"No," I said gently. "You'll be better off in a stable family setting, with dinner on the table and clean sheets on the bed and motherly reminders to take baths and brush your teeth. I've never been a parent, Hammet-I don't know how to do those things."
"I reckon you're so all-fired smart you could learn-iffen you wanted to."
I studied him for a minute, then shook my head. "Let's go tell the others what's happened and try to figure out what to do. Once that's settled, I have to leave town for a few days."
"Goin' on a vacation? That's right nice what with my ma kilt and everything." He stalked through the doorway and down the stairs, his tangled black hair slapping his shoulders.
As I hurried after him, I fully expected to spot him halfway into the sunset (metaphorically, anyway, since it was still afternoon), but he had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and was talking to David Allen.
"Is this true?" David Allen asked me as I joined them.
"I'm afraid there's been an accident of sorts. I'm going to do everything I can to clear up a few questions about it, but first I've got to decide what to do with the children."
"Siblings," Hammet hissed under his breath. He shot me a dirty look, then went over to David Allen's wagon and climbed on the hood. Hunkered down with his arms wrapped around his knees, he bore an unsettling resemblance to a turkey vulture on a high branch. I had a pretty good idea whose body he hoped to scavenge, should the opportunity arise.
David Allen glanced warily at Hammet, then turned back to me. "Well, it's dreadful, and I feel really rotten. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you. For what it's worth, I'm trained in crisis intervention and child psychology. Have you made any effort to contact the fathers of the children?"
A rather obvious question that simply hadn't occurred to me. I was aware of the biological requirements of reproduction, but somehow one did not associate paternal contributions with Robin Buchanon's offspring. I realized David Allen was grinning at me. "No," I said, "I haven't made any effort to locate the fathers. They must have fathers, though. I mean, they have to have fathers out there somewhere, don't they?"
"If they don't, The National Enquirer will pay a fortune for the story."
I glanced at vulture-boy. "Do you and the others ever hear from your fathers? Do they visit or send money once in a while?" Said member of Falconiformes Cathartidae spat on the gravel and shook his head. Shrugging, I continued, "I'm not sure we can pin paternity on anyone, but it's a fine idea. I suppose someone ought to question the children, and in particular Bubba, about the identities of the visitors to the cabin. He's the eldest, and may be able to help us."
"Bubba don' know shit." Guess who.
I gave David Allen a beguiling smile. "But I think a professional would be able to deal with the situation better than some bumbling amateur trained in fingerprints and traffic citations. They'll respond to someone who's adept at eliciting information from recalcitrant adolescents, don't you think? Besides, I did want to talk to you about enrolling the older children in school, at least for the moment. This will give you a chance to assess the possibilities." I looked at the sun, which was sinking toward Cotter's Ridge. "And I've got to leave town for a few days, and I'd like to pack up and get going before dark."
"Going on vacation?"
"No," I said, wounded that everyone seemed to have such a high opinion of my dedication to duty, "it's official business, but I can't discuss it until I get back. I sure could use your help, David Allen."
"Then you'll get it. I'll take Hammet over to Mrs. Jim Bob's and break the news to the children. We'll figure out what to do for the moment, and I'll see what, if anything, we can determine about absentee fathers. You just run along and do whatever you're planning to do."
I felt guilty, but I didn't want anyone to know where I intended to spend my weekend. Merle had sworn he wouldn't breathe a word about Robin's body, and he was so daft I doubted anyone listened to him, anyway. He'd also said he intended to spend several days on the banks of Boone Creek, recalculating angles, which suited me just fine. I thanked David Allen several times, meaning every word of it, and went so far as to ask him to have a word with Ruby Bee. I then tried a tentative smile in Hammet's direction.
"See you in a couple of days," I said.
He got in the passenger's side of the wagon and studied the windshield-wiper blade. David Allen went around to the other side and got in, then called to me. "I forgot to give this back to you," he said, holding up the beeper. "You don't want to leave home without it, do you?"
Looking at the blasted thing made me remember how irresponsible I'd been. It was the icing on the cake of incompetency, and the cake seemed to be growing extra layers every minute. I took it from him and clipped it on my belt. "I sort of forgot to return Mrs. Jim Bob's calls-maybe forty or fifty of them thus far," I said with a wry smile. "There's not much of a reason for me to call her now, since you'll be there in a few minutes and be able to tell her in person what's going on. I just don't have time to get entangled in her problems right now. Would you please tell her how busy I've been and offer her my apologies?"
David Allen assured me that he'd smooth it over, and he and Hammet drove away in the direction of Mizzoner's manor. I went back to the apartment, sat down and made a list of the paraphernalia I needed to take with me on this little camping jaunt, made a list of all the people I needed to talk to (but wouldn't until I got back), loaded up said paraphernalia in the sheriff's vehicle, and locked the apartment door behind me.
Then, wondering how someone as incompetent as I seemed to be, not to mention coldhearted and self-centered and all sorts of other charming things, could have survived thirty-four years without being locked away in a home for Nazi war criminals, I drove down the highway toward the road that led to the ridge. Although I knew the words to a few camp songs, none came to my incompetent, coldhearted, self-centered mind.
"Isn't he just the most darling little creature in the whole world?" Estelle said, squatting down in front of the high chair to tweak a sweet little pink toe.
"He sure is," Ruby Bee said. She leaned against the edge of the counter and fought back a yawn. "Why, last night he gave me the dearest smile while I sang him some lullabies in the rocking chair." She didn't see any reason to mention how many lullabies it'd taken for the baby to go back to sleep, but there'd been a good dozen more than there were sweet little pink toes.
"Who do you think he favors?"
"He favors the Buchanon clan," Ruby Bee said, trying not to sound testy, which wasn't easy on four hours of sleep. "Any fool can see the family resemblance. He's got that unfortunate, chimpanzee-lookin' forehead, black hair, and those yellow eyes what remind me of a weasel."
Estelle stood up and put her hands on her hips. "I beg your pardon, Rubella Belinda Hanks. I am capable of seeing that he has that Buchanon look to him, but thank you kindly for pointing out the obvious. I was referring to the pappy. You do recollect how there has to be a pappy, don't you? He does contribute something to make the little baby, so he might well look like him, too."
"I know all that, but thank you kindly for reminding me of something I learned at my mother's knee. I swear, these days they talk about it right in the classrooms of the schoolhouse, just like it was arithmetic or state capitals."
"Does that have something to do with the price of tea in China?"