The Merry Wives of Maggody Read online

  “I told them no,” Amanda said, “and they knew I meant it.”

  “Which meant that Dennis would welch on a bet. How long do you think Tommy would have kept that to himself? He was more likely to have the napkin framed so he could hang it in the country club bar. Dennis could say whatever he wanted, but it was the kind of joke that Tommy would keep alive for years. Everyone at the country club would know. So tawdry, so vulgar.”

  “Tommy started making smart-ass remarks as soon as he made the hole-in-one. Dennis had to endure it all the way to the eighteenth green. And Tommy didn’t stop after that. He kept it secret from the others, but he went out of his way to remind Dennis and me every chance he got. When he hit the stoplight, he said it was better than winning the Triple Crown.”

  “So you went back to the motel room, and Dennis followed Tommy up the road,” I prompted her.

  “Dennis was beside himself when he finally returned. He felt so horribly guilty about what he’d done, but Tommy refused to back down on the bet. When Tommy started to describe what he planned to do to me, Dennis lost it. He couldn’t face telling you. He was going to turn himself in as soon as we got back to Farberville. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was determined. I finally agreed that it was the right thing to do. He was going to plead guilty because of temporary insanity. I’d sell the house and move into an apartment until he was released. After that, we’d move away and make a fresh start.”

  “And live happily ever after.”

  “We would have, if someone hadn’t killed him,” she said, her voice shrill. “Whoever it was ruined everything. I loved my husband, and I was willing to wait for him however long I had to. The judge would have sympathized and sent him to a psychiatric unit. Dennis thought he could write a book about his experience.”

  I could now hear sniffles behind me. Eula was probably holding a hankie to her nose, while Joyce and Millicent shook their heads sadly. Even the untouchables were likely to be touched by her story. I would have been, too, if it were true.

  “You may have discussed all those things,” I said. “I’m sure Dennis was tempted to accept the blame. But it kept gnawing at him yesterday. He could barely keep his balance on a very taut tightrope. If he made it across, he faced humiliation and unending guilt. He’d killed his best friend. He couldn’t justify it to himself and take the easy way out. No, he had to suffer the consequences. He went into Tommy’s room, took a handful of Dilaudid, and lay on the bed. It took you a while to realize where he’d gone, didn’t it? If you’d caught up with him after he left the wake, you might have been able to talk him out of suicide. Instead, you went into your room, expecting to find him there. You waited, you paced, you tried to figure out where he could be. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d gone to Tommy’s room immediately. Dennis only needed a minute to take the pills. No one could have saved him.”

  “He looked so goddamn smug!” she said bitterly. “Maybe he thought he’d made peace with his conscience, but what about me? I was going to be the widow of a murderer. Can you imagine how that would look? What’s more, I’d be broke. I gave up my job when we got married. The house is mortgaged, and the bank account’s empty. Was I supposed to go on welfare and live in a roach-infested tenement? Those places don’t have pools and hot tubs, you know. People get shot all the time. I sure as hell wasn’t going to live happily ever after in a place like that.”

  I had a feeling she wasn’t going to be booking massages at her future residence. “All you had to do was dispose of the bottle of Dilaudid to make it look like a copycat murder. You’d be the widow of a victim killed by a psychotic killer. And a wealthy widow, as well. Dennis’s employer provided life insurance, and I think we’ll find a policy signed shortly after your marriage. Is there a suicide clause?”

  “I didn’t kill him, though,” she insisted. “He was already dead. There’s probably some tiresome law about mutilating a corpse, but it’s a misdemeanor.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Amanda, but he wasn’t dead. All that blood on the wall, the bedspread . . . not postmortem.”

  “He was dead!” she screamed, lunging at me. “You didn’t see him. I jabbed him and slapped him, but he was gone. He was dead. I swear he was already dead.”

  I shook my head as Harve put a hand on her shoulder and escorted her up to the road. By the time she went to trial, her lawyer would have a forensics expert to testify about the possibility that Dennis was within seconds of death. The jury might take pity on her. The insurance companies would not, however.

  “Well, then,” Mrs. Jim Bob said, “instead of waiting for Brother Verber, let’s get on with the awards ceremony. Girls, fetch the cake and paper plates from my car. Darla Jean, there’s a paper tablecloth in that box with the cups. Have Billy Dick help you unfold it and put it on the table. Mr. Proodle, I assume you have the title to the boat.”

  “No one is getting the boat,” I said.

  “I told you so,” Proodle said. “It’s been impounded.”

  I shook my head. “To be accurate, it’s been taken by forfeiture because it contains contraband. It is now the property of the state. This man is an agent from the DEA. They’ve been after Da King’s organization for years. They just had a little trouble locating the cocaine, but once they did, they decided to sit back and see where it went.”

  He had enough sense not to smile. Jim Bob and Mrs. Jim Bob went at him like buzzards, flapping and cackling. The rest of the husbands and wives eyed each other, aware of how they’d blundered into the criminal world.

  I drifted out of the tent area and went to the edge of the woods, still thinking about Tommy, Dennis, and Amanda. Did everyone have a small demon inside that fed on greed, envy, and lust? I took the green-bordered napkin out of my pocket and unfolded it. The orange juice stain resembled Brazil, sort of. Now that the case was nearly over, I’d have time to drive to Springfield. Suddenly I felt a chill, as if the breeze had turned icy for a brief moment. Dumbfounded, I looked up as a cloud passed in front of the sun.

  I finally realized there was shrieking behind me. I turned around, prepared to pry Mrs. Jim Bob’s hands off Jim Bob’s neck. Or try, anyway. To my bewilderment, a lone figure was riding up on a mule, his face hidden by a ghoulish Halloween mask. He sported a vest made out of aluminum foil, and he peered out from under an upturned saucepan. His weapon of choice appeared to be a bent trophy.

  “I am the Horseman of the Apocalypse!” he roared, thumping his chest with the trophy. He started to topple over but caught himself. “I come to fight against Satan’s army! Christians, you have nuthin’ to fear but fear myself!”

  Mrs. Jim Bob froze. “Brother Verber? What in heaven’s name are you doing dressed up like that?”

  “The devil has casted his net of greed upon y’all, and I am your salvation army!”

  “He’s drunker’n Cooter Brown,” Jim Bob said, sniggering. “Attaboy, Brother Verber. Save us from eternal damnation!”

  Brother Verber turned the pot handle to get a better view. “I ain’t so sure anybody can save your soul, Jim Bob. Many’s the time I told you to drop to your knees and pray for forgiveness!”

  “Fuck you!” Jim Bob spat.

  “You and the mule you rode in on,” called Bony, saluting him with a beer. “Remember how you tried to tan my hide when I stole your wine? You chased me all over hell and high water, but you was too damn drunk to catch me! Wanna try again, preacher?” He put his thumbs in his ears and waggled his fingers.

  I had no intention of interfering. Maggody wasn’t on the Broadway touring companies’ itinerary, but this promised to provide plenty of entertainment. All I needed was a Playbill.

  “Just a goddamn minute!” Raz hollered from the porch. “Now I recognize you, Bony Buchanon. You may be kin, but we don’t put up with anybody attacking our wimmen. I heard how you tried to put your filthy hands on Dahlia. I reckon I’m gonna chop you into bait afore I throw your sorry ass in the pond!”

  “You had the balls to get fresh with
my daughter-in-law?” roared Earl, his hands balled into fists. “You ain’t a real Buchanon. Your great-grandpappy stole my great-grandpappy’s prize mule and hauled him off to Missouri. You’re descended from a mule thief, you sorry piece of shit.”

  Bony backed toward the tee. “I ain’t responsible for my great-grandpappy. I’m still a Buchanon, same as you. I din’t try anything with Dahlia. She was the one who was flirting with me.” He stumbled but managed to stay upright. “What’s more, I’m a member of the PGA! Don’t that count for anything?”

  “Not to me,” Jim Bob said as he sidled around the tent. “You got nowhere to run, Bony. Ain’t nobody gonna lift a finger to save you.”

  Kevin came out of shock. “I’m fixin’ to break your fingers, one by one. Then I’m gonna start on your ribs.” He scrambled over a table, knocking over coffee cups and almost landing in Heather’s lap. “How could you do such a horrible thing to my little flower bud? Did you touch her? Did you grab her and hold her down, put your hand across her mouth?”

  “Nothing happened,” Bony said as he made it to the tee. “Well, she sat on me, but you can ask her if I so much as touched her. She was the one who wanted to—”

  “Shut your lyin’ mouth,” Raz snarled, “and git ready to kiss your ass good-bye.” He raised his shotgun and fired into the sky.

  Behind us, the side of the barn burst open, flinging slivers of wood like shrapnel. I ducked, then scrambled under a table as a red golf cart came careening across the pigsty. The driver’s head was shiny, and his beard streamed over his shoulder like a ratty gray scarf. His orange jumpsuit added a splash of color. “Let’s git that sumbitch, Cousin Raz! All the time I was in jail I kept missing the good ol’ days when we tarred and feathered peckerheads like him!”

  Raz jumped on the back of the cart. “Yahoo, Cousin Fez! We’ll skin him alive afore we tar and feather him!”

  Bony turned and ran as if his life depended on it, which it did. Raz, Kevin, Jim Bob, Earl, and the other men took off after him. The obscenities were highly creative. I’d underestimated the local vernacular.

  Mrs. Jim Bob glared at Brother Verber, whose mouth was hanging open as he tried to figure out what had happened. “Now look what you’ve done,” she said. “I’d planned on a nice, civilized ceremony, with refreshments served afterwards. We can hardly proceed with so many participants scattered all over the golf course.”

  “Satan’s army!” Brother Verber kicked his mule hard enough to propel it into a shambling gallop. “Don’t you worry, ladies. General Willard Verber will save you!” He promptly slid off the mule into the mud.

  Darla Jean and Heather collapsed in laughter.

  So did I.

  Eighteen

  I was sitting on the bank of Boone Creek, pitching rocks into the water, when Ruby Bee sat down next to me. I acknowledged her presence with a nod.

  “You’ve got every right to be riled at me,” she said.

  On the far bank, a turtle slid off a log. The recent rain had left the water sluggish and muddy. The sunshine tried to sparkle, but the water seemed to suck it down. “I’m not mad,” I said softly. “Not very, anyway.”

  “I was gonna tell you when you were younger, but I decided there wasn’t any reason to burden you with my past.” Ruby Bee tentatively patted my knee. “Would it have really made a difference? You turned out just fine, didn’t you? Now you’re gonna get married and have a baby.” She peeked at me. “You are gonna get married, aren’t you? I mean, you don’t have to. Estelle and me will be here to help out. One of us can babysit so you can keep your job.”

  “Frederick Cartier was arrested this morning outside of Amarillo. He had Mrs. Jim Bob’s silver in his trunk and the contents of the tournament bank account in his pocket. The state troopers were frustrated because he didn’t have any valid identification. They found a tournament flyer in his car and called me. I told them what I knew, but it wasn’t much.”

  “Fred Carter’s his name,” Ruby Bee said. “Or that’s what he was calling himself thirty-odd years ago.”

  “When you met him,” I said flatly.

  “I was nineteen, and it was my first time away from home. I took the bus to Hot Springs to stay with my aunt and uncle, and my cousin Annabel. I’d never seen such a fine city before. All these big, fancy bathhouses, the hot springs bubbling out of the ground, restaurants and cafés on every corner—and the racetrack. Annabel took me one afternoon. The only horses I’d ever seen were sad old things pulling wagons of hay. The racehorses were sleek and high-spirited. Annabel knew how to sneak into the fancy club, and that’s where I met Fred. He was with some of his friends, drinking cocktails and betting on the races. I felt like I was in a movie.” She sighed. “Annabel told her parents we were helping with a church bazaar, so we could meet Fred and his friends almost every day at the racetrack.”

  “You obviously met elsewhere, too.”

  Her shoulders sagged as I looked at her, and her voice tightened. “Only one time. Fred won a lot of money that afternoon and insisted on taking all of us out to dinner at a snooty restaurant. He ordered bottle after bottle of French wine. We lingered for a long time, thinking we were the wittiest people in the whole world. When the waiters shooed us out, we went to a nightclub and danced. Somehow, we ended up parked by a lake. The stars were as bright as I’d ever seen them.”

  “You had sex in the backseat,” I said, trying to hide a small shiver as I remembered the feel of the leather. There are some details that offspring never need to hear. “And you got pregnant. Did you tell him?”

  “I didn’t find out until I was back home. He’d given me an address, but the letters I sent him were returned. Annabel confronted him at the racetrack, and he told her that he was already married. She said he felt real bad about not having told me and promised to write. He never did. Annabel found out later that he wasn’t married after all, but by then he was long gone.”

  “You told everybody you were married to a man named Hanks.”

  “It’s a family name on my paternal side. My mother made me change my name to back up the story. She even convinced herself it was true. Right up until she died, she’d ask how my husband was getting along out in Texas.”

  “You recognized him right off the bat, didn’t you?” I leaned back against the hickory tree and looked up at the leaves, struggling not to judge her. “You could have told me then.”

  “He was real careful not to come into the bar. His car looked familiar, but I figured I was crazy. Lord knows I hadn’t thought about him for years, up until you were in the same situation I’d been. Not that you’d been abandoned by a scoundrel or anything like that. I mean single and pregnant.”

  “You didn’t mention his car.”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure it was his until you mentioned the name. Fred was a right slick liar from the day I met him. He and I had a long talk Sunday night, parked by the low-water bridge. He had all sorts of excuses for acting the way he did. I’d be surprised if there was more than a grain of truth in any of them. He finally admitted that he came to Maggody in hopes of meeting you. He wanted to tell you that he’s your father. I told him that was his decision, not mine.”

  “He met me,” I said. “I kind of liked him, even though I knew he was lying to me all along. He couldn’t offer his alibi for Friday night because he was with some old friends. One of them might have blurted out his name.”

  She wiggled into a more comfortable position. “I have to say I’m glad he didn’t murder Tommy or Dennis. At the worst, he’s a con man and a liar.”

  “Dear old Dad,” I murmured. I remembered thinking there was something familiar about him. There was; I saw it in the mirror every day.

  We sat in silence for a long while. I figured Ruby Bee was thinking about those giddy times in Hot Springs. I decided to send the information about Fred Carter, alias Frederick Cartier, to the Amarillo authorities and then let it go. As Ruby Bee said, I’d turned out okay. So had she.

  “I had a call fro
m Jack’s sister last night,” I said.

  Ruby Bee beamed as she grabbed my hand. “Is she planning the wedding? I’m not one to meddle, but you deserve the wedding I never had. His children will make right cute attendants. His daughter can sprinkle flower petals on the path, and his son can be the ring bearer. Did you choose your colors? I always fancied blue and white. As the mother of the bride, I can wear lavender. It goes right nice with blue. If you don’t get going soon, it’s gonna have to be baby blue.”

  “He’ll be home in plenty of time,” I went on, aware that she wasn’t listening. “She talked to an assistant director who was in Belém to pick up supplies. Everybody’s fine.”

  “Estelle says she can rent a gazebo, so you can get married in her backyard, but I don’t want to be distracted by mosquitoes when you say your vows. I wish the bar and grill was fancier . . .”

  I gave her a hug. “It’ll be perfect.”