8

“It’s about time you showed up,” Ruby Bee said as I came across the barroom, my hair still damp from the shower and my eyeballs aching as if they’d been skinned. “I suppose you’ll be wantin’ breakfast, even though it’s as plain as the nose on your face you’ve got more important things to do.”

Avoiding eye contact (a technique espoused at the police academy for dealing with the deranged), I went to the end of the bar to fill a mug with coffee, then sat down. “I can’t think of anything more important than warding off starvation with the best cooking west of the Mississippi.”

“How about solving a murder, Miss National Geographic? Or is police work just a hobby?”

I choked on a mouthful of coffee. Once I’d wiped my face and caught my breath, I opted for full frontal eye contact. “What murder do you have in mind?”

“Norma Kay Grapper’s, of course. I never cared for Bur—and still don’t—but she was always manner-some when I saw her at the SuperSaver. The girls on the basketball team are going to be mighty upset when they hear the news. Maybe you should talk to them after you finish getting a statement from Malachi Hope. Do you want I should call Darla Jean McIlhaney and have her set up a meeting?”

“She’s not home,” said Estelle as she came up behind me. “I saw her and Heather Reilly driving toward Farberville not five minutes ago. They were in a big hurry, but most likely on account of having to be back at eleven for practice.” She gave Ruby Bee the same worldly half smile that Gloria Swanson had given William Holden just the night before in Sunset Boulevard. “Imagine the girls with their little gym bags, gathered in the parking lot, waiting for Norma Kay to unlock the door for them.”

Ruby Bee wiped her cheeks on the hem of her apron. “I was just telling Arly that she should be the one to break the news to the team.”

“Hold your horses,” I said before they sank into such maudlin sentimentality that it would take a dredger to pull them to the surface. “How do you two know about Norma Kay’s death last night?”

“Ruby Bee called me,” Estelle said hastily. “That’s how I know.”

I glared at the accused, who had the grace to pretend to be abashed. As she noticed how tightly I was gripping the mug, she prudently moved out of range and said, “When I opened up this morning, the telephone was ringing. It proved to be LaBelle over at the sheriff’s office. She was trying to find you on account of the sheriff wanting to tell you something real important. LaBelle said she’d called your office and your apartment, but you hadn’t answered. All she could think to do was leave a message with me for you to call Harvey Dorfer when you turned up.”

“And she told you all the details?”

“She may have felt the need to explain why it was so urgent you call back. I was so distressed over the news that I had to talk to someone …”

Someone nodded but kept her mouth shut.

My face was hotter than the coffee in the mug. I gave myself a moment to cool off and then said, “LaBelle had no business telling you what happened last night. And you have no business embellishing it and then spreading it all over town.”

“Embellishing it? I beg your pardon, missy—I didn’t say one syllable that’s not the gospel truth.”

“You said it was murder,” I countered sternly, “and we don’t have the results of the autopsy yet. It very well may turn out to be suicide.”

Ruby Bee gave Estelle a look that presumably was fraught with significance, then said, “Norma Kay would rather die than commit suicide. She used to be a Catholic before she married Bur Grapper and moved here.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

Estelle must have decided that it was safe to butt back in. “I was the one who found that out. It happens that Edwina Spitz’s niece married a boy from Topeka. I disremember her name, but she used to visit Edwina in the summer with a whole suitcase full of Barbie dolls and accessories. One morning Edwina tripped over a little pink convertible and came within inches of falling off her back porch into the azaleas.”

“Could we stick to the story?” I said.

“Her name was Justine,” Ruby Bee said, then caught my glare and retreated to the far end of the bar.

“That’s it,” said Estelle. “Justine married a real nice boy whose daddy owned a clothing store on the main street in Topeka. They had twins right off the bat, but then Justine started dwindling away till she was nothing but skin and bones. She upped and died before the twins reached kindergarten.”

I wished I had a clicker so I could fast-forward the narrative. “Does this have anything to do with Norma Kay Grapper? Anything whatsoever?”

She gave me a haughty look. “If you’ll stop interrupting after every other word, I’ll get to the point. Edwina went all the way to Topeka on a Greyhound bus to attend the funeral. To her surprise, it was held in a Catholic church because Justine’s husband and his family were all Catholics. In her Christmas letters to Edwina, Justine made out like she was still a Baptist.”

“She was never one to spit in the very devil’s teeth,” murmured Ruby Bee.

“Edwina would have been heartsick,” Estelle said, bobbling her head in agreement. “She’s real worried that papists are scheming to take over the country. So there’s Edwina, sitting in a Catholic church not knowing what she’s gonna do if folks take to kneeling, and down sits a woman who introduces herself as Justine’s neighbor. They get to talking afterward, and Edwina says she’s come all the way from Maggody. This neighbor asks if she knows Norma Kay Hunniman. Edwina can’t outsmart a whiffle-bird, but she figures out it’s Norma Kay Grapper. That’s when the girl says Norma Kay used to attend the very church where the funeral was held. Ain’t that something?”

Although I was aware more was expected of me, all I could manage was a mildly interested expression. “So Norma Kay was a Catholic at one time. Is that it?”

Ruby Bee put her hands on her hips. “Everybody knows Catholics aren’t allowed to commit suicide. They’ll get kicked out of the church by the pope hisself.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” I said. “What have you heard about any extramarital activities involving Norma Kay?”

“I’m not one to speak ill of the dead!” Estelle gasped, so offended that she snatched up a menu to fan herself.

I watched her for a moment to see if she was going to enliven the scene by toppling off the stool, then turned to Ruby Bee. “Was Norma Kay having an affair?”

“There’s been talk. Do you want some breakfast?”

“I want to know the man’s name.”

“Bear in mind that Norma Kay never lingered in the teachers’ lounge to discuss her personal affairs. When she first moved here, she joined the County Extension Homemakers and the Missionary Society, but the story is that Bur didn’t like for her to go out in the evenings unless it was related to her job. I’d say Cory Jenks is a possibility, what with them working together and riding to games on the same bus.”

Estelle recovered from her conveniently brief bout of the vapors. “Then again, Millicent saw John Robert Scurfpea’s delivery truck parked in the side yard one Saturday when Bur was visiting Amos at the nursing home in Farberville.”

“Jim Bob prefers them younger,” added Ruby Bee, “but I saw him carrying Norma Kay’s groceries out to her car not that long ago. He was flashing his teeth like a TV weatherman.”

“What about Eddie Joe Whitbread?” Estelle said, pensively sucking on a pretzel. “I heard he changed a flat tire for Norma Kay on the road to Emmet. She’d gone to the flea market out that way and ran over a nail. She was sitting on the side of the road when Eddie Joe drove up, and she told him he’d saved her life.”

Ruby Bee frowned at her. “Where’d you hear that?”

“From Eddie Joe’s sister. She used to get her hair done at the Casa de Coiffure over in Hasty, but they botched her perm something awful. She used to have hair thick as a dog’s back, but when she came slinking in, I could see right off the bat where great big clumps had come out.”

I slid off the stool, wondering why we paid good money to the CIA when we had such talented operatives in our own backyard. “I’d better go call Harve,” I said as I headed for the door. Neither one responded, being too occupied with analyzing Eddie Joe Whitbread’s sister’s cataclysmic experience at the Casa de Coiffure.

“I’m not in the mood to play hide-and-seek,” Mrs. Twayblade said from the doorway, her foot tapping so loudly the aides in the kitchen were convinced there was a woodpecker on the roof. “I want you to tell me where Mrs. Teasel is. According to the schedule, it’s time for her crafts class. I believe they’re decorating little mint cups for our Labor Day festivities.”

Mrs. Teasel’s roommate pulled up the covers until only the upper half of her face was visible. “Don’t know where she is.”

“Was she in her bed when you woke up this morning?”

“I seem to recollect she was.”

Mrs. Twayblade clutched her clipboard more tightly to her chest as she struggled to maintain her professional aplomb. “No one saw her at breakfast or at any time this morning. Did she say anything to indicate she might leave the grounds?”

Mrs. Teasel’s roommate pondered this for a long while, mostly to annoy Mrs. Twayblade. “She said that Malachi Hope had cured her, and since she was as good as new, there was no reason to stay here anymore. She had her purse with her when she left, but she didn’t say where she was going.”

“She has Alzheimer’s,” Mrs. Twayblade said as her stomach began to churn.

“Not anymore she doesn’t. Last night that preacher told her she was cured. Tonight I’m gonna ask him do something about this dadburned gallbladder infection of mine. I wouldn’t mind getting away from this place, neither. Labor Day festivities!”

Mrs. Twayblade went back to her office, locked the door, and sank down on the settee, usually reserved for bureaucrats from the state licensing office. If they found out she’d allowed a patient with Alzheimer’s to wander away, they’d revoke her license in a Little Rock minute.

She began to moan in a very unprofessional fashion.

I detoured by the SuperSaver to buy a box of animal crackers for breakfast and then went to the PD. Once I’d started the coffee, I called the sheriff’s office.

“Why, Arly,” simpered LaBelle, “I was trying to find you all over the place earlier. I called every place I could think.”

“Including Ruby Bee’s Bar and Grill.”

“I believe I did,” she said, switching to a more cautious voice.

“And told the proprietress about the body in the gym.”

“I had to explain why I was calling there. If Ruby Bee thought I was calling about something insignificant like raffle tickets to benefit the summer youth program, it might have slipped her mind.”

There wasn’t much point in berating LaBelle, who was notoriously loquacious when it came to potentially juicy cases. She’d been an employee since long before Hiram’s barn burned, and she never complained about cigar smoke. She was also married to Harve’s first cousin. “Let me speak to Harve,” I said.

“He went over to the morgue to have a word with McBeen.”

“What word would that be?”

She took her sweet time before she said, “Well, McBeen called over here to say there were some real suspicious marks on that poor woman’s neck—and most likely not from the cord. McBeen practically came out and said it was murder!”

I told her to have Harve call me. Then I transferred my notes from the scrap of paper to a more appropriate form with spaces for names and dates and top-secret stuff like that. The chronology didn’t run off the bottom of the page as yet. Malachi had received the note from Norma Kay before the revival revved up. She’d gone home at 10:00 and to the gym at 11:00. At 12:10, Malachi had arrived and found her distraught. At 12:30, he left her (presumably alive and kicking), and returned at 1:30 or so to find her in a remarkably less animated condition. If LaBelle had been accurate in her information, someone had arrived in the significant hour and murdered Norma Kay.

There were some conspicuous gaps in my scenario. Estelle had said basketball practice was at 11:00; I could talk to the girls then to find out which one had delivered Norma Kay’s note to Malachi. He was the one who could tell me who, if anyone else, might have seen the note or learned of its contents. It seemed like a good place to start.

I nibbled enough animal crackers to appease the beast in my belly, found a gnawed pencil and a notebook with a few clean pages, and was halfway out the door when the telephone rang. I retraced my steps and picked up the receiver, hoping it was Harve with a more complete report from McBeen—as opposed to Ruby Bee with an update on Edwina’s niece’s defection to the Vatican camp.

“Chief Hanks? This is Mrs. Twayblade at the county home. How are you today?”

Our last encounter having been less than congenial, I was somewhat startled. “Fine, I suppose. Is there something I can do for you?”

She made an odd noise that might have been a laugh (on another planet, anyway). “It’s a minor matter, and I’m quite sure I’m overreacting. One of our patients, a woman named Lucille Teasel, took it upon herself to go for a little stroll this morning. She has real thin white hair, a prominent overbite, and a sharp chin. I’m a teensy bit worried she might miss lunch. When you’re driving around town, would you keep an eye out for her?”

“Sure. Is that all?”

The dial tone implied it was. I went outside and started to open the car door, then veered across the road, where Roy Stiver was sitting in a rocking chair in front of his antiques store, waiting like a turkey buzzard for some hapless tourist to pull up. I gave him the description of the patient and he agreed to watch for her.

Having done my duty in that regard, I drove out County 102 and up the hill to the pasture. A few men were picking up paper cups and crumpled popcorn sacks, but that was the only indication that anything had taken place there the previous night. Six more nights, I told myself as I knocked on the door of the RV.

Malachi had showered and shaved, but he still looked like something the cat wouldn’t have bothered to drag in. “Have you found out anything more?” he asked me as he held open the door.

“Maybe.” I went inside and sat down on a leather sofa. As Thomas Fratelleon had said, the interior was fairly spacious. He had failed to mention that it was expensively furnished—but, hey, we’d only just met. “I need to ask you some more questions about last night. What exactly did the note from Norma Kay say?”

“That she wanted me to come to the gym at midnight. It was pretty vague.”

“Do you still have it?”

He considered this for a moment, then said, “After I read it, I put it in my coat pocket. Let me go in the bedroom and see if it’s there.”

He came back with a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. The typed message read: “Malachi, you must meet me at the gym tonight at midnight!!! He won’t leave me alone—and I don’t know what to do!!!” She must have been too exhausted from pounding out all the exclamation points to sign it.

I tucked it in my notebook. “One of the ushers delivered this to you before the service. Could anyone else have read it between then and midnight?”

“I don’t see how,” he said as he sat down at the far end of the sofa and shook his head. “I went on stage less than five minutes later. I didn’t take off my coat until I got back here at eleven. Thomas came by, but he didn’t go into the bedroom to rummage through my pockets.”

“No one else was here? What about Seraphina and Chastity?”

“After the revival, Chastity went off with some of the local girls to get a soda, even though she wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without my permission. Seraphina went to find her and bring her back.”

“Did she?” I asked.

“Chastity was here when I got back a little after 12:30. I made it clear she was in trouble and told her I’d decide on her punishment in the morning. She’s been a problem since the day she came to live with us. No matter how strict I am with her, she continues to lie, steal money, and use foul language. The only thing I can see to control the girl is to arrange for her to do her schoolwork at home. That will also allow me to make sure her curriculum stresses Christian principles.”

“So Seraphina and Chastity were here when you got back from the gym. I guess I’d better have a word with them.”

Malachi tried to smile, but it wouldn’t have fooled the most backwoods Buchanon. “According to Chastity, she and Seraphina had an argument in the car. Seraphina ordered her out of the car and said she was going for a drive to cool down. She hasn’t come back. Chastity was asleep when I returned an hour ago, but she left while I was in the shower. I’m alone at the moment.”

“Where do you think Seraphina might have gone? Maggody’s not the sort of place where one can fade into the teeming masses or hide out under an assumed name in some fleabag hotel.”

“Most likely she went into Farberville to find a hotel,” he said. “She’s done that sort of thing in the past when she needed to put some distance between herself and Chastity—or when she’s feeling claustrophobic. Quite often after the final night of a revival, she’ll check into a suite and treat herself to a leisurely soak in a Jacuzzi and room service.”

I wasn’t as nonchalant as he appeared to be, but it would have been premature to bring in the bloodhounds. “Let’s talk some more about last night, Mr. Hope. Did Norma Kay say anything that might have hinted at her lover’s identity? Any reference to his occupation or marital status?”

“Not really. I can give you her file if you want to read her letters. She might have let something slip.”

“I’ll return them as soon as possible,” I said without enthusiasm. If she’d really written every month for the last ten years, I was going to spend a fun-filled evening immersing myself in more than a hundred accounts of her misery. I made a mental note to buy a roll of antacids before I went home. “You drove to the gym twice last night. Did you see anyone along the way either time?”

“Do I need an alibi?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” I said evenly.

He went across the room to a small table and picked up a dishearteningly thick folder. After he’d given it to me, he said, “There’s a house down the road from the Grappers’. The first time I went by, a man was getting out of a blue or maybe black pickup. He jerked around when I went by. When I came back twenty minutes later, I noticed the truck was gone.”

“Was it there the second time you drove to the high school?”

“I’d just seen that Norma Kay’s car was not in her driveway. I was too worried about her to pay any attention.”

“I’ll return the folder,” I said as I started for the door. “I need to talk to Seraphina—and Chastity—when they show up. If I’m not in my office, tell them to call the sheriff’s department and leave a message for me.”

He caught my arm. “Norma Kay committed suicide, didn’t she?”

“The state lab will conduct an autopsy within a few days. In the interim, I’m just tying up some loose ends, Mr. Hope.” I removed his hand from my arm and reached for the doorknob.

“I shouldn’t have left her alone,” he said as if I were a member of the jury. “Even though she’d calmed down, I should have realized she was still deeply troubled. Perhaps the idea of breaking off the affair was too much for her to bear—or begging her husband’s forgiveness. She’d been smacked in the face recently. She gave me some transparently false story about running into a door, but I’ve done enough counseling to know the earmarks of physical abuse.”

“We’re aware of the bruise. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other potential witnesses to interview. Don’t forget to have Seraphina and Chastity call me.”

I made it outside without any more angst-ridden outbursts. If he was telling the truth, he didn’t have a motive to murder Norma Kay Grapper. Of course, I had no way of knowing if he was or not. His livelihood required the ability to convince others of his sincerity in order to divest them of their hard-earned money. The Oriental rug and brass lamps in the RV indicated he was talented.

Thomas Fratelleon was waiting beside my car. “Malachi told me about that woman’s suicide,” he said. “I feel partially responsible. She was desperate to talk to him, but I refused and hung up abruptly. I wish I’d listened more carefully to her.”

“Did she say anything about why she wanted to have a session with Malachi?”

He gestured at the folder. “No, but I glanced at some of her most recent letters. The fact that she was unable to put a stop to her infidelity had become an obsession, as you’ll see. Norma Kay Grapper was a tortured soul; if Malachi had suggested that she flagellate herself until she passed out from the pain, she would have asked where to buy the leather strap.”

“On a less theatrical note, did Malachi suggest she see a psychiatrist?”

Fratelleon hesitated. “I’m sure he would have if he’d suspected how mentally disturbed she was, Miss Hanks. He must have felt that her problems were spiritual in nature and could be cured through prayer. Malachi has helped many people over the years; we have boxes and boxes of letters thanking him. From First Corinthians: ‘For to one is given by the Spirit the word of wisdom; to another the word of knowledge by the same Spirit; to another faith by the same Spirit; to another the working of miracles.’ Malachi has been blessed with all four.”

“He said you came by the RV after the revival,” I said, changing the subject before I bashed him with the folder.

“I dropped off the cash and checks, then went to bed.”

“Did you hear Seraphina drive up shortly thereafter?”

He regarded me soberly. “I was listening to classical music on my transistor radio, but I thought I heard a car door slam perhaps five minutes after Malachi left. Assuming Seraphina had been successful in her mission to fetch Chastity, I did not put on a robe and go outside to investigate.”

“Did Malachi tell you that Seraphina spent the night elsewhere?”

“She did the same thing three nights last month when we were in Texas and Oklahoma. There are times when she finds the RV too confining, and at Malachi’s insistence, goes off to find a lavish suite.”

“She won’t find one in Farberville,” I said. “Do you have any idea where Chastity went this morning?”

“I was unaware she left until Malachi told me a few minutes ago. I was supervising the cleanup crew and deliveries. Our turnout last night was unexpectedly—” He broke off as Joey Lerner came out of the tent, a backpack slung across his shoulder and a duffel bag in his hand. “Excuse me, Miss Hanks,” he said, his forehead wrinkling. “I need to have a word with my young friend.”

So did I, so I tagged along. Joey had climbed onto his motorcycle by the time we reached him. He held up his hand and said, “Don’t bother, Thomas. I’m out of here.”

“Out of here?” Thomas echoed, stopping so abruptly I stepped on his heel. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m leaving—okay? When I have an address, I’ll let you know so you can send a check. I’m not in the mood to hang around while you figure out what you owe me.”

He looked more in the mood to start throwing punches. I gave Fratelleon a chance to do something other than stare at Joey, then said, “I have some questions for you before you go. Would you please come sit in the car with me?”

“Go ahead and ask them right here.”

“Okay,” I said, doubting I could drag him off the motorcycle without unduly endangering myself. “Why are you leaving so hastily?”

“Seraphina fired me last night.”

Fratelleon was still in his echo mode. “Fired you?”

“That’s right. Five minutes after the show was over, she came out to the van and told me I was fired. Good-bye, Thomas. I hope you end up on that Caribbean island you keep talking about in your sleep.”

“You can’t leave like this. What about the show? You’re the only one who can handle all the special effects. You’re vital to the operation, Joey; we can’t continue without you. Please don’t do this.”

“Tell it to Seraphina.”

Fratelleon put his hand on Joey’s back. “Please wait here until I speak with Malachi. I’m quite certain he can persuade Seraphina to forget whatever it was that upset her and ask you to stay. Perhaps I can arrange for an increase in your salary and a paid vacation next week while we’re finalizing the property sale.”

“You can go talk to him,” Joey said, dropping the duffel bag and rocking back on the seat of the motorcycle. He watched Thomas scurry across the trampled grass to the RV, then lit a cigarette and looked at me. “Any more questions?”

“Why did she fire you?”

“Hell, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I said, allowing derision to taint my voice like a strep infection. “Didn’t you bother to ask her?”

“I asked her, sure, but she was so; mad I thought she was going to assault me. I got my ass out of there and went into Farberville. Everything there was closed, so I just cruised around the county until I cooled off. She and Malachi both have weird ideas about their positions in the heavenly hierarchy. Maybe she decided she no longer needs any mortal assistance to float down from the rafters in a pink cloud. She’ll have a tough time finding someone else to run the show, though. Even Jesus might have trouble with the synthesizer.”

“Do you handle all the special effects by yourself?” I asked.

“Everything’s linked to a computer in a van behind the tent. All I do is run the programs and listen for indications something’s not working properly.”

Malachi came out of the RV. “Joey!” he called. “I beg you come talk this over. It doesn’t matter why Seraphina said whatever she did—and I’ll make sure that she apologizes later today. You’re absolutely vital to the operation. There’s no way we can go on tonight without you!”

Joey climbed off the motorcycle and gave me a sly smile. “Guess I’ll see what they’re offering in terms of a raise.”

I had more questions, but he swaggered away before I could blurt them out. At this point, there was no particular reason to link him with what had taken place in the gym or doubt his account of where he’d been after the revival. It sounded as though he’d be around later, I decided as I went to my car, and I’d never been much help in delicate labor negotiations.

Besides, I had other fish to fry. The very thought reminded me of the inadequacy of my breakfast, so I headed for the Dairee Dee-Lishus.