The Arly Hanks Mysteries Volume One Read online

  12

  Hobert Middleton gaped over the steering wheel at the procession emerging from Jaylee’s mobile home. It was about the most peculiar thing he’d seen in a long time, and way beyond making any sense. Estelle came first, goose-stepping like a Nazi and rigid with anger. She was followed by Ruby Bee, who looked like she was on the brink of a coronary, her face red and her steps jerky and wobbly. Then Paulie Buchanon, staring at the sidewalk and barely able to stumble along, despite Carl Withers right on his heels. Carl was the only one who looked as if he was enjoying the parade to the police car. In fact, Ho mused in perplexity, Carl looked downright delighted with himself.

  Paulie and Ruby Bee got in the front seat; the other two exchanged words as they climbed in backseat. Carl stuck a gun in the back of Paulie’s neck, snarled something else to Estelle, and then wiggled down so far Ho could see only an oily circle of hair. The police car maneuvered around and slowly drove toward Ho, who came to his senses at the last minute and ducked down below the wheel, bumping his nose along the way.

  When he rose cautiously, the police car was easing over the cattle guard. He was surprised when it turned away from the highway and headed toward the bridge and the road that wound through the national forest for at least fifty miles before meeting up with another state highway. He mopped his neck one last time, gingerly touched his nose to see if it was bleeding (it wasn’t, but it still hurt), then started his car and drove after them at what he hoped was a prudent distance. As he slowed down at the cattle guard, he flipped the sunglasses out the car window.

  “You have to yell ‘Jack Sprat,’ or someone else can take the card,” I explained patiently for the third time. They were having a hard time grasping the game, and not, I suspected, putting their minds to it with any great diligence. They’d made me play all kinds of unfamiliar games; I saw no reason for them to balk at mine. Balk like pie-eyed mules, I might add. “Jack Sprat!” I yelled, demonstrating in case it still hadn’t sunk in.

  “Jack Sprat,” Plover said. He looked around the table.

  “Jack Sprat,” Larry Joe and Roy echoed obediently, although not with enough enthusiasm to frost a cupcake.

  I told them the rest of the rules, dealt a few cards, and then stopped. “Let me see one more time if I’ve got this straight. Jim Bob called the emergency meeting last night at eight o’clock, right? Then you put Drake in the trunk of Ho’s car, and you two went to your respective homes to pack and meet behind the Kwik-Screw at ten o’clock. What’d Jim Bob and Ho do?”

  Roy lifted a corner of his card, no doubt prepared to yell out the appropriate words should he discover a jack. He lowered it with a disappointed expression. “Ho said he had to meet somebody at his lot. He didn’t sound very happy at the prospect, so it wasn’t some good old boy looking for a new station wagon for the wife. He said he’d keep Drake in the trunk for the time being. Jim Bob said he was going to run an errand, then go home to collect some food.”

  “How’d he look?” I asked.

  “About as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Right pissed, too, now that I think on it.”

  I thought about the various paths for a minute before I glanced at Plover. “Either one of those two could have gone to Jaylee’s trailer and arranged to meet her at the motel, although I sure as hell don’t know why. Did Jaylee know you’d transferred Drake to the trunk?”

  Roy shook his head. “We did it right quick, before any of us could chicken out and hightail it for the state line. I don’t think anybody saw us. Ho drove right up to the door of Number Three, and it only took a minute or two to fetch Drake because he already had his stuff in his suitcase.”

  “Why was that?” Plover said. Or more like interrupted, I thought to myself, but I settled for a frown, since it was pretty close to what I was going to say anyway.

  “I don’t reckon we asked him. He was squawking like a guinea hen, so we just kind of stuffed him in the trunk and closed the lid to save having to listen to him.”

  “I’ll bet Jaylee planned to pick him up on her way out of town,” I said to Plover. “That’s why he was all packed and ready to leave. They probably worked up the scheme earlier in the day, as soon as she found out she’d passed the GED and was headed for fame and glory in the big city. I wonder if anybody else knew?”

  “Don’t see how they could,” Roy murmured. “Drake didn’t have a telephone in the room or in the trunk of the Caddie, so he sure couldn’t have told anybody. It’d be right stupid of Jaylee to announce it.”

  “If Jim Bob went to her place to discuss the pregnancy, she might have told him,” I said, still frowning hard enough to leave etch marks on my forehead. Ruby Bee is telling me all the time I’ll be sorry later, when I look like someone drew a road map above my eyebrows. It isn’t my most worrisome concern. “But he knew Drake wasn’t at the motel anymore. I guess he might have allowed her to think otherwise and waited for her to come. Let her look inside Number Three for Drake, then caught her as she came out the door.”

  “The motive being blackmail?” Plover said, his forehead headed for the same fate as mine, atlas-style. “She demanded a payoff to keep quiet about the affair and its unmissable proof, and he said he’d bring the money to the motel?” Larry Joe and Roy were puffing and goggling as we talked, so I assumed they weren’t up to date on Jim Bob’s extramarital activities. Poker table bragging wasn’t as prevalent as I’d thought, at least not in Maggody circles. I wasn’t in the mood to enlighten them.

  “The problem is that I can’t imagine Jaylee telling him she was going to steal Drake from under his nose,” I said. “She’d realize he wouldn’t let her do it, because that would get the chummy conspirators in bad trouble.” I glared at two of them to let them know I hadn’t forgotten what they’d done to my mother. “Jim Bob wasn’t about to let Drake slip away until he called Fiff, and he couldn’t do that until today. I don’t see why she’d let out one little peep about the plan, so how would he know to ambush her later at the motel?”

  “Inspired guess?” Plover suggested. “Or maybe she blurted out something while she was angry.”

  I grimaced as I considered the scenario. Having never been present at a blackmail conference, I didn’t know for sure how the dialogue was likely to go. “No,” I said slowly, “you didn’t know Jaylee. She was blond and built like a beauty queen, but she had a sharp mind and she was too damn cunning to let something out if she thought it’d backfire. She was looking out for Number One. As delightful as the possibility is, I don’t know how Jim Bob could have murdered her.”

  “How about the husband, then? From the prison report, I gathered Carl Withers’s a real mean one who wouldn’t hesitate to murder a total stranger, much less his wife. When I checked in earlier, I asked if there’d been any updates on him. Nobody has the foggiest notion where he is right now.”

  “According to Jaylee, he’s three-quarters of the way to the Gulf of Mexico. I don’t think he’d be bullheaded enough to come north after his escape, but even if he did, how would he know Jaylee would be at the Flamingo Motel? And where would he get a crossbow?”

  “Carl liked to hunt with them, and I know for a fact he bought a new one three years ago,” Larry Joe volunteered. “He used to come by the shop to show me what was left of the coons and squirrels after he’d shot them. It did some right nasty damage, on account of their size.”

  It had done the same to Jaylee, I remembered with a shudder. “So he could have gotten his crossbow from the mobile home, I suppose. But that doesn’t explain why he’d know to hang out behind the motel, waiting for Jaylee to come.” We pondered that one for a few minutes, each of us competing to come up with an answer. The Nameless Wonder won, or at least he thought he did.

  “Maybe he was outside the mobile home and overheard Jim Bob and Jaylee when they had the conversation about blackmail. That would rile any husband to murder. Then he followed Jaylee to the m
otel and shot her in a jealous rage.”

  “If he was following her, when did he get his paws on the crossbow?” I said with great reason. “Are you suggesting he knocked on the door beforehand and politely asked to use the potty, then slipped out with the crossbow under his coat? I can’t imagine Jaylee handling that without doing something—like calling the police. She was terrified of Carl.”

  “He got the crossbow from somewhere else,” Plover replied. “You said everybody in town owns one. He just stole it from the back of someone’s truck.”

  “And jogged down the highway after Jaylee’s car, which doesn’t qualify for the Indy 500 but can go at a reasonable speed? I gave her a ticket once for doing seventy miles per hour through the school zone. She said her hair was falling down in back and it was an emergency. Believed it, too.”

  “He stole a car.” Sergeant Plover seemed a shade irritated by my unassailable logic; his eyes were thunderclouds and his ears flushed darker than pansy petals. “Happens all the time.”

  “Why don’t you call home and see if there are any possible stolen vehicles?” I said demurely, basking in his heat. I tilted my head to get an even tan and added, “While you’re at it, ask Paulie if he could run over to Jaylee’s mobile home to search for the crossbow. I don’t see how Carl could have gotten it, but it would help to know if it’s there or not.”

  He stood up abruptly, managing to jar the table hard enough to topple my tidy stacks of chips. As he stomped out the door, a snarl drifted back to us. It sounded like “Jack Sprat,” but I could have been wrong.

  Jim Bob’s kneecaps ached like they’d never ached before. Brother Verber was making inroads with the devil, but progress was slow and methodical, with a lingering stop at each sin to give it careful attention. It occurred to Jim Bob that the repentance might take longer than the sin, although Jaylee hadn’t ever complained. He opened one eye in a squint and caught Mrs. Jim Bob staring at him. He quickly closed his eye, wiggled around a bit to ease the pain, and tried to decide how best to get out of there before they had to wheel him over to some hospital for crippled people and amputees.

  “Amen,” Brother Verber announced, hanging on to the final sound until Jim Bob and Mrs. Jim Bob joined in.

  “Thank you kindly, Brother Verber,” Jim Bob said as he staggered to his feet. “It’s a great comfort to know my soul is no longer in danger of eternal damnation. I feel so secure that I want to give you a check for the church building fund or those dear little hungry children of Africa.”

  Brother Verber rocked back on his toes and smoothly arose, his knees apparently conditioned to such sieges. “Any contribution will be appreciated, Brother Buchanon, but we aren’t finished yet. I haven’t even started on the way you lied to your fine Christian wife here, or helped you to cleanse the filth from your lustful carnal organs by allowing you to admit each and every time you engaged in adultery. We’re going to listen to all the shameful details so we can pray over them. No, Brother Buchanon, your soul is still in terrible trouble. I can hear Satan smacking his lips as he puts your name in his book of lost souls. I’m just taking a break so’s I can wet my whistle with pure, sparkling water.”

  Mrs. Jim Bob stood up and joined the preacher in the doorway. “You have a lot more confessing to do, Jim Bob; you might want a glass of water yourself.” She took Verber’s arm and patted it. “We’re so lucky to have you on call, Brother Verber. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have an RC cola and a bag of peanuts?”

  Jim Bob made an obscene gesture at the door as it swung closed. Verber sounded like he intended to rant for the next twelve hours. Mrs. Jim Bob most likely had some additional comments to make, if Verber ever ran out of righteousness. God, he’d be in the office on his knees until the two figured out how to make hell freeze over out of boredom.

  Ho had promised to show up more than an hour ago so they could drive back to the deer camp. Where the fuck was Ho? How was he, the leader of the goddamn incompetents, supposed to do anything when everybody sat on the pot with a magazine all damn day?

  Dahlia opened the door, her ponderous chin aquiver with curiosity. “Mrs. Jim Bob suggested you might want to use the facilities before you recommence praying. She said to tell you it’s going to be a mighty long session in your struggle with the devil.”

  Jim Bob curled his fingers, but an idea saved Dahlia from his wrath. “That’s a fine suggestion of Mrs. Jim Bob’s, don’t you think? That way I won’t be distracted on the road to blessed salvation. By the way, has Hobert Middleton come by as of yet?”

  “I ain’t seen him, but you could ask Kevin.” Dahlia thudded away for the candy rack. Delivery work always made her hungry.

  Jim Bob went to the front of the store, ignoring his wife and Brother Verber in the aisle in front of the soda pop display case. Kevin was taping a piece of paper to the glass door. Jim Bob snatched it away and wadded it up, snarling, “What do you think you was about to do, you lump of sheep shit? This ain’t no bulletin board—it’s a service station.”

  Kevin put the tape behind his back. “Raz asked me to stick it up somewheres where everybody would read it. It tells about Betty’s memorial service and funeral on Thursday. From the description, it ought to be right pretty. Hymns and everything.”

  Jim Bob thought of several things to say, all of them unpleasant and involving convolutions of paternity. But there wasn’t time, and Kevin wouldn’t understand half of them anyway. “Don’t put anything on the door if you value your prick,” he said mildly, stuffing the wadded paper in his pocket. “You and the cow will have to work late tonight and lock up; I got other things to do.”

  He hurried to the men’s room and locked the door behind him. Steeling himself not to think how idiotic he looked, he climbed onto the toilet, opened the window, and squirmed through the narrow opening. It was a ten-foot drop, he figured, and onto discarded tires and a pile of empty oil cans. He’d take his chances with a broken leg—which would be a damn sight more entertaining than another session with Verber and the devil.

  If he survived, he thought he’d better hustle up to Robin’s for a couple of mason jars of white lightning. Another ten bucks and she’d agree to come to the trailer to screw Drake in the back room. While they waited, Roy could write up some legal-sounding paper that said Drake hadn’t been kidnapped. After the hooch and Robin Buchanon, Drake would sign anything. Hell, he’d never know what hit him.

  Plover came back in the trailer and slammed the door. “No wonder your deputy didn’t get in the state police academy. He couldn’t get in the regular academy, either, since he doesn’t even understand how to operate a police band.”

  “It doesn’t work most of the time,” I said, “so don’t you start making cracks about Officer Buchanon. He works extra shifts all the time, and usually comes in early to help me with the paperwork. He’d make a better state trooper than some I could mention if I had a mind to.”

  “The radio’s working just fine!” Plover snapped. “The problem is that your deputy has a woman with him, and she can’t figure out which knobs to turn, so she cut me off in the middle of a sentence. It’s probably some little high-school girl who hasn’t learned to read as of yet.”

  “That’s a crock if I ever heard one! Officer Buchanon wouldn’t have a girl in his unit unless she was a witness.”

  “Witnessing what—the way his fly opens and closes? From what I heard, she was right breathless with admiration.”

  I flicked my eyes down, and then gave him a sugary smile. “More than some folks can say.” I let him seethe on that one while I tried to think what Paulie might be up to. Nothing came to mind, so I tucked it away and said, “I presume you had more success with the county dispatcher. What’d she say?”

  “The sheriff and posse are out looking for Drake, but they hadn’t seen any sign of him. They haven’t bumped into Carl Withers, either, although they’re watching for him. You may be right that he’
s gone south.”

  “I thought we was going to play cards,” Roy said, toying with his chips. “I think I understand the game.”

  Larry Joe asked him a question about wild cards. I left them to discuss the issue and looked at Plover. “Let’s see if we can figure out where everybody was between eight and ten o’clock. The answer’s in there somewhere, but it’s murkier than mud pie stew. There’s only one thing I know for sure—and that’s what happened to Raz Buchanon’s dog.”

  Roy hushed Larry Joe. “Did Perkins admit he stole her? Did you arrest him?”

  “The case of the purloined hound?” Plover said, trying not to laugh (he did that a lot).

  “Raz was very fond of Betty,” I said. “He was in last week to report the theft, and filed a report and everything. It may seem a trifle to you, but it was important to him.”

  “My apologies, Chief.” He sat down and locked his hands behind his head. “Tell me about the case—I’m fascinated by police procedure in your department. Maybe we can use some of your techniques in the state office.”

  Roy was still eager to hear, so I told them about Betty’s unseemly fate on the highway, even using Raz’s poetic description of the body at the scene of the crime. Roy looked downcast, and Larry Joe had to swallow a couple of times to maintain his composure. Plover wasn’t visibly distressed, but he had the decency to close his eyes in a brief moment of respect for the fallen warrior. I was sort of touched, myself.

  After a silence, I said, “So we know where Betty was on Sunday night—the middle of the highway. Larry Joe and Roy say they were home packing to come up here; I’ll have to investigate their alibis when we get back to town.” I gave that a minute to sink in. “Jaylee left about eight o’clock to pack her things, and I’m assuming she planned to sneak behind the motel around ten to pick up Drake. Drake we know about. Estelle and Ruby Bee were busy with the guests who weren’t ready to leave until closing time.” I stopped for a nose count. “Jim Bob and Ho were off somewhere. Jim Bob’s got the best motive, but I’m not convinced he did it, and Ho doesn’t have any motive that I know of. That leaves Carl, who may be in Baton Rouge.”