Merry Wives of Maggody (20 page)

“Did the rest of the people staying here also come back about that time?”

Dennis put on his sunglasses and looked toward the motel units across the way. “I guess so. Janna Coulter’s car was already here, but it’s gone now. That white hatchback belongs to Kathleen Wasson. I’m almost certain it was here, too. Jim Bob and his friends were pulling in as we parked. The frat boys decided to stick around for the free booze.” He winced as thunder boomed overhead. “Certain areas on the golf course are flooded, and there are a lot of branches down.”

“Was the yellow tape broken when you got here an hour ago?”

“I can’t say,” he said. “It was raining. Amanda was upset and blaming me for bringing her along. No cell phone reception, no sushi, no heated pool and gym, no premium cable channels. She’s not handling it well.”

I realized that I was going to have to take Amanda Gilbert’s statement sooner or later, unless someone confessed. “Did you find Tommy’s car key?”

“Yes, sorry. That why we’re standing here, isn’t it?” He took a key ring out of his pocket. It held enough keys to lock down a prison. “This was on the night table. One of them’s the car key. I can’t believe he’s dead. If I hadn’t agreed to”—he swallowed, then moistened his lips—“to sign up, he might have skipped the tournament. We’d be at the club right now, playing gin until the rain stopped. Instead, I’m here, feeling guilty as sin. I know it’s not my fault. I just wish I believed it.” Oblivious to the rain streaking down his sunglasses, he leaned against the hood of Tommy’s car.

His shoulders began to shake. “He was my best friend. All I had to do was refuse to let him talk me into it. I don’t know how I’ll be able to live with myself.”

“You don’t know that he wouldn’t have played in the tournament without you,” I said soothingly. “I’m sorry for your loss.” I held out my hand for the key ring. “Please remind everybody at the wake that I need statements.”

“About the liquor in the trunk. Do you think it would be okay if—”

“No, it wouldn’t. Make do with what ever you have, or let the locals contribute their private stashes.”

Dennis stumbled into his motel room. I pushed Tommy’s door open and peered inside. A suitcase was overturned, its contents scattered on the floor and rumpled bed. Empty bottles, glasses, and plastic cups had been swept into a corner. His golf bag had been dumped. Some of the clubs poked out from under the bed, along with golf balls and colored tees. Cigarette and cigar butts were piled in ashtrays. The bathroom was a disaster, his shaving gear in the sink and his toothbrush on the floor. A leather zipper bag had been opened and thrown into the bathtub.

Either Dennis had tossed the room in his quest for the keys, or he’d found the room in this condition and failed to find it worth mentioning. A third possibility, based on his unfocused eyes and blubbery remorse, was that he was already drunk. He might have started drinking at the tent and resumed in Proodle’s room after he and Amanda returned an hour earlier. I made a mental note to have a box of tissues and a pot of strong coffee when he showed up at the PD.

I had a sudden urge to tidy up and refold the clothes. Reminding myself that my apartment looked almost as bad, I moved things around with my foot in case the perp had left a signed confession.

From the number of glasses and empty bottles, it was obvious that the party had resumed in this room after Ruby Bee closed the bar. I doubted it would be useful to collect fingerprints, and Harve wouldn’t send out a team unless I found graffiti written in blood on the walls.

I locked the door behind me and did my best to stick the yellow tape back up. Tommy’s trunk proved to be a well-designed apparatus for dispersing alcohol. It had a wine rack, barred shelves for glasses and bottles, and storage boxes for maraschino cherries, olives, onions, and half-pint bottles of multicolored liqueurs. The space for a spare tire was now an insulated cooler. Tommy hadn’t wasted money on appearances; he’d indulged himself with a veritable bar-mobile.

There was nothing of interest inside the car. Paper cups and fast-food wrappers had been tossed into the backseat. Faded newspapers were folded to expose half-done crossword puzzles.

Based on the CDs stuffed in the glove compartment and spilled on the passenger’s seat, his taste in music leaned toward Willie Nelson, Jimmy Buffett, and the Dixie Chicks. The ashtray was jammed with cigar stubs, and ashes were sprinkled on the console and the floor mats like rampant dandruff.

I made sure the car was securely locked, then went to see who all was attending the so-called wake. Proodle’s room was packed with men who smelled of wet dog and pond muck. Kevin was slumped on a corner of the bed, clearly miserable but too cowardly to leave without Jim Bob’s permission. I heard the shouts of a crap game in the bathroom. The only female I could see was Amanda, who’d changed into dry, skimpy clothes. Two of the college boys had crowded her into a corner, but she didn’t appear to be in need of rescue. The third boy was doing card tricks that seemingly bewildered Larry Joe, Ruddy, Tam, and Earl. It didn’t take much.

Nobody invited me in, so I went into the barroom and sat down on a stool. Estelle was still there, as was the unidentified figure in a back booth. Sooner or later, someone was going to have to check him for a pulse.

“Back for lunch already?” she asked tartly. “You’re gonna end up bigger’n Dahlia if you keep stuffing your face every two hours.”

“Have you talked to her since your adventure?”

“I ain’t seen hide nor hair of her, but I don’t know why I would. I heard she was staying at Eileen’s house, along with Bony. Kevin’s lucky she ain’t at home, since he’d end up banished to the woodshed like some husbands I could mention. I don’t know what’s gotten into people these days.”

Ruby Bee came out of the kitchen with a peach pie. Once she’d set it on the stand, she glared at me. “I reckon Deputy Murtle gave you my message.”

“Did you see someone go into Tommy’s room?” I asked, my fingers crossed.

“I just saw that your tape was ripped and the door was open. I’m gonna have to feed that bunch out back afore too long, and I need to start the rolls. You’re lucky I took the time to call you, Miss Snippety Britches. Next time I won’t bother.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to sound pathetic. “I’m overwhelmed by all this. I’ve got to take statements from more than thirty people, and some of them are busy getting pie-eyed drunk as we speak. I’ll be lucky if they remember their own names.”

Ruby Bee looked skeptical. “I’ll overlook it this time, but don’t push your luck. I feel like I’m running a hen house full of foxes. Folks are coming and going half the night, demanding ice or clean towels, tromping the begonias by my unit, whining ’cause they don’t like collard greens. I wish every last one of them would go home—and take some of those worthless husbands with ’em. I’m fed up with the lot of them.”

“So am I,” I said. “At least there’s one gentleman in town.”

“I hope you ain’t referring to Bony Buchanon,” Estelle said, her nostrils flared with contempt. “A few days back him and Earl were out in the back pasture shooting beer bottles off a fence. When I went outside and hollered at them to stop, they didn’t so much as look at me. Downright rude, if you ask me.”

“Roy ain’t no gentleman, either,” Ruby Bee added. “I heard him singing Frank Sinatra songs in the parking lot last night when I got in bed. I had to hold a pillow over my head until somebody finally hushed him up. Roy sings worse than a coyote in heat.”

“That was around twelve thirty?” I asked. “Did you hear anything else?”

“Just the thud when I fell asleep. Do you want a piece of pie to hold you over until lunch?”

“No thanks,” I said, lying through my teeth. Estelle’s tactless remark held a sliver of truth, although I doubted I could swell to even half of Dahlia’s formidable bulk if I lived on nothing but Twinkies and milkshakes for the next seven months. “If you see anything suspicious, give me a call at the PD.”

I was halfway across the dance floor when Estelle said, “So who’s this gentleman you mentioned?”

I looked back. “Frederick Cartier. He’s been staying at Mrs. Jim Bob’s house for at least a week. Did the grapevine snap?”

“It did not,” Estelle said snootily. “I heard she had a house guest, but no one said his name. All the ladies have been talking about is the golf tournament and their committee assignments. They’re scared to death of Mrs. Jim Bob blaming them if anything goes wrong. Brother Verber’s going to get an earful for not persuading God to keep away the storm.”

I noticed that Ruby Bee’s jaw was slack. “See you later, okay?”

She turned around and went into the kitchen. Estelle and I exchanged shrugs, and then I drove back to the PD in the steady rain. The gray clouds had settled into the valley and showed no signs of moving on anytime soon. Raz’s marijuana plants could tolerate temporary flooding, but Earl’s greens might be sprouting chickweed by the minute. The fairways might be overrun with displaced snakes and gators (if the rumors were true) and dead branches that carried fire ant colonies and wasp nests.

Who said golf was a game for sissies?

Nine

I
needed to find out more about the stoplight scene. All I had was Phil Proodle’s version: It didn’t happen, but if it did, it wasn’t my fault, but I’ll pay if there was any damage. Raz Buchanon couldn’t have said it better, although he’d never go so far as to offer to pay a plugged nickel. The men were definitely culprits.

Natalie Hotz had baited them—and later claimed to be the victim of a sexual assault. I’d hadn’t yet met her, much less spoken with her. It was time to correct the situation.

I called Ruby Bee and asked if she’d seen Natalie or Janna, and was huffily informed that she was making a batch of cloverleaf rolls, not running a daycare center. Once she finished griping at me, she said that she hadn’t laid eyes on either of them. On that cheery note, she hung up on me.

They had to be somewhere. The SuperSaver offered limited amusement. The Dairee Dee-Lishus did not have inside seating.

They could have driven back to Farberville despite my threat to issue subpoenas, but I didn’t think Janna would risk a blot on Natalie’s precious reputation. And they weren’t in their motel room.

That left the leaky tent, abandoned when the tournament was delayed, with bare tables and wet chairs, sodden poster board, crumpled cups lying in the mud. Surely my missing persons hadn’t taken refuge in Raz’s barn. He’d made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate trespassers, and he was capable of violence. Moonshiners are as protective of their stash as mama bears are of their cubs.

Bears, however, don’t bear arms.

I was on my feet when the phone rang. Hoping it was Ruby Bee reporting that Janna and Natalie had dropped in for lunch, I answered it. “Yes?”

“Thought I’d find out what all’s going on out your way,” Harve drawled. “Ain’t nothing like a rainy Sunday afternoon to sprawl in front of the TV with a cold beer.”

“I’m heading out to a wake for Tommy. I’ll think about you when we toast him with Glenlivet.”

“Some damn fool reporter caught wind of what’s going on. The prosecutor called, asking for details. I told him I’d give him an update.”

“Have at it,” I said. “I need you to run background checks on everybody who’s not local. I’d do it myself, but my computer’s been down since one of the squirrels died of starvation.” I gave him a list of names and addresses.

“You ruled out the locals?”

“No,” I said. “I can’t believe any of the wives is obsessed with the bass boat, at least not enough to bash in a stranger’s head like that. If the victim had been one of their husbands, I’d be taking a harder look at them. As for the local guys, I don’t know. A lot of alcohol was served. Stir up a pitcher of greed, frustration, anger, and testosterone, and you get a Molotov cocktail.” I told him about the impromptu postmidnight contest. “I doubt it was a good-natured gathering. If Tommy won, someone might have snapped.”

“Like Jim Bob?”

“Or any one of them, or maybe all of them. They each took a turn so they’d all be implicated. Agatha Christie’s plot comes to mind.”

“Have you picked her up for questioning?”

I considering saying yes and suggesting that he break the news to the media. “She’s been dead for thirty years, Harve. Found any of your escapees?”

“One of ’em was at his house, sleeping like a baby. Another one turned himself in because he can’t stand his wife’s cooking. The third one’s around here somewhere. Sounds like you better get off your butt and worry about your own case. You ain’t gonna get anywhere if all you’re doing is drinking whiskey and—”

I went out to my car and drove to the Maggody Municipal Golf Course and Recreation Center. A car was parked on the road, and a solitary figure stood under the tent. I dodged raindrops as I skittered across the muddy stubble. Janna glanced at me, then resumed her vigil.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Natalie’s missing. She must be lying out there in the rain, unable to stand or walk. You need to get together a search party and call for an ambulance. She’ll be chilled to the bone and in shock.”

“Why didn’t you report this earlier?”

“I wanted to make sure she wasn’t here, waiting for me to pick her up. When the storm hit, she was on the back nine. Her foursome came in. As soon as that insufferable woman announced that play was canceled, we all headed for our cars. That’s when Natalie realized she’d left her wedge in the rough. She said she’d catch a ride. I wasn’t happy, but I was drenched and I’ve been fighting off a chest cold for the last few days. You’d think an old army broad was tougher than that, wouldn’t you?” Her expression softened, as if she were remembering her first kiss. “I was the assistant administrator of a field hospital in a Central American jungle, where our worst enemies were malaria and gangrene. I was a top military aide in Indonesia at the time of the Bali bombing. after that, I trained recruits in scorching heat and freezing rain. I worked them until they puked. Now I’m worried about catching a cold. Pathetic.”

I had no idea how to respond to her unsolicited résumé. “So Natalie headed out on the course and you drove back to the motel?”