The first wild, dope-crazed sex maniac I spotted was a willowy woman with curly auburn hair, a wide mouth, cinnamon-sugar freckles, and warm, friendly eyes. A cloud of musk drifted behind her. "Hi," she said, taking in my uniform with a wince. "Are you here on official business?"
I introduced myself and told her that I was there out of curiosity. Idle curiosity, I stressed as I looked around. As Ruby Bee and Estelle had told me, there were all the usual things indigenous to hardware and dry goods stores. But alongside them were whole passels of things that were un-Maggodyish, to say the least. Crystals dangling from threads thumbtacked to the ceiling. Cellophane bags of dried herbs. Boxes of incense. Posters of eyes and clouds and butterflies. The music would have been a real challenge to sing along with. Maggody had not yet moved into the New Age. We were still struggling to escape from the Stone Age.
"I'm Rainbow," the woman said. "My friends will be pleased to know you stopped by for a visit. Could I offer you a cup of mint tea and a carob-chip cookie? If you'd prefer something cold, I think there's still some of our homemade apple cider. It's made from organic apples."
"Sounds great," I said, lying through my teeth for the sake of neighborliness. I followed her through a curtain to a cozy little room that seemed to function as office, storage room, and parlor. I was settled on a chintz sofa and given a glass of cider and a cookie.
I was about to chomp down on a carob chip when a second woman came through the doorway. Unlike her co-owner, she was not willowy. She was a short, rosy little thing, and very pregnant. She was Poppy, I was told, and delighted to meet me.
"Do you think we ought to take this check?" she asked Rainbow.
They looked it over and decided to take it. Poppy waddled away, leaving me no choice but to chomp. I put it off by asking, "Are you and Poppy the official owners?"
"Oh, no. Zachery and Nate went into Starley City in the truck to pick up a shipment of bottled spring water. We get it all the way from Colorado, and hope to sell a lot of it. They should be back before too long, and eager to meet you. We haven't met too many people, although we've had a reasonable number of customers since we opened. Once we get settled, we might throw a party for the entire town so we can meet everybody."
I could imagine Ruby Bee with a carob-chip cookie and a cup of mint tea. Not a pretty picture. "A barbecue?" I asked politely.
She gave me a shocked look. "We're strict vegetarians. Zachery won't even eat dairy products. Poppy used to avoid them, but now she'll eat yogurt, if we remind her."
"Is Zachery the prospective father?"
"Possibly, although Poppy changes her mind daily. She's sure it's either Zachery or Nate. Both of them are going to participate in labor and delivery, of course, and we'll all share responsibility for child care and make joint decisions about the future." She gave me a warm, twinkly smile. "We're just like a big, extended family. We've been together for over a year now, ever since we met at a yoga retreat during the summer solstice. Our relationship is very spiritual."
"That's great," I murmured. I couldn't bring myself to ask about the meditation sessions in the backyard, so I stuffed the cookie in my mouth, polished off the cider, and told her I was pleased that the Emporium was back in business. She twinkled at me as we went back into the main part of the store, where I spotted Raz Buchanon studying crystals and several of the high school girls giggling over posters. Maggody might be taken aback at being served soybean hot dogs and bottled water, but I figured that after a time, no one would worry about Rainbow, Poppy, and their male companions. Except for Kevin Buchanon-unless Earl chopped down the sweet gum tree.
I whiled away the rest of the afternoon with the directions to the beeper, which I kept thinking was like one of those in-house ankle bracelets used when the prisons were sated. The wearer couldn't go more than fifty feet from his home. I could go anywhere I wanted-and the sheriff's dispatcher could find me so I could call in for a report. Isn't technology wonderful?
I was wondering how much abuse my beeper could take (and how much I could give it without being accused of beeper abuse) when the telephone rang. It was Ruby Bee, and she was blithering worse than a mockingbird.
"Slow down," I said patiently. "Or take a deep breath, two aspirins, and call me in the morning." When I'd lived in Manhattan with my hotshot Madison Avenue husband, I'd made witty repartee about the international trade deficit, Supreme Court decisions, and potent political figures. When I drove past the Maggody city limit sign, my brain atrophied. Bathroom jokes are big around here, along with traveling salesmen, ethnic slurs, and sexual perversions.
"You need to get right down for supper," Ruby Bee gasped. "You really do, Arly. I made a cherry cobbler this afternoon, and there's still a big corner of it left. When can you get here?"
"It's not even five o'clock. I'm not hungry, and I want to file all the reports the deputy left for me. Besides, I've been pigging out on carob chips and other organic stuff; I may swear off carbohydrates and grease and seek transcendental peace through fasting and intense meditation."
"Rather than your own mother's pork chops and fried okra? What has gotten into you, young lady? Have you been over to those hippies' house?" Ruby Bee is not into fasting and meditation.
"Not I. But it's too early to eat. What's the big deal, anyway?"
"You just get your smart-aleck self down here right now."
The receiver clicked in my ear, with a finality that unsettled me. In that I couldn't think of a particularly good reason to stir up trouble with Ruby Bee, I checked my lipstick, stuck the folder in a drawer, hung a Closed sign on the PD door, and walked down the highway to Ruby Bee's Bar and Grill.
The parking lot was thick with pickup trucks and good ole boys slapping each other on the back and kicking each other in the fanny. I joined the jocular group as we shoved our way through the door for that timeless tradition known as Happy Hour (in another life it was known, if I recall correctly, as the cocktail hour-martinis, hors d'oeuvres, crystal bowls of peanuts, politically correct conversation). Ruby Bee serves dollar draws and free popcorn, which suits everybody just fine.
I struggled through a row of denim backs along the bar, perched on a stool, and waved to Ruby Bee. When she came over, I requested a light beer and a bag of potato chips.
She sucked on her lip for a minute. "I thought you came here for supper, Arly. You don't want to ruin your appetite with junk food, do you? You just go sit in the last booth, and I'll bring you a nice plate of pork chops, okra, beans, and mashed potatoes. The cobbler will go right nice with vanilla ice cream, don't you think?"
"I'll eat after a while. I'm feeling a bit nostalgic for the cocktail hour. I realize I can't have chilled shrimp and paté, but I have hopes potato chips will ease my longings."
"You just go sit where I told you."
"I don't want to just go sit where you told me. I want a light beer and a bag of potato chips. If I have to go buy 'em at the Kwik-Screw and sit on the gravel beside the highway while I eat 'em, I will."
Her eyes narrowed, and she did some more chewing on her lip. Finally, looking about as guileless as a fox in the henhouse door, she said, "If I give you a light beer and a bag of potato chips, then will you go sit where I told you?"
I thought of all sorts of things to say, not to mention questions that deserved being asked. But obedient child that I am, I said I'd take my light beer and bag of potato chips and go sit in the last booth. I'd even consider the pork chops et al in a half hour or so. But when I got halfway across the room, I noticed there was someone already in the last booth. Not thinking much about it, I aimed myself on a tangent and started for another booth.