"Stop this!" I said between claps of thunder. "This is a typical spring storm, not an assault from a SWAT team. We're perfectly safe here. Once the storm passes, we'll replace the bulbs and have supper. The range is gas, so we may end up eating by candlelight, but we will eat. Now let's get some wood and start a fire." I did not add that the dead fish incident would be discussed at a later date, but I figured I had a likely candidate to till my garden patch and keep it weeded for the season.
One of the Dahlton twins pointed at Brother Verber. "But he said-"
"He was testing you," I countered obscurely. "Everybody needs to get an armload of wood. Scoot!"
The kids didn't exactly scoot, but they trooped through the dining room to the back porch. Eight of them, anyway; Darla Jean and Heather were noticeably absent. Hoping Mrs. Jim Bob wasn't counting noses, I said to her, "I think I saw extra light bulbs in the pantry."
"I'm sure Mrs. Robarts has seen that we are well-supplied with necessities. She was quite wounded when you walked out so abruptly."
"Is there any other way to walk out? I suppose I might have hopped and skipped to the door, but somehow-"
"One of these days, young lady, you're going to be sorry for that sassy mouth of yours."
Thunder drowned out her ensuing remarks, none of which were apt to be novel. I watched her jaw waggle for a moment, then went to the kitchen and assured Ruby Bee and Estelle that all the bulbs would be replaced in a few minutes. They seemed to have resolved their differences for the moment, and had retrieved the sherry bottle from under the sink.
I started a kettle of water, took out a dozen mugs, and found teabags and a sugar bowl in a cabinet. Dishes clinked as thunder once again resounded.
"I hope you ain't thinking I can cook in the dark," Ruby Bee said as I counted out spoons from a drawer. "Estelle and me might just go back to Maggody. Maybe I'm a magnet for bad luck."
Estelle snorted. "And who appointed you the center of the universe? We get storms like this every spring, and they happen whether or not Rubella Belinda Hanks is in the vicinity. You got no call to say it's your doing. Mrs. Jim Bob would say it's blasphemous. I might agree."
"I never said such a thing, and I resent you saying I did."
I felt like the captain on the bridge of an ocean liner, spotting an iceberg and incapable of halting headway. "Nobody said anything, okay? The storm will pass. Stay here if you like, or come sit by the fire and have a cup of tea. Mrs. Jim Bob may try to get the kids to belt out a few hymns, but I don't think she'll have much luck. Call me when the kettle begins to whistle."
When I returned to the living room, Larry Joe had coaxed a tentative fire in the fireplace. The kids had moved the metal chairs and were sprawled on the floor, grousing but in a more amiable fashion. Rain continued to pound down, but the outbursts of lightning and thunder were beginning to lessen, and the seconds between them indicated the storm was moving on to expend its remaining savagery on Dunkicker and towns eastward.
All I needed to complete the cozy picture were Darla Jean and Heather. Surely they were at the cabin, experimenting with eye shadow and discussing Billy Dick in descriptions that dripped with venom. Surely.
Ruby Bee appeared in the doorway with a tray. "How about some nice hot tea?" she said as if she'd planned it herself. "I just happen to have brought some oatmeal-raisin cookies along. Anybody interested?"
As the kids crowded around her, I kept an eye on Mrs. Jim Bob. She was eyeballing Brother Verber, who had pulled off his shoes and was baking his socks in front of the fire. So far, so good. I considered whether or not I could slide out the back door and go to the cabin without my absence being noticed. Probably not, I decided glumly. Mrs. Jim Bob's nose was already twitching with suspicion.
"How about a round of charades?" I said brightly.
"Give me a break," Jarvis muttered. "We gonna play spin-the-bottle next?"
"This will be fun," I continued. "Let's divide into teams and come up with clues. Larry Joe will take one team, and Ruby Bee the other."
"Charades?" said the Dahlton twins, sounding as though I'd suggested injecting ourselves with flesh-eating viruses to determine who survived to the bitter end.
"You'll love it. You can make up clues for the other team, and then we'll see who ends up with the best time."
"And then?" said Parwell. "Do the winners get to go home?"
Mrs. Jim Bob bristled. "I do not appreciate your attitude, Parwell, nor does the Almighty Lord. You knew exactly why you were coming here, and you should be grateful that Ruby Bee has arrived to provide meals that will be tasty, if not wholesome. Don't toy with your chances of salvation; one more smart remark and you might find yourself in the fiery furnaces next to Arly."
A timely clap of thunder drowned out Ruby Bee's remark, which might have been tart, to put it mildly. The girls squealed; the boys flinched. Brother Verber dropped to his knees and began to plead to be spared from being roasted, toasted, fried, or fricasseed.
I was about to duck out the back way when a heavy hand pounded on the door. Squealing and flinching were instantaneously replaced with gulping. For the record, adolescent gulping is less attractive, and, in fact, downright distasteful. After a moment, I said, "I'll get it."
No one argued.
So, yeah, we're talking frightened teenagers, isolated campground, thunderstorm, pouring rain, electricity disabled, no doubt telephone lines down and the road washed out. Had I seen this on late-night television, along with its seventeen sequels? Machete or chainsaw?
I looked at Mrs. Jim Bob, who, for the first time since I'd returned and assumed my job as chief of police, showed no inclination to overrule me. She, along with my very own mother, Brother Verber, Estelle, Larry Joe, and the kids, could have been participants in a garden store's display of statuary. Gnomes, elves, dwarfs, and toads; all were petrified as if the concrete fairy had waved her magic wand.
Knuckles rapped once again. I might have been a bit uneasy as I went to the door and opened it.
Jacko was carrying Darla Jean in his arms. Her legs were bare, but her upper body was covered with the flannel shirt he'd been wearing earlier. He'd buttoned the vest, but his arms, shoulders, and a significant amount of his chest glistened with rain in the minimal light. "This one's yours, right?" he said as he brushed past me. "Where shall I put her?"
Ruby Bee, who'd allowed me to open the door to a potential serial killer, leaped to her feet. "Just who do you think you are?" she demanded from a prudent distance.
"I think I'm the guy who found her lying in the road. I suppose I could have taken her to my campsite and chopped her up to make stew, but I was in the mood for bouillabaisse. She's cold and in shock. Is there a warm bed somewhere?"
"Upstairs," I said vaguely, having not yet been there.
Ruby Bee cut off Mrs. Jim Bob, who was sputtering. "Yes, indeed. No one's gotten around to explaining why this poor child, dressed in a slip of a bathing suit, should have been out on an evening like this, but I'm sure someone"-she stared at me-"is gonna explain afore too long. In the meantime, let's tuck her in bed and try to give her some hot liquids. Estelle, bring up a cup of tea with a dollop of… something medicinal."
Jacko followed us upstairs, staggering under his burden. Ruby Bee opened a door and stepped back. "Put her in here," she commanded, no doubt envisioning herself in a stiff white uniform and perky cap.