"Calm down," I said, retreating to the edge of the porch and hastily assessing my chances if I stepped back into the azaleas. "I just want to know what happened Monday night, that's all."
"That's all?"
I nodded. "That's all, Kevin-unless you're in the mood to confess to serial murders or unsafe sex."
Apparently I'd said something else wrong. A gurgling noise came from his throat, as if it had been slashed. "You're one of them," he gasped, pointing a trembling finger at me. "I didn't think you was like them, but now I know. All you folks do is gossip and tell tales and turn innocent stories into big fat lies!" He covered his face with his hands and moaned, his shoulders jerking and his feet pounding on the porch in an unsteady cadence.
Eilene came to the screened door. "Morning, Arly. What on earth's the matter with Kevin?"
"I don't know," I murmured to her. "I made a small joke, not very funny, and he suddenly…went to pieces and…I don't know what to tell you, Eilene. I didn't mean to upset him."
She came out onto the porch and rapped him on the head. "Stop this nonsense at once, young man. Do you want someone walking by to hear you carrying on like this? After what happened last week, I'd like to think you'd be a little more worried about making a spectacle of yourself."
Kevin moaned loudly. Anyone walking by would be more likely to wonder if the family had adopted a terminally ill coyote.
"Did something happen last week?" I asked. I couldn't see how it related to my investigation, but the intensity of Kevin's reaction was curious.
Eilene gave me a bright smile, but she sounded embarrassed as she said, "Just a little problem between Kevin and his fiancée. Kevin's pa had a word with him in the woodshed afterward, and I don't believe there'll be any more of that."
"Good," I said vaguely. I told Eilene to tell Kevin I'd come by later when he was more in the mood to discuss Monday night, then went to my car and pulled out into Finger Lane.
And saw the brick pillars on either side of Hizzoner's driveway, a J and a B, both beckoning to me. If I couldn't get anything out of Kevin-except a primitive display of histrionics-then it might be a good time to have a run at Hizzoner…in his own home and, with any luck, his own wife at his side.
The investigation hadn't progressed, but I discovered I was in a much better mood as I drove up the winding road to the pretentious redbrick house on top of the hill.
I rang the doorbell several times. I was about to leave when Hizzoner opened the door, said, "Wait, I'm on the telephone long distance," and slammed the door.
I walked up and down the porch until he returned five minutes later. "I've got some questions," I said, wondering if he remembered our conversation the previous night at the bar and grill.
"So do I," he said. "I wish to hell you'd tell me where Lamont Petrel is. If I don't get forty grand to the wholesaler by tomorrow, he'll slap a lien on the store and we won't be able to close the loan. Then the folks with the construction loan'll get antsy, and gawd only knows what they'll do. I can come up with my share, but I sure as hell can't cover the whole ball of wax. I'm having to make payroll out of my pocket as it is, because the SuperSaver gets closed down every time I turn around to piss downwind."
He was upset, but not especially at me, which was a refreshing change. I almost felt a twinge of guilt as I said, "My questions have to do with your purported visit to Cherri Lucinda Crate Monday night at eleven."
He grabbed my arm and pulled me off the porch and away from the house. "What's purported about it?" he said in a low voice, keeping an eye on the front door.
"I questioned her last night, and she said she was alone Monday night, doing her nails and watching a movie. She said she hadn't seen you in a long time, and even asked how you were doing."
"That little bitch! She knows damn well I was there. Are you sure you questioned the right person?"
"Airport Arms Apartments, top floor on the end," I said, shrugging. "She said she was Crate, but I didn't demand to see her driver's license."
"Blond hair and two-inch fingernails?"
"She had a towel on her head, so I didn't see her hair. I did see the fingernails, though. They were rather striking."
"That's her." Jim Bob began to pace between the shrubs, his brow wrinkled and his mouth twisted to one side. "And she said she hadn't seen me anytime lately, did she? I've got a hundred witnesses who could say different. Jesus H. Christ, I dunno what the hell's going on. Maybe I'm going crazy, what with the bank breathing down my neck like a slobbery dog, and the wholesaler whining, and Petrel off somewhere working on his tan or screwing some waitress while I get all the shit."
"You have no idea where he is?"
"If I knew where he was, I wouldn't be neck-deep in shit! I'd be dragging him back so we get this straightened out." He banged his fist against his palm, no doubt wishing Petrel's face was available.
"The state police will find him eventually," I said. "But I have to know what happened Monday night. Why did you send Buzz to make the deposit?"
"What the fuck difference does it…" He stopped pacing and looked down at the lawn for a moment, his eyes narrowed with thought. "Petrel's car still parked at the Flamingo Motel?"
"As far as I know." I waited for him to continue, but he gave me a studiously flat look and I couldn't for the life of me guess what he was up to. "Does that tell you something?" I said at last.
"Yeah. He didn't drive it away. Listen, I got better things to do than stand here answering a bunch of dumb questions. I sent Milvin to Starley City 'cause it was too damn much trouble to go myself. I don't know why Cherri Lucinda said I wasn't there, but it's not a big deal one way or the other. I didn't stick pins in the cupcakes. Run along and do something useful, Chief. Peel dead animals off the highway or bust one of the kids for smoking pot. Better yet, see if you can teach that runty team of yours how to play baseball. The game's still on, ain't it?"
He strutted across the porch and went into the house. I'd had such impressive success with my three witnesses that I knew absolutely nothing I hadn't known before, except that Dahlia and Kevin had had a spat, Jim Bob was in financial trouble if Petrel stayed gone, and the game was still scheduled for Thursday afternoon.
Heather Riley gaped at Darla Jean, her jaw going up and down as if she was chewing taffy. "Say that again," she said in a stunned voice.
"Now I'm only trying to talk to you for your own good, Heather, 'cause it's not healthy to keep stuff like that bottled up inside you. It'll give you ulcers, and your grades will go down and you'll get kicked off the pom-pom squad."
"Just repeat what you said," Heather commanded.
"I heard Elsie McMay tell my ma about what that horrible man did to you," Darla Jean said, worried that she ought not to have brought up the subject if Heather didn't want to talk about it, after all. But she had, so she plunged ahead and explained to Heather about hearing that she'd been raped by Lamont Petrel and run down by a truck and been so traumatized that she hadn't told anybody.
Heather hugged herself as she listened to the story, and when Darla Jean ran down, she merely said, "So I'm traumatized, huh?"
"It's most likely caused amnesia. That's my opinion, 'cause I saw a show on television where the exact same thing happened. Staci said she thought maybe you just wanted to spare Beau Swiggins from having to beat the guy up, but Rene and Debbi and Melanie all agreed that was stupid, because Beau's bound to find out sooner or later."