Merry Wives of Maggody (25 page)

“Married?”

“He never said anything about it, but why would he? It’s none of my damn business. I was married once myself. I don’t know where she is these days. Probably back to stripping in a sleazy bar on the outskirts of Reno.”

It was my business, though. “Frederick told me that he was from Mississippi.”

“So?” Bony took a tentative step. “Dahlia must have did something awful to my spine. She’s lucky I can still walk, since otherwise I’d sue her for every penny she and Kevin have tucked away in a cookie jar. I want to file charges for assault and battery.”

“What ever you want to do,” I said, “but you’d better keep in mind what happens to men who try something with local women in this neck of the woods. You won’t be safe in the general population at the jail. On a brighter note, you may end up in a federal prison. I hear it’s a great place to make new friends, especially in the shower.”

“I gotta find some aspirin. If you want to trot over to Ridner’s room and get me a handful of Dilaudids, I’ll owe you big-time.” He tried to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, but they wouldn’t cooperate.

Leaving him to face Eileen’s fury, I returned to my car. I was just down the road from the mayoral mansion. Frederick Cartier’s elusive answers were gnawing on me like termites. I didn’t think he was involved in Tommy’s murder, but I wasn’t buying his story, either. I couldn’t cross him off the list until I found out why he was in Maggody. People don’t slow down as they drive through town; if anything, they speed up out of instinct. My radar gun keeps the town from going bankrupt.

I knocked on Mrs. Jim Bob’s front door, hoping she wouldn’t yank it open and accuse me of consorting with pornographers or playing footsies with sex fiends. When I’d left earlier, gin was next on the list. She could be well into scotch by now.

Frederick opened the door. “Yes?”

I waited to be invited in, then said, “I need to talk to you. Is Mrs. Jim Bob still in the kitchen?”

“She’s upstairs, resting. I’ve had a difficult time this afternoon, and I’m looking forward to solitude.” He started to shut the door.

I elbowed my way past him. “Would you prefer to talk in the living room or the kitchen? You know, I’d really like a glass of water.” By this time I was in the kitchen. I sat down at the dinette and folded my hands in front of me. “You might as well make yourself comfortable. I’m sitting here until you tell me the truth.”

“The truth…” he murmured. “Truth is defined by perception and perspective. You say the sky is blue, and I say the sky is blue. How can we know if we’re seeing the same color? Which of us is telling the truth? Is the glass half empty or half full?”

“You told me you were born in Mississippi. Is that half true or all bullshit?”

Frederick’s lips twitched. “It’s true.”

“There’s no record of your birth certificate.”

“How curious,” he said. “If my mother was alive, she’d be very distressed to hear this. Are you disputing my corporeal presence? Am I a figment of my imagination, as well as yours?”

I ordered myself to keep my temper and play his game. “I’m fairly sure you have a corporeal presence of some sort. What you don’t have is a birth certificate, a driver’s license, a Social Security number, or a passport.”

“I don’t have malaria, either.”

“Why are you in Maggody? Bony said it was your idea. You said it was his. Problem is, Bony’s too dim-witted to lie about it. He needed to get out of Vegas, and you offered him a ride here. This is the last place he’d choose as a safe haven. The golf tournament’s a joke. I don’t know anything about the PGA, but I can’t imagine that a win would affect his ranking or his reputation.”

“I enjoy traveling into uncharted territory,” he said. “I’ve been to every continent except Antarctica, and I’ll find a way to get there before I die. In a past life, I must have been a wandering albatross.”

“You have a knack for wandering around the truth. Please save this philosophical crap for your cabernet crowd. That reminds me—I need the napkin with the professor’s name and address. You said you have it in your car.”

“It’ll take me some time to find it. I don’t want to make you wait while I sort through the contents of the glove compartment. I’ll drop it off at your police station in a day or two.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” I said. “In fact, this will give me a chance to see this classic car I’ve been hearing about.” I headed for the door that led through the utility room to the garage. “Are you coming?”

The black car was dauntingly large and shiny. It had a peculiar bump on the top of the trunk, the size and shape of a tire. Even in minimal light, chrome glistened. It fit into the garage with only inches to spare. “Wow,” I murmured as I squeezed between the bumper and the garage door. “Go ahead and find the napkin, Frederick. I promise not to leave any smudges or fingerprints.” I glanced across the top of the car at Frederick, who was in the doorway, his arms crossed. He did not look like a proud owner, graciously accepting compliments. “I wish I had leather seats. The upholstery in my car is so dirty and faded that I don’t know what color it was originally. One of these days the car’s going to up and die on me.”

“We need to talk,” Frederick said, then went back into the house.

Rather than squeeze my way back around, I got in the backseat and slid across the gray leather. It was wide and comfy, a lovely spot to take a nap. I rested for a minute, then went into the kitchen to find out what his next fabrication would be.

He was seated at the dinette with bottles of gin and tonic water, a sliced lime, and two glasses. “Mrs. Jim Bob was unable to finish the gin. I hauled her upstairs and put her to bed. Oh dear, you’re on duty. I promise I won’t tell Mayor Jim Bob.”

“Tell him anything you want, including the fact that his wife passed out in broad daylight—and on Sunday, to boot.” I sat down across from him. “Are you changing your story about your whereabouts last night?”

“I have an old friend who lives in Farberville. We spent the evening together. She’s married, and her husband is on a business trip. Although all we did was talk, I don’t want to put her in a compromising situation.”

“How considerate of you,” I said coldly, “but I need her to confirm it.”

“I don’t see why. Her husband will arrive home this afternoon.”

“And you’re too much of a gentleman to endanger her reputation.”

I shook my head. “You’re nowhere near the top of my list of suspects, but I’d like to cross you off so I can turn my attention elsewhere. I can’t do that until your alibi is confirmed. For all I know, you could have parked your car in a dark corner of the SuperSaver lot and waited for Tommy. Furthermore, you’re going to have to tell me who you really are.”

He wasn’t squirming in his seat, or allowing any trace of nervous ness to be reflected in his eyes, but I could almost smell his adrenaline pumping. “I will not divulge the lady’s name unless you have strong cause to suspect me,” he said at last. “I had no motive to murder Tommy Ridner. I am Frederick Cartier, and I’m from Mississippi. I have no paper trail because I choose not to. My income is nontaxable and I don’t have a job. My pocket was picked in a Vegas casino, so I can’t show you a driver’s license. If you will be so kind as to excuse me, I’d like to rest now.” He took his glass and left the kitchen; seconds later I heard his footsteps on the staircase.

If I’d thought I was going to bell the cat, I had underestimated its wiliness. I hadn’t gotten within arm’s length. Frederick had produced another alibi, equally flimsy. He was aware that I had no particular reason to suspect him. But he didn’t know, I thought smugly as I went out to my car, that I had memorized his license plate number.

I stopped at the PD and called Les to ask him to run the number, then went to Ruby Bee’s for lunch. The local men were sitting in booths by the jukebox, glumly eating burgers and onion rings.

The lone man in the corner appeared to be asleep. The proprietress and her partner in crime were conversing across the bar.

As I approached, they broke it off as if I were an undercover agent sent by the state ABC to make sure no beer trickled out of the tap.

“How are you feeling?” asked Ruby Bee. “Have you talked to Jack?”

“Since you last asked a couple of hours ago?” I sat on a stool next to Estelle. “Any chicken left?”

“I’ll see.” Ruby Bee picked up some dirty dishes and went into the kitchen.

Estelle tilted her head so she could peer down her nose at me.

“You’re making your mother sick with worry. I can tell just by looking at her that she’s not getting enough sleep. She’s liable to break out in hives if you don’t set her mind at ease.”

“I can’t call Jack,” I said patiently, “and he can’t call me until he returns to civilization. The National Geographic Society can contact them in case of an emergency. Getting knocked up doesn’t qualify.”

“You could let Ruby Bee go with you to your next appointment with the obstetrician.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe it’ll calm her down a little bit to know I’m not having quintuplets. I’m not even having twins, in case that was your next question. One baby, gender unknown. If you’re planning to knit booties, avoid blue and pink.”

Estelle nibbled her lip as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “My third cousin’s stepdaughter’s entire layette was in camouflage, right down to the diapers. They were counting on a boy, but they got a girl. You never know, do you?”

“I guess not.” I paused when Ruby Bee emerged with a plate piled high with chicken, dressing, mashed potatoes, and gravy.

“Thanks. I was going to eat earlier, but I ended up talking to Kathleen Wasson. Her version doesn’t jibe with my information. I don’t suppose you ran across anything of interest while you cleaned their room?”

“This ain’t the Hilton,” Ruby Bee said. “I made the beds and left fresh towels. I didn’t set foot in Tommy’s room yesterday, and I ain’t about to clean Phil Proodle’s room tomorrow morning until he checks out. I’ll have to fumigate it and shampoo the carpet. It’ll stink worse than a derelict out house.”

“You haven’t fallen for his charm?” I asked as I ate.

Estelle snorted. “There’s nothing charming about a maudlin drunk. He was in here last night, darn near blubbering about that boat. I don’t know what got into him. Since Tommy was killed, it can go back to his lot.”

“The boat’s been impounded,” I said. “Even if the case is solved soon, it’ll take time to get it released. All sorts of judges, clerks, and officials have to sign paperwork, and since it’s low priority, nobody will be in a hurry.”

“Well, he deserves it,” Ruby Bee said. “I disliked him the minute he marched in here and demanded a room. He’s as sneaky and mean as a muskrat. The next time one of his commercials comes on, I’m gonna change channels!”

“That’ll show him a thing or two,” I said. “Better yet, buy your next party barge online. Just watch out for ‘Some Assembly Required’ or ‘Batteries Not Included.’ ”

“You making any progress?”

I put down my fork. “I’m not going to tell you anything until both of you promise not to meddle. Your intentions may be good, but your efforts lead to disaster.”

“We promise,” they said in unison, like angelic members of the choir.

I didn’t believe them, but I needed to talk things out, and Harve was glued to his recliner for the duration. “There was a little problem at Eileen’s house earlier,” I said, then described the scene. “My best guess is that Bony made crude advances. Unfortunately, he isn’t permanently disabled.”

“If Earl hears of it, Bony will end up on crutches just the same,” Ruby Bee said. “I never trusted him when he came summers. He spied on folks staying out back.”

Estelle sniffed. “I knew right away there was something wrong with him. He stomped all over my marigolds and stole a pot of begonias off my porch. Elsie nearly caught him red-handed throwing eggs at her house.”

“I heard it was Sacramenta Buchanon’s youngest,” Ruby Bee said. “Bony had been sent home the week before on account of getting drunk out by the creek.”

“So now you’re making up an alibi for him?” Estelle said disdainfully.

Ruby Bee gasped. “How dare you accuse me of making up anything!”

I jumped in before Estelle could respond. “after I left Eileen’s, I went to talk to Mrs. Jim Bob’s house guest. He’s harder to grasp than an eel. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. He told me he’s sixty-two and was born in Mississippi. I don’t know if either of those is true. I don’t know why he’s in town. Bony says it was Frederick’s idea, and Frederick says it was Bony’s. This isn’t a Top Ten vacation destination.”

Estelle wasn’t about to be nudged aside. “Bony has kin here, so most likely it was his idea. This fellow just came along out of curiosity. You have to admit Maggody has a unique culture, if you take incest and moonshine into consideration. I’m surprised someone hasn’t written a book about all the nonsense that goes on in this little town. It’d have to be sold as fiction, though, since nobody would ever believe it.”

“Stranger than fiction,” I said. “See y’all later.”

It occurred to me as I went out the back door that I hadn’t had dessert. I wavered briefly, then went to the Gilberts’ room to find out about the purported bet. No one answered the door when I knocked, but their car was there. I knocked again, then waited. I wasn’t about to barge in on them if they were in the midst of an afternoon delight. Cursing under my breath, I was trying to figure out what to do when Luke came out of Proodle’s room.

He nodded at me. “afternoon, Chief Hanks.”

“Is Proodle in his room?”

“In bed, sucking on an empty bourbon bottle. He got all teary when he heard the news about the boat being impounded.”

“I need to ask you a few questions.” I took out the master key and unlocked the door of the unoccupied motel room, opened the curtains, and sat down on one of the twin beds. He sat down on the other, watching me as if I might be a vampire.

“I heard you’re staying with Bopeep at the trailer park,” I began.

“How long?”

“A few weeks. I didn’t have a job, and she said I might be able to find day work around here.”