"You think?" said Kevin.
Dahlia squinted at him with a real unfriendly expression. "You got a problem with that?"
"Whatever you want, my lotus blossom." He put the frozen yogurt into the freezer and came back to the living room. "There is something I ought should tell you, though. When I stopped at the supermarket to buy the yogurt, I happened to mention to Idalupino about the ad you saw for child models."
"You went talking to Idalupino about our private business?"
Kevin braced himself. "She said her cousin Charo saw the very same ad and called the number. Turns out it was a motel room down by the airport. Charo made an appointment and showed up real promptly, thinking she'd come away with a modeling contract. What happened was she found herself obliged to write a check for more than four hundred dollars just so this feller would take a bunch of pictures of her baby for what he said was a portfolio. When she gets the photographs in the mail, she's supposed to submit them herself to advertising agencies in California and New York."
"Identical twins are different," said Dahlia.
Kevin had to work on this one for a minute. He had a gut feeling that no matter what he said, it wouldn't sit well.
He was saved when Dahlia continued. "Babies are cute enough, most of them, anyway, but identical twins are special."
"Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie are real special," he said diplomatically, "but that don't mean this feller in a motel room can guarantee they'll be making a million dollars this time next year. We've only got six hundred dollars in our account, and we need to be saving up for the blessed arrival of"-he gulped-"little Eckzemma. We're gonna need another crib and more diapers. The washing machine's likely to explode any day now."
Dahlia didn't have the heart to tell him that they didn't have six hundred dollars in the account, but more like twenty dollars and seventy-three cents-and that the washing machine had spewed water on the floor before it had burped one final time and died.
"I ain't much of an actress," said Ruby Bee as she, Bonita, and I got out of the station wagon at the Beamers' campsite. "I was the tooth decay fairy in a play in third grade, but all I had to do was leer at the audience. I disremember having any lines. If I did, I most likely flubbed 'em."
I squeezed her hand. "Do you recollect when that snippety woman from the health department tried to issue you a citation for the mouse droppings in the pantry? You squared your shoulders and told her that you weren't taking any guff from her. That's all I want you to do. You don't have to initiate any exchanges, but just make it clear that you're the authority figure. Remind yourself of that morning when you caught me crawling in the window and damn near blistered my skin with your stare. I'll do the rest."
"You think they'll fall for this?" asked Bonita.
"As long as you back me up, they will," I said with such confidence I almost fooled myself. "Ruby Bee, you are now Mrs. Coldwater from the Department of Family Services. You are empowered by the state to remove these children and place them in shelters until foster care can be arranged."
"I don't know anything about foster care," she protested, getting antsier than an understudy peering from behind the curtain on a Broadway stage.
"Keep repeating this to yourself," I said. "'I am empowered by the state to remove these children and place them in shelters until foster care can be arranged.' That's all you have to say."
"But what if they agree? You intending to load the children in the back of the station wagon and take them back to the lodge?"
I shook my head resolutely. "They won't agree."
"Five bucks says they do," murmured Bonita.
"Then what a high time you'll have tonight at the Woantell Motel," I said. "Wait till Harve runs that bill by the quorum court. You may find yourself wearing his badge before you expected."
Judith appeared from inside the cabin, her face furrowed with displeasure. Ruby Bee's less-than-subtle gasp reminded me that she had yet to encounter a Beamer. "Stay calm," I warned her as we halted by the clothesline.
"You're back," said Judith.
"Got that right. Where's Deputy Robarts?"
"At the schoolhouse with Naomi and the children. Every Sunday they spend the afternoon studying the Bible and memorizing verses. At supper, we give an award for the best achievement."
I elbowed Ruby Bee, who squawked, "I'm from the Department of Family Services."
"Oh, really?" drawled Judith. "You look as though you got lost on your way home from the bowling alley."
As I'd hoped, Ruby Bee turned ornery. Jabbing her finger at Judith, she said, "Now you listen here, you tacky tabloid centerfold, I don't have to put up with any lip from the likes of you! If you don't cooperate, we'll have the children in shelters in Little Rock afore you can pluck another hair from your eyebrows. I want to see them right this minute. Where are they?"
"I'll take you," Bonita said.
"Send Naomi back here," I said, wondering how Judith would respond. "Then you and Mrs. Coldwater need to get names and home addresses."
"They will not cooperate," Judith said, sounding a bit uneasy. "You have to understand that this does not mean they're neglected or abused. We see to their physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. The only things they've been deprived of are violent video games and R-rated movies. Their lives are structured. Any punishment that is meted out is done only after a community meeting, and then with reluctance and restraint."
I sent Ruby Bee and Bonita down the path. "But they're allowed to run free in the campgrounds? Yesterday one of my girls chased a four-year-old all over the woods, losing him when the storm came in."
"Damon is seven, but small for his age," she said. "He told me about it later. All of them are curious when we're invaded by outsiders."
"Was Ruth curious, too? Is that why she went down by the softball field?"
Judith sat down on the bench of the picnic table. "She went to look for Damon, or so she told me."
"You wouldn't go looking for your child?"
"I adopted my sister's girls after she died. They're eleven and thirteen."
I looked around. "And they're content to live among the squirrels and rabbits and memorize Bible verses on Sunday? No mall time, no MTV? They don't sound like typical teenagers."
"It's been hard on them," she admitted, "but they agreed to come here."
"At what age do you shave their heads?" I asked bluntly.
"It won't come to that."
"Then you won't be staying, either? The woman named Leah is history. Ester left a week ago. Ruth called her mother a few days ago and said she would be leaving shortly."
"That's absurd. We have no access to telephones, and even if we did, we all swore not to make any calls to friends or family members. Calls can be traced to their origin. Ruth made no calls to anyone."
I wandered over to the garden. "Did Ruth say why she came here in the first place?"
"Our conversations were limited to the schedule and assignment of duties."
I was sadly lacking in women friends in Maggody these days, but I remembered what it had been like in Manhattan when I'd gone to lunch and swilled white wine all afternoon at whichever café was trendiest at the moment. Ruby Bee and Estelle talked incessantly over sherry, often long past closing; Elsie and Eula may have claimed all they ever drank was tea, but we knew better. Millicent poured out her heart whenever she had a permanent, and Dahlia came by the PD every now and then to tell me about Kevin's latest boneheaded remark. Even Mrs. Jim Bob's confidential sessions with Brother Verber qualified in their own perverse way.