But someone had found the patch earlier in the year, probably toward the middle of the summer, and decided it was the perfect spot to grow a little dope. And why not? It was flat, with good drainage and a creek not too far away to provide water, and best of all, it was smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. The ginseng had been a scattering of low plants then, with no berries or distinctive leaves to hint at its value. So that someone(s) had cleared the ground and put in a half acre of marijuana.
The fact that there were booby traps was uncommon, but not unheard of. Plenty of ole boys thought they'd be right sly and put various traps around their patches to spook hikers and hunters, or those who failed to follow the philosophy of the Little Red Hen and hoped for an easy profit. The growers could hardly report the theft. I'd heard stories of punji pits, of baby rattlesnakes tied to the plants, of all sorts of crazy devices made from clothespins, detonator caps, gunpowder, and Plasticine.
So that didn't get me anywhere. Now that I thought about it (eight-forty-six), I was most likely wasting my time. True, it was the end of the harvest season and time to cut the plants. True, the perps were likely to do so on the weekend, since they could pretend they were out scouting for deer or taking a little nature hike. True, all I had to do was get a good look at them and maybe at the vehicle. True, true, true. It was also true that I was intending to sit on my fanny in the middle of the woods for forty-eight hours on the off chance they might show up. There was an equally good chance I'd nab wee green men in shiny saucers complete with Christmas lights and synthesizer music.
I wondered how David Allen had made out with Hammet, his siblings (I was beginning to regret my vocabulary lesson), and Mrs. Jim Bob. That arena of thought made me uncomfortable, so I moved right on to Kevin and Dahlia and the jeep. It wasn't too tough to conclude Kevin had taken up the junior G-man cause, and had managed to persuade Dahlia to accompany him on his harebrained mission. But what had happened to them? I made a mental note to have LaBelle check at the high school to see if he had shown up for work yesterday.
Dahlia, of course, worked for my mother, the same woman who'd sent the message that she wasn't interfering in the police investigation. Which meant that she was. Ruby Bee's easier to read than a Reader's Digest condensed book. But I couldn't come up with any theories to explain what she and Estelle might be doing. They weren't perched in a tree to assist in the stakeout, since no one knew about the dope patch except for the sheriff's department, Merle Hardcock, and yours truly. For that matter, only that select group knew there'd been a murder-or any other crime.
"What police investigation?" I muttered aloud, just to hear a human voice. Lord, within twenty-four hours I'd be singing hymns and having debates with myself. I threw a walnut at a squirrel that had ventured too near, then picked up my book and settled in. Nine-eleven. Over and out.
"And she claimed not to know where Arly is?" Estelle said in an incredulous voice. "You know as well as you know the nose on your face that LaBelle is lying through her teeth-which anyone can see are nothing more than mail-order dentures. Arly wouldn't waltz away in the middle of all this confusion, what with Buchanon bush colts all over town and Robin Buchanon deader than a doorknob up in the woods." She patted a stray wisp into place and propped her elbows on the bar. Lowering her voice to a husky whisper, she added, "I find that mighty suspicious."
"What?" Ruby Bee asked. "LaBelle lying, Arly waltzing, Buchanons all over Maggody, or Robin the victim of an accident?"
"All of it," Estelle said grandly.
"Don't wake Baby. This is the first time I've had a chance to sit down and take a load off my feet. Dahlia didn't come in last night, so I had to run myself ragged between the bar, the booths, and the kitchen. I suppose she's decided to quit. I'd have thought she had the common courtesy to tell me to my face, instead of just plain not showing up. She didn't even drop off the apron I made especially for her."
"Well, there's no point in fretting over her. Breeding shows, if you know what I mean. But what are we going to do about finding out the identity of Baby's father?"
"What can we do? The midwife says she never attended Robin's birthings, and wouldn't have any way on account of Robin being the way she was. We wasted a good hour over there, all for nothing. The Bar and Grill was closed right in the middle of the Friday happy hour, which cost me a pretty penny. Then Baby cried half the night, and I couldn't get back to sleep, and-"
"We can't give up yet, Miz Throw-in-the-Towel."
It occurred to Ruby Bee that they certainly could give up if they wanted to. It also occurred to her that Estelle had failed to have a precious little overnight visitor, and therefore had had considerably more sleep than some she could name. Leaning against the counter, she pointed out all of the above in a voice that was reasonably polite, considering.
"That was an innocent oversight," Estelle said indignantly. "I had to hurry off because I had to finish Elsie's perm so I could have a session with Madam Celeste, if you must know. Some people are acting like real busybodies these days, aren't they?"
Ruby Bee let the insinuation slide by her. "What'd Madam Celeste say?"
"She didn't say anything because she refused to see me. Mason was real nice about it, though, and invited me to sit down for a soda or a glass of iced tea. He's the politest thing."
She and Ruby Bee exchanged looks that verged on telepathy.
"He's single, you know," Estelle said.
"He doesn't have a real job," Ruby Bee pointed out.
"But he's personable and polite," Estelle countered. "Politer than a door-to-door missionary with a handful of religious tracts. Dresses like one, too, in a nice jacket and tie, just like he was going to a funeral."
"Nobody said they have to get married," Ruby Bee said, nodding. "I suspect Arly's been keeping company with David Allen Wainright, although she's so tight-lipped that it's hard to get a word out of her. Anyway, it'd do her some good to have a couple of suitors for a change. I worry about her."
"And well you should." Estelle took a sip of sherry, then carefully dabbed her lipstick with a napkin. "Imagine a daughter leaving town without telling her own mother where she was going. And she never did ask Madam Celeste to help her with the investigation, you know. She just scooted out of town without bothering to cancel the appointment or anything."
"Just imagine," Ruby Bee said. "You'd think she'd never been taught any manners, or that she doesn't have enough sense to take help from someone who's maybe a teensy bit odd."
"Someone who's proved she can assist the police, who can find missing people as easy as snapping her fingers."
"Madam Celeste will be right offended if no one shows up to ask her for help."
"But Arly already knows what happened to Robin Buchanon." Estelle wasn't arguing; she was just building a case for any future defense.
Ruby Bee chewed on that one for a few minutes. "But," she said slowly, "she doesn't know who fathered all those children, and now that they're orphans, it's real important to find out. David Allen told me he was going to question the children today, but he didn't anticipate much success. He said Arly asked him to do it, too."
"Well, there you have it! That just shows that Arly would appreciate any assistance she can get. We tried the midwife, and that resulted in a big, fat goose egg if there ever was one. We know there aren't any birth certificates at the hospital. Robin sure isn't going to offer up any information from the funeral parlor."