I was approaching a full-scale migraine, but I squeezed my eyes closed and continued my mental meanderings. Rick had been seriously perturbed when Geri demanded the key. In fact, he'd been on the verge of combat when twinkly ol' Mr. Cambria had suggested that he cooperate. And what had provoked this sudden interest in the not especially interesting kitchen? The arrival of four cases of Krazy KoKo-Nut.
No one had admitted a fondness for soybean flakes, tinted or otherwise, and it was more than challenging to come up with a reason why anyone but a full-fledged wacko would kill for them. Yet an awful lot of people were behaving oddly over something Ruby Bee'd sworn was unfit for a sow (okay, a pedigreed sow, but still…). Interspace Investments, Inc. had bought the company and were enthusiastic enough to move up the date of the contest and host it in their own hotel. They'd rounded up replacements when the three original contestants had dropped out…with a broken leg, a severed finger, and a sudden desire to explore the Alaskan coastline for several months.
Gawd, I hated coincidences almost as much as I hated the island on which I was currently prone. I dealt with the latter by standing up, gazing sullenly at my reflection, and heading out the door to find Lieutenant Henbit and impress him with my insightful logic.
This proved to be a veritable piece of cake as the elevator doors slithered open and he and Durmond came out. "Ah, Ms. Hanks," he said, politely ignoring my gasp, "I was on my way to your mother's room to have a word with her. Several words, to be more accurate. Mr. Pilverman has convinced me that her discovery of the body in the kitchen was…well, not fortuitous, but perhaps serendipitous. However, neither of you has an explanation for her untimely presence. Let's hope she does." Durmond looked in need of a dry cleaner's establishment, and not just for his clothes. He was watching me with such gloominess that I had to restrain myself from tweaking his cheek and assuring him everything was just dandy. "I'm going to lie down for a few minutes," he said to both of us, and then to me, "but you're welcome to join me for a drink later."
"I don't know," I murmured, not at all pleased with the emotional turmoil he'd managed to stir up with his morose eyes and smile. "I'll have to see how I feel, but now I'd like to have a word with Lieutenant Henbit." I waited until Durmond went into his room, grabbed Henbit's arm, and dragged him down the hall toward the higher numbered rooms.
"Ms. Hanks," he said as he removed my hand, "I really have more important things to do than to play secret agent with you. I'm aware that you're the chief of police of your little town in Arkansas. I have no doubt you're skilled in the art of running speed traps and tracking down foxes in the chicken coops. This, however, is not Arkansas, and I must insist you-"
"Wait just a goddamn minute, Lieutenant Henbit! I'm getting sick and tired of being dismissed as a two-bit cop from a one-bit town. I'm coming to you with valuable information, possibly what you need to determine who killed Jerome Appleton and why." I held up my palms and moved backward. "But if you're too busy to listen, I'll run along and have myself a high ol' time with a bug zapper and a six-pack of beer. Golly, I may jest go git myself another tattoo." His jaw was out and trembling just a tad, but he took a breath and said, "What information do you have?"
"I think it's likely that the cases of Krazy KoKo-Nut contain contraband of some sort. Based on several oblique references to Florida and the Caribbean, I'd suggest you test the contents for drugs."
He gave me an indulgent smile. "We have. The lab tests aren't completed yet, but the preliminary word is that the four cases contain nothing more than foultasting, rubbery soybean flakes with artificial flavor and artificial color, all packaged in unsullied plastic bags. It ought to be illegal, but it's not."
"Are you sure?"
"I just told you this was preliminary, so in that sense we're not sure. Why don't you go take a nice nap like Mr. Pilverman, or even with him, if that appeals? I need to ask your mother some questions, and then go back to my office to see what kind of progress we're making on the current whereabouts of Mrs. Jerome Appleton." With a nod, he went down the hall toward Ruby Bee's room, leaving me to stand there gawking like a damnfool tourist in the mean streets of the city.
And to think I'd skipped lunch to concoct my brilliant theory that had explained a helluva lot of things-perhaps not every itsy-bitsy bugaboo, but some of them, anyway. I was leaning against the wall, watching Henbit knock on Ruby Bee's door, when I heard voices and footsteps in the stairwell. I eased open the door in time to hear a male voice assessing the chances (not good) the Mets would win the pennant. A second male voice concurred.
They continued down and presumably out into the lobby. I went to the landing and confirmed as much, then twisted my neck and looked up at the seemingly endless stairs leading into the darkness. With all the confidence of someone walking into a subway tunnel, I went to the third floor, where the remodeling supposedly continued.
The door was not locked. I opened it far enough to stick my head out and ascertain the existence of a table saw, a pile of mismatched lumber, a rusted air conditioner surely on its way to its burial, and other debris appropriate to a remodeling job. It was pretty much what I expected, and I was about to duck back into the stairwell (and go find some lunch) when I heard the unexpected from around a corner.
"Then you think lead pipes are the answer?" said Rubella Belinda Hanks of Maggody, Arkansas. "I always thought copper was the way to go."
"Well, the rust factor's what you got to worry over," said a genial man, identity and hometown unknown.
"Ain't rust just a royal pain in the butt!" chirped Estelle Oppers of Maggody, Arkansas.
They were heading in my direction. I let the door click shut, hesitated long enough to scratch my chin and frown, then scurried up to the next landing and waited.
I was gratified when the door below me opened and the two adventuresses began to descend. "All I can say is that it's a good thing he works for that magazine at night!" Ruby Bee said with a sniff. "Imagine not knowing your copper pipes from your lead pipes."
Estelle sounded equally disdainful as she said, "I doubt he knows his spigots from a hole in the ground! I'm glad we don't have to count on him when pipes start bursting in the winter."
"I should say so. Do you remember back in 'eighty-six when we had that hard freeze right before Christmas and-"
"It was 'eighty-seven, the same year my cousin Carmel was electrocuted in the bathtub. His wife said he always played the radio, but she was seen at a bar less than a week later and dressed in jeans so tight-"
The door banged closed on yet another diverting incident in the Chadwick Hotel.
"I told you to make sure you had the maps," Dahlia said, her tone as deflated as her chins. "Right before we got in the car at that horrible motel, I asked point-blank if you had the maps, and you said you did, even though the maps were in the room and your head was up your behind. I was gonna make sure, but then you had to go and drop my suitcase so everyone in the parking lot could see my underwear just a-flutterin' in the breeze. Right then and there I should have told you to take me home so I could call a lawyer and git myself a divorce."
Kevin tried not to whimper from under the chair where he'd gotten himself wedged more 'n an hour ago. Sweat was gathering in his eyes and leaking into his ears something awful, but there wasn't anything he could do on account of being tied up. "I guess I deserve it," he said, trying to be brave like a frontiersman surrounded by hostile Indians and down to his last bullet. "It's all my fault, my darling. I dun everything wrong from the minute we hit the highway leading out of Maggody."