Unlike Judith, I had eyebrows to raise. "The Daughters of the Moon never talked to each other? Here you all are, stuck in the middle of nowhere, scrubbing clothes in the creek and making soap, all in total silence? Nobody had a life before she submitted to bad hair? Nobody had a bozo of a boyfriend or a husband who limited his conversation to grunts and drank himself into a stupor on the sofa every night? Nobody wanted to sit out here on the picnic table at night and talk about whatever sent her here? Were you all brainwashed? This is beyond preposterous, Judith-or whatever your name is!"
"We abide by the rules," said a voice from the path.
I turned around. "You're Naomi?"
I would have offered a description, except she looked like the others. Pale skin, shaved head, dark lipstick, draped in a white robe that hid any physical idiosyncrasies. At best, she qualified as "ditto."
"And you are?" she countered.
"Take a guess," I said, still simmering with frustration. "You are aware that Ruth was found murdered yesterday, aren't you? I realize communication skills aren't what they might be around here, but surely this was mentioned to you."
"So you're the cop," she said as she sat down next to Judith. "There's nothing I can tell you about Ruth."
Surprise, surprise. "All right, then," I said, "tell me about yourself."
"My name is Naomi. I tend to the children and help Judith with meal preparation. When it becomes feasible, I'll have a job in Dunkicker."
"What would make it feasible?"
"We're short-handed at the moment," said Judith. "Two of us are needed here to handle domestic concerns. We rely on Rachael to earn enough to purchase staples, and on Sarah to bring back leftovers when she can. Preacher Skinbalder often slips her a few dollars from the collection plate, which helps."
"And how does Deborah make her contribution? Does she prowl homeless shelters and bus stations, looking for recruits?"
Judith's eyes shifted away. "In a manner of speaking."
I gave her a moment to elaborate, then said, "We found your cars behind the body shop, by the way. We're running the plates right now, and should hear back by late this afternoon. Two from Arkansas, one from Oklahoma, and one from… Missouri. Either of you ready to volunteer a hometown?"
"We have no hometowns," Judith insisted, but without her earlier conviction.
"Well, I'm sure Mrs. Coldwater can persuade the children to cooperate. She can be very grandmotherly when it suits her. I don't enjoy allowing children to be manipulated, but I'll do so unless you work with me. What's more, local police will be knocking on doors this evening, and questioning neighbors if necessary. If you don't want your families to know where you are, you'd better start explaining."
"None of us committed any crimes," Naomi said sulkily. "This isn't one of those cults where the children are starved or beaten. There's no fat white guy making all the women have sex with him. The only weapons around here are homemade bows and arrows. You have no right to interfere with us."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry to say that I have. One of your members was murdered not more than half a mile from here. Someone committed a crime, and a serious one at that."
Naomi looked at Judith. "Do we have to tell her where we're from?"
"Eventually, although the information may not be as clear-cut as she hopes. I, for one, did not drive a car to Dunkicker, and neither did Rachael."
"Then how did you get here?" I asked her.
"Deborah arranged transportation."
"From where?"
Judith gave me a pitying smile. "Why are you bothering to ask?"
I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand. "And what about you, Naomi? Is your memory any better now that you know we'll have your name and address in an hour?"
"Not just yet," she said, visibly disturbed. "Maybe I ought to go back to be with the children. The little ones aren't comfortable with strangers. They've been around Anthony every now and then, but this Mrs. Coldwater is likely to have them all poopin' in their pants."
"So, are you the Beamer from Springfield, or the one with the fondness for bingo?"
She made it to her feet, took a step, and collapsed. It might have held more dramatic effect had she not gone facedown in a muddy bed of asparagus.
14
Judith, Bonita, and I stared, mesmerized by this unanticipated belly flop. If we'd been required to hold up scorecards, I would have given Naomi at least a six for style. Maybe a six-point-four.
Bonita came to the end of the picnic table. "Is she all right?"
"Shouldn't we do something?" said Judith. "It looks uncomfortable."
"Feel free," I said. "She's your loony sister, after all. Maybe Rachael or Sarah can toss the robe in the machine at the laundromat tomorrow. So she's from Springfield?"
"I don't know."
"Get off it," I said, going over to the supine figure to make sure she wasn't snuffling mud. "One of the cars behind the body shop must belong to Naomi, and another to Sarah. That leaves one for Ruth, and one for whom-Ester?"
"Ester left by bus," Judith said. "I presume she arrived that way, too. Deputy Robarts brought her out here, and when she said she wanted to leave, he came and picked up her suitcase while she waited at the PD. She told him she'd break down if she had to say goodbye to her children."
"That leaves Deborah, unless there are other Beamers you haven't mentioned." I nudged Naomi with my foot. "She's starting to come to her senses. One of you needs to help me haul her up-and stop gawking like she fell into a pile of hog manure."
Judith began to pick at a blister on her thumb. "We use organic fertilizer. Anthony buys it for us from a chicken producer in Azure. We have more than a dozen mouths to feed, you know, and the soil here is thin. We need to put up a lot of vegetables to get through the winter months."
"Chicken shit," said Bonita, her nostrils flaring. "You're saying she plopped in chicken shit. She's your suspect, Chief Hanks."
I doubted that I could pull rank on her with any success. "Supreme Court justices wade through shit every day. Consider this practice."
Judith stared at me. "Supreme Court justices? Do you think I'm Sandra Day O'Connor in disguise?"
"I wish I knew just who you were," I said irritably.
"Naomi's a fellow Beamer."
"She'll get up when she's ready," Judith said, crossing her arms. "Is Mrs. Coldwater intending to take away the children?"
"Ruth's children can't stay here, and neither can Ester's. They'll have to go to a shelter until legal guardians can be located."
"This is all they have right now. They've had upheavals in their lives, and a strange environment will only traumatize them all the more. Can't you let them stay here for an other day or two so I can talk to them?"
"If I could trust you," I said, "I could delay the paperwork. As things stand, we don't even know their names. We may have to take all the children until we can sort them out."
"All of them?"
"I warned you this might happen," I said without sympathy. "You, Naomi, Sarah, and Rachael may wallow in the chicken shit to your hearts' content. The children will be returned to civilization, where they will thrive on sitcoms and hot dogs until the DFS sorts through all this."
"You have no right to take away my children," protested Naomi as she sat up. She flicked a brownish clump off her nose and glared at me.
"I have every right to take them into protective custody," I said, unsure if I did but damn sure Mrs. Coldwater didn't. "You are potential suspects in a murder investigation. You've refused to provide me with your names and background information. I don't know what's going on here, but it smells like-like chicken shit!"