"What was that about?" he asked.
"That was Millicent. She said she'd just heard an amazing story from Darla Jean, and I must say it takes the cake. Darla Jean and another girl were driving into Farberville to shop for school clothes, and they had the misfortune to have a flat tire right by the airport. They were struggling with the spare when they saw someone they knew across the road at that derelict apartment building. Do you know which one I mean?"
He certainly did, but he prudently hesitated for a moment and scratched his head. "Yeah, the one that should have been torn down a decade ago."
Mrs. Jim Bob went on to relate the rescue of Ruby Bee and the ensuing scene with a blond woman on the balcony. "Darla Jean and her little friend couldn't hear anything, of course, and they were about to walk across the street when a truckload of Maggody boys drove up and fixed the flat for them. The girls went on to the mall. I can't begin to imagine what in tarnation Ruby Bee Hanks was doing in a dumpster. And Darla Jean swears Estelle Oppers came out of an upstairs apartment-and she wasn't alone. I find this most peculiar."
"Which apartment?" Jim Bob said, doing his level best not to break out in a telltale sweat, despite the fact his bowels had iced over like a sump hole in January.
"I couldn't say, but the point is that she was in a half-naked man's apartment and Ruby Bee was in a dumpster. I would like very much to find out what those two were up to, but my first duty is to report this to Brother Verber. I'm sure he will share my outrage at this immoral behavior."
Brother Verber had the decency to answer the telephone, and she plunged in briskly.
"This is Sister Barbara. Now you'd best sit down and take notes concerning what I'm about to tell you. It has all the makin's of a splendid sermon."
"Why, certainly, Sister Barbara. I'm sure what you have to tell me is very important, very important indeed. Let me get a pencil and a piece of paper."
She could hear his heavy footsteps and a good deal of huffing and puffing as he fetched his supplies, but he sounded fine when he came back on the line to assure her of his readiness.
"Are you familiar with the Airport Arms Apartments?" she began.
"I don't reckon I am, but I devote all my time to saving souls in our little community. I can't remember when I last had call to leave my trailer parked right here in the righteous shade of the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall."
"I know where your trailer is parked, Brother Verber. The apartment house is that disreputable place across from the airport in Farberville." She waited for him to say something, but all she heard was his breathing, which suddenly sounded right raspy. He didn't say anything, though, so she went on. "What I have to tell you concerns the dumpster."
His breathing took a turn for the worse, wanting to get to the gist of her story, Mrs. Jim Bob was beginning to lose her saintly patience. "Are you having a seizure? You haven't even heard the half of it yet."
"I haven't?" he croaked.
"Millicent McIlhaney said her daughter Darla Jean saw one of our citizens in the dumpster and another come out of an upstairs apartment with a half-naked man with a beer can in his hand."
She was quite pleased that he grasped the implications so readily. She could tell from the gurgly noises he made that he was as outraged as she, if not more so. It was most satisfying.
Martin was waiting in the hospital lobby. The pallor of his face was accented by dark smudges beneath his eyes, but he managed a smile for me. He didn't look like an energetic shortstop; then again, it didn't much matter, because we didn't have the proverbial bat's chance.
I stopped at the information desk and learned that Buzz had been moved to a semiprivate room and was now upgraded to good condition. I asked Martin if he wanted to visit his father. He blinked at me for a moment, then said, "Yeah, Miss Arly. That'd be great."
Buzz was sleeping as we entered the room. The tubes were gone except for an IV in his arm, and his color was better than Martin's. He opened his eyes and said, "Martin, good to see you. I've been real worried about you and Lissie, and it's comforting to know Arly's watching out for the both of you. How are you feelin', son?"
"Okay," Martin said quietly. "You don't have to worry about us."
Buzz glanced at me. "You found out anything about who poisoned us?"
"The preliminary lab report is less than detailed, but they've speculated that it was an industrial pesticide. It may take weeks to get more specific information. In the meantime, I'm trying to pick out snippets of truth from all the rumors and gossip."
"So folks are talking?" He let out a low laugh that became a cough. I poured him a glass of water and hovered beside the bed until he regained control. "Sorry, those damn tubes liked to leave scratch marks all the way to my stomach. What's everybody saying?"
"Ninety-nine percent of it is pure malarky," I said, shaking my head. "The hottest theory is that Lamont Petrel tampered with the packages, then eluded a county-wide dragnet, has been raping women nonstop for the last week, and is numero uno on the FBI's most wanted list."
"He struck me as a nice enough guy. I guess you never can tell, can you?"
"We'll let you rest," I murmured, not in the mood to explain the fine line between hysterically explosive rumors and tedious truth.
Martin and I drove back to Maggody. Hammet was watching television, but as we came into the living room, he switched it off and gave me a worried look. "Is it true what I heard about Miss Ruby Bee being squashed flatter than road kill-and in a big ol' square garbage can?"
"Not exactly," I said. I showed Martin where I'd put his clothes, then sat down across from Hammet and said, "Where'd you hear this latest tidbit?"
"From Saralee, who heard her aunt talking to some lady who was drinking coffee. Lissie said she supposed there was bank robbers' money in the garbage. I dunno, though. I can't figure out why the hell they'd hide money in the garbage."
"Neither can I," I said, amused in spite of myself. Hammet's link to the grapevine was as slippery as anyone's in town. I shuddered to think what the younger side of the population was making of the snatches of conversation they were picking up. Bank robbers and road kill, obviously.
I told the boys to rest up for the big game, then walked across the street to the PD and allowed myself a walking tour of Brussels and a glass of lager at a sidewalk café in the main square. It calmed me down to the point of idle musing, and after a few minutes, I got out my notebook and reread the notes from all the interviews. It became increasingly interesting, this collection of half-truths, gossip, and out-and-out lies, and shortly thereafter some things began to fall into place. Not everything, mind you, because some witnesses (i.e., Ruby Bee) were about as recalcitrant as diving mules.
Cherri Lucinda Crake had admitted to Plover that Lamont Petrel had been at her apartment since the afternoon of the grand opening. She'd continued to deny that Jim Bob visited her Monday night, but once I decided that was a lie, all sorts of things began to make sense, including Kevin's avowal that Jim Bob had returned to the supermarket and Ruby Bee's screwy story about a serial killer in the motel parking lot. Petrel's motive for disappearing was obvious, and his current whereabouts unknown but within bounds of speculation. I was fairly sure I'd be hearing about it soon, thanks to Hizzoner, but for the moment there wasn't much I could do.