Mrs. Jim Bob wasn't about to admit she was at the mercy of four children, that she couldn't exercise her authority or even sneak past the little heathens to the kitchen for a meat loaf sandwich and a glass of iced tea. Why, the dispatcher, one LaBelle Hutchinson, was by far the biggest gossip in the whole county, and more than likely to tell the whole world about Mrs. Jim Bob's dilemma. LaBelle belonged to every auxiliary and missionary society in the county and it wasn't because of her dedication to all those worthy causes. She just knew everything that happened, from marital squabbles to drunken teenagers stealing the family car to filthy child abusers, and she wasn't above preening in the limelight while her tongue wagged harder than a duck's tailfeathers.
Mrs. Jim Bob caught herself wondering how to find a filthy child abuser, since she knew some candidates worthy of abuse. She scolded herself for such un-Christianlike thoughts, then told LaBelle to keep trying to locate Arly. She dialed Brother Verber's number, but it was still busy. The telephone company had run a check sometime in the now murky past, and assured her that the line was not out of order. They were real snippy about it, too.
She replaced the telephone receiver and went to the bedroom door to make sure it was still locked. As she returned to sit on the corner of the bed, she heard what sounded like an elephant thudding into the living-room wall. She didn't even wince, being long past the wincing stage.
"Well, at least it proves you were right," Mason said, keeping his distance.
"Did you have doubts?" Celeste snapped. She sat at the dinette table, a cup of tea in front of her. The tarot cards were pushed to one side, their corners bent and soft from a hard, all-night workout. "I told you to bring that woman here, and you did not. That is why I have doubts, Mason-doubts about your ability to follow simple directions."
"She was going to come; I told you that. Then this strange guy on a motorcycle showed up, making weird noises and alluding to a body up in the woods somewhere. She's a cop, Sis. She had to go investigate. She did seem a little unnerved about the coincidence, though, and said she'd be by to talk to you this afternoon."
"What coincidence, Mason?"
He realized he'd put his foot squarely in it, but it was too late. "Not the coincidence of your having the vision. The coincidence of me appearing at the door just when that crazy coot showed up with the news."
"I saw a dead woman's face. A dead woman was subsequently found. There is no coincidence."
"Of course not," Mason said, easing toward the door. "Well, I have a few errands to run this morning, so I'll see you around lunchtime."
"Errands, Mason? Are your errands more important than what I have determined about the dead woman? You run along, little brother; I shall save my revelations for this policewoman."
Mason came back to the table and sat down across from her. "What revelations, Sis? For all we know, this woman got bit by a snake or fell off a cliff. If you start telling the cops all kinds of wild stuff, they're liable to think you're involved in a crime. You know what happened in Las Vegas."
"But I am involved. I know more than the police, just as I did in the earlier matter."
"Like what?"
She picked up the deck of cards and idly riffled them. "I put myself in a trance last night while you engaged in transcendental vegetation in front of the television. Once I was able to contact those who assist me from the other world, I learned that this death was the result of a crime."
"You talked to the dead woman?" Mason tried not to let his face twitch, but he didn't have much luck. "You asked her stuff about how she died?"
"I was not able to communicate directly with her; there is a period of adjustment, especially for those who have died a violent death. But I made inquiries of my spiritual guides, and one was able to tell me of the death. This woman was innocent of crime, and had the misfortune of stumbling into someone else's evilness."
"What kind of evilness?"
"Something illegal. Although to me it remains hazy, it seems to involve bushy green plants-marijuana, I would guess." Celeste put down the cards and scowled. "But the vision was inverted, upside down, as if the plants were rooted in the sky. It disturbs me, in that I cannot make sense of such an inexplicable idea, but the very inversion is linked with the woman's death."
"She was killed by a marijuana plant hanging from the sky?" Mason said, feeling an uncomfortable wetness in his armpits. "How could that kill her?"
"I told you that I am struggling to understand, Mason. Stop gaping at me as if I were an exotic fish in an aquarium. There was an explosion-a great burst of light and pain, but I could not see from where it came. I must talk to this policewoman, however, and find out what she knows. Perhaps that will help me as I seek the truth."
"Celeste, she's not going to tell you the results of an official investigation. When's the last time you met a cooperative cop? Why don't you forget about this and concentrate on Carol Alice's impending marital woes or the hairdresser's mysterious boyfriend?"
She studied him in silence, then snorted and picked up the cards. "Go fetch Arly Hanks, Mason. And get it right this time, unless you want a oneway bus ticket to the used-car lot."
Mason left the house. He drove by the police department, but there were no cars parked out front, and he assumed the policewoman was still up in the woods. Just as well, he thought with a sigh. Celeste had lost her marbles on this one, and it might be wiser to let things simmer for a while. In fact, it might be smart to stop at Ruby Bee's for a plateful of eggs and grits. That way he'd hear the up-to-the-minute gossip on the dead woman and could decide what to do about Celeste once he had some idea of what was going on. It'd be downright smart.
Merle, the deputy, and I spent a long afternoon at the sheriffs office, filling out reports and stashing the baggies in the evidence locker. Robin's body was sent to the state crime lab, but we all knew what it would take the state boys several days to determine. The birdshot had entered her brain through her eyes, and had killed her within seconds. It was sheer bad luck on her part that she'd caught it like she had.
I had a little explaining to do about the jeep in that it wasn't mine to begin with and it was my responsibility. We decided to leave it for the time being, so we wouldn't arouse any suspicions from our dope growers. As for the jeep thieves-well, we decided to let them continue doing whatever they were doing. Hitchhiking out of the county. Procreatin' under a bush. Starving to death in the woods. (Guess which was my favorite theory.) The sheriff, a gruff old boy with a surprising amount of common sense, took me to his office and settled me across the desk from him. He then tried to tell me, gently but firmly, that we didn't have the manpower to stake out the marijuana patch until the growers showed up. There'd been a spate of robberies all over the county. A fellow in a ski mask was causing all kinds of grief to the convenience-store industry. They'd had a tip about an impending armed robbery at a bank branch in Emmet, and they figured they'd have to keep three men undercover there for a week. So, the grandfatherly lecture concluded, we were just going to have to rip out the plants and burn them.
I hit the ceiling. I pointed out that we had a murder on our hands, which was a damn sight more important than a bunch of convenience-store robberies or the possibility of a bank job. I pointed out a lot more things, and the sheriff pointed out some more, and pretty soon we were both yelling and jabbing the air like woodpeckers.