"They're gone. Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't have time to visit with you at the moment." Mrs. Jim Bob started to close the door, her mind toying with the possibility of paying minimum wage just this once. It was something of an emergency, what with Jim Bob most likely roaring up the highway.
"Where'd they go?"
"Now how would I know? I certainly can't read their pornographic little minds, not that I'd want to even if I could. Why don't you ask Madam Celeste?" She again tried to close the door, but someone's foot was in the way.
"When did they leave?" David Allen persisted, despite the pain.
"They left a while back, and they didn't say where they were going. They are not my responsibility, David Allen, and I don't keep track of everybody's comings and goings like I was some spinster at an attic window. Arly's the one who'd better do that, especially if she has a mind to keep her job."
The door closed in the guidance counselor's face. He blinked, then turned and looked as far as he could see in all directions for Buchanon children. When that didn't do any good, he drove over to the Bar and Grill to see if Ruby Bee had any theories. When that didn't do any good because nobody was there, he drove on home and got a beer out of the refrigerator. That did some good.
It may occur to you that a lot of people were lost-and it's undeniably true. For all intents and purposes, Kevin and Dahlia had dropped off the face of the earth. Four Buchanon bastards had taken off for parts unknown. Mr. Jim Bob had checked out of the hotel and was no longer snarling threats from his hotel room. Yes, Baby Buchanon wasn't googooing in the station wagon when Estelle and Ruby Bee came out of Madam Celeste's house, which set off a goodly amount of screechings and wild accusations and indignant rebuttals. Mason Dickerson wasn't available to ask if he'd seen anyone on the road, and his sleek silver car wasn't parked in the driveway. Madam Celeste was in the house, one supposed, but she wouldn't come to the door despite a lot of banging and pleading to do so.
Other people were where they were supposed to be. Nate was still napping on the sofa in the back room of the Emporium, waiting for a call he hoped would liberate him. Poppy and Rainbow were out in the front, sounding off like kazoos. Zachery, the fourth partner, was in the loading area in the back, smoking a joint and enjoying the rain that misted his hair and beard with tiny crystals. David Allen was fiddling with his toys and on his third beer. Perkins' eldest was trudging up the driveway to the mayor's manor, a bottle of ammonia in her purse, while inside same manor Mrs. Jim Bob sat at the dining room table and sipped tea from a porcelain cup. Brother Verber was scribbling away, his face flushed with inspiration as he thought up increasingly pious expressions that would knock the socks off 'em the following morning at the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall.
The minor players were doing minor things of no great import. Kevin Buchanon's mother was hunting for a recipe for sweet potato pie, because her last hadn't been quite spicy enough and she prided herself on the perfect combination of cinnamon and nutmeg. Her husband, Earl, was wondering where the hell Kevin was, but he wasn't worrying all that much since boys will be boys and at least Kevin wasn't in the sweet gum tree peeking at naked hippies. He'd checked first thing, but the tree was uninhabited.
Elsie McMay was hovering near the telephone, just in case the filthy pervert called. Merle Hardcock stood on the north bank of Boone Creek, trying to refigure the angles. Carol Alice and Heather were cross-legged on Carol Alice's bed, thumbing through fashion magazines for ideas for bridesmaids' dresses, Heather being steadfastly opposed to both puffy sleeves and high waistlines, since neither flattered her and she knew it. Carol Alice's fiancé was over in the National Forest with a couple of his buddies, drinking beer, telling risqué stories, and arguing about the best location for a deer stand whenever they chanced to remember the purpose of the jaunt. Gladys Buchanon was squinting at her grocery list, since she couldn't find her glasses again and wasn't about to pay fifteen dollars for psychic revelations. LaBelle was in the little girls' room, cursing that doctor in Farberville who wasn't a day older than her nephew and therefore hardly qualified to prescribe medicine and prod at people's privates. Harve was grumbling over reports that looked like they'd been written by third graders. Decidedly minor things.
The drizzle was not making me happy. It was making me clammy and cold. It was making my blanket squishy. It was making my coffee watery and my cornflakes droopy. It was making my mood bleaker than that of a bag lady who'd lost her baggage.
No one had approached the pot patch, which meant I hadn't nabbed a single criminal as of yet. I doubted my perps were foolish enough to appear on a miserable, wet, cold day, harvesttime or not. Perps weren't notoriously clever (or they wouldn't be perps-they'd be investment bankers or Mercedes salesmen), but even the dumbest ole boys had enough sense to stay in out of the rain. Squirrels and blue jays and mosquitoes had enough sense to stay in out of the rain. Only chiefs of police were devoid of sense. Not to mention cold and wet and bored and lonesome and apt to come down with pneumonia.
I pulled my jacket more tightly around my shoulders and tried very hard not to succumb to selfpity. I didn't have a whole lot of success. At two o'clock I plodded through the wet leaves to the jeep and called LaBelle. Once we'd gotten through the preliminaries-no, I hadn't seen or heard anything; yes, I was dandy and having a wonderful time; yes, I'd remember rain or sleet to check in-she casually mentioned a telephone call from one Ruby Bee Hanks. "What'd she say?" I asked without enthusiasm.
"Well, she wanted to know where you were and when you'd be back. I told her in no uncertain terms that the information was as confidential as it'd been the first time she asked, and there wasn't any point in badgering me. Then she asked me something I found right peculiar, if you know what I mean."
"I have no idea what you mean, LaBelle."
"She wanted to know if we'd had anything unusual turn up in the lost-and-found department this morning. I told her about the dentures, the pompom, the three-legged hound, and the pair of spectacles, but she said never mind and hung up afore I could find out what she was looking for." LaBelle moistened her lips, then added, "She sounded kind of worried, although she was trying not to."
A particularly icy drip of rain found its way down my collar. "You don't have any idea what she might have lost?"
"I am not a mind reader, Arly. You ought to ask Madam Celeste about that sort of thing; she's real uncanny."
"Did you check with school about Kevin?" I asked, too discouraged to pursue my mother's latest bit of nonsense.
"He did not come to work yesterday, and Earl and Eilene haven't seen him since the night before that. And don't bother to interrupt, because I asked Ruby Bee if she'd heard from Dahlia and she hadn't. Do you want to file a missing persons report?"
"Not if that means someone might find them." I rogered over and out, then went back to my post, which had a puddle in the middle middle of it. I dug through the box of cornflakes for a wishbone, aware that it indicated a deterioration of my mental faculties, and came up with a soggy yellow flake. I decided that I would remain on the job until six o'clock, when it would start getting dark. Then, without telling LaBelle or anyone else, I would slither back to Maggody, take a hot shower, and spend the night in my dry, warm bed. I could be back at the patch by seven the next morning. Since the dopers had no idea the patch was under surveillance, they had no reason to risk a broken axle or a broken ankle by harvesting in the dark.