Malpractice in Maggody (25 page)

“With a track record like that, how did he lure in the current celebrities?”

“Beats me,” said Harve. “I wouldn’t let him clip my toenails. You gonna make coffee, or do I have to do it myself?”

I went into the back room and started a pot. “What else?”

“You’d better sit down before I tell you.” He waited until I handed him a mug (black, heavy on the sugar) and returned to my chair. “We got a bigger problem with Brenda Skiller. For starters, she’s dead.”

I rocked back so hard I banged my head against the wall. “When? I left there less than an hour ago. What happened to her?”

“She died sixteen years ago, when she was eighty-two.”

“Would you care to explain?”

“Miss Skiller was a retired piano teacher living in Phoenix. When she got so feeble she couldn’t take care of herself, her niece put her in a private nursing home. There were only five other old folks, all retired and living on their Social Security checks. The home was run by a woman by the name of Alice Cutchens, who kept them fed and bathed and on their medications. Miss Skiller was the only one who had any relatives to keep track of her. Well, after not hearing from her aunt for several months, the niece went to visit and was told the old lady had been moved to a state-run nursing home. Only there weren’t any records of which one. The niece finally got fed up dealing with the bureaucratic runaround and hired a private detective to locate her. Eventually, the private detective got a glimmer of what was going on and called in the police. Turned out that whenever this Alice Cutchens found herself with a dead resident, she was reluctant to notify the government and cut off the monthly Social Security checks. Instead, she just buried them in her backyard.”

“And Brenda Skiller was under the roses?”

Harve took a slurp of coffee. “In a manner of speaking. The police found three more bodies. All of them were found to have died from heart attacks and other natural causes, so Alice Cutchens wasn’t charged with murder. She was charged with illegal disposal of the bodies, failure to notify the authorities, polluting the environment, theft, and other pesky things. Luckily for her, the feds didn’t get all fired up about the Social Security fraud. She did ten years at the Arizona women’s prison and was released a few years back.”

I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. My mind was overwhelmed with images of a woman dressed in black in her backyard at midnight, digging a hole, while the moon glinted on the blade of her shovel. Quietly, so that no one would hear. Methodically piling up the dirt nearby so that she could dump the shrouded body and cover it up. At dawn, planting the marigolds she’d purchased the previous day. Then going into the kitchen to wash her hands, turn on the radio, and make scrambled eggs and toast for her remaining residents.

Harve cleared his throat. “You want me to go on?”

“Yeah,” I said, although I didn’t.

“So Alice did her time, and used it wisely. She managed to get a bachelor’s degree online in psychology, and then a master’s degree. Not from accredited schools, of course, but the kind that give you credit for what they call ‘life experience.’ In her case, I don’t reckon they asked for details. She knew she couldn’t ever get past a background check if she applied for a job, so she used Brenda Skiller’s name. All she needed was her Social Security number, and she had that. The day she walked out of the prison, she was Brenda Skiller.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” I muttered. “Does anyone else know this?”

“Might be. The private detective that the daughter hired was named Winchell.”

“As in Walter…?”

“No, as in Winchell Kaiser. His brother’s name is Walter. Their parents must have had a real odd sense of humor.”

My head, which had already had its fair share of abuse, began to pound. “Go ahead, Harve—tell me Walter’s an alien from a distant planet who’s collecting specimens for their zoo. Don’t hold back on me.”

“Nothing much on Walter. He was arrested a few times on drug charges, but weaseled out of them by claiming the drugs were part of a religious ceremony. It seems Taos is some kind of artist colony, which means it has more than its fair share of old hippies who get stoned and go wandering all over the desert. The police in Amarillo are kinda unhappy about how he slipped out the back door before he could be arraigned for speeding and possession of marijuana. Seems he managed to take the evidence with him, too. Slick as a whistle, they said.”

“But he probably knows Brenda’s little secret. Alice’s. Whatever.”

Harve nodded. “But I ain’t sure how any of this has something to do with Molly Foss’s murder. I just thought you might appreciate knowing who you’re dealing with.”

“I’ll carry my gratitude to the grave, Harve. Any more dark secrets to share?”

“The Mexicans are all clean, far as the feds know. Randall Zumi was pretty much what we expected him to be. His degrees were all legitimate, and he was cleaner than a scrub bucket. I talked to his wife when I got back to the office. Lordy, after listening to her screech and wail for the best part of an hour, I could understand why he killed hisself. She was fit to be tied when she learned we had to order an autopsy, and she made some nasty remarks comparing me to a certain by-product of water buffaloes. I suggested she call her lawyer and hung up.”

“What about Molly’s husband?” I said.

“He was even more direct about expressing his displeasure. I finally got him calmed down, and he agreed to stay away from the foundation. Molly didn’t tell him any details about her job, so it’s not like he can try to sell the story to a tabloid. As for the night she was murdered, he was at the bowling alley until it closed at midnight, and then went to the Dew Drop Inn for a couple more hours. The boys on his bowling team all agree he was with them until they dropped him off at home.”

I hated to ask, but I did. “Anything else I should know about Molly?”

“She had a bad reputation when she was in school, according to her friends, but she settled down after she got married. Went to a business school and learned all the crap she needed to work in a doctor’s office doing the insurance and billing paperwork. One of the girls at the office where she used to work said she wasn’t sorry when Molly quit. There were some rumors Molly was spending too much time in the doctor’s office with the door closed. He denied any sort of romantic entanglement, but he’s married with three kids and a big house overlooking a golf course. Also, the girl at the office said the rest of the staff suspected Molly was stealing money from their purses in the coat room. Just suspected, mind you. Nobody had any proof.”

“Would you mind if I crawled under my desk for an hour or so?” I said. “I don’t think I can take any more background information at the moment. All the circuits in my head have blown their itty-bitty fuses.”

“Suit yourself, but that’s about all. Two of the celebrities—the Dartmouth gal and Toby Mann—have been arrested on occasion for drugs and booze. The other two are upstanding citizens. Stonebridge most likely shouldn’t be practicing medicine, but that’s up to the state board. Alice Cutchens is doing something illegal, but I ain’t sure what and I ain’t gonna worry about it. I could tip off the police in Amarillo as to Walter’s whereabouts, but it’s not like they’re going to extradite him.” He pulled back his cuff and looked at his watch. “It’s not all that late. I might just get in a couple of hours out at the lake.”

“Don’t bet your bass boat on it,” I said darkly. “Let me tell you about that upstanding citizen, Senator Alexandra Swayze.”

Harve listened, his face growing grimmer. When I finished, he took a final puff on his cigar and tossed it into the wastebasket. “You got any extra room under your desk?”

Brother Verber couldn’t believe what-all he was hearing. In truth, he couldn’t make much sense of it. Communists and aliens and a conspiracy to assassinate the president of the United States of America? Drugs that altered your mind? Innocent folks undergoing bizarre surgical procedures that turned them into killing machines?

He fell to his knees and said, “Let us pray.”

The Honorable Senator Alexandra Swayze, who was sitting next to him on the pew, poked his shoulder. “Pray for what? Haven’t you understood a word of what I’ve been telling you, you moron? There’s no one we can trust. If I attempt to call Lloyd, the CIA will intercept the call and track me down. You’ll be thrown into a cell and be left to rot, but only after you’ve been tortured. They’re much more sophisticated than they used to be. These days they can attach electrodes to your genitals. I’ve been told the pain is excruciating.”

“My what?” he squeaked. “You mean my…?”

“I’ll simply disappear, and a few weeks from now a story will be leaked to the press that I was killed by insurgents in one of those obscure Asian nations. You and I are the only ones who can defend democracy against this vile plot. We must take action.”

Brother Verber was still pondering what she’d said about his genitals. He wasn’t real sure what electrodes were, but they didn’t sound like a good idea. He resumed his seat on the pew. “What do you aim we should do?”

“I wish I knew,” Alexandra said. She stayed quiet for a moment, then grabbed his arm so fiercely that he yelped. “We must organize a resistance movement, as the French did during World War II. We’ll infiltrate the core of the conspiracy and stop them. Can I trust you, Willard?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, trying to pull free of her grip. “I can see that we’re gonna have to infiltrate. Why, if the godless communists take control like you said, then what’ll become of us righteous Christian folks?” He kept squirming, but it didn’t do any good. She was a nice-looking lady, but she’d clamped on to him like a pit bull. “How do you think we should organize this resistance movement? Nobody here in Maggody knows how to speak French. Some of them can barely speak American.”

She frowned, which alarmed him even more than the fact he couldn’t hardly wiggle his fingers. “We need recruits we can trust. They must be armed and willing to sacrifice their lives for their nation.” She released his arm and sprang to her feet. Slapping her hand across her chest, she bellowed, “One nation, under God, invisible, with liberty and justice for those who will stand beside us and guide us through the night with a light from the dove.”

Brother Verber edged down the pew until he figured he was out of her reach.

“What’s more,” she continued, “they must be heavily armed. I cannot continue to take sanctuary here while those who are determined to destroy us rampage across the countryside, raping women and slaughtering innocent children.”

“They’re doing that?”

She swung around and pointed her finger at him. “Don’t argue with me, Willard. How many times must I tell you that? Quit this blubbering and pay attention. The left-wing media would like you to think that everything is fine and dandy, but they know what’s really going on. I’ve been a senator for”—she hesitated—“a long time. I don’t know. Years. I’ve been on committees that deal with national security. Important committees. Some branches of the government don’t want you to know the truth. Mail carriers read your postcards and report to the CIA. Garbage collectors sift through your discarded bank statements in search of suspicious donations to charities that are fronts for communist organizations. Grocery stores keep track of your purchases. Worst of all, teachers indoctrinate their students with liberal propaganda and fog their minds with sacrilegious theories. They even instruct them on how to have sex!”

Brother Verber’s jaw dropped. “Teachers?”

“If citizens like you realized the enormity of the crisis that we as a nation are facing, you would rise up. Now is the time for all good men, not cowards and fools. Can I count on you, Willard Verber? Do you love your country? Will you sacrifice your life?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said hastily. “What say we go over to the rectory and have a glass of wine while we decide what-all to do? Sacramental wine, that is. The Good Lord might feel inclined to offer a suggestion or two, if he’s not busy.”

“Wine? Are you suggesting we indulge in alcohol when our very future is at stake? Don’t you understand that they’re already searching for me? Once they find us, you’ll be praying for a quick and painless death.”

She strode to the far end of the pew and back, her face contorted with concentration. He couldn’t quite make out what she was saying to herself, but he could catch an obscenity every few words. Before he could point out that she was blaspheming, she turned and went out through the vestibule. The door banged shut. He sat for a long while, holding his breath and hoping she was gone for good. Although he’d always told himself he was a red-blooded patriot, he wasn’t all that excited about the idea of sacrificing his life. Or having electrodes attached to his privates, if it was gonna come to that.

He took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his neck. Her story might be true, her being a United States senator and all. She’d been mighty agitated, though, spewing spittle when she talked and waving her hands around like a band director. He’d never taken much interest in politics, but her name often appeared in quarterly newsletters from the seminary, citing her as a beacon in the fight against immorality. Immorality was something he knew well, having dedicated himself to helping his flock by learning all he could about the insidious forces of Satan. He subscribed to magazines that turned his stomach, just so he’d know what evils lurked between the covers. He prowled alleys and preached to loose women, trying to persuade them to abandon their wanton ways and seek redemption. He was a patriot, but his loyalties were to the Lord.