The Maggody Militia Read online

  Dahlia’s face crumpled like a wet washrag. “I don’t reckon I’ve got time to walk all that way to the county road. Besides, I ain’t about to give birth under a bush in the middle of a storm.”

  “Then I guess we’re going to find out what happened after they gave me the shot,” said Ruby Bee as she set the sheets on a crudely hewn table. “Is there a bed in the back, Dahlia?”

  “Yeah,” Dahlia said, “but the rope rotted and the mattress is on the floor and pretty much gnawed up.”

  Ruby Bee thought for a moment. “Estelle, let’s drag the mattress in here and cover it with the sheets. It won’t be real comfortable, but it’s bound to be better than the floor. Once Dahlia’s settled, we can try to find some dry wood and get a fire going in the stove so we can boil water.”

  “And do what with it?” asked Estelle. “Have a cup of tea?”

  “That’s what they say to do,” Ruby Bee said grimly as she headed for the back room.

  I scanned the notes I’d taken while listening to the tape. Agent Tonnato, who didn’t seem tremendously interested, was finishing a cup of coffee and tapping his foot as if waiting for an overdue train. I’d heard the tape three times, but the sound of my own voice asking Sterling to step outside startled me each time. It was just as well I’d been in the parking lot during the taping and missed Reed’s crude remarks about my anatomy.

  Tonnato set down the mug. “I need to go to the office and call in a report, Chief Hanks. I don’t know if anything said has relevance to your investigation, but I hope it did. I doubt we can make the homicide into a federal crime, so you’re on your own.” He put the tape player into his briefcase and stood up. “If you come across anything that might concern us, don’t hesitate to call.” He handed me a business card. “This has my home number.”

  I got to the door before he could leave. “The homicide of someone you encouraged to infiltrate a militia doesn’t concern you?”

  “Not especially,” he said, “and we didn’t encourage him. Once he made it clear that he wanted to do it, we assisted him in a limited manner—just as I’ve assisted you.”

  “And he died,” I said bluntly.

  “Yes, he did. I took the liberty of requesting that the state lab expedite the tox screen. Your county coroner should hear something by mid-afternoon.”

  I held my position. “About this surveillance, Tonnato. Are you saying you can hear anything that’s said in this room from the comfort of your office? You can tape the conversation without a warrant?”

  “It’s a very handy device,” he said, assessing his chances of leaving without being obliged to resort to karate or whatever it was FBI agents utilized to knock people senseless.

  “Do you eavesdrop for personal amusement?” I persisted. “Do you listen to couples in bed?”

  “I monitor the conversations of potentially dangerous people. You would agree that preventing the placement of a bomb in a building is more important than a warrant, wouldn’t you?”

  “Do you keep files on everybody in this country?”

  Tonnato gave me a disappointed look. “You’ve been reading their material. A lot of it appeals to the very people who have sworn to uphold and defend the laws of the land. Good luck with your investigation, Chief Hanks.”

  He made it past me and went out to a nondescript car. I was still stinging from his comment as I watched him drive away, but since brooding does not become me, I made myself go back to my desk and reread my notes.

  One discrepancy was impossible to miss: Barry Kirklin had told his cohorts that he was at the bar until almost 9:30 on Friday night. I’d closed the bar at 8:30 and gone to rescue Ruby Bee and Estelle from the two ostriches. Ergo, he’d lied.

  A reason came to mind. I winced as thunder rattled the PD as if it were a cardboard box, then went outside and drove to the motel to talk to him. Les acknowledged my arrival with a nod, then resumed reading.

  I knocked on the door of #6. Barry opened the door, started to smile, and then caught my expression. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Yes, it is,” I said. “Are you alone?”

  “Reed’s over drinking beer with Jake. Do you want to come in?”

  I went into the room and sat in a chair. The telephone, once an innocuous modern convenience, was on the bedside table, but I didn’t care if J. Edgar Hoover was eavesdropping from his grave. “On Friday night,” I began coldly, “you arrived in Maggody and then went to Sterling’s room. Once you’d been dismissed, you went to Judy’s room, didn’t you? You and she fooled around for about an hour before you went to the campsite.”

  He blinked at me. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because it explains a lot of things. Jake had legitimate cause to suspect she was having an affair, which is why he was in town. Why didn’t he see you go into her room?”

  “I drove away, parked behind a school, and returned on foot across the field out back. She let me in through the bathroom window in case Kayleen or Sterling was watching. I wouldn’t have risked it if I’d known Jake was spying on her, but we both thought he was at the camp. I lied about being in the bar, but I had to come up with something when …” His voice trailed off as he realized the implications of my questions.

  “Don’t bother to ask,” I said, no doubt escalating his paranoia to heretofore unseen heights. “You found out later that night that Jake had been in town. Yesterday morning you managed to tell Judy to wait for you after the game started, and then retraced your way back to the campsite. You and she discussed this until the flare went off. At that point, she split it for the motel room and you did the same for the bluff. That’s why you were so vague about your location when the rifle was fired.”

  “Aren’t you clever,” he said flatly.

  “You probably should admit it, Barry. It’s not going to get you a slap on the back from Jake, but it does mean you and Judy have an alibi for the shooting.”

  “I didn’t know I needed one,” he said in a voice that was oddly belligerent for someone who’d just confessed to adultery—and, if I ended up with a case of homicide, impeding the investigation.

  “It can’t hurt to have one, can it?” I said as I left. I could sense his presence at the window as I paused to collect my thoughts, but I ignored him. I now knew where Barry had been Friday evening, and had a pretty good idea where Jake had been. I tended to believe their story about Reed’s truck having been parked in town, which meant Dylan (who wasn’t Dylan, but Tonnato had never mentioned his real name) had been in town, too.

  I turned slowly and stared at #4. Perhaps Ruby Bee’s would-be rapist had been someone who was more interested in listening to conversations than assaulting fiftyish women. This someone might have been equipped with the same sort of device Tonnato had used. In that there weren’t phones on the ridge, an empty motel room had been appropriated.

  Willing myself not to think about Ruby Bee’s reaction when she saw the paint on her door, I used the key she kept under a flowerpot to let myself into her unit, and took the pass key off a hook in the bedroom. I wasn’t sure I’d find anything in #4 to confirm my suspicion, but I walked across the lot and went inside.

  Estelle’s overnight bag was on the floor. Various items of clothing were scattered around the room and half a dozen bottles of fingernail polish were lined up on the top of the dresser. According to Ruby Bee, a chair had been moved, a lamp unplugged, and—horror of horrors—the toilet seat raised. I did not have to overly tax my deductive skills to conclude that a male had plugged in some sort of electronic apparatus, sat at the table, and at some point responded to a call of nature. If he’d been present while the meeting was taking place in the next room, he couldn’t have risked even a tiny penlight and instead had relied on a tape recorder. And was aware that batteries have a knack of going dead at the crucial moment.

  Dylan wouldn’t have taken the tape recorder and eavesdropping device back to the camp, where they might have been discovered in his gear. The bed of Reed’s truck was clut
tered with junk, but stashing them there was dangerous, too. Kayleen had mentioned in the illegally recorded conversation that she and Sterling had continued to talk until ten o’clock. Dylan had returned to the camp shortly thereafter.

  I lifted up one side of the mattress, but the cover of the box springs showed no evidence of being slit. I wormed my way under the bed and examined the bottom of the cover, then emerged and tried the shelf in the closet. Nothing was hidden in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Growing frustrated, I removed drawers, felt behind the radiator, and crawled under the table to make sure nothing was taped there. Dylan would not have disposed of his equipment on the first night of the retreat, and he had no way of knowing it would be his last night.

  “Where is it?” I said, beginning to wonder if I was chasing the whiffle-bird, which is a first cousin of a wild goose. He hadn’t attempted the old purloined-letter ploy, in that the Flamingo Motel doesn’t bother to provide newfangled amenities like clock radios.

  Discouraged, I restored everything to its proper place, checked to see that all the drawers were closed, and smoothed the bedspread. Although I hadn’t disturbed the insipid print of fluffy kitties, I conscientiously straightened it so Estelle wouldn’t worry that one leg was getting shorter in her old age.

  As I stepped back to make sure the print was perfect, it struck me how difficult it would have been to align it in the dark. I removed it, found a recess in the wall, and removed a tape recorder and a small metal gizmo that resembled a circuit board. My ebullience faded as I opened the lid of the tape recorder and saw that the spools were empty. I reexamined the recess, but found no cassette.

  Dylan must have taken it with him, I thought as I replaced the electronic toys and hung the print on the wall. If by some fluke one of the militia had found the recorder, at least there would have been no proof that someone had been bugging the room next door. Harve hadn’t discovered a cassette in any of Dylan’s pockets or with his camping gear. In a more cosmopolitan setting, Dylan might have tucked it in an envelope and dropped it in a public mailbox, but the town council has yet to replace the one that the local teenagers shot full of holes.

  I locked the door and was heading for #1 to return the passkey when Les got out of his car. “I just finished talking to LaBelle,” he said. “She said to tell you that McBeen heard from the state lab. The victim died of nicotine poisoning. It’s supposed to be one of the most toxic drugs around.”

  I decided the passkey could stay in my pocket for the time being. “I’m going back to the PD to call McBeen. Don’t let any of these wackos leave, and when Kayleen comes back from church, tell her to stay here. Got that?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting me.

  It was turning into one weird day.

  Chapter 16

  Ruby Bee had busted up a chair to start a fire, but they hadn’t boiled water because they couldn’t find a pan that wasn’t rusty and caked with grime, and they’d never quite figured out what they’d do with the water anyway. Estelle was kneeling next to Dahlia, who was panting and hooing through another contraction.

  When Dahlia’s heavy breathing dropped back to normal, Estelle forced herself to smile reassuringly and say, “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You did real fine.”

  “You sure did,” said Ruby Bee.

  Dahlia’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t say anything and turned her face toward the wall. Over the last hour she’d become downright surly, glaring like she’d bite any hand that came into range. Ruby Bee was beginning to wish there’d been a polar bear in the back room after all.

  Estelle got up and tiptoed across the room to where Ruby Bee was peering out the window like she thought a midwife might drive up any second. “The labor pains are coming every three minutes,” she said in a low voice. “It’s gonna happen whether or not any of us, including Dahlia, has the foggiest idea what to do. I always closed my eyes when it happened in a movie so I wouldn’t pass out cold like my second cousin Zelda did. She hit her head and had to have seventeen stitches. They had to shave off her hair, and she walked around for four months looking like a hedgehog.”

  “Was she Uncle Tooly’s daughter?” Ruby Bee said in a crabby voice, since this whole mess was his fault. And Estelle’s as well, since she should have had the sense not to accept anything from a person killed by sheep.

  “No, she was not.” Estelle looked back to make sure Dahlia was doing all right, then said, “Why don’t you rip that other sheet into pieces we can use for towels?”

  “I bought those sheets at Sears not more than a year ago. If I’d realized that when I took them out of the closet, I would have found some old ones.”

  “I don’t imagine you’ll be using them after this,” said Estelle.

  “I want something to drink,” Dahlia suddenly said. “My lips are cracking and I cain’t hardly talk.”

  Ruby Bee dropped the sheet. “I’ll go back to the station wagon and look for a cup or something. You stay here, Estelle.”

  “Well, thank you, Dr. Spock,” said Estelle.

  Ruby Bee thought about responding in a suitable fashion, but the idea of getting away from the cabin, if only for a few minutes, was so appealing that she darted out the front door like a preacher leaving a whorehouse. Once out in the wind, she regretted her spontaneous offer, but there wasn’t much else to do but trudge down to the station wagon.

  She came close to screaming when she saw someone coming up the road. However, she managed to get her heart out of her throat as she recognized Kayleen. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I heard Kevin Buchanon disappeared, and I was afraid he came up this way on account of feeling responsible for Dylan’s death. It was a terrible tragedy, but he should be at Dahlia’s side during her last few weeks of pregnancy when she needs him the most.”

  “She needs him right this minute,” Ruby Bee said without hesitation. “She’s in labor, but not for long. Don’t you have some medical training?”

  Kayleen quickened her pace. “I’m trained as a nurse’s aide, but mostly I worked in nursing homes.”

  “The contractions are three minutes apart, and Dahlia’s holding up real well. She swears all her puffing and panting is what she learned on some tape and is what the doctor wants her to do. Have you delivered a baby?”

  “No, but I watched several deliveries while I was a student. Did you boil water?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Kayleen said as she fell into step with Ruby Bee.

  Mrs. Jim Bob sat alone on the front pew in the Assembly Hall. Brother Verber had not miraculously appeared and proclaimed himself born again, or plain born, or anything else. Lottie Estes had played a couple of hymns, but she’d run out of steam and everybody’d left to take advantage of this unexpected free time.

  She’d lost them both, she thought, her thin lips quivering. Her source of spiritual fortitude had cast his lot with the strumpet, and her source of income had taken it upon himself to spend a weekend playing poker and drinking Satan’s poison. Where could she find comfort in her bereavement? Not here, in the cavernous room where the last notes of Lottie’s laborious renditions lingered like a chest cold. The Methodist preacher wore blue jeans and rode a bicycle, and the Baptist preacher in Emmett was known to chase fast women.

  Even the Lord had not seen fit to answer her prayers. She got down on her knees and gave it one more shot, but Brother Verber did not emerge from the storage room, nor did Jim Bob crawl down the aisle on his belly like the viper he was.

  Mrs. Jim Bob stood up and smoothed her skirt, gazed sadly at the unoccupied pulpit, and went out to the porch. She was standing there, trying to decide if she should go home or sit for a spell in the rectory, when she spotted Jim Bob’s four-wheel coming down the road.

  Her despondency was replaced with blind, mindless rage. Without hesitating, she ran across the lawn and into the street, waving her arms above her head and shrieking for him to pull over. The four-wheel squealed to a stop at the
side of the road and Roy stuck out his head.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She lowered her arms but not her voice. “Where’s that low-down, lying, adulterous scoundrel?”

  Roy figured she wasn’t referring to Larry Joe. “The last I saw him he was still at the deer camp. Larry Joe and me decided to come on back to town.”

  “That doesn’t make a whit of sense, Roy Stiver, and you know it. Is Jim Bob off with one of his women?”

  Red-faced, Roy told her the whole story, although he omitted the number of bottles of whiskey and cases of beer they’d gone through in the last forty-eight hours. Once he’d finished, he realized how outright stupid it sounded, but he couldn’t help it.

  “I don’t believe you,” said Mrs. Jim Bob. “Three grown men running around the woods like chickens with their heads cut off because they thought they saw a monster? Of course their eyes were so blood-shot from indulging in whiskey that it’s a wonder they didn’t see the Mormon Tabernacle Choir up there too—or maybe you did and forgot to tell me. Did they sing for you?”

  “It’s the honest-to-God truth,” Roy said, squirming in the seat as she glowered at him. “I dropped Larry Joe off at his place not five minutes ago. You can call him if you don’t believe me. Are you sure Jim Bob’s not at home right now?”

  “Don’t you think I know who’s in my own house? No, there’s a woman involved. I can smell her cheap perfume as I stand here. I can see her painted face and tight dress. Jim Bob arranged for her to meet him at the deer camp, didn’t he? You’d better come clean if you know what’s good for you, Roy Stiver.”

  “Look, Mrs. Jim Bob, I told you what happened. If Jim Bob was responsible for that creature, then he fooled Larry Joe and me.”

  She came to a decision. “Get out of the car.”

  “I was thinking I’d dump my stuff at the store and then drive it out to your house.”

  “Get out of the car!” she said, spitting out each word as if it was a watermelon seed.

  Roy obliged. “What are you aiming to do?”