Nobody seemed impressed with his logic. After a moment of silence, I said, "And now we're back to the bald man, garroted in the next room, and his colleague, shot earlier in this very room. Who tipped them off about the room numbers? Who was in the hotel when Stormy took three identical bags upstairs? Who could have supplied one of them with a hotel uniform?"
Mackenzie chuckled. "You just explained how Malanac found a uniform in a storage closet. For all I know, you have a uniform in your overnight bag."
"I don't have a list of room numbers," I said, "and maroon is not my color. Have you had transactions with these men in the past? Casinos have been known to launder drug money."
"Not here," he said in a surly voice.
"They piqued your interest with their questions about Stormy, didn't they? They expected your cooperation, but you decided you might just keep all the goodies for yourself. When the man with brown hair got too close, you barged into the room and shot him, claiming you were protecting your revered guests. Where did you come from, Mackenzie? Could it have been the next room? Did you find the bald man in the casino and tell him that you knew where the bag was?"
He eyed the distance to the door, but Chief Sanderson was blocking the potential path. "I'm not saying another word until I have a lawyer."
Japonica seemed to have forgiven me for past transgressions. "So where's the bag?"
"At the hospital," I said. "Mistakenly assuming it was Ruby Bee's, I took it to her earlier today. A few minutes ago I called Carlette and asked her to put it in a safe place overnight."
"Carlette? You told her where to find a bag with coke and fifty thousand dollars? She just got out of prison three months ago for a drug conviction. She's probably three quarters of the way to Alabama by now." She brushed past her boss. "I'll go call the state police. Sweet Jesus, of all the people to tell…"
"Sorry," I called.
I'd never have nifty braids.
"Okay," boomed Brother Verber, "let's conga!"
The line formed behind him, with much snickering and good-natured pinching. Those sitting sedately at the bar stared as the line began to snake through the packed casino. The lyrics didn't make much sense, but it was impossible to ignore the ebullience of the performers.
"'Violence and wickedness and extramarital affairs; with sluts that ain't your wife; yadeedahdeeyahdeedah and zionism; this is the sinful life? This is the sinful life?'"
Several men in gray suits grabbed their cell phones and commenced barking urgent demands. Unfortunately, the head of security was not in his office.
"B-twelve," Dahlia muttered over and over, as if this were a magic spell. "B-twelve."
Martha Hitebred sat down next to her, settled her purse on the floor, and began to get ready for the evening's entertainment. "Goodness gracious, Dahlia, you've got half the table covered."
"B-twelve."
"How much is the jackpot?"
Dahlia glowered at her. "Three thousand. Hush and let me concentrate. These cards are all that's left in the bank account."
The man calling the balls rattled off something that was not B12. Dahlia pictured sweet Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie's little faces. She had to win for them so they'd have shoes in the winter and bicycles for Christmas (when the time came, anyway).
"B-twelve."
Her jaw dropped as she realized she herself had not said the magic words. She stared in disbelief at the board above the caller's head. B-12 gleamed like the star of Bethlehem.
"Bingo" Dahlia screamed. "Bingo!"
"So," Ruby Bee said as she poured several teaspoons of sugar into a mug of coffee, "did you just run off and leave everybody in the lurch?"
"Hardly in the lurch," I said. "Japonica acknowledged that some weird local guy was responsible for the convenience-store robbery. The clerk recognized him despite the ski cap. When Jim Bob drags his sorry butt back, all the charges will be dropped and he'll be free to leave town. If he figures out that Mrs. Jim Bob is waiting, he may take his own sweet time. I would."
"Brother Verber ain't going to be in the mood to drive back anytime soon," Estelle said as she nibbled on a limp strip of bacon. "Mrs. Jim Bob went down the hall and banged on his door at seven this morning. When she came back, she said he was pea green and stank like a distillery. I don't think there were any converts in the casino last night." She put down the bacon. "I feel kinda bad about leaving Taylor. I talked to her in the lobby while I was waiting for you. She still hasn't laid eyes on Todd."
Ruby Bee sniffed. "I wouldn't feel so sorry for her, Estelle. She tried to sound like she was high and mighty, but Cherri Lucinda told me that Taylor used to hang out at the Dew Drop Inn, trying to wheedle bikers into buying her beers. I wouldn't be surprised if this family farm consists of a couple of acres and a trailer."
"So that's who Cherri Lucinda was gaping at in the van," said Estelle. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Hovering near death must have put it right out of my mind. I could almost hear the angels singing."
I put my arm around her and gave her a quick hug. "Don't ever scare me like that again," I said.
Estelle leaned across the table and caught Ruby Bee's hand. "Me neither. I was so worried I could scarcely eat a bite the entire time you were in the hospital. If something had happened to you, I don't believe I could have made myself go back to Maggody. It just wouldn't ever have been the same."
That was true, I thought as I gestured at the waitress to bring the check. "This one's on me," I said. "The fog should be clearing up soon, so we might as well get on the road."
Ruby Bee looked out the window. "I ain't so sure we shouldn't have another cup of coffee, Arly. We don't want to end up spinning our wheels in a muddy field. Another fifteen minutes…"
"What's wrong?" I said so shrilly that the other customers all turned to gape at me. "Is the pain back?"
She licked her lips, then turned to frown at me. "No, it's just that I thought for a second that I saw somebody out there. I couldn't make him out real well on account of the fog, but he looked… well, he looked sorta familiar. It couldn't have been… who I thought. I guess all that pain medicine has left me addled. The next thing I know, I'll be seeing Raz Buchanon and his sow drive up and park next to that Cadillac."
"Let's hit the road for Maggody," I said brightly. "I could use some tranquillity and a grilled cheese sandwich."
"I swear, Arly Hanks," my mother said, "all you ever think about is food. What you need is to meet a nice young fellow and settle down."
I figured I'd hear about it all the way home.
Joan Hess
Joan Hess is the author of both the Claire Malloy and the Maggody mystery series. She is a winner of the American Mystery Award, a member of Sisters in Crime, and a former president of the American Crime Writers League. She lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
