Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 10 (13 page)

A gust of wind liked to push her off the porch. “This is ridiculous,” she said, not bothering to whisper. “If you birds are in there, you’d better mind your manners ‘cause I’m coming in and I’m not putting up with being hissed at or pecked.”

She didn’t exactly charge into the house, however, but instead turned the knob and eased open the door a scant inch. Nothing. She tried another inch, then squinted into the room. She was about to throw open the door when something hit her hand. The unexpected burst of pain was so startling that she jumped back, lost her balance, and went tumbling off the porch into a massive forsythia bush.

“Estelle!” she howled, fighting to get free of the brittle branches. One foot was snagged above her head, the other twisted under her in a most undignified position. “Estelle, darn it, get back here!”

“What in tarnation …?” said Estelle as she rounded the corner, not spotting the arms flailing from the middle of the forsythia. “Where are you, Ruby Bee?”

“Here, and I’m stuck, in case you didn’t notice. Would you stop gawking and do something?”

“What’re you doing?”

“I am trying to get free of this bush. It’s got me tangled up like it’s got barbed wire for branches.” She grunted as she wiggled around to get her hands on the ground.

Estelle pulled back branches as best she could, and after getting swatted in the face and scratched up to her wrists, managed to help Ruby Bee escape. “I still don’t understand why you were in the forsythia,” she said. “Did you jump in there for a reason?”

“I fell in there,” Ruby Bee said, trying to hide her mortification. She went on to relate how she’d opened the front door, then added, “I suppose one of those birds pecked me on the hand. It hurt worse than a pebble from a slingshot. If I hadn’t had on gloves, it would have drawn blood.”

“I told you they’re not the most mannersome critters. You should have-” She broke off with a gurgle of dismay, then grabbed Ruby Bee’s arm and hustled her toward the door. “They’re over by the station wagon. We’d better get inside before they come after us.”

Ruby Bee wasn’t inclined to dawdle.

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“The public forum is at ten o’clock sharp,” Sterling told Barry and Kayleen, who were seated on his bed. The table was burdened with a computer, monitor, and laser printer; a cord slinked from the modem to the telephone across the room. His duffel bag was unpacked and in the closet. A holster hung on the headboard of the bed. On the wall next to a topographical map of the region was a framed picture of wide-eyed kittens in a beribboned basket. Variations of the latter (but not the former) were in all the units.

“I’ll put signs along the road first thing in the morning,” said Barry. “From what Dylan said when he was out here earlier in the week, we won’t get more than a dozen potential recruits. He hit the pool hall, the supermarket, a body shop, and even the launderette, trying to spark some interest in the cause, but he says there’s a lot of apathy in this town.”

Sterling shook his head. “Apathy is our biggest challenge, and the only way to overcome it is with education and persistence. Kayleen, do you have the printed material to be distributed tomorrow?”

“The boxes are in my trunk,” she said. “I gave Dylan all the remaining brochures, so you’d better order some more.”

“We don’t need to order them now that I have a photocopier at my office. I’ll write one up on the computer and run off copies in the evenings when that snoopy secretary of mine isn’t there. It seems we’re set for the moment, so you”-he gestured at Barry-“can leave. Judy has been ordered to be ready to depart for the encampment at 0600 hours. Kayleen, you can transfer the boxes and ride with us to minimalize visibility.”

“In the Hummer?” she said, winking at Barry. “I don’t think anybody in this podunk place has ever seen a vehicle like yours. They may ask you to be in the homecoming parade.”

Sterling bristled at the implication he had erred in selecting the Hummer. “When the crisis strikes, transportation will play an important role in survival. A tactical withdrawal may be the only solution. Having a proper vehicle may be the difference between being able to escape from a dangerous situation and being stranded and at the mercy of the enemy.”

“How much did it cost?” asked Barry.

“None of your damn business. Now get out to the encampment and do whatever it takes to keep Red Rooster from having a hangover in the morning.”

Barry gave him a casual salute, smiled at Kayleen, and left the motel room. Instead of continuing to his car out in front of the bar, he pressed his ear against the door.

“-that I haven’t received this month’s payment,” Sterling was saving in a stony voice.

“Moving here left me temporarily short of cash, what with down payments for the two properties and the initial outlay for the remodeling. Give me some time and I’ll get caught up.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Are you done with me? I spent the last two days rearranging the storage cubicle, and I’d like to take a hot shower and get to bed early.”

“Sit down.”

Barry headed for his truck.

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The telephone rang at the end of the bar. I swallowed a mouthful of cherry cobbler, took a drink of milk, and sauntered down to answer it.

“Is that You, Arly?” said Ruby Bee.

“Arly’s locked in the pantry,” I said gruffly. “This here’s the convict what’s holding all the rednecks hostage on account of the SWAT team outside. Let me tell ya, them cops are mean as their hides will hold.”

“This ain’t the time for childishness, young lady. Estelle and I are experiencing a small problem at her house. Shoo away all the customers and get your smart-aleck self over here this minute.”

Resuming my regular voice, I said, “For starters, there’s nobody here except yours truly. A foursome from the trailer park came by for coffee and pie, but they’re gone. Some college kids came in, looked at my badge, and scurried out the door. Being a highly trained professional, I concluded they were underage. Who else …? Oh, a guy asking for directions. That about sums it up. Not a very impressive crowd, I’m sorry to say.”

“Then lock up and get out here.”

“It’s only eight-fifteen, and more people might show up. What if Mrs. Jim Bob comes cruising for truckers and finds the door locked? You wouldn’t want to lose her business, would you?” I was being perverse, true, but it had been pretty darn boring for the last hour. I’d not yet sunk to the level of dancing to some nasal ballad on the juke box. I had, however, checked the titles. “I’ve about had it with you, Ariel Hanks. You’re not so big that I can’t still turn you over my knee and give you a paddling with my hair brush.”

“Yes, I am. You may outweigh me, but I’m a good four inches taller than you, and furthermore, I can outrun you. Want to race sometime?” I listened to her sputter incoherently for a moment, then added, “Okay, what’s the problem?”

“Well, you know how Estelle’s uncle was killed by sheep, and-“

“Sheep?” I said. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It was mentioned in my column last week, so I assumed you knew about it.”

“You write a column?”

“I told you I’d been asked to do a little column every week for The Starley City Star Shopper. I never dreamed you of all people wouldn’t make an effort to read what your own mother writes. I’m as sure as I live and breathe that Dear Abby’s daughter reads her column, and real faithfully, too.”

“You’re writing an advice column?” I said, filling a glass with beer. “You’re telling people how to manage their marriages and children? Do you honestly think you’re qualified to-“

“It’s not an advice column. It’s more of a friendly letter to let folks know what’s going on in Maggody. Now, are you done asking questions? I don’t aim to spend the night here at Estelle’s. She has so much junk in the guest room that I’d have to sleep on the couch. My back’s been acting up lately-if I slept on that lumpy old thing, I wouldn’t be able to hobble across the room in the morning.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just get out here-and bring your gun. You most likely won’t need more than two bullets, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a spare in case you miss.”

For an insane moment, I wondered if I was supposed to shoot her and Estelle. “Does this have something to do with the birds?” I asked. “Are they still in the crate?”

“Not exactly,” she said, then hung up, leaving me to gape at the neon Coors sign on the wall behind the bar.

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Reed tossed a piece of wood on the fire , then took a beer from the cooler and sat down on a log. He stared at the flames, imagining what it’d be like if Bobbi Jo was in the tent, all snuggled up in the sleeping bag and waiting for him, her lips moist and her eyes hungry. It was her own damn fault the marriage had gone down the drain, he told himself sourly. He’d offered to drag her along when he went fishing-not every time, but once in a while-but she always stuck up her nose like she thought she was too good to clean a mess of fish. It wasn’t like he’d had to invite her.

“Hey, good buddy,” said Barry as he came into the clearing and dropped his gear. “Where’s everybody else?”

“Dylan took my truck to go back to Farberville to get us a couple of pizzas. Jake muttered something about checking on his wife and stalked off. The others are staying in some dumpy motel.”

“Yeah, I know. I stopped there before coming up here. You’d better make sure Sterling doesn’t smell pepperoni on your breath in the morning. The old fart’ll bore you to tears talking about surviving off the land.” Barry got himself a beer and squatted across the fire from Reed. “Do you trust Dylan?” he asked.

“No reason not to. Sterling said he talked to one of the brethren in Colorado that confirmed Dylan’s story. What’s your beef with him?”

“I thought I saw your truck parked behind some abandoned building that sure as hell wasn’t a pizza joint. What time did he leave?”

“Maybe six. So what if it’s after nine? It’s Friday night and the pizza joints are liable to be crowded.”

“Not that crowded. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s who he says he is. What if he’s trying to infiltrate our group so he can tip off the feds?”

“Tip ‘em off about what?”

Barry shrugged. “Okay, so we haven’t done anything illegal as of yet. He doesn’t know that. He may believe we’re stockpiling assault weapons and building bombs in Sterling’s garage. He could even have us confused with that group that used to be over past Harrison. They had a factory in the compound for making hand grenades and another for manufacturing silencers and shit like that to sell at gun shows. Their survival school cost five hundred dollars, and they could pick and choose-” He clamped down on his lower lip, wishing he hadn’t mentioned the survival school. Reed had damn near exploded when he’d been rejected. “Anyway, if Dylan’s who he says he is, why’s your truck in town?”

Jake came into the clearing. “I saw it, too. If we got some bastard in our midst, we’re gonna make him real sorry.”

From The Starley City Star Shopper, November 15:

What’s Cooking in Maggody?

by Rubella Belinda Hanks

I hope all my readers are planning a fine feast for Thanksgiving. If you’re not gonna spend the day with kinfolk, come out to Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill. The blue-plate special will feature turkey, stuffing, cranberries, and all the fixin’s for a special price of $4.95, including sweet potato pie for dessert. I don’t want to brag on myself, but it’s been said I make the lightest biscuits west of the Mississippi. Come find out for yourself.

Dahlia is getting along just fine. She and Kevin have settled on a name for the baby: Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon, Junior. If you want to drop by a little present, I’ll see that she gets it.

Dontay Buchanon got out of prison last week, and his wife wants him to know that if he so much as sets foot on their farm he’ll end up with a load of buckshot in his behind. If you’re reading this, Dontay, you’d better take heed.

The County Extension Homemakers meeting has been changed to the first Tuesday of every month, except for December, when it’s the first Monday, and January, when it’s the third Thursday.

Elsie McMay got home safely, and she reports that all that was taken in the burglary was her television set.

On Wednesday afternoon Kayleen Smeltner and Brother Verber Verber searched all over this part of the county for the fellow who did her a kindness twenty-three years ago. Give me a call here at Ruby Bee’s Bar & Grill if she’s talking about you.

Until next time, God bless.

Ruby Bee’s Sweet Potato Pie

3/4 cup butter

3/4 cup sugar

1/3 cup milk

11/2 cups grated cooked sweet potatoes

3/4 teaspoon ginger

2 tablespoons grated orange rind

1 10-inch pie shell

Cream the butter, adding the sugar as you go, until it’s all fluffy and light. Take turns adding the milk and sweet potatoes, then toss in the ginger and orange rind and mix real well. Pour into the pie shell and bake at 300 degrees for maybe 45 minutes, until it’s golden brown and set. Serve warm with whipped cream.

Sterling looked at his watch, which was guaranteed to depths of three hundred feet below sea level and displayed the phases of the moon. “It’s 1000 hours. Where is everybody?”

“I forewarned you about the apathy,” Barry said, straining to hear the sound of vehicles coming toward the edge of the pasture where they’d set up a card table to distribute information and application forms.

Kayleen was by the table, rearranging booklets with titles like The Grisly Truth About Fluoridation and Is International Drug Trafficking Masterminded by the British Monarchy? “You’d think there were a few concerned citizens in this town, though. Brother Verber said a couple of folks asked him questions after his sermon last week. I’m not real sure he could answer them, but he said he tried.”

“‘Where’s Dylan?” growled Sterling.

Barry pointed at the farmhouse. “I sent him, Red Rooster, and Blitzer to excavate the old root cellar to utilize as a storeroom and bunker. If we lubricate the weapons and wrap them in plastic, we shouldn’t have a problem with corrosion. Red Rooster will price cots and water jugs at the army surplus store.”