Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 07 (9 page)

Actually, Jim Bob wanted to drive away, so he did.

Things weren’t so lighthearted at the old house out on County 102. Ruby Bee had cobwebs in her hair, black crescents under her fingernails, new blisters on top of old blisters, and a nagging pain in her lower back that even a hot, soak in the tub wouldn’t ease. “I don’t see why,” she said as she loaded a sack with beer cans from the sink, “Mrs. Jim Bob’s unpacking souvenirs and dressing up the mannequin while you and I are out here in this dump like a couple of cleaning women.”

Estelle finished sweeping glass into the dustpan and dumped it into a box already overflowing with trash. “Because we’re on the executive committee, and somehow or other you ended up volunteering to see to the house. Mind you, I don’t recall that I ever volunteered to lift one finger, so I guess that means someone else volunteered my services on a day when I planned to give myself a henna rinse and a manicure.” She examined her fingernails. “Looks like I went after them with a chain saw, thanks to Miz Happy Homemaker.”

“We’re all in this together,” Ruby Bee said, catching her breath as a small black critter scuttled down the drain. “You didn’t seem reluctant to be on the Matt Montana Homecoming Committee, if I recollect. You were about as twittery as a pom-pom girl.” She dropped the last beer can into the sack, carried it to the back porch, and then went through the house and out to the front porch to see how the work was coming along.

Nicely, she thought. There were new panes in the windows, and the shutters had been retrieved and repaired. Now the facade was white, the shutters forest green, and the ceiling of the porch as blue as the sky. A porch swing squeaked in the wind. Paint was dribbled on the porch and there were some bare streaks, but the high school boys recruited to do the work had done well enough. She could hear them talking as they painted around the corner.

More boys were on their way to the dump with the furniture, while others were hacking away at the weeds or dragging branches to the field for a bonfire. Their girlfriends were inside, washing windows, sweeping spiderwebs off the ceilings, wiping down walls, and waxing the pitted wooden floors. They were an industrious lot, considering they were making less than minimum wage, but Mrs. Jim Bob had laid it out plain and simple at a high school assembly. She’d started with a plea for civic pride, pointed out there would be money to be made from the influx of tourists, assured them that they would all have a chance to meet Matt in person and get his autograph and sit in the front row at the concert, and then ended with a few remarks about the possibility of a town meeting in which their parents would learn from the mayor hisself about the prevalence of drugs, liquor, and fornication—should no one sign up to work for the Homecoming Committee.

It had been a potent mixture, Ruby Bee thought as she looked across the road at the freshly painted sign in front of Estelle’s house. She wasn’t sure Matt Montana had hair fantasies, but she supposed he could. Estelle’s new rates implied she was harboring some pretty wild ones of her own.

She shaded her eyes as Earl and Eilene Buchanon pulled into the driveway. In the back of Earl’s truck was a mountain of furniture furniture secured by crisscrossed ropes and black rubber snakes. Ruby Bee thought Eilene looked a mite peevish, so she wasn’t real surprised when Eilene jumped out of the truck the minute it stopped and slammed the door hard enough to bust Earl’s eardrums.

“Any word on Adele?” Eilene demanded as she came up to the porch without so much as looking back to see if Earl was in pain. “There was a hard freeze last night. I could hardly sleep worrying about her.”

“She’s fine. She went off to visit a cousin, but she’ll be back in a matter of days. How’d you do at the junk store?”

“We got most of the big pieces. The old crow gave me twenty percent off because we bought so much, but I still went over the budget by forty dollars. We’re shy end tables, floor lamps, family pictures for the hall, a couple of braided rugs, and a quilt. I made a list.”

Ruby Bee shrugged. “I reckon we can borrow some oddments from Roy’s antique store, and if worse comes to worse, we can use some of our own furniture. Let me check how the girls are doing inside. If they’re done with the floors, the boys can help Earl unload the truck.”

“He can do it by himself.” Eilene sat down on the porch swing and sighed.

Ruby Bee felt obliged to sit down next to her and pat her knee. The last thing the Homecoming Committee needed was more discord. At the meeting the fussing and fighting had gone on past midnight, what with everybody voicing opinions about what they should do and what they could do and how in heaven’s name to pay for it. Now they were operating under a very uneasy truce of sorts that divided the territory and certain profits. The fees for touring the Wockermann house, for instance, would go into the committee coffers, along with what they charged tourists to go down to Boone Creek. The parking lot next to the ruins of the branch bank was deemed community property, since it belonged to folks who lived elsewhere and wouldn’t know the difference. Joyce Lambertino had wondered out loud if that wasn’t cheating the bankers, but she’d been hushed up real fast by her husband. There’d been a good hour of squabbling about the skeletal remains of Purtle’s Esso station out at the edge of town, with half the room saying it could be fixed up as Matt’s favorite hangout and the other half arguing that it’d take a miracle to fix it up in two weeks. Joyce and Larry Joe were on opposite sides of the room on that one, too. Now it looked like Eilene and Earl were bumping heads over something, Ruby Bee thought as she glanced from Earl’s snarly face to Eilene’s teary one.

“You two have a spat?” she asked Eilene in a low voice so Earl wouldn’t hear.

“You could call it that. While we were driving back from the store, I said we ought to consider setting up a campground in the field behind our house. Earl snickered and said it wasn’t exactly convenient, as if I’d forgotten where we live. I said we could charge a lower fee and then haul the tourists over here. Earl started braying like a jackass. It was all I could do not to slap the smirk off his face.”

“How would you haul them?” asked Ruby Bee, mindful of the cow pasture behind the Flamingo Motel. It didn’t belong to her, but there was no way Obiwan Buchanon would find out as long as he stayed in Florida trying to earn money for the hormone therapy and operation.

Eilene perked up. “There was an old wagon at the flea market that could look right pretty with a coat of paint. We could hook it up to that little tractor Earl uses to mow the yard, and Kevin could be the driver. I was thinking we could call it the Maggody-Matt-Mobile.”

“Eilene,” gasped Ruby Bee, so overcome with awe that she sank back into the swing and fanned herself with her hand, “that is absolutely brilliant. I can see Kevin in a white jacket and cowboy hat just like what Matt wears, hauling those tourists down the road and maybe even leading them in songs as they roll along. You can charge a fortune for a ride in the Maggody-Matt-Mobile.”

“And do something to help Kevin and Dahlia, I guess you’ve heard the nonsense Dahlia’s been spouting all over town. I couldn’t talk any sense into her, so I told Kevin to come over before church so he and I could have a private talk. He insisted he was just working his butt off selling those fancy vacuum cleaners and was exhausted by the time he dragged home. That’s what he said, anyway. Being his mother, I know when he’s avoiding the truth and I have to admit there may be something fishy going on.” Earl was still out by the truck untying the furniture, but Ruby Bee dropped her voice even lower and said, “You mean Kevin really is having an affair with another woman?”

“I don’t know what to think, Ruby Bee. I do know that if Earl catches wind of this supposed affair, he’ll march right into their living room with a hickory stick. Earl has his faults—it’d take me a month of Sundays to list ‘em—but he won’t tolerate that sort of thing.”

Ruby Bee clucked sympathetically, but she couldn’t say anything because Earl was struggling up the steps with a sofa balanced on his back. He didn’t look like he was in the mood to debate the likelihood of infidelity.

I’d planned to be at the county home at ten o’clock sharp, but Harve had called and I’d related everything that happened the previous evening. I didn’t argue when he said he was pulling his deputies off the case, since there didn’t seem to be much point in their tromping through the woods. Before he hung up, we agreed that Larry was a real dumb name for a dog.

When I got to the home, Mrs. Twayblade was seated at the desk in the foyer, her watch set next to her clipboard. Even upside down, I could read the time: half past late.

“I’d better have a look at Mrs. Wockermann’s files while I’m here,” I began pleasantly.

“That’s out of the question. The files are sacrosanct. They contain confidential medical records, as well as financial information of a very delicate nature. We do have a budget, so we monitor the Social Security and Medicaid benefits. Some of our residents have savings accounts and pensions, too, not to mention relatives who’re obliged to contribute to their upkeep.”

“Relatives are what I’m after. If I knew the name of Adele’s next of kin, I might get a lead on her whereabouts. Otherwise, after I talk to the aides, I’m going to have to question all the residents. This is an official investigation. If I have to, I’ll get a warrant and come back with several deputies. We may even need the dog again.” I curled my lips to expose my canine teeth.

“Are you threatening me, Chief Hanks?”

“Of course not. I’m trying to avoid any further disruption of the schedule.”

We glared at each other. An old woman clutching an aluminum walker thumped past the desk, talking to herself in a querulous voice. Seconds later two white-haired men passed by, talking to each other in querulous voices. A girl in an institutional green smock intervened and led them away. From within the lounge at the front of the building, a game show contestant shrieked. Pans clattered in an unseen kitchen.

“Oh, all right,” muttered Mrs. Twayblade. “You wait here while I have a quick look at Adele’s file.” She went into a room at the back of her office and slammed the door.

Smells escaped from the kitchen somewhere in the back of the building. Although I couldn’t identify them with any accuracy, there was nothing on the menu that appealed. Matt Montana’s Hometown Bar & Grill was closed for the day while its proprietress toiled at the Wockermann house. Unless I settled for a burrito from the SuperSaver deli, this would be the second day in a row I would be forced to swing by the Dairee DeeLishus and choose between a Montana Burger (adorned with “Matt’s Special Secret Sauce”) or a Matt’s Combo (a chilidog, fries, and a small drink). Both had prices comparable to a Manhattan bistro. Over at Matt’s Billiard Parlor and Family Entertainment Center, they were charging two bucks for the long-necked bottles of beer, and the big jars of pickled eggs and redhot sausages had been replaced with sterile packages of chips. At the rate things were going, Raz was going to be selling his moonshine in six-packs.

The smells grew stronger, cabbage competing with fish and scorched milk, and I became aware of the strains of “The Little Drummer Boy” being played from behind a closed door. I was contemplating how best to smuggle in arms to the residents when the girl in the smock came back. “You’re Arly Hanks, right?” she asked, watching the hallway behind me. “I’m Tansy. Have you found Miz Wockermann?”

“Not yet, but I’m still looking. Did you see any unfamiliar cars parked out on the east side yesterday, say, late morning onward?”

She widened her eyes, but the effect was minimalized by the heavy caking of mascara and midnight blue eyeliner. “Was she kidnapped?”

“Right now I’m assuming she walked out the emergency exit at the end of the hall and got into a car. Did you see anything or anybody anybody out there that was the slightest bit out of the ordinary?”

“I wish I had, but I didn’t. Miz Twayblade thinks it’s real important to get all the residents in a festive mood for the holidays so they won’t be too lonesome for their families. Earlier in the week we taped up stuff out here and sprayed snowflake stencils on the windows, and yesterday we were in the lounge all morning, decorating the Christmas tree. Patty May had everybody gluing red-and-green paper chains and singing ‘Jingle Bells’ till we went to the dining room to set the tables.”

For the first time I noticed the halls had been decked. “Was Mrs. Wockermann in a festive mood?”

“She did come to the lounge and stuff her pockets full of divinity, but I don’t remember how long she stayed. I wasn’t paying much attention to anybody in particular. The ladder’s wobbly, and folks kept bumping into it while they griped at me about the lights and the tinsel. They were drifting in and out the way they do. Sorry.”

“I understand.”

Tansy was not ready for absolution. “Golly, I feel really bad. Miz Wockermann’s sharper than a lot of folks give her credit, but I can’t stop worrying about her.” She shook her head sadly, then looked up with a much brighter expression. “Besides, if she really is Matt Montana’s great-aunt, then it’s likely that he’d come here to visit her again. I’ll faint if I come around a corner and see him standing here. He’s so incredibly good-looking.”

“Matt Montana was here?” I asked, surprised. Ruby Bee and Estelle had pored over every bit of printed matter concerning Matt and related it to me in mind-drubbing detail, as in “then when he was in eighth grade, he played the trombone and …” This isn’t to say that I’d made an effort to retain the information for one second longer than it took to flow in one ear and out the other, but I probably would have at least chewed briefly on this. “He came to Maggody to visit Mrs. Wockermann?”

“Two years ago, according to what Miz Wockermann told Miz Jim Bob. Patty May and me happened to overhear the other day.”

“I need to talk to her, too. Where is she?”

“Gone,” Tansy said nervously. “Deirdre’s coming in on a temporary basis until Miz Twayblade can find someone.”

“Gone where?” I demanded, not sure if she meant “gone to the store” or “gone to live with the angels.” Or “gone off her rocker,” which is what I was afraid I was about to do.