"But Crank Nickle found you first."
"Reckon so. Any chance I can call Leroy from here? I'll leave fifty bucks to pay the fine. I mean, all I did was get drunk. That ain't much of a crime these days."
"No, I guess it's not," I said, "but you'll have to remain in custody for the time being."
"On account of being drunk?"
"It's a little bit more complicated than that." I gave him what remained of the candy bar and locked him in the cell. He didn't much like it, naturally, but I assured him that the aliens were on their way back to Alpha Centauri and I'd find him something more substantial to eat.
One of the Beamers had unlocked the cell door, for some reason. Willetta Robarts would have to wait until I could try to talk to them.
Or so I thought.
12
"Please, my dear, tell me what's going on," said Willetta Robarts as she came into the PD. She was dressed in a gray silk dress and the sort of hat more often seen at Ascot than at rural Baptist outposts. "I was chatting with Sister Silvester when I saw you drive behind the church. Everyone here in Dunkicker is aware of the crime, but no one knows what to think. Sister Silvester was literally dribbling with distress, but she hasn't quite been the same since her boy joined up with those heathens in Greasy Valley. You must tell me if you've made any progress."
"Not much," I said. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"I have a better idea. Why don't you come to my house for a nice Sunday dinner? Colleen is making fried chicken, mashed potatoes, creamed peas with onions, biscuits, and rhubarb pie for dessert. You do like rhubarb pie, don't you?"
I would never, ever, not for a second or even a nanosecond, have considered this if I hadn't needed to ask her some questions about her dealings with Deborah and the Daughters of the Moon. "I shouldn't," I said reluctantly, as if debating the wisdom of going to the prom with the captain of the football team-which is not to imply I'd gone to the prom, having instead spent the evening on the bank of Boone Creek with Masie Cockran, drinking cheap wine and plotting our escape from Maggody. According to Ruby Bee, who keeps a stranglehold on the grapevine, Masie's currently a weathergirl in Fort Worth and hasn't set foot in Maggody since the day after our high-school graduation.
"There's a prisoner in the back room, and I need to feed him," I added.
"Then I'll have Colleen bring him his dinner. Come along, we don't want the biscuits to get cold."
My salivary glands kicked in like automatic sprinklers. I drove behind her to a three-story house of Victorian vintage set in the middle of a neglected pasture. Apparently the budget had gone for the structure and furnishings, with nothing left over for such petty concerns as landscaping. No one over the ensuing decades had seen fit to mitigate the starkness with so much as a shrub or clump of begonias. There were no other houses, or even mailboxes, along the road. The trees at the far side of the pasture seemed to be keeping their distance.
"Colleen is such a jewel," Mrs. Robarts said as she took me into a foyer paneled with mahogany parquet. She took off her hat and put it on a table with spindly legs. "I don't know how Anthony and I could get along without her."
I was more concerned with her culinary expertise. "What a lovely house," I said, my nose twitching like an intruder in Mr. McGregor's garden. I'd never read a Sherlock Holmes story in which he'd missed a meal, and Nero Wolfe had dined without fail on snail, quail, and other gourmet extravagances. Even Miss Marple had been served tea and scones on a regular basis. I had not had a decent meal since the fire at Ruby Bee's Bar & Grill, after which I'd been forced to survive on burritos from the Dairee Dee-Lishus and peanut butter sandwiches. And canned soup, of course; it's one of my basic food groups.
"This was my grandfather's study," Mrs. Robarts said, opening a door so that I could, had I been in the mood, have gaped in admiration at musty drapes, a globe that included India as part of the British Empire, and splintery spines of leatherbound books that had not been opened in fifty years. She gave me a moment, then went on. "My grandmother had a small library on the third floor where she dedicated her time to genealogy. As I may have told you, the family-"
"And this is the dining room?" I said as I moved down the hall.
"Why, yes, please go seat yourself. I need to freshen up, then I'll let Colleen know that we're here. Anthony and I often have guests for Sunday dinner, but I gather he's occupied elsewhere for the moment. Would you prefer your iced tea sweetened?"
"Unsweetened, if it's not a bother." I sat down at one end of a massive walnut table that could have easily accommodated sixteen, a few of whom might have been dukes and duchesses (of Hazard, anyway). The arrangement of dusty silk flowers in the middle of the table and a chandelier dripping with cobwebs suggested that Colleen's duties were limited to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Robarts returned and sat down at the opposite end of the table. "Colleen will be serving shortly."
"This is very kind of you."
"I was concerned about your health when I first laid eyes on you. So many young women these days sacrifice their health in order to emulate models in fashion magazines. When Anthony marries, I want him to choose a solid, well-nourished wife who can bear children. Someone with the spirit of the pioneer women who settled the West, yet with the grace to move into proper society and uphold her position."
I tried desperately to keep my eyes from reflecting anything ranging from panic to petrification. "I hope you're not thinking that…"
"I've always felt he might do better with an older woman. The dear boy does his best, but he needs a firm hand to guide him. Last fall he fell prey to the advances of a teenaged trollop from a trailer park in Bugscuffle. I still cringe when I think of the diseases she might have exposed him to."
She might have been preparing to list them when a sullen young woman brought in a platter of fried chicken. Moments later, bowls of mashed potatoes, creamed peas, and gravy were banged on the table.
"Colleen," Mrs. Robarts warbled, "the proper way to serve is to offer each dish to our guest, and then to me. I thought I made this clear after Preacher Skinbalder graced us with his presence last Sunday after church."
Colleen looked like someone who wore a lot of makeup when she wasn't working. A whole lot of makeup, and not much else. I did not want to imagine what private body parts she'd had pierced. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but might well have exploded like a frizzy fright wig without the restraint of a rubber band.
"Soon as I get the biscuits," she muttered.
Mrs. Robarts smiled at me. "I'm still training her. It's so hard to get good help these days. My grandmother used to oversee a full staff, most of whom were indebted for her instruction. Many of them went on to find suitable employment in private homes and hotels in Little Rock and Hot Springs. The Robarts family was well-known for sending along the right sort."
I would have made rude remarks had the chicken not been so irresistible. I loaded up my plate, gratefully accepted a hot biscuit when Colleen returned from the kitchen, slathered it with butter and honey, and chowed down.
"You must be concerned about Anthony," she said.
I froze, a forkful of peas halfway to my mouth. "Why should I be concerned about Anthony?"
"Didn't you send him to the Daughters of the Moon campsite, knowing there might be a vicious killer out there?"