"Some might think so," I said. "Imagine a conversation in which you try to explain that a strike is when you don't strike the ball and the ball's a ball when it's too high or too low, except when it's merely the ball. Is this Lissie and Martin's grandmother?"
"Lillith, this is Arly Hanks, the chief of police and coach of the kids' baseball team. Arly, this is Lillith Smew, who's kindly agreed to keep house for me since my wife passed away."
I took the woman's damp, limp hand, trying not to wrinkle my nose as the sour odor of an old-fashioned pharmacy engulfed me. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Smew."
"I can only pray my health is good enough to run the house," she said. "I've had three minor heart attacks in the last year, and I have a recurring problem with shingles. It can be so very painful, you know; I can hardly sleep at night. At my age, I don't need as much sleep as you younger folks, but I have to be careful. The last doctor I saw in Little Rock said I was-"
A bellow from the crowd stopped her. We all swung around in time to see Millicent McIlhaney toss her cookies on Raz's foot. She was bent over, her arms across her stomach, and her face contorted. Raz opened his mouth to protest, but he proceeded to do exactly what she'd done-but on his other foot. Heather Riley, one of the few high-school girls not in uniform, stumbled out of the crowd and followed suit in a series of gutwrenching spasms.
And before I could stop blinking, faster than a toad in a hail-storm a good half of the fifty or sixty people in the picnic pavilion were retching, groaning, grabbing at each other, staggering into each other, and upchucking all over the shiny linoleum floor of Jim Bob's SuperSaver Buy 4 Less.
For some reason, I doubted this was a scheduled activity of the grand opening.
6
"So what the hell happened?" Harve asked as he fiddled with a stained, splintery cigar butt. His desk was littered with chunks of ash, along with stained manila folders, months of paperwork, manuals, letters, a chewed-up Styrofoam cup, and an ashtray that bore a revolting resemblance to Mount St. Helens. "I had messages every which way when I got back from the lake this morning. I've got the reports from my boys, but none of them can write worth a damn. Their descriptions are on the terse side and limited to one-syllable words…like barf."
I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair across from him. The rancid stench of his cigar was doing nothing to ease my uneasy stomach. I gave him a brief rundown on the grand-opening ceremony, and then in elaborate detail described the gruesome scene.
"Lord almighty," he said, looking a little uneasy himself "I'm damn glad I was out of pocket all day."
"We called every ambulance service in the county, and ended up packing off twenty-three people for suspected food poisoning. Everybody was released within a couple of hours, pea green around the gills but basically okay. I called several of them either last night or this morning. No one suggested we do lunch in the pavilion, but no one reported further symptoms. I talked to a pathologist last night, too. He was amazed at the rapid onset of symptoms, and ruled out botulism, salmonella, and a long list of seriously toxic agents. Other than that, he wasn't much help."
"So we're going to have to rely on tests, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, shrugging. "I've packed off samples to the state crime lab, and the hospital labs are running tests. I've never seen such a vast expanse of vomit, and we're talking slippery, foul, nauseating nastiness. For a while there, it looked like beginners' night at the ice-skating rink. The guy who owns the pool hall twisted his ankle when he fell. He howled about a lawsuit all the way to the ambulance."
"Sounds charmin', Arly. It must have been a real hoot trying to secure the scene."
"Almost as much of a hoot as collecting samples-off the floor, tabletops, and my uniform, which I'm going to burn when I get around to it. I don't know what I'd have done if Deputy Vernon hadn't stayed to have a look around. He managed to get a couple more deputies to help, one of whom had to physically restrain Jim Bob when I ordered all the unaffected customers out of the store and the front door locked. Hizzoner didn't understand why the shoppers couldn't keep on shopping, and the checkers checking and the cash registers ringing merrily. He even suggested the ambulances go to the loading dock in back. He's real big on discretion."
"Within the city limits of Maggody," Harve said, working the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Or within Mrs. Jim Bob's earshot, maybe."
I wasn't interested in gossip. "Once we got the victims sorted out from those who contributed out of squeamishness, I went to the kitchen. The three cooks had managed to get every last pot and pan washed, so we're going to be forced to rely on our unsavory samples to determine what set everybody off like that." I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. "This is going to be a really ripe investigation, Harve."
"We don't have anything to warrant a major investigation, or at least not yet. Sure, twenty-odd people barfed all over the floor and a couple of folks fell, but that doesn't mean we've got ourselves a bigtime felony. Could be the deli got hold of some spoiled meat or bad cheese. Offhand, I'd say it was nothing more than an unfortunate incident."
I opened one eye and squinted at him. "Had a call from the county judge, huh?"
He got real busy shuffling folders. "Might have. That doesn't mean we're not going to carry out a proper investigation and find out exactly what happened. But our hands are tied until we get some answers from the state lab, so there's not much point in sitting on the gate to keep the cows out."
I opened the other eye for a double-barreled squint. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means there ain't no call to keep the supermarket closed. It means you might as well let it open for business."
"Another little political favor? Gad, that stinks worse than the floor of the damn pavilion, Harve, and you know it. We don't have any idea why twenty-three people became violently and copiously ill after sampling the food. We've got to wait for the lab results before we let Jim Bob start peddling food from the deli. I've already talked to the state health department, and strangely enough, they expressed the desire to do a thorough reinspection of all the facilities." I stood up, put my hands on the edge of his desk, and leaned over as far as I could bear, in that the ashtray was smoldering. "Yes, it may have been one package of spoiled meat. It also may have been a serious problem with refrigeration or operating procedures. For that matter, it may have been intentional."
"Bullshit, Arly. Are you implying one of the gals in the deli dumped poison in a pot? Why'd anyone risk doing that?"
"We don't know," I growled, frustrated. "And it doesn't have to be one of the cooks in the deli. For one thing, Dahlia was one of the victims, and the other two are from another of Petrel's supermarkets and only there temporarily. They were both terrified they'd be fired. For another, the platters were prepared in the kitchen, then taken out and left on a table; the cheerleaders picked them up and carried them around. Maybe somebody sprinkled something on a platter while it was on the table."
"Like who, for instance?"
I sat back down and thought for a minute. "Well, Jim Bob's always had enough enemies to comprise a Third World army. There are a lot of locals not pleased about the SuperSaver because they're afraid it will put them out of business."
"Anybody who appears on a regular basis in the Hanks's family photo album?" Harve asked blandly.