousness."

Mrs. Jim Bob gave him a quick look, then put one fist on her hip and shook her finger at Kevin and Dahlia. "You're a fine pair to be casting the first stone. Everybody in town knows how you two were fornicating on the porch swing."

Eilene leapt to her feet, although she kept a tight grip on Earl's shoulder to hold him down. "That's a lie!"

"Everybody knows," Mrs. Jim Bob replied complacently.

"I say it's a lie," Eilene said, beginning to snivel. Beside her, Earl was too stunned to do anything, and Kevin and Dahlia had sunk down to their seats and then some.

Estelle and Ruby Bee were whispering. They made a decision and Estelle stepped into the lion's den. "Satan may have planted those magazines by your trailer, but he didn't plant them in a certain dumpster at the edge of Farberville, did he?" She put the plastic bag down and opened it. A bright pink figure popped up, its painted eyes wide in surprise and its other anatomical projections jiggling so realistically that the crowd let out a collective gasp. "What about your little inflatable friend?"

Estelle continued. "Surely you felt bad about leaving Suzie Squeezums, didn't you?"

Brother Verber's face resembled tomato aspic, from the color to the quiver. His jaw opened and closed, and we could see his tongue swelling as if he'd contracted a mild case of bubonic plague. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said hoarsely.

"And you're a fine one to speak," Mrs. Jim Bob added, although she was sending dark looks at her companion. "Why don't you explain what you were doing in an apartment with a half-naked man, and in the afternoon, too.? I think we're entitled to an explanation of this outrageous conduct."

"Sez who?" Ruby Bee snapped.

What was I doing all this time? you ask. Nothing. And why not? you ask. Because every last one of them deserved it, that's why. The entire town had been obsessed with tacky rumors. Life in Puritan Salem had been a damn sight saner, and the only reasons these good citizens hadn't pilloried anyone was because we didn't have a convenient spot for the pillory.

"I've never hidden in a dumpster," Mrs. Jim Bob retorted. It was a non sequitur of monumental proportion, but nobody minded because, in truth, they figured they deserved an explanation of that, too. Several folks nodded and said as much to each other.

Ruby Bee waited until there was dead silence and the tension was as hot as the sun. "I was fetching a bag someone had thrown in there. The bag contained a whole stack of pornographic magazines and books, along with this perverted balloon creature. You want to know who threw it in the dumpster?"

Brother Verber was deteriorating badly, but he nudged Mrs. Jim Bob aside, noisily cleared his throat, and gave it his all. "I did it in the name of the Lord. I was cleansing the town of depravity and filth and perversion by making sure that material was discarded outside the city limits of Maggody, so that not one of our innocent youths might stumble onto it. No, I didn't want a single child to be tainted by that sort of wickedness. No, I didn't want it to creep inside your very homes and destroy your family values. No, I had to fight the devil by my lonesome."

A few of the spectators clapped hesitantly, although most of them were tugging on their lips or scratching their heads as they struggled to follow his logic.

Raz Buchanon expelled an arc of tobacco juice. "But jest exactly where did they come from in the first place?"

Brother Verber clasped his hands over his belly and rocked back on his feet. "Why, they came from Satan hisself."

"Some of the magazines have subscription labels," Estelle called. "They weren't addressed to Satan, either."

Even Mrs. Jim Bob was growing perturbed. "Where did they come from, Brother Verber?"

He thudded to his knees and put his entwined hands under his chin. His eyes welling with tears, he bleated, "Satan."

This divinely diverting moment was interrupted by the sound of an unmuffled engine coming around the corner of the high school. We all stared at the pickup truck as it drove across the grass and right onto the field, and we stared a damn sight harder as we caught an increasingly better view of the figure crouched in the back.

My first thought was that it was some giant skunk on its hind legs. It was basically black, with a white fluttery streak down its spine.

"Oh my goodness," Mrs. Jim Bob said in a strangled voice. "It's Lamont Petrel. They tarred and feathered him!"