Muletrain to Maggody (28 page)

“As opposed to getting killed?”

“The sense of honor in the South, then and even now, is more than a passion. Don’t you feel that way, Arly? You were born and bred here. Could you ever repudiate your ties to your heritage, to the land, to the traditions?”

“You don’t want to hear about some of the traditions in Maggody,” I said, sidestepping her question. “I’m here because I wanted to have a second look at Wendell’s files. Someone took a couple of them, as well as his copy of the journal. Any ideas?”

Harriet looked around the room, as though I might have overlooked the files. “Why, I suppose anyone staying here could have slipped in and taken them. Could he have made some sort of note in the journal when he chanced upon what he felt was a clue?”

“I don’t know, Harriet. If I had the journal in front of me, I could tell you.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose you could. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m still trying to deal with the shock of his death. I feel like such a fool for having criticized him for his engagement. Lydia must be as distraught as I, even though she’d known him for less than a year. It would be polite of me to call her and offer my condolences. And I really must go to Farberville in the morning to see how Mrs. Streek is doing. I suppose I’ll find Lydia there.”

“Or maybe not,” I said slowly. “Lydia may not be the family friend taking care of Mrs. Streek. Her house is near the Headquarters House, I was told.”

“Two doors down. Wendell found it convenient to unlock the house every morning and allow our volunteers to go about their duties. He had a little room behind the parlor where he kept the ledgers and…” She began to sniffle. “You must excuse me, Arly. Wendell and I had such happy times together. We’d sit with his mother in the living room every Saturday afternoon and listen to opera on NPR. On other occasions, we’d eat popcorn and watch documentaries of an educational and uplifting nature. I never wished that Mrs. Streek would depart this world, but her time was coming and I could imagine Wendell and me eating something as daring as a pizza and watching network TV. Now she’s outlived him. She’ll probably outlive me as well, since I no longer have anything to live for.”

I gave her one of Wendell’s handkerchiefs. “Tomorrow you’re going to have to deal with three dozen reenactors, a dozen mules, a cameraman without an assistant, and Mrs. Jim Bob, who’s liable to slice and dice anyone who crosses her. The pig roast is scheduled for the evening. The word’s out about this, and we may be staring down pickup trucks filled with rednecks waving plastic flags, flinging beer cans, and singing ‘Dixie’ like a bunch of drunken coyotes. The Stump County Historical Society has given you the responsibility to come away from this with a film suitable for students. You most definitely have something to live for until Saturday afternoon. After that, you’re on your own.”

Harriet reacted as I’d hoped she would. “You’re a cold thing, aren’t you?”

“Or a pragmatist. That’s part of our heritage, too. An agrarian society can’t dictate the future. Floods, droughts, tornadoes, ice storms—we have to acknowledge that we can’t control our collective success or failure. All we can do is keep an eye on the weather.”

“I see your point,” Harriet said. “Why did you imply that Lydia might not be staying with Mrs. Streek?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you call her?”

“It’s long distance, and I would hate to impose on our hostess. She’s behaving very oddly these last two days. Then again, there is a telephone in the room she so graciously put me in. I will certainly reimburse her for any expense.”

Harriet and I were giggling as we crept down the hall and went into what I presumed was Mrs. Jim Bob’s vision of a ruffled rose garden in the throes of a hysterical wisteria attack. I paced while Harriet dialed a number that was well-known to her.

“Lydia?” she began. “This is Harriet.” After a pause, she said, “Miss Estes? Is it possible I met you last week at the town meeting?”

I took the receiver from her and said, “Lottie, this is Arly. What’s going on? Don’t you realize the Missionary Society is going to hunt me down and hang me from the oak tree in front of the Assembly Hall if I don’t find you?”

“That seems extreme,” Lottie said tartly. “I attempted to call you earlier, but you were not at your office. I would like you to find out if the police intend to take action against me for my unauthorized entry into the Headquarters House. If so, it is my civic duty to turn myself in, although I must say I’m not looking forward to it.”

“I think you’re safe, but it might be best for you to stay there for the time being, if that’s all right with you.”

“Mrs. Streek and I are getting along very well. She certainly can’t stay here by herself. Please let those who are concerned about me know that I’m fine.”

“Thank you, Lottie,” I said, nodding at Harriet. “As long as you’re there, could you take a few minutes to look through the files in Wendell’s office?”

“I did that earlier, which is why I tried to call you.”

She proceeded to tell me an interesting story.

Jim Bob slapped Cherry Lucinda’s fleshy white buttocks. “Go get me a beer, honey. You plum tuckered me out, just like you always do. You shore have some talents—which I hope you ain’t sharing with anybody else. If I ever hear you are, I’m gonna take back those expensive diamond earrings I gave you for Christmas and find somebody else who’ll appreciate ’em.”

“Aw, Jim Bob, you’re my man.” Cherry Lucinda went into the kitchen and took a beer out of the refrigerator. Expensive diamond earrings! The jewelry store man had laughed in her face when she’d had them appraised. She’d been so humiliated she came damn near leaving them on the counter, then realized she’d have some explaining to do if Jim Bob ever asked her to wear them.

“Here’s an icy beer,” she chirped as she went back into the bedroom. “Whatcha reading?”

“A journal some asshole private wrote back during the Civil War. Mostly whining about how cold and hungry he was, or how he had blisters from marching. It was a war, ferchrissake, not a visit to Opryland.”

Cherry Lucinda slipped into bed and tried to distract him, but he elbowed her away. “Were you ever a soldier?”

“No, but I’ve seen plenty of war movies. Maybe ol’ Hadley should have watched some of ’em before he enlisted.” Jim Bob kept skimming the pages, looking for a clue to the location of the gold. He slowed down when he came to a paragraph with a tiny checkmark in the margin. “Mind where your hand’s straying and listen up on account of it may be important. ‘Ma’s been taking real good care of me since I got home, though I can tell from watching her that she’s sick with worry. At least I made it back here. Yesterday Lester’s family got word of his death down in Vicksburg. With him and his brother dead, I don’t see how his pa can get in the spring crop.’ ”

“That’s so sad,” said Cherry Lucinda.

Jim Bob ignored her. “Then it goes on about this moron Lester’s pa for a few more lines. Here’s what may be important: ‘Emil’s sister came by this morning to bring some blackberry preserves and visit for a spell. Rebecca ain’t but thirteen, her face all covered with spots and her knees scabby from climbing trees, but I could see she’s gonna be a pretty little thing in a few years. I hope there’s some young men left in the county when it comes time for her to take a beau. She begged me to tell her again about Emil’s death, so I obliged her. We both got real quiet, but then she started talking about all the good times she’d had with him, fishing or just sitting on the porch. We even got to laughing about the time Emil tangled with a copperhead and came darn close to losing his foot from the blood poison. His ma’s poultices saw him through it, but he was always scared to go in the woods again, even to hunt. I guess he reckoned the war was gonna be fought in town squares and churchyards. Custiss used to sneak up behind him and hiss, and Emil’d darn near jump out of his skin, then take to cussing something awful while the rest of us laughed so hard our bellies ached. I never could figure out how he’d be much using farming when we got home. I sure ain’t these days. It’s all I can to do use my crutch to hobble out to the porch and sit in the sun for a spell. I don’t reckon I’ll be a burden much longer.’ ”

Cherry Lucinda used a corner of the sheet to blot her cheeks. “That is just too sad. Think of that little girl with her dreams of getting married and having babies, but all the boys were soldiers who’d marched off to war.”

“So maybe she had to settle on some old coot. It don’t matter, since she’s been dead a hundred years.” Jim Bob finished the beer and squeezed the can. “What’s interesting,” he said as he lobbed it in the direction of the trash basket, “is that this Emil was scared of snakes.”

“I’m scared of snakes,” Cherry Lucinda said. “I thought I’d die when Indiana Jones fell in that pit and—”

“Fetch me another beer. I got to think.”

Sweetpea came into the PD, winced at the decor (yellow and white gingham curtains, bluish-gray mold, and cobwebs dripping with dust), and sat down across from me. “I suppose we’d better talk. When we got back from lunch, that weasel Kenneth pulled me aside and admitted he’d been talking out of school. God only knows what he’ll say to Simon. The only way I could see to shut him up was by using his saber to cut his throat, but I was afraid you’d be even more annoyed with me.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “So exactly what did you do yesterday morning after breakfast?”

“I sat on the front porch and let the sun dry my hair, waiting until I thought everyone was gone. I called Andrew and ascertained that he was…in the mood for company. I didn’t want to walk down the main road and risk being seen, so I found a trail of sorts along the bottom of the ridge and came across the pasture to the Flamingo Motel. If I’d had any idea Kenneth was following me, I would have hidden behind a tree and bashed him with a rock. Some of my best friends are Yankees, but he’s just arrogant and hateful. I pity the students in his classes. He must drone on interminably, lulling himself into a stupor by the sound of his own voice. He should keep an alarm clock on the podium so the students wake up in time for their next class.”

“What time did you get to the motel?”

She fluttered her fingers. “I don’t know, since wearing a watch would interfere with my tan. I have to wear the ring Simon gave me”—she extended her hand so I could admire it—“but I don’t wear any other jewelry in the spring and summer. I don’t want people whispering that I have some sort of degenerative skin disease.”

“Are those amethysts?” I asked.

“Yes. The diamond’s not quite what I’d hoped for, but the ring belonged to Simon’s great-grandmother and has sentimental value, or so he says. And it pleases Corinne, who’s just such a dynamic person. My mother’s never earned a penny in her life. After her husband abandoned her, Corinne had to struggle to provide for herself and Simon. She took menial jobs and wrote every night until she sold her first book. After that, she was the talk of Charleston society, especially after she bought her house and spent a fortune on remodeling. Of course she’ll never quite fit in, since her family was in trade, but she’s been on talk shows and knows celebrities. I thought my mother would have a hissy fit when she found out that Corinne had gone out to lunch in New York with Katie Couric.”

“Big time,” I murmured. “So you went to Andrew’s motel room and stayed there until…?”

“Early in the afternoon. I took the same circuitous route back to the house, fixed myself something to eat, and went down to the creek to study Henry’s journal. Once I’d given up finding anything of note, I did a few watercolors of wildflowers, read for a while, and arrived back just as Kenneth was pouring wine.” Her girlish dimples faded and her eyes narrowed. “I came in and told you this of my own free will. I don’t see why Simon needs to hear about it. Andrew and I have an understanding that our relationship will never go beyond the rare opportunities that may arise at these reenactments. He knows that if he so much as attempts to make contact with me while I’m in Charleston, his wife will receive a thick packet of proof of his infidelities over the years. Her family owns the car dealership. I have no idea what she does in her spare time, but I suspect she could replace Andrew for a model with lower mileage without bothering to cancel a session with her personal trainer.”

“I’ve heard that Simon was suspicious, perhaps so much so that he didn’t go to Springfield to make the audio tape.”

“And stayed in town?” Sweetpea said in a thin voice.

“I won’t know until I’ve checked the mileage on the odometer of the rental car and compared it to the number on the paperwork in the glove compartment, if that’s where Corinne put it. Farberville is twenty miles away; Springfield’s roughly a hundred. It doesn’t require advanced algebra to do the calculation.”

Sweetpea sat back and did some calculating of her own. “He said he couldn’t find the place and eventually gave up. That’s his approach to life, you know. When the going gets rough, Simon goes to the club for a drink. In this case, I hope to hell he didn’t go to that bar down the road and sit by a window where he had a view of the motel. It’ll be one big ol’ bother if he did. He’ll feel obligated to stomp around and mutter about defending his honor. I’ll cry, of course, and swear I must have lost my mind. Simon will forgive me, Corinne will pretend she wasn’t listening outside the door, and we’ll all go back to the issue of the flowers at the reception.”

“Simon wouldn’t threaten to call off the wedding?”

“Oh, please,” Sweetpea said as she stood up. “He wouldn’t call off the wedding if I told him I had every imaginable sexually transmitted disease and have been giving the pool boy blow jobs since I was sixteen.”