"I understand you're associated with the tour group that lost a member in a tragic fashion," he said. "All of us on the staff would like to share our condolences."
"So are you giving me chips to ease the pain?" I asked. "Red ones will do, but I'd prefer green."
"We'll have to see. You have the look of someone who might get lucky and make a run on the bank."
"I'll bet you say that to all the girls," I replied with a saccharine smile.
He looked down at Rex, who was still wolfing down his scrambled eggs as if they would scamper away if he didn't contain them with a fork, then nodded at me and wound his way through the tables to the exit.
I waited until Rex emerged from his close encounter with carbohydrates. "When you saw Stormy playing the slot machine, was she alone?"
"Was she with someone, you mean?"
"That would be the question," I said, bemused.
"I don't recall anyone in close proximity. However, I only caught a glimpse of her. If she had a companion, he might have stepped away for a moment. Watching someone play the slots is slightly more boring than actually playing them. I prefer games of a more cerebral nature, in which a knowledge of the percentages is a factor."
"You must play a lot," I said. "Do you usually win?"
"Naturally." He put his napkin on his plate, finished his coffee, and rose. "I've enjoyed meeting you, Arly. Please tell you mother I wish her a speedy recovery."
I chewed on a bagel as I watched him leave the restaurant, wondering why he'd insisted on joining me. His expressions of concern for Ruby Bee were no more heartfelt than his superficial distress at Stormy's death. He hadn't attempted to elicit information, nor had he offered anything beyond a loose description of his activities during the last six hours. He'd played blackjack until four, and then gone to bed. I'd caught no glint in his eyes that suggested he was flirting with me, which was understandable, considering the grayish circles under my eyes and strands of hair jammed behind my ears.
When the waitress arrived with the bill, I realized Rex had stiffed me for the grand sum of two dollars and forty-nine cents.
The day was certainly taking shape.
9
I hesitated in the restaurant doorway as a group of gray-haired women came out of the casino, each clasping a paper cup to hold her slot-machine winnings (or future losings). I had an urge to ask them if they were from Tuscaloosa, but instead waited until they'd marched by like a platoon of ducks and then trailed after them to the lobby.
I found a pay phone, punched in my card number, and called Harve's office. When LaBelle answered, I asked to speak to him.
"He's busy," she said. "So am I, what with all this ridiculous paperwork. Call back at the beginning of the week."
"Is he there, LaBelle? This is important."
"To the best of my knowledge, he's not in the building. Even though he's obligated to keep me informed of his whereabouts, these last few days he's been sneaking in and out the back door. I have better things to do than go knock on his door every time the phone rings. I most certainly am not about to do it now."
Short of a six-hour drive and a fistfight in the front office, there was no way to win this minor skirmish. "Let me leave a message for him, LaBelle," I said. "I'm in a little town north of Tunica, Mississippi, and I may be here for a few more days."
"Why would that be?"
"Ruby Bee's in the hospital, having some tests. If that weren't enough, Jim Bob Buchanon's implicated in a homicide and I need to sort it out. It took place at The Luck of the Draw hotel, which is where I'm staying. This is strictly for Harve's information. Please don't spread it around."
"I beg your pardon," LaBelle said huffily. "I am not a person to go jabbering whenever I hear something. I'm right sorry to hear about Ruby Bee. Give her my best."
She slammed down the receiver. I moved on to a white house phone and called Estelle. She sounded peculiar when she answered, as if she'd been plotting to rob the casino in order to pay a Memphis hospital bill.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Why shouldn't I be? Just because Ruby Bee's on her deathbed and Jim Bob's in jail and Stormy's flatter than a Salisbury steak and-"
"Ruby Bee's not on her deathbed," I cut in. "The rest of it may be true, but there's not a damn thing you can do about it. You're not helping the situation, Estelle."
"And you are?"
"What am I supposed to be doing?"
"For starters, you can make sure Jim Bob's not being thumped with rubber hoses to make him confess. Scoot yourself over there and see if you can do something for him. He's from Maggody, after all, and no matter what problems you've had with him, you owe it to the community to look after its citizens."
"What are you going to do while I'm gone?"
Estelle harrumphed loudly enough to make herself heard in the hallway. "What do you think I'm gonna do, missy-go out on the balcony and yodel like a person of the Swiss persuasion? I thought I'd order another pot of coffee from room service and stay by the phone in case Ruby Bee takes a turn for the worse. I can use a little privacy after all that's gone on. I might just give myself a manicure while I watch a movie on cable. Is that all right with you?"
At that moment, if she'd said she had the ski mask in place and was loading an automatic weapon, I would have acquiesced. I told her I'd be back in an hour or so, then asked a bellman how to find the local jail and went out to the parking lot. I did pause for a moment to listen for mournful yodeling before I got in my car and drove out to the main highway.
The PD was in what amounted to an alley behind an abandoned grain silo. I parked and went inside. A young black woman with braided hair and a neatly pressed uniform gave me a toothy smile.
"Help you?" she said in a voice that implied she'd really like to be able to do so, no matter how much of a personal sacrifice might be required on her part.
"I'm here to see Jim Bob Buchanon."
Her smile dried up. "You his lawyer?"
"Not exactly," I said. "I just want to make sure he's all right."
"A relative, then?"
I peered at her name tag, which identified her as J. Jones. "I'm a friend from his hometown, Deputy Jones. May I see him?"
"I'd rather see a cross burning in my yard, but it's your decision," she said as she stood up. We went into a short corridor lined with three barred cells. "You got a visitor, honey," she called. "She's a lady, so don't let me hear anymore of that nasty language. You understand?"
Jim Bob was stretched out on a bare metal cot, his hands entwined behind his neck. His shoes were on the floor of the cell; the hole in his sock brought to mind my (and everybody else's) mother's admonishment to always wear clean underwear in case of an accident.
Or, in this case, an incarceration.
"Why, Japonica," he said, "I can't believe you'd say such a thing. I've been a perfect gentleman ever since you dragged me out of the hotel room and gave me a free ride to your elegant downtown establishment. I was just lying here thinkin' how I might spend my vacation in this very cell come summertime."
"Come summertime you may still be here," I said.
He jerked upright. "Aw, Jesus, like I need this on top of everything else? What the fuck are you doin' here?"