Muletrain to Maggody (22 page)

“Arrested for what?”

“Breaking and entering, I suppose, although she didn’t break anything. Entering’s another matter.”

I sat down next to her and waited until she stopped twitching and told me the whole story, from the unauthorized entry into the Headquarters House to the confrontation at the county jail. “It doesn’t sound as though she was arrested,” I said, frowning. “Could she have ended up at the hospital?”

Eula shook her head. “We thought of that, but we called and they said she wasn’t there. Would they tell us if she was locked up on the psychiatric ward, maybe on account of amnesia?”

“The hospital staff would have been happy to share information if they had an elderly patient without a Medicare card.” I went over to the window to watch for county vehicles gliding by without the benefit of lights and sirens. It was a little late for melodramatics. “This took place Sunday afternoon? Is there any chance she’s still inside the house?”

“Elsie and I went there first thing yesterday morning. This tight-lipped woman came to the door and scolded us for not reading the sign that said the only time to tour was on Saturdays until after Memorial Day. I suppose it’s possible that Lottie hid under a bed after the alarm went off, but she wouldn’t still be there. I’ve been sleeping on the couch so’s to be by the telephone in case she calls. She might be unhappy with us on account of how we drove off like we did, but she hasn’t turned up in more than two days. Elsie’s seeing to her cats and I’ve been stopping by to water her plants.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” I said. “As soon as I have a chance, I’ll call the police department in Farberville and ask them to search the house from attic to cellar, as well as yards in the vicinity in case Lottie took refuge under a bush and lost consciousness.”

Eula gasped. “You mean she could be lying in muddy leaves, all wet and cold?”

“Does she have any family or friends in Farberville who might be looking after her?”

“No, her only sister lives over in Blytheville and I seem to think both of her nieces live in Dallas. Do you think she’s—no, I can’t bring myself to say it. Arly, you got to do something! I won’t be able to live with myself, knowing I was responsible. Well, and Elsie, of course. She’s the one who dragged me back to the getaway car, and then did the driving.”

I went over and squeezed her hand. “I’m sure she’s fine, Eula. I’ll make some calls, but you and Elsie don’t need to worry. Have some tea and keep watering her house plants until she shows up.”

“She ain’t gonna be happy with us when she does,” Eula said glumly.

“Most likely not.” I took a breath, then said, “There’s been some violence in the mobile home park. Hospiss Buchanon was killed in her trailer this morning. Did you notice anyone unfamiliar walking or driving by?”

Eula blinked at me. “Why would anyone hurt Hospiss? She never bothered anybody. I’m not saying she wasn’t above stealing other folks’ laundry off the lines, including my favorite brassiere, or going through their trash bags looking for aluminum cans, but mostly she just stayed in her trailer. She wasn’t more than a pitiful sparrow. Every now and then I’d have her over for supper, and she was always real grateful. Why would somebody do such a thing? What is the world comin’ to?”

“I wish I knew.” I gave her hand a final squeeze, then left and drove to Hospiss’s trailer. It was past sunset, and the packs of feral children that roamed the Pot O’ Gold had been hauled inside, some to be bathed and fed, others to be smacked and sent to bed.

Harve and his posse arrived shortly. McBeen, who was more than chunky, prickly as a pine cone, and lacked the social skills of a troll under a bridge, examined the body. After he’d pronounced her dead at the scene, he stood back while a few photographs were taken and a nervous young deputy collected fingerprints from the doorknob. No one seemed eager to linger, even after a window had been forced open.

“Time of death?” Harve asked him.

“How the hell would I know? I wasn’t here, and I presume you weren’t, either. Eight to ten hours, give or take. Blunt object to the back of her head. She was so old and frail that her skull just caved in like a ripe melon.” He gave me a speculative look. “You’re finding all manner of corpses today, aren’t you, missy? Are you finished for the day, or should I hang around town and save myself another trip out here?”

“Suit yourself,” I said levelly.

Harve took me outside before McBeen and I exchanged more words, some of which were apt to be less than professional. More deputies were poking sticks in the muddy water in the drainage ditch or tromping in the weedy pasture with flashlights. A few gawkers had gathered, but I didn’t see the child with whom I’d spoken earlier.

“So what’s the connection with her and that fellow on Cotter’s Ridge?” asked Harve.

“He talked to her today, sometime before breakfast. According to what I’ve been told, she claimed that one of her ancestors had been involved in the skirmish and was buried on her old homestead. She also claimed that she had evidence in the family Bible that she was a direct descendant.”

“So what?”

“Wendell was excited about it. He was into that sort of thing.” I repeated what Jim Bob had told me, then added, “So he must have gone looking for a stone marker to confirm her story. Someone followed him, or happened to encounter him. Darla Jean said he—”

“Darla Jean?”

“She was up there, looking for Petrol.”

“Looking for Petrol?”

“Yeah, Harve, she thought Petrol would lead her to Diesel, who would then take them to the gold. Petrol—or even Diesel—could be this ghost everybody’s been spotting. Then again, Dahlia’s granny could be wearing a dress with shiny buttons.”

“Dahlia’s granny is up there?”

I nodded. “As well as Private Jeb Stewart.”

“I though he was a general.”

I felt as if I were slogging through molasses. “Look, why don’t we go to the PD and I’ll fill you in. Once the trailer’s aired out, have the deputies search for the family Bible. Hospiss wouldn’t have left it behind when she moved down here. There’s no way we can find her homestead in the dark, but I’ll see if Hammet can help me tomorrow.”

“Hammet? I thought he was staying with a foster family over in—”

“He is, but at the moment he’s here. Now unless you want us to be standing here when McBeen comes out and he and I end up mud wrasslin’ in the ditch, you’d better come on to the PD. I’ll make coffee, and you can make notes. I’ll even loan you my only pencil.”

“Am I wrong in thinking I’m the one what’s supposed to be giving the orders?”

“No problem,” I said. “There’s nothing I’d rather do more than go to my apartment, take a long bath, put on my robe, and curl up to watch TV. What channel is this baseball game on? I love poetry in skin-tight pants.”

Harve seemed to sense that he, like Wendell Streek, was getting too close to the edge of a particular bluff. “You go on to the PD and start the coffee. I’ll tell the deputies to search for the Bible, then knock on some doors and ask if anyone saw something this morning. Give me ten or fifteen minutes.”

I figured I’d won the Skirmish at the Pot O’ Gold, but not necessarily the Battle of the Stump County Sheriff’s Department.

Mrs. Jim Bob eyed her dinner guests, all of whom had seemed to enjoy her chicken casserole with mushrooms, slivered almonds, and imported black olives, as well as her molded cabbage salad and homemade cloverleaf rolls. Under no circumstances could she be blamed for the Yankees’ wine bottle in the middle of the table. She’d been putting the empty bottles in a cardboard box in the garage so that they could be left discreetly in a Dumpster in Farberville in the future. “Is anyone ready for pecan pie and ice cream?” she asked, hoping they’d all decline and just go to bed, even though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock.

Jim Bob tried to muffle a belch, but with little success. “That was a mighty fine supper, if I do say. Maggody’s famous for its warm hospitality and home cookin’.”

“Oh, a fine meal indeed,” said Kenneth, who was hoping Mrs. Jim Bob had not gone tripping through the woods picking the mushrooms herself. He figured he’d find out within an hour or so. “So, Corinne, are the schools expecting us tomorrow?”

Corinne shook her head. “The teacher in charge of all this has gone missing, and no one else in either the elementary or high school seems to have a clue. I really don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”

“I’ll see to it,” Mrs. Jim Bob said numbly.

“Maybe I ought to fix a plate for Harriet,” said Sweetpea. “The poor thing looked so pale this afternoon that I was worried she might collapse. Maybe soup might be better. What do you think, Corinne?”

“Let’s allow her to rest for the time being. Such a terrible shock for her, I should think. I do believe that she was emotionally involved with Wendell, and had expectations of a permanent arrangement. The announcement of his engagement to another woman was as devastating as his demise.”

“God, Mother,” Simon said as he tossed down his napkin, “this is not one of your novels. Do you suspect this spurned spinster followed him up that mountainside and pushed him off the bluff? Doesn’t that seem a bit far-fetched?”

“I said no such thing.”

Simon smirked. “Well, it sounds like somebody did, but more likely to get his hands on the notebook and find the treasure. What about you, Jim Bob? Where were you this morning?”

“At Jim Bob’s SuperSaver Buy 4 Less, with half a dozen employees to vouch for me. What about you?”

Sweetpea pushed back her chair and stood up. “This is not some silly parlor game! That nice man died this morning. I am not going to sit here and listen to any more of this.”

“Sit down,” Simon said curtly. “It’s a very entertaining little game. What about you, Kenneth? You said you were going to familiarize yourself with the terrain or some such shit. Did you take a little hike?”

“I did. I went out to the area by the bridge, where the Confederates will be camping in two days. Strangely enough, I encountered a Union private who claimed he was sharing the site with a rebel. That would never have happened. I told him as much and ordered him to move his tent elsewhere, but he refused. There was something about him that made me uneasy.”

“Did he have a copy of the journal?” asked Corinne.

“He said all of the participants were sent one.” Kenneth refilled his glass and leaned back. “I don’t seem to recall that Simon explained where he was today.”

Simon reached across the table for the wine bottle. “I was supposed to do the audio in a studio in Springfield, but I couldn’t find the place. Eventually I had lunch in some fast food joint and came back here to take a nap. I have to be rested for this reenactment thing, you know.”

“You ever ridden a mule?” asked Jim Bob, snickering. “Unlike your fancy thoroughbreds, they’re as bony as anything you’d find in a pit behind a slaughterhouse. You’re gonna end up with bruises on your butt till the fireworks fade on the Fourth of July—and that’s if you’re lucky. You might be walking bowlegged till Christmas.”

Mrs. Jim Bob was on the brink of losing what little composure she’d clung to for the last twenty-four hours. She’d imagined a dinner party in which music and literature would be the topics, or at least documentaries on PBS. “I do believe it might be nice for us to go out to the patio for dessert and coffee. I’ll be out there as soon as I’ve cleared the table.”

“Let me help you,” said Sweetpea. “You’ve been so lovely about our unexpected arrival. Dinner was divine. Is there any chance I can wheedle that recipe out of you? I was thinking it would be perfect for my bridesmaids’ luncheon.”

Corinne began stacking plates. “You boys just go on outside and smoke your smelly ol’ cigars. We’ll join you after a while.”

Kenneth picked up the wine bottle and his glass. “Come along, boys.”

Harve ended up with several pages of notes, but he was still scratching his head and mumbling to himself. “Lotta crazy folks doing a lotta crazy things, all for the sake of this fairy tale about lost Confederate gold. You don’t reckon it’s still up there, do you?”

“What skimpy evidence there is suggests that it might be,” I said wearily. “It’s the least of my problems at the moment. Did you have someone go by Wendell’s house and tell his mother what happened?”

“Yeah, I sent LaBelle, thinking she might be more tactful than any of my boys. They’d most likely just spit it out and leave without waiting to see if the old lady collapsed. LaBelle said it was painful, but there was someone else there, a family friend, who started fluttering around like a nurse.”