Fantasies about French bread and pâté were inadequate to sustain me for any length of time. "No," I admitted, "but I was thinking about it. You buying?"
"I might."
We drove to Ruby Bee's in his real, live official vehicle. I tried not to be too envious of such things as a working radio and a working air conditioner and all kinds of mysterious buttons and knobs that no doubt worked also. He parked between two semis and we settled in a booth.
The proprietress came over with menus, looking a lot more cheerful than I'd seen her for several weeks. "We haven't had the pleasure of your company for a while," she said to Plover. "How've you been keeping youself?"
"Fine," he said, smiling back at her. "Me, too," I said, although nobody had asked. My smile may have lacked warmth. "I missed you and Estelle at the practice yesterday afternoon. I called here and at your unit several times, but all I got was a busy signal. It's hard to get much accomplished when my major concern is keeping everybody off each other's throats."
Ruby Bee's expression was that of a puppy that'd been kicked across the room. "Why, land sakes, Arly, you know I'd have given my right arm to get out there yesterday to help you, but business has been real brisk these last two days and it's all I can do to sit down and rest my feet for a minute."
She had a point. The bar stools were all occupied by neckless hulks, and most of the booths by more of the same. The whiny country music from the jukebox was almost drowned out by the babble of the troglodytes and the clatter of utensils.
We were given menus and told to holler when we made up our minds. Once she was out of earshot, I leaned forward and said, "Okay, why are you here?"
The infamous kid with his hand in the cookie jar couldn't have looked more uncomfortable. Plover again found many things to study, none of them remotely in the direction of yours truly. When I kicked him under the table, he cleared his throat and said, "How's the meat loaf? I don't think I've ever tried it."
"The meat loaf is heavenly. You're here on official business, aren't you?"
"What was that bit about baseball practice?"
"You're not going to like it when I stand on the table and scream at you. Just tell me why you're here, okay? Then I'll tell you about baseball practice and we'll both be fully informed."
"I'm getting to it," he said, suddenly obliged to start rereading the menu. "Let's wait until we order."
"Let's not." By this point, my voice was beginning to compete with the general racket surrounding us, and more than one asphalt cowboy was glancing at us and most likely hoping for an old-fashioned public brawl between the sexes. The CBs would sizzle all the way to the Missouri line and on into Illinois and Indiana.
He winced. "Okay, okay. It…ah, it seems we've once again lost someone in Maggody."
"What?"
"We had a call from Muriel Petrel. She said her husband came here Friday evening to prepare for the grand opening on Saturday. She thought he'd be home that night or at least the following day, but she hasn't seen him or heard from him for the last forty-eight hours."
"That's Jim Bob's partner," I said, frowning at him.
"I came out to find out when he was last seen and to ascertain if he could still be in town. His car's parked out back in front of his motel room, and his suitcase is in the room."
I was fighting to control both my eyelids and my jaw, but I wasn't having a helluva lot of success. "Did you talk to Jim Bob?"
"He said he didn't see Petrel after the minor problem arose in the pavilion. Said he left Petrel in the office, looking at the initial inventory invoices. When he returned thirty minutes later, the invoices were in a neat pile and the office was empty."
I finally got hold of myself and glared across the table. "So you're supposed to breeze into town and question everyone who might have knowledge of Petrel's whereabouts. Did it occur to your lieutenant to consult the local police department?"
"I'm consulting it right now. The issue of jurisdiction's tricky. Petrel lives in Farberville, and the missing-persons report was filed initially with the local police department there. They told Mrs. Petrel to call us."
"But you've already begun talking to witnesses," I said coolly. If my air conditioner had worked better, I could have worked myself up to coldly, but it had been one long, hot summer. "Who else has been contacted?"
"Mrs. Jim Bob said Petrel had poisoned everybody for his own dark purposes and fled the county, if not the country."
"Does she have any evidence?" I asked.
"What do you think?" Plover put his hand over mine and tried to smile guilelessly. "Petrel probably forgot to mention a business trip, that's all."
"And walked to the airport?"
"Hell, I don't know. It hasn't even been seventy-two hours yet, so I'm just poking around. Maybe he has some phobia about barf and went stumbling into the woods. Maybe he hitched a ride to an unknown destination because…because Mrs. Jim Bob's correct and he poisoned everybody for his own dark purposes. "
"In your dreams," I said glumly, shaking my head. "Harve's probably right about there having been some weird accident during the food preparation, but I'm staying on it until I'm satisfied. After all, it cost me a perfectly good uniform. Even my badge stinks, which could lead to all kinds of complex philosophical questions about the role of enforcer in an evolving society, were we so inclined. However, I'm more inclined to meat loaf."
7
"He raped her right there on the sofa bed in the office," Edna Louise Skimmer whispered to Barbie Buteo, her second cousin once removed on her mother's side, who lived in Emmet but got by every now and then for a nice visit. They were obliged to whisper due to the kids being in the next room.
"No?" gasped Barbie. "Did she go to the emergency room at the hospital?"
Edna Louise tried to remember what all she'd heard at the county nursing home several days back. "I don't think so," she admitted with a trace of regret.
"Does her pa know about it?"
"Oh, no, and this is strictly between you and me, Barbie. One of the aides just happened to have overheard a conversation on the porch and passed it along to me, but I can't afford to lose my job for repeating gossip, even if it's the gospel truth. I wish I could tell you more about whatall he did, but I can't say another word." She rolled her eyes and zipped her lips to emphasize her point. "You do understand what I'm getting at, doncha?"
"I won't tell a soul," Barbie vowed solemnly, going so far as to draw an X on her chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die. I just can't believe everyone's gonna let that slimeball do you know what to a local girl and not even make him say he's sorry or offer to replace the shirt he ripped off her."
"It was awful", Edna Louise said. "The girl was hysterical when she came stumbling out of the office, and she nearly got herself run down on the highway by one of them tractor trailers. A neighbor happened to be driving by, and she put the poor little thing in her car and got her home afore anybody else saw her. We have no way of knowing if she was the only one-or only the first one."
Barbie peered around the corner to make sure all seven of the children were safely engrossed in cartoons, then leaned across the table and shook her head. "You know what I think, Edna Louise? I think they ought to tar and feather that fellow and escort him right out of town on a railroad tie. What'd you say his name was?"
"Petrel. Lamont Petrel." Edna Louise said this very firmly, because she was very sure.
After lunch, Plover said he wanted to question the owner of the Flamingo Motel about Petrel's disappearance. I offered to assist and was told my presence would not be required. I pointed out she was my mother and was told that was the problem. I mentioned that I was the chief of police and was told everybody already knew that.