I went down to my car, but as I glanced up, I saw a curtain in her window fall back and a shadow move away. I drove back to Maggody on automatic pilot, trying to decide which of the two had lied. Jim Bob had crawled way out on the limb-and had encountered a polecat. He must have figured I'd check with Cherri Lucinda, if only to have it to dangle over him during town council budget sessions. It was a damn odd lie, if indeed it was a lie. But why would she lie about it?
I'd made no progress as I parked behind the antique store and went upstairs. As I reached for the door, I heard a muted gasp and a scuffling noise, but when I got inside, Hammet was sitting contentedly in front of the television. The fact that the screen was blank was a bit suspicious.
"I'm back," I said lamely.
"Did you visit with Lissie's brother?"
"No, he was asleep and the nurse wasn't about to allow me to wake him. Have you had supper?"
"Miz Lambertino gave us some stuff. Tuna fish all yucked up with peas and goop." He yawned, reached for the button on the television, and realized his mistake. "Guess I dun already turned it off. I'm so worn out, I must've been sitting here like I was deaf and dumb and too slow to whistle."
I'd had my fill of lies for the day. "No, you were doing something else when you heard me outside. What, Hammet?"
"Jest sittin' on my hindquarters. I weren't doin' nuthin', nuthin' at all. How come you're all the time trying to make me say things and saying I tell you lies, 'cause I don't tell no one lies-except for the schoolmarm, but she's fat as a sow and a hunnert times stupider."
"Calm down," I said, bewildered. "I didn't say anything about lies. Let's go to bed, shall we?"
He slunk into the bathroom and slammed the door. I had no idea what was wrong with him, but he hadn't been off the mountain all that long. His mother had been the orneriest mountain woman to ever make moonshine and turn tricks in the Ozarks. For the first ten years of his life, Hammet had never seen a book, watched television, or uttered a sentence that could be repeated in church. His hair had been cut with a pocketknife. His clothing had come from cardboard boxes left at the edge of the yard by timid dogooders from charitable organizations. He'd shared a straw pallet with his siblings and fought with them over food. Wolf cubs probably had easier lives.
"You've come a long way, baby," I said to the closed door.
Brother Verber was crawling around under the mobile home when he saw feet. In that the feet were shod in sensible heels and walked with a missionary's determination, he was pretty sure he knew what all there was ankle upward. Rather than emerge to greet his caller, he scuttled into the shadows.
Mrs. Jim Bob rapped on the front door. "Brother Verber, it's Sister Barbara. Are you in there? I got something to discuss with you."
He shrunk farther into the shadows, where it was damper but darker and therefore muddier but safer. He felt as if the shower'd turned icy cold and he was buck naked in the spray. There wasn't any way she could know, he told himself. There wasn't any way anybody could know, not even Kevin and Dahlia, who'd looked a little confused when he'd ordered them to go pray for their forgiveness-somewhere else.
Her knuckles hit the door with such insistence, he could feel the mobile home vibrating. "Brother Verber?" she repeated stridently. "Brother Verber…?"
He put his knees right up to his chin and closed his eyes. He didn't bother to ask for divine guidance.
The next morning, I drove to Dahlia's house. She was sitting on the porch, a glass of tea and a box of cookies nearby, but her hands were folded in her lap and her eyes were vacant.
"I need to ask you a few questions," I said as I opened the gate and went up the sidewalk.
"Okay," she murmured without looking up.
I sat on the edge of the porch and took out a notebook and pencil. "Let's start with the preparations for the grand opening on Saturday. When did you"-I consulted my list-"Erma Jean, and Feebie start fixing the food that was later passed out as free samples?"
"The night before. We went in at five and cooked till ten or so. There was some stuff that had to be fixed the next morning, like the ham rolls and cheese squares. That Petrel fellow was real strict about when we was to do what."
"What about the tamales?"
"I didn't do the tamales," she said dully. She took a cookie from the box, studied it for a moment, then put it in her mouth and chewed pensively. "I fried chicken wings until I was ready to scream. That's what I did. Everyone said they was real tasty. Did you try one?"
"I'm afraid I missed those. Who did the tamales? Erma Jean or Feebie?"
"I think it was Erma Jean. She opened the cans, cut them into pieces, and put them out nice and neat in a roasting pan. The sauce was simmering on the stove. The first thing next morning, she dumped it on the tamales and put the pan in the oven to heat up."
"So the tamale sauce was in the refrigerator all night?"
"She didn't take it home with her, if that's what you're asking."
"Did anyone come into the kitchen the next morning?"
"Nobody." This time Dahlia managed to transport three cookies to her mouth. Once she'd dealt with them, she said, "Can I ask you something, Arly?"
"Sure," I said, hoping it was relevant to the case but not optimistic.
"Is it blackmail when you tell someone they have to do something or you'll make them regret they was ever born?"
I perked up. "It could be, Dahlia. You'll have to tell me more details before I can be sure."
She sighed morosely and dipped back in the box. "I don't reckon I can. It's mighty personal, if you know what I mean."
"But I don't know what you mean," I said, trying not to sound too eager. If someone had coerced her into dumping ipecac in the tamale sauce, I didn't want to alarm her into silence. "If you'll give me a hint, I'll try to help you. Blackmail is illegal. If you've been forced to do something out of fear, then it's not really your responsibility. You're a victim."
"I am?" Her lips formed a tight circle and began to pucker in and out as she thought. Both cheeks and several of her chins inflated until I was worried about an explosion. "You're saying I'm a victim, right? I don't have to pay any mind to their threats? You can put them in jail?"
"Who're we talking about?"
"I can't say just now," she said, relieved enough to take a handful of cookies.
"Does this have anything to do with the problems at the SuperSaver?" I persisted. "If it does, you've got to tell me, Dahlia. You heard about Lillith Smew, didn't you? What may have started as a prank has taken a serious turn, and whoever's behind it has to be stopped."
All this sincerity wafted right over her head. She shook her head (chins and all) and said, "I can't say no more."
I lacked the physical superiority to shake it out of her, and I'd lived in Maggody long enough to learn the futility of arguing with certain people. There are some horses you can't even lead to water. "Let's go on to Monday evening," I said. "You went by the store to talk to Kevin. Did you see anyone else?"
"I saw Buzz Milvin. He came to the back of the store and was right unfriendly. He told me to leave, so I did." She was trying to sound haughty, but it didn't ring quite true. Watching her closely, I said, "Right away?"
Dahlia picked up the box of cookies, squeezed it so hard that I could hear crumbling inside it, then put it down and let out another sigh. "I may have detoured to the break room for a few minutes. Kevin and I had things to discuss."