Book 11 in the Arly Hanks series, 1998

"I just don't know," Ruby Bee was saving as I came across the dance floor. Due to the twang in her voice, as well as the whine (fruity and full-bodied), all four words were polysyllabic.

The remark was intended for her best friend and coconspirator, Estelle Oppers, who was perched on her favorite roost at the end of the bar, but I butted in anyway.

"You don't know something?" I said, my eyes wide and my jaw waggling as if I'd received a collect call from the White House. "But I've always assumed that you know everything, Ruby Bee. I am so stunned by the enormity of this revelation that I may faint in this exact spot where Popeye Buchanon tossed his cookies not more than a week ago."

Ruby Bee crossed her arms. "Suit yourself."

I eased onto a stool midway down the bar, where I could inspect the pies under glass domes. "What is it you don't know? How to calculate the circumference of a circle? What really goes on between Raz and his pedigreed sow when the drapes are drawn? Where all the flowers have gone?"

I was being a real pain, but it was so cold and windy that nothing was going on in Maggody. Nothing worthy of my attention as chief of police, that is-as well as the entirety of the department. I'd had a deputy for a while, but he'd lost his mind and murdered the love of his life. In that he was a Buchanon, there hadn't been all that much to lose. Buchanons are scattered across Stump County like scrub pines, and a heritage of dedicated inbreeding has resulted in simian foreheads, squinty yellow eyes, and surly dispositions. If Charles Darwin had encountered the Buchanons, he might well have abandoned his life's work and checked into a monastery.

Estelle arched her carefully drawn eyebrows. "I'll tell you what I don't know-and that's where you got that smart mouth. Sometimes you act like you was raised in a barn."

"Instead of a motel?" I said.

Ruby Bee snatched up a basket of pretzels and set them well out of my reach. "Now listen here, young lady, the Flamingo Motel's a sight better than a trailer out in the Pot O' Gold or a shack up on Cotter's Ridge. Remember all those times I washed your mouth out with soap for using nasty language? You didn't miss Sunday school more than once or twice a year, and only then if you were sick. I worked my fingers to the bone so you could wear nice clothes and-"

"Enough," I said, conceding in hopes I could wheedle a grilled cheese sandwich out of my mother the saint. I knew my chances would be better if I waited until her nostrils quit flaring. Most of the time she comes off as a harmless, grandmotherly sort (if you overlook the pink eyeshadow and unnaturally blond hair), but she's booted many a drunken redneck out of Ruby Bee's Bar & Grill. One of them required nine stitches in his buttocks, or so the legend goes.

Estelle shot me a suspicious look, then picked up a creased flyer and said, "I realize a hundred and seventy-nine dollars ain't chicken feed, and there'll be some other expenses, but I say we ought to up and do it, Ruby Bee. I disremember when you last set foot out of the county except to go to that flea market on the other side of Hasty." She gestured at the row of empty booths along the wall. "It's not like you'll be losing a lot of business if you close for four days."

"I have plenty of customers at noon and happy hour," Ruby Bee countered coldly. "This time of day's always slow. You don't seem so busy yourself, or you wouldn't be sitting here yammering about a trip."

"A trip?" I said.

"That's right, Miss Snoopy Ears. Estelle and me are thinking about going on this four-day Elvis Presley Pilgrimage. I was always a big fan, you know. I was barely out of pigtails when I heard him on the radio, and I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. That first time he was on The Ed Sullivan Show, a dozen of us girls gathered in Jo Ellen's living room to watch. You should have heard the squealing? Jo Ellen's pa said it sounded like the greased-pig contest at the county fair."

Estelle deftly repositioned a bobby pin in her towering red beehive and gave Ruby Bee a sly smile. "I'd have thought you were well out of pigtails by nineteen fifty-six. Weren't you born in-"

"Let me see that," said Ruby Bee, plucking the flyer out of Estelle's hand. "It says on the first day we go to Memphis, get checked into a motel, and have the evening free to eat supper and relax. On the second day, we spend the morning at Graceland and souvenir shops. After lunch, we drive to Tupelo to see Elvis's birthplace, the museum, and a special chapel he had built after he got rich and famous. Isn't that just like him?"

I feigned a sentimental smile. "It sure is. By the way, is there any chance you might fix me a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"Then," she continued, apparently unimpressed with my ploy, "the next day we go to a little town south of Memphis to spend the night. That whole stretch is where they've got all those riverboat casinos, although from what I've heard, they don't exactly float out in the Mississippi River. They just ring 'em with concrete canals and call them that because of some state law about gambling. That evening we're gonna see a show featuring Elvis impersonators. On the fourth day we drive back to Farberville."

"I think it sounds real nice," said Estelle.

I sighed. "I think a grilled cheese sandwich sounds real nice, too."

Ruby Bee looked at me over the top of the flyer. "All you ever think about is food, Arly. You ought should spend more time fixing your hair and putting on makeup and shopping for clothes that show off your figure. That sloppy old sweater isn't gonna attract a man, and you're not getting any younger. You don't want to end up like Perkins's eldest, do you?"

That was one of the stock threats hurled at local juvenile delinquents; I'd heard it all my life, starting on the day I'd filched a dime out of her handbag to buy an ice cream cone at the Dairee Dee-Lishus. Chocolate and vanilla swirl, for the record-or rap sheet.

I slid off the stool. "I guess I'd better go back to the PD in case someone's preparing to commit a heinous crime that will require all of my courage and cunning to solve. Only this morning the mayor of our quaint village caught a high school girl attempting to shoplift a carton of cigarettes at the supermarket. He wanted to convene a firing squad on the spot, but I convinced him that life imprisonment would be more appropriate."

"Who was it?" asked Estelle.

Ruby Bee smirked. "I'll bet it was Darla Jean McIlhaney. I see her and Heather Riley puffing away like smokestacks every time they go past me in the station wagon."

"Maybe," Estelle said, "but it sure could have been that runty Bodine girl. Lottie has her in home ec and says the girl can't even put bread in a toaster."

I buttoned up my coat and left them to their speculation. I had no doubt they'd have all the sordid details by suppertime, in that the grapevine makes a marked detour through the bar and grill, curls around Ruby Bee's private unit in the motel out back, and then takes off at a brisk clip for Estelle's Hair Fantasies.

No heinous crimes seemed to be in progress as I trudged up the road, my hands jammed in my pockets and my face lowered in an ineffectual attempt to keep grit out of my nose and eyes. The vacant buildings with yellowed newspapers taped across the windows were still vacant, as far as I could tell, and the newspapers were still bragging about the lunar landing. The bench in front of the barbershop was unoccupied. It was too early in the day for brawls at the pool hall, and the inhospitable weather might keep all but the worst of its patrons at home that evening, glued to their televisions. Roy Stiver had closed his antiques shop for the season and retreated to a more civilized climate, and what had briefly been a pawnshop (and before that, a New Age hardware store) was once again a sanctuary for field mice and spiders.

I went into the front room of the red-bricked PD, continued into the back room to pour myself a mug of coffee, and, having done the grand tour, was settled down at my desk with a magazine when the telephone rang. I answered it without enthusiasm.

"Hey, Arly," said Harve Dorfer, the esteemed sheriff of Stump County, "you done with the paperwork on that wreck by the reservoir? It turns out the driver's father is a lobbyist for the poultry industry, and the reporters are swarming like flies on a meadow muffin."

I rocked back in the cane-bottomed chair and regarded the water stains on the ceiling for inspiration. "Yeah, I have, but there's something wrong with my transmission and I need to get it fixed before I drive into Farberville. It's too damn cold to sit and wait for a tow truck."

"Colder'n a witch's tit, but that's not keeping the reporters out of my hair. First thing in the morning?"

"Okay," I muttered. "Anything else going on?"

Harve exhaled wheezily, and I could easily imagine the cigar smoke swirling around his head like exhaust fumes from a bus. By the end of the day, the evil-tempered dispatcher was the only person fearless (or perhaps' feckless) enough to enter his office. "Nothing but the usual crap," he said. "Some moron ran over a gas pump in Emmet and damn near flooded the town. A preacher in Scurgeton keeps calling all the time because he's convinced that satanists are sneaking into his church at night. A woman in LaPierre swears her husband's been abducted by international terrorists, but the fellows at the garage where he works are pretty sure he ran off with a eighteen-year-old tramp. Rumors about drugs at a nightclub down past the airport, and a holdup at a convenience store. You're more than welcome to any of them."

"Gee, Harve, I was hoping for something with a little class," I said.

"Like another rash of UFO sightings?" He guffawed at his boundless wit. "Tell ya what, if Bigfoot sticks up a shoe store, I'll give you a call. While you're waiting, write up the damn report and get it to me in the morning."

I mumbled something and hung up, annoyed at his wisecrack. Admittedly, some peculiar things had happened in Maggody since I'd slunk home to pull myself back together after a debilitating divorce from a Madison Avenue hotshot. It had taken me a long time to figure out that while I was studying menus in trendy restaurants, my so-called husband was slipping his office telephone number to waitresses. He may have worn silk ties, but his soul had proved to be strictly polyester.

I'd presumed that nothing could happen in a tatty little town with a population that hovered at seven hundred fifty-five, depending on who was doing time at the state prison at any given moment. Despite everything that had gone on, from the arrival of Hollywood movie stars to a recent invasion of militia wackos, most of the locals still considered the night Hiram's barn burned as the primo focal point of the century.

I reached for the magazine once again, but before I could get to it, the telephone rang. Doubting that it was Ruby Bee calling to say my sandwich was ready, I picked up the receiver.

"Arly, this is Eileen. Have you seen Dahlia?"

Although I most certainly had seen Dahlia (nee O'Neill) Buchanon on more occasions than I cared to remember, I opted not to confuse Eileen. She has enough to worry about, what with being the mother of one of Maggody's least bright Buchanons, Kevin, and the mother-in-law of the above-mentioned Dahlia, who's in a class by herself.

"Not lately," I said. "Is she lost?"

"I'm not sure. She asked me to come over after lunch and watch the babies while she went to the supermarket. That was more than three hours ago. The babies are good as gold, but I'm getting worried about where she could be all this time."

"Did you call the supermarket?"

"I talked to Kevin, and he said she hadn't been there. Even if she decided to drive into Farberville to shop, she should've been home by now."

"Maybe you should call Wal-Mart and have her paged. She could have been overwhelmed with the array of disposable diapers and gone into a stupor." I did not add that with Dahlia, it would be hard to tell; her expression is generally that of a deeply baffled bovine.

"I suppose I could do that," Eileen said unhappily. "I know it's silly of me to get upset over this, but you'd think now that Dahlia's a mother, she'd be a sight more responsible. It's hard on her, what with Kevvie Junior fussing half the night, and then Rose Marie waking up the minute she gets him to sleep. I do everything I can to help her out while Kevin's at work, and he's real good with them when he's home, but it's still an awful burden on her."

This was not a topic I wished to explore. "Tell you what, Eileen, as soon as I finish some paperwork, I'll drive around town and look for her car. She might have gone to the county home to visit her granny, or be working her way through the menu at the Dairee Dee-Lishus."

"Thanks, Arly," Eileen said, sighing. "It's just… well, you know how it is."

I replaced the receiver, but without feeling the typical stab of exasperation I seemed to be experiencing these days whenever a local resident intruded with yet another idiotic complaint. Raz Buchanon, for instance, believed he was entitled to police protection whenever the "revenooers" went after his moonshine operation somewhere up on Cotter's Ridge. The reasoning is hard to explain. Hizzoner the Moron wanted me to fix a speeding ticket with the state police. Elsie McMay felt as though her old license plate (circa 1987) made her car legal. Pathetica Buchanon could not understand why she shouldn't sell herbal remedies out of her basement; she did, after all, have a one hundred percent guaranteed cure for prostate cancer, eczema, and vaginal warts.

Take your choice.

Maggody was more than a fly splat on the map. It was a mind-set, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could survive on stimulation that peaked with running a speed trap out by the petrified remains of Purde's Esso station. An APB for Dahlia would not result in grand drama, since odds were excellent that she'd drag in with a lame story about a sale at Kmart or a two-for-one ice cream sundae special at a café in Farberville.

My efficiency apartment above the antiques store seemed more cramped and less efficient every day. My mother's most exciting idea to date was to take an Elvis bus tour. Harve had failed to proffer an investigation centering on a zillion-dollar Brink's robbery; most of the cases foisted on me involved stolen dogs, wrecks, and pitiful domestic disputes in which I wanted to shoot all parties concerned-innocent, guilty, and the odd bystander-on principle.

I needed a break.

"I was under the impression this was to be an escorted tour," Estelle said as she climbed into the van and assessed her fellow travelers. It was a mixed bag, but everybody looked respectable-for the most part, anyway. The two women who'd taken the first double seat were tacky, gussied up like they were planning to stop by church on their way to a beer bust. Estelle had never trusted women that wore fake fur coats, and she could see right off the bat that no critters on God's green earth had been sacrificed in the making of theirs.

Baggins stopped studying a map of Memphis long enough to put on his C'Mon Tours cap. "I'm the escort. My name's Hector Baggins, but don't go calling me by my first name."

"You're the one that's gonna lecture us about the important Elvis destinations and tell us fascinating facts about his life and times?"

"Hush, Estelle," said Ruby Bee as she sank down on the nearest torn vinyl seat. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll be back."

"She's absolutely correct about the escort," chimed in a man on the seat in the back. Ruby Bee swiveled her head to glare at him, but she couldn't make out much, since he was wearing a floppy cloth hat and darkly tinted sunglasses. His lips were on the thin side, like Mrs. Jim Bob's. What hair that was visible was jet black and came close to brushing the collar of his khaki jacket, but his voice was not that of some kid fresh out of high school. He sounded more like a politician, although it'd be hard to explain why he'd be traveling in a battered van if he was. She concluded he wasn't.

"Furthermore," he continued, "I have a copy of the brochure, and it implies that an expert in Elvisian folklore will be available to offer insights into-"

"That'd be me," Baggins said, folding the map with professional expertise. "Anything you want to know, you just ask."

"In what year did Colonel Parker buy a controlling interest in Elvis's management contract and for how much?"

Baggins tucked the map behind the sun visor. "The next thing, you'll be asking me about his bowel habits. Sure sounds like somebody could use a laxative."

"I asked a straightforward question," the man retorted.

Baggins grinned. "You ever tried Ex-Lax? May do the trick."

"I beg your pardon!"

"Are we gonna talk about poop for the next four days?" said the woman clad in molting orange fur. "How icky"

There might have been a rebellion in the making had Miss Vetchling not arrived on the scene with a clipboard. She ascertained Ruby Bee's and Estelle's names, asked the man in the back if he was Rex Malanac, and looked at the two women. "Ms. Crate? Yes, thank you. Ms. Zimmerman? Oh dear, if that is a cigarette I see in your hand, you must put it out immediately. Out of concern for others, there will be no smoking permitted on the van. Also, alcoholic beverages are specifically forbidden, as well as the use of vulgar language."

She moved aside to allow a young couple to squeeze past her. "Todd and Taylor Peel? Well, then, it looks as if we're all present and accounted for. Did all of us place our complimentary C'Mon Tours duffel bags in the luggage compartment at the rear of the van? We wouldn't want to find ourselves in Tupelo without our toothbrushes, would we?"

Rather than solicit responses, she beamed at the pilgrims as if they might arrive at the Holy Land sooner or later. "I do so hope you'll appreciate the spirituality of your journey. You have this marvelous opportunity to explore the complexity of Elvis's impact on contemporary culture, his contribution not only to rhythm and blues but also the dawning of rock and-"

"I thought we were supposed to have an escort," Estelle said sullenly. "It seems to me all we have is a driver."

Miss Vetchling's smile slipped but did not fail her. "You weren't planning to walk to Memphis, were you?"

Before anyone could offer an argument, she stepped down and slammed the door of the van. Baggins winked at Estelle in the rearview mirror, turned on the ignition, and coaxed the van into a somewhat jerky departure. Miss Vetchling was waving jauntily as they went around the corner and up Thurber Street.

Ten minutes later they were on the highway that would take them through the mountains to the interstate, which in turn would take them across the state in five hours or so to their first goal: Memphis. The next day they'd drive a hundred miles in a southeasterly direction to Tupelo, Mississippi. Their final destination, the casino in a town south of Tunica, wasn't more than thirty miles south of Memphis, but the shortest route from Tupelo went through towns that prided themselves on perpetual road construction.

Estelle glanced at Ruby Bee, who looked as anxious as a preacher at the Pearly Gates. "Is something wrong?" she whispered.

"I'm fine," Ruby Bee said, resting her head against the window.

"Does anybody really care if I have a cigarette?" asked the woman identified thus far only as Ms. Zimmerman.

"I most vigorously object," said the married woman seated behind Ruby Bee and Estelle. "Aren't you aware of the dangers of secondhand smoke?"

"I'll put you on the side of the road if you light up," said Baggins. "Miss Vetchling told you the rules before we left."

"Bunch of crap," muttered Ms. Zimmerman.

Baggins stiffened. "Mind your tongue, missy."

This was not the most promising beginning, Estelle thought, as she watched cheap motels, gas stations, and used-car lots fly by. She chewed on her lip for a moment, then decided to take matters in her own hands and do what it took to make this a "marvelous opportunity." If nothing else, they were all stuck with each other for the next four days.

"Listen up," she said in the perky voice she imagined an escort would use. "Let's all introduce ourselves and say why we came on this trip. I'm Estelle Oppers from Maggody. I'm a licensed cosmetologist and a lifelong Elvis fan. I almost cried my eyes out when he died back in August of nineteen seventy-seven. I remember just like it was yesterday where I was when I heard the news. I was giving Elsie McMay a permanent when my second cousin Charlaine in Magnolia called to tell me. Charlaine was always real thoughtful about passing along things of that nature."

When no one else jumped in, she took a breath and went on. "My friend here is Rubella Belinda Hanks, but you can call her Ruby Bee. She owns a bar and grill in Maggody and makes the fluffiest buttermilk biscuits west of the Mississippi. She was saying just the other day how she remembered when Elvis first appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show. I ain't sure any of the rest of you are that old."

"Estelle!" said Ruby Bee. "There's no call to-"

"So let's move on to you," Estelle said, pointing at the woman with curly brown hair, scarlet fingernails, and a thick slathering of pancake makeup. "Tell us all about yourself, honey."

"My name's Cherri Lucinda Crate, and I just love Elvis. I don't want y'all to think I'm some kind of crackpot, but I'm not convinced he's dead. My niece's roommate's boss is positive she saw him in a record store in Minneapolis last fall. She got right smack next to him and-"

"That's ridiculous," said the man in the back. "I'm an expert in the field, and I can assure you that the King is dead. All these conspiracy theories about falsified autopsies and empty coffins are hogwash."

Cherri Lucinda twisted around in her seat. "Who says you're an expert?"

"I do."

She looked at the others for support. "I want to know what makes him such a know-it-all. Like he has a degree in Elvis or something? I happen to know plenty myself. I can tell you the exact day Priscilla arrived in Germany -and what she was wearing when she stepped off the airplane. I can recite Gladys's genealogy back four generations. Just when did the angels come down and anoint this fellow?"

Estelle agreed that this was an interesting question, so she nodded regally at the man in the hat. "Mebbe you should tell us."

"My name is Rex Malanac, and I'm a professor of twentieth-century European literature at Farber College."

Cherri Lucinda cackled. "I told you he didn't have a degree in Elvisology or whatever you call it. All I can say is he'd better not start lecturing us like we're a bunch of snot-nosed college kids. I paid too much money to be bored to tears from here to Tupelo and back."

"I am also a scholar of popular culture," Rex said in a steely voice. "I have presented more than two dozen papers on the impact of Elvis on contemporary social values. I am considered one of the leading authorities in the field."

"Why doncha take a hike across that one?" said Cherri Lucinda as she pointed out the window at an expanse of stubble. "You'll be right at home with all the bullshit in the weeds."

This was not going as Estelle had planned. She cleared her throat and looked at the would-be smoker, who had frizzy blond hair and even more makeup than her companion. "I'm sure we all have something to contribute. What about you?"

"I'm Stormy Zimmerman, and I don't have a blessed thing to contribute. I just decided to come along at the last minute. All I know about Elvis is that he died the same year my brother did. My mother made me sing 'Love Me Tender' at the funeral. I've hated that song ever since."

"That's so sad," said Cherri Lucinda. She pulled a tissue from her purse and carefully blotted the corners of her eyes. "How come you never told me?"

"You never asked." Stormy looked up at Estelle. "Will you please get on with this stupid party game?"

Estelle had been feeling sorry for the gal up until that point. "We're not exactly in a rush, are we? What is it you do for a living?"

"Cherri Lucinda and I are entertainers. What else do you want to know? My ma was an alcoholic and my pa took off when I was ten. I married a truck driver when I was seventeen, but he turned out to be a real bastard and I got divorced two years later. Before I moved to Farberville last fall, I worked in Bossier City. Oh, and I have a butterfly tattooed on my butt."

"Oh, really?" said Rex. "I'm a bit of an amateur lepidopterologist. Ten dollars says I can identify the particular species. I'll give you two-to-one odds."

"In your dreams-or your worst nightmare," she shot back, her hair obscuring her eyes but not her scowl.

Estelle tried again. "How about you two?" she asked the couple in the third seat. "You're married, aren't you?"

The purported husband stared at his purported wife, then slumped down in the seat, exhaled loudly, and closed his eyes. His neck was as thick as a ham and his bulk took up a good deal of the space. His round head and close-set features reminded Estelle of a bowling ball just waiting to be rolled down an alley. The woman, in contrast, was trim, with short, sensible dark hair, a clear complexion, and wire-rimmed glasses that gave her a sober look.

"I'm Taylor," she said, "and this is Todd. I wrote on the form that we're married, but that's not exactly true. We're supposed to have a big wedding this summer in a church in Little Rock, with five hundred guests and a dinner dance at a country club after the ceremony. Todd's mother has been handling all the preparations, since we're both students at Farber College." She looked over her shoulder at Rex. "Todd's third-year law, and I'm a business major, so I guess we've never taken any classes from you."

He shrugged. "One of the prerequisites for my classes is the ability to read and write. From what I've heard, neither is required in your respective fields."

Estelle doubted she could persuade the driver to stop long enough to chuck the smarmy professor off the van. "This wedding sounds real lovely," she said to Taylor.

"I got married in a courthouse," said Stormy. "Afterward, we had a dinner dance at a truck stop just outside Texarkana. The orchestra canceled at the last minute, so we had to feed quarters in the jukebox all night long."

"Yeah, real lovely," Todd said suddenly, opening one eye. "So what the hell are we doing on this shitty van?"

Now it was Taylor 's turn to pull out a tissue and dab her eyes. "The thing is," she said in a quavering voice, "my parents were killed in a car wreck when I was a baby. My grandparents, who raised me, died last summer. They left a sizable estate, but there have been problems with probate and until the court sorts them out, I'm virtually penniless. I had to borrow money from the bank to cover tuition this year."

"Give me a break," said Baggins, bearing down on a lump of roadkill in the middle of the lane. "You want to stop at one of these junk shops and buy a violin?"

Estelle glowered at the back of his head. "One more word out of you and I'll call your boss at the first rest stop. Please go on, Taylor -we're all just as interested as we can be."

Taylor blinked earnestly. "It's customary for the bride's family to pay for the wedding and reception. As things are right now, I couldn't afford five hundred hamburgers, much less lobster and steak. Todd's mother insisted that she and Todd's father would pay for everything, but I'm not one to accept charity. I guess you could say we're eloping. I've made arrangements for us to get married in the chapel next to Elvis's birthplace. All of you are invited."

Todd rumbled like a backhoe on a steep incline. "My mother is gonna have a stroke when she finds out. She's already booked the club and the caterers, and is expecting to have an engagement party during spring break."

"She'll survive," Taylor said. "She can use all the money she saves to treat herself to a month at one of those incredibly expensive spas. The pedicurists and masseuses will adore hearing her complain about our treachery."

"I'll hear it for the rest of my life. We've been over this a thousand times. My mother got carried away with her plans, but we don't have to go along with everything. She can cut back on the guest list, and if we get married in the morning, we can do the cake-and-punch thing at the church."

Rex leaned forward and said, "Why don't you invite her to meet us in Tupelo? She can be your flower girl."

"Shut up," snarled Todd, his face turning so red that he, rather than his mother, appeared in imminent danger of a stroke. "Leave my mother out of this-okay?"

Taylor elbowed him hard enough to elicit a grunt. "Why don't you go back to sleep, Todd? You'll feel better when we get to Memphis, and we can have a blast on Beale Street tonight."

"We might as well, 'cause all hell's gonna break loose when we call my mother and tell her we're on a really glamorous honeymoon in friggin' Tupelo. Who wouldn't rather be there than in Hawaii? I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"Well, then," Estelle said, abandoning any perkiness, "I guess that's it. I think we should all agree to have a fine time."

Cherri Lucinda flicked Baggins's shoulder with one of her talons. "What about you, Mr. Escort? You a big Elvis fan?"

"He's more likely to be a convicted felon," drawled Rex.

The van went into a gut-wrenching swerve before it squealed to a stop on the shoulder of the highway. The driver of the pickup behind them yelled an obscenity as he went past, and his gesture was far from salutary.

Baggins cut off the engine and swiveled around in his seat. "I ain't taking that kind of shit from anybody, sir. I may not have a college degree, but I've been driving for a good forty years. If you got a problem with me, let's step outside and settle it right now."

Cherri Lucinda held up her hands. "Hey, I was just making conversation. There's no reason for everybody to get all hot and bothered, especially with so many miles in front of us. Mr. Malanac, you owe this man an apology. He's a working stiff like the rest of us."

"That's right," said Estelle. She was hoping Ruby Bee and the others would jump in, but everybody was pretending to be more interested in the chicken trucks grinding past. It was right cowardly of them, Estelle thought, and of Ruby Bee in particular. College students and entertainers might not know how to face down bullies, but barkeepers sure did.

She was about to say as much when she noticed Ruby Bee was giving Cherri Lucinda a downright bumfuzzled look, and to make things even more peculiar, Cherri Lucinda was looking toward the back of the van with the exact same expression.

"I apologize," Rex said grandly. "Please drive on."

Once they were back on their way to the interstate, Estelle nudged Ruby Bee and in a low voice, said, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I wish you'd stop pestering me, Estelle. There's not a single thing wrong-okay? If you ask one more time, I swear I'll get off this van at the first stop and hitchhike home."

"Who's gonna stop for a middle-aged woman carrying a green-and-orange duffel bag? You'd look like a fugitive from a health club."

Estelle thought she was being funny, but it was clear from Ruby Bee's snort that she didn't have the same opinion. There wasn't much to do but sit back and keep her fingers crossed that they'd survive for the next four days without bloodshed.

Estelle poked Ruby Bee as the van started across the bride that spanned the Mississippi River. "Look," she said excitedly, "you can see the skyline over that way, and the Pyramid over there. Isn't this something?"

Ruby Bee rubbed her grainy eyes. "I suppose so. How much further to the motel?"

"You feeling bad?" asked Cherri Lucinda, reaching over the seat to pat Ruby Bee's knee. "I have some saltines in my purse if you want something to nibble on."

"I'm perfectly fine." Ruby Bee stared out the window at the wide stripe of milky brown water. Traffic down there was a sight less frantic, what with a few barges placidly pushed along by tugboats and a motorboat cutting circles for no apparent reason. In contrast, Baggins seemed to think he was going to win a prize if he got to the far side of the bridge before everybody else in the state of Arkansas. The only thing he deserved was a traffic ticket for speeding or reckless driving, she thought with a frown.

"I've got some antacid tablets," said Estelle.

Ruby Bee turned on her with a glower that could have melted an iceberg, or at least a good-sized ice cube. "How many times to I have to tell you to let me be? Would you feel better if I tap-danced in the aisle? I'm already getting fed up with you, Estelle Oppers, and we ain't even one-fourth of the way through this trip."

"Well, pardon me for being concerned. You can say whatever you want, but you were moaning while you were asleep and right now your face is pale as a sow's belly. Your eyes don't look so good, neither. Do you recall how Two Claude Buchanon's eyes turned all orange after he ate nothing but carrots for three months?"

Ruby Bee resumed staring out the window. Cherri Lucinda looked like she wanted to say something, but she kept her peace as Stormy squeezed her way thorough the aisle from the back of the van and plopped herself down. Behind them, Todd was snoring, and Taylor was reading a thick paperback book. The professor was humming bits of Elvis tunes; Ruby Bee hoped she wouldn't have to slap him upside the head in the next day or so, but she could see it might happen.

Baggins grunted and cursed under his breath as he battled the late-afternoon traffic. Big stone buildings gave way to less imposing structures, until most everything was real sorry. A discount liquor store sat next to an establishment to cash checks. A club promised naked women, cheap drinks, and no cover charge. Pretty soon they were treated to nothing more than walls splashed with graffiti and vacant lots strewn with broken glass.

"Just where are we going?" demanded Estelle.

"The Starbright Motel," Baggins said, dodging a car filled with raucous teen-aged boys that reeked of trouble in the making. "Five or ten more minutes."

Taylor lifted her eyes from her book. "I assume it's accredited with a nationally established chain."

Baggins braked to allow a couple of drunks to weave across the street. "Elvis himself stayed there before he hit it big. That's why C'Mon Tours chose it. One of you may be lucky enough to stay in the exact room he did back in nineteen fifty-three."

"I'm unfamiliar with that factoid," Rex Malanac said from his seat in the rear.

"Ain't my fault," Baggins countered as he swerved around a bag lady wheeling a cart, slowed down as a police car sped by, and then pulled into a parking lot. "Here we are, folks-the Starbright Motel. It may not look like much, but it's an important site for dedicated Elvis fans. Ain't nobody come to Memphis without stopping here."

"Here?" said Estelle, gawking at the shoddy two-story structure. What once had been a swimming pool was now a pit of cracked concrete that seemed to be nothing more than a garbage dump. Two overweight men in vests, baggy pants, and caps were on the upstairs balcony, waving their arms at each other and mouthing what might well have been, to employ Miss Vetchling's terminology, vulgar language. One of them held a bottle in a brown paper bag. A woman with purple hair came out of a downstairs room and shook her fist at them. One of them pretended to unzip his fly, which sent her scurrying back inside.

"Here?" Taylor echoed.

Rex snickered. "No doubt this was the inspiration for Elvis's first big hit, 'Heartbreak Hotel,' although I should think as many heads have been broken here as hearts." He pushed back his jacket cuff and made a production of studying his wristwatch. "The time is exactly four-seventeen, in case anyone's interested."

"So I owe you twenty bucks," muttered Stormy. "Big fuckin' deal."

Baggins parked in front of the office. "Now listen up," he said, grinning like he'd wangled guest rooms in Graceland, "you came for the Elvis experience, not some sanitized tour. Sure, we could stay at the Holiday Inn or the Ramada, but C'Mon Tours is dedicated to giving you more than that. If everybody'll sit tight, I'll be right back with your room keys." He glanced up at the balcony. "It might not be real wise to get out and stretch your legs just yet. Won't take me but a minute to get us checked in."

Estelle licked her lips, trying to think what a perky escort might say in this situation. "So Elvis stayed here. Isn't that exciting?"

"I'm about to wet my pants," said Cherri Lucinda, "but not from excitement. Do you think this hellhole has indoor plumbing?"

"Of course it does," Estelle said firmly. "Like Baggins said, it's part of the Elvis experience."

Stormy smirked at her. "Are fleas and bedbugs part of it, too? I'll bet we're the first people since nineteen fifty-three to rent rooms by the night. Everybody else does it by the hour or the month."

The other pilgrims were still pondering this when Baggins slid open the van door. "We're all set. I'll get your bags out of the back and give you your room keys. After that, you're on your own till nine o'clock tomorrow morning, when we head for Graceland."

"What about this so-called complimentary breakfast?" asked Estelle.

"You can get coffee and doughnuts in the lobby. If you want something more, there are a couple of restaurants within walking distance. Should be safe at that hour, but you ladies need to mind your purses."

They climbed down out of the van and formed a huddle as Baggins pulled seven identical orange and green duffel bags from a compartment. Storage space being at a premium, each of the travelers had been warned that he or she could take no other luggage, so most of the duffel bags were bulging.

Rex Malanac grabbed his, accepted a key, and hurried toward the end of the building, looking up every so often at the men on the balcony. Todd picked up a bag and, after Taylor hissed at him, a second one and dutifully followed her into a room.

"Hanks?" said Baggins, turning over tags. "Oppers?"

"I'll get 'em," Estelle said. "Come along, Ruby Bee. We'll get settled and have ourselves a nice rest."

"I want to find a drugstore," said Stormy as she lit a skinny brown cigarette and looked at Baggins. "Assuming you can suggest one that won't be robbed two seconds after I walk in the door."

"You should be okay as long as it's light outside. Won't be any gunfire until ten, maybe eleven tonight."

Ruby Bee clutched Estelle's arm. "Let's find our room-okay?"

Estelle took a key from Baggins and hustled Ruby Bee along until they arrived at the door of #12. "Just think of it," she said with as much enthusiasm as she could choke out as she opened the door, "this may be the very room that Elvis slept in."

"He didn't sleep all that well," Ruby Bee said, eyeing the swaybacked double bed. A cobweb hung from the cracked light fixture in the ceiling. Even from the doorway, she could see the dingy porcelain in the bathroom and a wet towel on the floor. "This is awful, Estelle, and what's more, I'm afraid to set foot outside until morning. What are we gonna do about supper?"

Estelle managed a smile. "Oh, it's not so bad. We can put on our pajamas, turn on the TV, and order a pizza. That way, you can be ready for Graceland in the morning. I can hardly wait to see Elvis's house and cars and airplanes? The last time Charlaine was here she bought a tea towel with Elvis's picture and a set of beer mugs depicting Graceland in all the seasons. In the winter, there was snow on the gate, and in the spring-"

"I'm not hungry." Ruby Bee went into the bathroom and locked the door with a loud click.

"Excuse me," said Estelle as she put down their duffel bags. "I don't recollect begging you to come on this trip, Ms. High and Mighty. The Flamingo Motel ain't exactly the Ritz."

"What?" Ruby Bee said from the bathroom. "You say something about the Flamingo?"

"No, I was just looking up the number of a pizza place." She picked up a telephone directory, glumly noted its thickness, and put it down. She wasn't smitten with the notion of walking around after dark in hopes they'd find a café, but the cheeseburgers they'd had for lunch at a truck stop wouldn't hold them till morning. Especially not Ruby Bee, who'd taken only a couple of bites before pushing hers aside.

She was still perched on the end of the bed, fretting and gnawing her lip, when she heard a rap on the door. Despite the urge to duck into the closet, she made herself open the door.

Cherri Lucinda fluttered her fingers. "Stormy's insisting we go out so she can buy a few things. Can we bring you and your friend something to eat? She looks mighty wan, like my sister-in-law did just before she was diagnosed with liver cancer. Three months later she was in an urn on the mantel."

"Ruby Bee doesn't have anything wrong with her?" Estelle retorted, then realized she'd spoken too loudly and lowered her voice. "This is sweet of you, though, and we'd dearly appreciate a couple of sandwiches and cans of soda pop. Are you sure it's safe to walk around here?"

"No, but Stormy's going whether or not I do, and I figure two's safer than one. I was gonna ask Todd the Clod to go with us, but I knocked on their door and nobody answered. Same with that professor, although I don't think he could scare off a wino, much less a mugger. About all he could do is recite poetry."

"Come inside so I can get you some money," Estelle said, keeping her fingers crossed that Ruby Bee'd stay in the bathroom for a few more minutes. "You think ten will cover it?"

"Yeah." Cherri Lucinda stopped in front of the mirror and scowled at her reflection. "I can't believe all the gray hairs I'm getting at my age. Didn't you say you're a cosmetologist?Maybe one night you could put on a rinse for me, and trim the split ends while you're at it."

Estelle was going to point out that as a professional, she expected to get paid, but then she thought about the sandwiches and soda pops Cherri Lucinda had offered to fetch. "I don't have my scissors with me. Otherwise, I'd be tickled pink."

"You think I'd look better with bangs?"

"I'm not so sure. Your face is already kinda plump, and bangs tend to-" She stopped as a fist pounded the door. "Oh my gawd, what should we do? What if it's some drug-crazed rapist?"

"Plump?" said Cherri Lucinda.

Ruby Bee poked her head out of the bathroom. "What in tarnation's going on, Estelle? Stop gaping like a wide-mouthed bass and open the door before whoever it is breaks it down?"

Estelle opened the door. Before she could so much as get out a squeak, Stormy stumbled into the room, shoved her aside, and slammed the door shut. Once she'd locked the deadbolt, she seemed to notice her stunned audience.

"Sorry if I scared you all," she said with a weak laugh that wouldn't have fooled a newborn baby. "I was waiting for Cherri Lucinda out by the van, and all of a sudden…"

Estelle felt her knees begin to buckle. "A drug-crazed rapist attacked you? Are you hurt?"

"You'd better sit down," said Cherri Lucinda. "You don't want to faint and bang your head and have to get stitches. When that happened to me, they shaved half my head and I had to wear a wig for three months."

"Poppycock," Ruby Bee muttered as she closed the bathroom door.

Stormy sat on a chair. "Nobody attacked me. I just got real nervous on account of all these lowlifes lurking nearby. Considering what we're paying, you'd think we could stay somewhere halfway decent. I don't care if Elvis was born here, much less spent one night more than forty years ago. It ain't like there's a rack of postcards in the office." She went to the window, peered through the dusty slats of the venetian blind, and after a moment, said, "My imagination must be earning time-and-a-half. There's nobody out there."

Estelle went over to see for herself, nearly tripping over a duffel bag on the floor. Hers and Ruby Bee's were next to the bed where she'd set them earlier. "Whose is this?" she asked.

Stormy picked it up. "Mine. I was afraid to leave it in the room. You never know who might have a key." She looked at Cherri Lucinda. "You ready to go? I'd just as soon not be out there in the combat zone after dark."

"Here's some money," said Estelle. "Any kind of sandwich will be fine, as long as it's not barbecue. Ruby Bee seems to be experiencing a touch of something, and I don't think she needs to be eating anything spicy."

"I heard that" the accused roared from inside the bathroom.

Cherri Lucinda took the bills from Estelle and unlocked the door. "God willing, we'll be back in half an hour. You might ought to use the chain as well as the deadbolt. Those two guys on the balcony are still hanging around."

As soon as they'd left, Estelle relocked the door and made sure the chain was secured, then moved back to the window to watch their progress across the parking lot. In spite of Stormy's earlier panic and Cherri Lucinda's warning, nobody seemed to be loitering in the vicinity of the van.

"I don't know why I let you badger me into this," Ruby Bee said as she came out of the bathroom. "The Flamingo may not be the fanciest motel in Stump County, but I make sure to scrub the commodes and collect dirty towels off the floor. When we pull back the bedspread, we're likely to find bloodstains. Maybe Elvis died here."

Estelle ordered herself not to so much as glance at the bed. "Everybody knows he died at Graceland. He's buried there, too, so we don't have to worry about his ghost dropping by for a chat long about midnight. Which side do you want?"

"All I want is a place to stretch out for a few minutes. If I had my druthers, it'd be on my own bed in Maggody, but that ain't going to happen for another three nights."

She didn't pull back the bedspread, but instead lay down, folded her hands, and closed her eyes like she was the featured attraction at a funeral. Estelle figured it wouldn't be wise to launch into 'Love Me Tender,' so she sat down on a chair and unzipped her duffel bag. She'd managed to cram in a change of clothes for each day, along with underwear, pajamas, a toothbrush and toothpaste, several combs and hair clips, and a bottle of her preferred brand of shampoo, but there'd been no way to bring foam rollers and her industrial-sized can of hair spray. C'Mon Tours needs a bigger van, she thought tartly as she hung what she could on the single clothes hanger in the closet.

She thought about turning on the television real low, but she couldn't tell if Ruby Bee was asleep or playing possum and waiting for the chance to start complaining again. She finally went back to the window and peeked through the slats, her fingers crossed that Cherri Lucinda and Stormy had found a place nearby and might be on their way back.

She was expecting to see nothing more interesting than the woman with purple hair or maybe the two men from the balcony, so she was a little surprised when a black car pulled into the parking lot, circled the pool like a shark closing in on a swimmer, and stopped right behind the C'Mon Tours van. There were two men in the front seat, both as broad-chested as wrestlers. The driver was hard to make out, but the passenger had a bald head, a nose that was as bumpy as an unpaved road, and puffy lips.

Estelle held her breath, even though she knew darn well they couldn't hear her. If they were getting ready to steal the van, it would be up to her to stop them somehow. Rushing outside to shoo them off didn't seem wise. She'd feel real stupid if she called 911 and then later found out they had checked into the motel and were looking for their room.

She must have made a small noise of frustration because Ruby Bee said, "Now what's wrong? Did Elvis drive up in a Cadillac? Why doncha ask him inside to sit a spell and tell us whereall he's been for the last twenty years?"

"There's a car out there."

"In a parking lot? Goodness gracious, what will these big-city folks think of next?"

Estelle let go of the slat. "What's gotten into you, Rubella Belinda Hanks? I ain't seen you this persnickety since Arly moved up North and married that good-for-nothing Yankee peckerwood. You tried my patience back then, and you're doing it now."

Instead of apologizing like she was supposed to, Ruby Bee pulled a pillow over on her face.

Estelle looked back out at the parking lot. The black car hadn't moved and both men were just sitting there like warts on a toad. After what seemed like an eternity-but according to her watch, was more like five minutes-Baggins came limping into view from the direction of the street. He froze for a second, then approached the driver's side of the car and bent down.

Whatever was happening seemed to upset him. He backed away from the car, nearly losing his balance as his heel hit the curb. The driver was the one doing most of the talking; Baggins shook his head a couple of times, then shrugged and said something, although Estelle could see he was less than enthusiastic.

She was wishing she could read lips like her great-aunt Dorita, when she realized the bald man was staring at her, his eyes narrowed and his face stony. She snatched her hand back and dropped to her knees. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid it was gonna burst, and for a moment she was sure she was going to pass out on the dirty carpet.

Keeping low, she made it to the bathroom, locked the door, and sat down on the commode until she could get her breath. What a silly goose she was, she scolded herself. For starters, all the man could have seen was the slit in the blinds. There was no way he could have seen her face or even been sure she was watching them. And so what if she had been? The parking lot was nigh onto empty, and the arrival of a car might attract attention from any of the rooms. Or why couldn't she have just been waiting for a pizza to be delivered?

She took a few more deep breaths, splashed some water do her face and wrists, and went out of the bathroom. Ruby Bee had dozed off, if her snoring was to be believed. Just to be on the safe side, Estelle tiptoed around the bed and peeked ever so slyly though the blinds.

The car was gone, as was Baggins. She was wondering if he'd been kidnapped-and what she should do about it-when she heard female voices approaching the room. She took off the chain, and at the sound of the first tap, twisted the deadbolt, opened the door, and held her finger to her lips.

"Ruby Bee's taking a nap," she whispered, gesturing for them to come inside.

Cherri Lucinda held out a paper bag. "The best we could find was a Git 'N Go. One of the sandwiches is tuna salad, the other roast beef. We got you some chips and a couple of candy bars, too. Your change is in the bottom."

"This is real thoughtful of you," said Estelle.

Stormy leaned against the door, her duffel bag in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. "Can I ask a favor? Cherri Lucinda here said that you offered to do her hair. I've been thinking for a long time that I need a new look. As long as we're stuck here for the evening, would you consider doing something with mine?"

"You're making a big mistake," Cherri Lucinda said as she resumed examining herself in the mirror. "Don't come crying to me when you see what you've done."

"Well?" Stormy said to Estelle. "It beats sitting around listening to gunfire."

Estelle felt like she'd been cornered by a pit bull. This particular pit bull was six inches shorter and most likely thirty years younger, but her eyes had a disturbing gleam and it was hard to guess how she'd react if she didn't get her way. Estelle nodded and said, "I suppose I can give it a try, even though I'm used to my own equipment. What do you want?"

"To be a brunette, for starters," Stormy said as she dumped the contents of the plastic bag on the seat of the chair. "I'll take care of that while you eat, and you can cut my hair afterward."

"You'll be sorry," said Cherri Lucinda, her face inches from the mirror as she explored a blemish on her chin.

Stormy picked up a box with the depiction of a radiant brunette. "So will you if you don't shut up. You should know that when I make up my mind to do something, I do it no matter what. Remember when I told you that I was going to knock the crap out of that bouncer if he touched my tit one more time? I'll bet he does."

She went into the bathroom, and seconds later water began to run in the sink. Estelle took out the sandwiches and put them on the bedside table as Ruby Bee woke up and made a selection. "How long have you and Stormy been friends?" she asked Cherri Lucinda.

"Couple of months. Do you honestly think my face is plump?"

"Only in a fetching sort of way. You remind me of one of those actresses who always ends up with the handsome hero," Estelle said tactfully. "Maybe that's why you look kind of familiar. Did you work at Kmart before you became an entertainer?"

"I've worked a lot of places." Cherri Lucinda dangled some curls across her forehead. "So what do you think? Does it make me look like a chipmunk?"

Estelle was casting around for a way to soften her answer when there was a knock on the door. She took a quick peek through the blinds, then opened the door and let Rex Malanac inside. "I suppose you want your hair cut, too," she said irritably. "If I had this much business back home, I'd have hired a limo to take me to Memphis."

In spite of the fact it was dark outside, he was still wearing sunglasses and the canvas hat. "I did not realize I was interrupting what used to be called a hen party when I was in college. I'm in need of some change to use the pay telephone at the corner. I went to the office, but it's locked and the lights are off."

"Can't a college professor figure out how to use the phone in a motel room?" said Cherri Lucinda, making it clear she hadn't forgotten the exchange in the van.

"One cannot make long-distance calls on the room phones," he said. "No doubt the owners of this establishment have been stiffed on many occasions. Is she"-he pointed at the supine form on the bed-"ill or in some sort of distress?"

Ruby Bee's voice was muffled but her tone was unmistakable. "The only thing causing me distress is the procession through this room. You'd think this was one of the rooms in Graceland, what with everybody traipsing in and out like a herd of tourists. I'm surprised I haven't heard cameras clicking."

Estelle took her wallet out of her purse and poured coins onto the corner of the bed. "How much change do you need? I've got what looks to be three dollars' worth."

"That will have to suffice," he said.

Stormy came out of the bathroom, her hair obscured by a terrycloth turban. "What's going on? Are we gonna play poker or something?"

Cherri Lucinda rolled her eyes. "Now there's a swell idea. I'm sure the professor here is a big fan of strip poker. He's probably hoping you'll lose so he can see that butterfly of yours. Ain't that right, Rex?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said.

Stormy put her hands on her hips. "I'll drop my pants if you'll drop yours."

Ruby Bee groaned loudly. "What does a body have to do to get some peace and quiet around here?"

"Come on, Rex," continued Stormy. "Let's have a little game of show-and-tell."

Cherri Lucinda began to play with the top button of her jeans. "Hey, I've got a mole on my thigh. Can I play, too?"

Estelle stood up. "Cut this out, and I mean it. You all are acting worse than a third-grade Sunday school class. Nobody is taking off anything in this room. Now you either behave or march yourselves right out the door. Go squabble in the parking lot and try not to get yourselves shot."

Stormy's hands fell to her sides. "It was just a joke. Are you still willing to cut my hair?"

Cherri Lucinda looked at Rex. "Do you think my face is plump?"

He smiled. "No one would accuse you of being emaciated, but you are hardly Rubenesque."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"This is craziness?" said a muffled voice.

Estelle had to agree with that.

"Watta You want?" asked Dahlia as she opened the front door. Her puckery frown made me feel as welcome as a bout of the flu.

"I dropped by to see how the babies are doing," I said, frantically trying to remember their names. It had been a tempestuous topic at the bar-they were Buchanons, after all-but most of it had rolled right past me. "Ruby Bee's been telling me how cute they are."

"They're sleeping, and the last thing you wanna do with twins is wake ' em up. I wouldn't so much as tickle their toes if Armageddon commenced to begin across the road."

I reminded myself of my promise to Kevin and nodded sympathetically. "What if I take a quick peek from the bedroom doorway? I'd love to see them, Dahlia."

"All right," she said as she gestured for me to come inside. "But just for a second and keep your voice low. Rose Marie wakes up ever'time a dog barks in the next county. When she starts howling, Kevvie Junior does, too. It's all I kin do not to join right in."

I tiptoed to the bedroom door, ascertained that there was a blanket-clad bundle in each crib, and eased the door closed. "I sure could use a cup of coffee before I go," I said, "but if you're busy with something else…?"

Dahlia shrugged and headed for the kitchen. "I don't reckon I've got time to learn how to do brain surgery afore lunchtime. There's still coffee in the pot from breakfast. Sit there at the dinette and I'll fetch some for you."

I did as ordered. Dirty dishes were piled beside the sink, and an empty milk carton lay on the floor next to an overflowing trash can. Keeping my hands off the tabletop to avoid contact with what appeared to be petrified grape jelly, I said, "How old are they?"

"Eight weeks, give or take." She took a cup from a cabinet, then set it down and turned around. "What do you really want, Arly?"

What I really wanted was to leave, but I smiled and said, "To see the babies and have a cup of coffee. I should have come by as soon as you came home from the hospital, but I figured you were too busy for visitors."

"That didn't matter to anybody else. After three days, I told Kevin to get his pa's shotgun and stand out on the porch in case the County Extension Club pulled up in a chartered bus. You and Raz must be the only two folks that didn't come calling-not that I'd let him get within spittin' distance of the babies, ornery ol' sumbitch that he is. Ever'time I see him riding around town with that sow in the front seat, it's all I can do not to start throwing rocks."

"You sound as though you're experiencing a lot of stress these days," I murmured, keeping an eye on her in case she yanked open a drawer and whipped out a knife. I doubted that I could disarm her, but I most certainly could outrun her.

She squinted at me. "Have you been talking to Kevin?"

I opted for the truth, but not the whole truth. "We had a brief discussion about the weather when I was in the supermarket this morning. The bar and grill will be closed for three more days, so I'm having to survive on canned soup and peanut-butter sandwiches."

"It's a good thing you ain't married, then. I fix Kevin breakfast and supper, and put his lunch in a bag so he won't waste money at the deli. Lord knows we don't have none to waste. You wouldn't believe the bills that keep coming from the clinic and the hospital. Kevvie Junior got an ear infection, and the medicine alone costs twenty-three dollars. I wash so many diapers that I use up a five-pound box of detergent every week." She had her back to me, but I could see her hands trembling so violently that coffee was sloshing all over the counter. "Before long, we're gonna need another high chair, another car seat, another stroller, twice as much clothes as we'd planned for, and who knows what else. Kevin's putting in twelve hours a day, but he can't work 'round the clock. I'd go plum out of my mind if I didn't get a break once in a blue moon."

"It'll be yard sale season before too long. Perhaps you can have Eileen baby-sit while you hunt for bargains. She's pretty good about that, isn't she?"

"I reckon," Dahlia said. "We're out of milk, so you'll have to use formula unless you can drink it black."

The idea was slightly more nauseating than gnawing the grape jelly off the tabletop. "Black's fine. How often does Eileen baby-sit for you?"

"Whenever I ask her, mostly. There've been a couple of times when there was something she had to do, like go to the dentist. The other day she took Elsie and Stan to the vet's office in Farberville. Stan got into a fight with a big yeller tomcat and came near gettin' his ear tore off." She set down a cup in front of me. "I read in one of those tabloids that cats can suffocate babies by sucking all the air out of their lungs. You think that's true?"

I had made no measurable progress in determining the nature of Dahlia's mysterious outings. I decided to leave before the babies woke up and I found a particularly leaky one thrust into my arms. I have nothing against babies as a subspecies, but I prefer them at a civilized distance. Needless to say, Ruby Bee is not pleased with my attitude, and swears that she breaks out in hives whenever I admit it.

"That cat business is an old wives' tale," I said as I gulped down some coffee and stood up. "Thanks for letting me see Kevvie Junior and Rose Louise."

"Her name's Rose Marie."

"And an adorable name it is." I hurried back to my car, shivering as the wind sent leaves skittering down the road. As I drove past Raz Buchanon's shack, I caught a glimpse of a glistening pink snout behind a windowpane.

I did not blow a kiss.

The red light on the answering machine was flashing when I went into the PD. It was likely to be someone other than Ruby Bee, who's been known to leave half a dozen messages telling me how much she hates to talk to my "dadburn silly contraption." She and Estelle had left the previous morning on their grand adventure, although she'd sounded rather grumpy about it when she'd come by to leave a schedule and tell me (in mind-numbing detail) how to get hold of her in an emergency. I had a feeling she suspected the first thing I'd do once she was past the city limits sign would be to elope with a backwoods Buchanon like Diesel, who, as far as anybody knew, was still residing in a cave on Cotter's Ridge and biting heads off live squirrels and rabbits.

I hit the rewind button on the machine and sat down, bracing myself for anything from Kevin's nasal whine to the mellifluous baritone of Prince Charming himself. What I heard was Harve's drawl.

"Hey, Arly, I got a whole damn stack of messages from that preacher in Scurgeton. He wasn't real happy with the way you interviewed him. Now I'd never for a second think you might have smarted off with him, 'cause you and I both know you're a proper little lady." He sighed so I could appreciate the depths of his misery. "Thing is, I'm still up to my ass with this drug case. The district attorney put together a task force, and most of 'em are sprawled on the sofas in the break room, eating doughnuts and driving LaBelle so crazy she's gone and locked herself in the restroom. The DEA is having us track down every last customer over the last five years. There's a membership list on account of it being a private club, but you wouldn't believe how much of it is either fake or out of date."

"Yeah, I would," I inserted as I was treated to yet another sigh.

"You go see that preacher and talk some sense into him before I lose my temper and go out there myself. You wouldn't want me to disgrace the dignity of my office, would you?"

The message ended with a burp. The day was not shaping up well. Dahlia was definitely out of sorts, but I wasn't prepared to keep her under surveillance unless Kevin and Eileen came up with proof, or even a hint, of something multifarious. The Reverend Hitebred needed an exorcist-or sessions with a shrink. There were no chicken-fried steaks, biscuits and gravy, and black-eyed peas in my immediate future.

I was trying to decide what kind of soup to have for lunch when Mrs. Jim Bob came into the PD, closed the door, and sat down across from me as if settling down to knit and purl her way through a beheading. A word of welcome on my part would have been hypocritical, so I merely waited.

Once she'd put her purse by her feet and removed her gloves, she acknowledged me with a sniff and said, "I've come to discuss a date for the rummage sale at the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall."

"I'd donate the shirt off my back, but it's the only clean one I've got until I get by the Suds of Fun to run a load," I said. "As for a date, I'm not ready for a relationship just yet."

"I told Jim Bob he was making a big mistake when he hired you. If you don't mind your mouth, you'll find yourself mopping the floor at the Suds of Fun."

"Does this mean you don't want a date after all?" I said with a stricken look. "I can picture us on the swing on your front porch, sipping lemonade as the moon rises over the ridge. Of course we'd better wait until the evenings are warmer and the scent of honeysuckle fills the breeze. I'll bring my kazoo to serenade you."

Mrs. Jim Bob did not appear to share my idyllic fantasy. "You'd better mend your ways if you want to keep your job, missy. Don't think for a second that Jim Bob won't hear about your disrespectful attitude as soon as he gets back from the Municipal League meeting." She smiled grimly, no doubt envisioning my dismissal (with a tar-and-feathering as the grand finale), then said, "I have set the date of the rummage sale for two weeks from Saturday. I'll need you to direct traffic from seven in the morning until midafternoon. I see no reason why we can't use the parking lots at the bank and the old hardware store, as well as the one behind the Assembly Hall."

"Did Queen Elizabeth donate a few choice pieces from the crown jewels?"

"I shall require each family in the congregation to make a substantial donation of clothing and household goods. Eula Lemoy has been assigned to make sure that the sale is listed in the community calendars of the Starley City Star Shopper and the Farberville Gazetteer. We will have not only quality merchandise for sale, but also sandwiches, hot dogs, cookies, soft drinks, and coffee. Brother Verber and I prayed for guidance, and the Lord has promised tolerable weather and a fine turnout."

"Are you sure the Lord approves of all these financial dealings in a house of worship? Didn't Jesus boot the money changers out of the temple?"

Mrs. Jim Bob raised her eyebrows. "Well, it's good to see that you still remember stories from your Sunday school days, even though everybody knows you became an atheist when you went to live in New York City. I suppose your mother's grateful you didn't become a streetwalker at the same time."

"I've enjoyed chatting with you," I said, "but I need to go hunt for satanists in Scurgeton. If I catch them, I'll confiscate their black candles and pickled newts' eyes for your rummage sale."

"Just mark your calendar," she said as she picked up her handbag and started toward the door. "I'll expect to see you at seven sharp that morning."

"Don't bet the farm on it," I muttered as the door slammed.

Although Reverend Hitebred could divine the persistent presence of satanists from a pink barrette and a couple of rubber bands, it seemed he couldn't tell time worth a damn. I'd been parked in front of his church, watching turkey buzzards drift overhead and listening to a staticky country music station for a good half hour before a car pulled in next to me.

A solidly built woman climbed out of the driver's side and came around to my window. I estimated her age to be somewhere between mine and Ruby Bee's, although closer to the latter's. Her brown hair, coarse and streaked with gray, was pulled back in a ponytail, her face devoid of makeup, and her coat the veteran of many winters. She approached warily, as if she suspected I was a member of a coven.

Somewhat sorry to disappoint her, I rolled down my window and said, "I'm Chief of Police Hanks from Maggody. I was supposed to meet Reverend Hitebred at eleven."

"I'm Martha, his daughter," she said in a flat, almost inflectionless voice. "Old Miz Burnwhistle decided that this is the morning she's going to die, so she called my father to go read the Bible and pray with her. She's been doing this about once a month for the last three years. She usually has a miraculous recovery before her soaps come on at noon, although last month she gurgled and wheezed right up until time for the Oprah show."

"And your father trots to her bedside every time?"

"She's ninety-eight years old and liable to get it right sooner or later. Besides, it gives my father something to do besides flipping over rocks in search of satanists." She gave me a faint smile. "The members of the congregation are all too terrified of him to do much in the way of sinning, and we don't get too many hymnal salesmen out this way."

I got out of the car and leaned against the fender. "What do you think about these purported trespassers?"

"You sound just like one of those cops on television. Do they teach you to talk like that?"

"Not until the second year." I gestured at the door of the church. "Any new evidence turned up in there? More paper clips and cigarette butts, for example?"

Martha shook her head. "No, and my father came over at the crack of dawn this morning to snuffle around on the floor like a bloodhound. I could tell when he sat down at the breakfast table that he hadn't had any luck."

In that she'd failed to answer the more significant question, I tried again. "Do you believe that someone has been entering the church at night?"

"There haven't been any broken windows or scratches on the locks, and my father and I have the only two keys. He keeps his on a ring clipped to his belt. Mine's in a drawer at home except when I'm using it."

"Has either of you ever given your key to a member of the congregation? It only takes a few minutes to have a copy made."

She thought for a moment. "I've never had call to loan mine out, and I can't imagine why my father would. He won't admit it, but he likes the idea that nobody can get into the church without calling on him. He makes 'em wait, too, just so they won't forget it."

"How often is the building used?"

"Services on Sunday mornings and evenings, prayer meetings on Wednesday evenings. Weddings and funerals by reservation only." She looked at the front of the building, and then at the low gray clouds. "My father's hardly competing with Methuselah, but he's getting on in years. The most foolish things have become real important to him. Food has to be cooked just so, shoes have to be lined up on his closet floor, books have to go back on the shelf from the exact place they came from. Otherwise, if you'll excuse the expression, all hell breaks loose."

"Are you saying these satanists are just another of his obsessions?"

"Maybe," she said, shrugging. "Anyway, I don't see what you can do, unless you want to set up a cot in the office and sleep over every night. You can come to the house for breakfast. It wouldn't be any trouble to fix another serving of oatmeal. No coffee, though. We don't believe in artificial stimulants." Again, the faint smile. "I used to sneak into town and buy a bottle of Dr. Pepper from the machine at the gas station. When my father caught me, you'd have thought from the way he carried on that it was whiskey."

"We're not quite to that point in the investigation," I said. I took a small notebook out of my pocket and wrote down the telephone numbers of the PD and my apartment. "If you see any suspicious activity inside the church, call me. I can be here in less than twenty minutes."

She took the piece of paper, glanced incuriously at it, and folded it into a tiny rectangle. "Why don't you come to one of our services, Chief Hanks? You might find it interesting."

"If I get a chance," I said, then got back into my car before she could press me for a commitment. Martha was still standing next to her car, her hands in her pockets and her face tilted toward the sky, as I drove down the driveway to the county road. I supposed I might have been as impassive as she if I'd spent my life under the dour scrutiny of the Reverend Edwin W. Hitebred.

But I doubted it.

The Lack of the Draw Casino & Hotel could have been a stepchild of the fabled Las Vegas Strip. Lights flashed and flickered on every surface, and above the main entrance was a giant poker hand (aces and eights, oddly enough) outlined in red neon stripes. People were streaming in and out the doors, and the parking lot was filling up at a good clip.

Baggins stopped in a loading zone and looked back at his charges. "I reckon we're here," he announced cheerfully. When nobody responded, he sighed and went on. "Look, I already explained how there was no way we could spend the night in Tupelo, so it ain't gonna do y'all any good to be dragging your tails all the way home. You got to see the house where Elvis was born, didn't you?"

"For all of twenty minutes," said Cherri Lucinda with a grimace. "I felt like a calf at a slaughterhouse. I'm surprised you didn't chase after us with a cattle prod."

Estelle wasn't any happier. "I barely had time to stick my head in the chapel before you started hollering." She smiled at Taylor, who hadn't said a word since Memphis and had refused to set foot out of the van in Tupelo. "It was real pretty inside, with stained-glass windows and wood pews. It's a dadgum shame you couldn't have your wedding there, and I'll be the first to give Miss Vetchling a piece of my mind when we get home. The nerve of her switching the itinerary like that!"

"Perhaps," Rex said, "there's a wedding chapel on the premises here. If not, we can inquire about a bowling alley or a pancake house. Those are the fundamental hubs of social interaction in Mississippi. I'm sure weddings are not unusual in such establishments."

Stormy stubbed out a cigarette in a cup she'd been utilizing as an ashtray and aimed a finger at him. "That's enough out of you, asshole? You've been picking on her since the moment we left Farberville. I may not have a college degree, but my mama taught me to be polite to other people, no matter what they've done in the past. If you say one more rude thing to her, I'm gonna yank off your sunglasses and put 'em in a place where the sun don't shine. You follow me?"

"Go for it," said a hoarse voice from the rearmost seat.

Baggins decided he'd better regain control before an uncivil war broke out. "Here's what we're gonna do. I'll get out your duffel bags and you can take them into the lobby while I park. Soon as I get back, I'll see to registration. Don't be wandering off until you have your room key, 'cause I don't aim to spend the rest of the evening hunting you down in the casino. You're free to do whatever you want until tomorrow evening at nine, when we'll meet in the lobby for the show. There's a rumor that El Vez, the famous Latino impersonator, and the Lovely Elvettes may perform, but don't get your hopes up too high. We may have to settle for Elvision."

As the others got out of the van, Estelle noticed that Taylor was back to crying. She handed her a tissue and patted her arm. "It ain't all that farfetched for there to be a wedding chapel in this hotel. I'll bet lots of people come down from Memphis to get married and spend the weekend in the honeymoon suite."

Taylor wiped her nose. "I'm not sure Todd's still in the mood. He's blaming me for his hangover."

"Well, the worst that can happen is that you'll end up having the big wedding in Little Rock after all. I can just picture you in a satin gown trimmed with lace and your hair all soft and curly to frame your face. You'll look like a storybook princess, honey."

"What I'll look like is a princess who swallowed a watermelon. By August there's no way I'll be able to fit into the wedding dress Todd's grandmother wore forty years ago."

"You mean you"-Estelle licked her lips-"might be in the family way? Are you sure?"

"Yes, and six months from now, there'll be no doubt in anyone's mind. Girls from the 'right' families in Little Rock aren't supposed to do that. The ones that do it anyway either have an abortion or develop a rabid desire to spend a year abroad, perfecting their French culinary talents. Oddly enough, you don't find many recipes for soufflés and gateaux in the Junior League cookbooks."

Estelle was struggling to find a reply when Baggins thumped on the window.

"Let's go?" he called. "Everybody else is already inside the hotel. I can't park until you get your butts off the van."

Only one duffel bag remained on the curb. Estelle collected it, then followed Taylor through the revolving door. The lobby was three times as big as the sanctuary of the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall, and crowded with couches, chairs, potted plants, bellmen in crisp uniforms, piles of luggage, and folks wearing everything from diamonds and furs to plaid pants, cardigan sweaters, and caps with logos from tractor companies. A line beginning at the registration desk zigzagged between velveteen ropes on shiny posts. The babble of hundreds of voices, combined with canned music and crackly announcements over a PA system, reminded Estelle of a carnival on a humid summer night.

"Where's Ruby Bee?" she said.

"I don't see her, but there's Todd on a sofa over by the fountain. I suppose I'd better join him before he decides the only cure is a drink in the bar." A calculating expression flashed across Taylor 's face, then disappeared. "Maybe a hot shower and room service will improve his mood," she added. "The poor boy hasn't had anything to eat all day."

"That might do the trick." Estelle stood on tiptoes to look for Ruby Bee. Blond heads bobbled here and there, but as far as she could see, none of them belonged to Ruby Bee. Leaving Taylor to tend to her fiancé, she forced her way through the wall of bodies. A woman in a bright yellow sweatsuit muttered a word of reproach as Estelle nudged her aside. A college-aged boy stepped on her foot, apologized, and then did it again in his haste to escape from her glare. Over the PA system, a man with a heavy accent advised the driver of a Toyota that he was in peril of having his car towed. Several of the men in the line bolted for the door.

Estelle spotted Rex and struggled to his side. "Have you seen Ruby Bee?" she asked, panting as if she'd just climbed to the top of Cotter's Ridge.

"No, but I heard our little spitfire offer to help her find a ladies room," he said. He gestured at a corridor next to the registration desk. "The nearest one is down that way on the other side of the restaurant."

Estelle lowered her head and charged through the crowd until she reached the less populated hallway. After making sure her beehive was still well-secured, she stopped at a drinking fountain for a gulp of water, and was preparing to resume her mission when Ruby Bee herself appeared.

"If you're looking for the potty, it's right here," she said coolly.

"Why'd you go disappearing like that?"

Ruby Bee turned icy. "You are not my baby-sitter, so stop acting like it. I am free to come and go as I choose, and I don't need your permission to tinkle."

"If that's the way you feel, then you can just tinkle till the cows come home" Estelle spun around and started back to the lobby.

She hadn't taken more than three steps when she found herself nose to nose with Jim Bob Buchanon, so close she could see the stubble on his chin and smell the whiskey on his breath. Neither was appealing.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"What are you doing here?" he said, sounding equally surprised.

"I asked you first!"

"It ain't any of your fuckin' business what I'm doing here. I wanna know what you're doing here"

"Don't you use that sort of language with me, Jim Bob. Didn't I hear that you were going to some kind of meeting in Hot Springs, and paying your expenses out of the town treasury?" She was going to elaborate when she heard a shriek from behind her.

She looked back. Cherri Lucinda and Stormy were on their knees next to a body sprawled on the diamond-patterned carpet. There was no mistaking the rubber soles of Ruby Bee's orthopedic shoes.

I don't remember much about the drive from Farberville to Mississippi. I suppose I must have stopped for gas and coffee along the way, and crossed the bridge at Helena, but I was too benumbed to do much more than keep my eyes on the road and periodically search for new radio stations as I left old ones behind me.

The hospital was on the edge of town. It looked more like an elementary school than a towering medical complex, but I was damn glad to see it. There were only a few lights on inside, which was not surprising at that unholy hour. The main door was locked, the lobby dim and unoccupied. I tapped on the glass with my car key until a custodian shuffled into view and let me in.

Fifteen minutes later I was back in my car. Ruby Bee was asleep, her condition unchanged, her appearance no better or worse than I'd imagined. Dr. Deweese would be available in five hours. Hanging around the waiting room would accomplish nothing, and I needed sleep.

I headed north. The casinos were alongside the Mississippi River in a string of almost nonexistent towns. I spotted the sign for The Luck of the Draw and drove down a winding road that took me into a vast parking lot. I appropriated a space near the hotel entrance, grabbed my bag, and went into the lobby. Although it was better lit than the one at the hospital, it was not a good deal livelier. I fended off a bellman who believed with misguided optimism that he might earn a tip for carrying my bag fifteen feet, explained the situation to the very dim teenager posturing as a desk clerk, and eventually ended up with a plastic card that would allow me into Estelle's room.

I'd found the elevator and gone so far as to punch a button, when I realized I was too wound up to sleep. I was also reluctant to face Estelle and be treated to another round of self-incrimination. After six hours of time to brood, she might have regressed to the point of accepting blame for the unfortunate incident in the Garden of Eden, if not the annihilation of the dinosaurs or the Big Bang in all its cosmic splendor. Estelle is not one to take herself lightly.

It occurred to me that a nightcap might do the trick. I went to the end of the hallway and into the casino proper. It looked very much like the casinos I'd haunted a couple of times in Atlantic City. Acres of slot machines with bells and whistles promised instant wealth to players who'd long since gone to bed. Beyond them, the more sedate blackjack tables, a few sparsely populated. A group surrounded a craps table; volume indicated they were having a great time frittering away their hard-earned cash. Waitresses with skirts short enough to expose the bottoms of their buttocks glided between the tables, deftly balancing trays of drinks and empty glasses. Men in suits kept a prudent eye to make sure a good time was being had by all.

I stopped for a moment to watch an elderly woman on a stool in front of a slot machine. This was no one-armed bandit; the only thing required of her was to put a coin in the slot and push a button. She did so as if she were a robot on an assembly line, never pausing as the tumblers whirled or even glancing down when coins cascaded into a metal tray. Her face showed neither pleasure nor disappointment; she could have been feeding coins into a furnace vent. It seemed likely, if she kept up her rhythm, that her heirs would be disappointed when the will was read.

I continued in the direction of the blackjack tables. If the policy was like that of the Atlantic City casinos, drinks would be free to those who were gambling. A bit of cunning was in order. I found a table where two men were gazing intently at cards being flipped at them by a bored middle-aged woman in a tuxedo.

I sat on the stool at one end of the table and smiled brightly at them. "Is this what they call twenty-one?" I asked. "I used to play it when I was a kid, but I don't remember all the rules. Is anything wild?"

"Go play the slots," said a man with oily black hair and a cigarette dangling from his lip à la Humphrey Bogart. He scratched his fingernail on the green felt for an additional card, and then threw up his hands when the card, not to his liking, was tossed at him. "What is it with you dealers? Do you get a cut of my losings?"

I hoped he wasn't armed.

The second man, who had less hair but a kindlier disposition, nodded at me. "It's basically the same game, but it's called blackjack. In French, vingt-et-un." He nodded at the dealer. "Hit me, honey."

"Maybe I should watch for a minute," I said. "Could I possibly have a drink?"

"Drink!" yelled the dealer. She snapped down a card and waited without interest for further instructions.

A few minutes later, a waitress appeared at my side and agreed to bring me the classic Southern drink-a bourbon and Coke. When she returned, I tipped her a dollar, wished the two men luck, and slipped off the stool to walk off the soreness in my own decorously covered buttocks.

I headed in the direction of the noisy camaraderie of the craps table. People stood two deep around it, pressing against each other, cheering or groaning with each roll of the dice. At least, I thought, they were getting something for their money. When they found themselves back at work Monday morning, they could relate melodramatic tales of fortunes that had slipped through their fingers like fistfuls of smoke.

The drink was watery, but it seemed to be easing the taut muscles in my neck and back. I was beginning to feel as though I might be able to fall asleep when I saw what I dearly hoped was a figment of my exhausted mind. Surely not, I told myself as I stared at Jim Bob Buchanon as he flung dice onto the table and shouted something unintelligible.

His next remark was crystal clear, if contextually obscure. "Aw, shit! I knew I should have stayed on the hard eight."

"May I help you, miss?" asked a satiny male voice from behind me. "Would you like to sit down?"

The voice belonged to a black man in a stylish gray suit. His tie was red, his teeth were white, and his eyes (brown, not blue) were as impenetrable as the surface of the interstate. When I merely looked at him, he added, "You must not be feeling well. I'll be happy to escort you to a table at the bar or outside for a breath of fresh air." He glanced down at the drink in my hand and frowned ever so slightly. "Or have a waitress bring you a cup of coffee."

"No, thank you," I said. "I just stopped to have a drink on my way upstairs. What time does this place close?"

"Close?" His smile grew wider. "Like the Pinkertons, we never sleep. You, on the other hand, probably should. I hope you'll visit again tomorrow. We have raffles and contests every day at The Luck of the Draw. This weekend's grand prize is a trip to Jamaica. Be sure and enter."

He took my elbow and led me toward the door back to the hotel. I was too annoyed to resist, although I did crane my neck for a parting look at the craps table. If I'd actually seen Jim Bob-and I wasn't at all sure I hadn't been hallucinating-he'd vanished like a stack of five-dollar chips.

Estelle was snoring vigorously as I let myself into the hotel room. I undressed in the bathroom and crawled into the other bed. Sleep eluded me for a long while, and when it finally came, it was riddled with visions of Ruby Bee stretched out in a casket and Jim Bob doing belly flops across a craps table.

Neither was a pretty picture.

The hotel room was noticeably lighter when I was awakened by the sound of a siren. Groaning, I burrowed under the pillow and willed myself to go back to sleep, but the siren grew louder. Car doors slammed. People began jabbering in the hall outside the room. A second siren shrieked the approach of yet another official vehicle.

"What's going on out there?" said Estelle, sounding as if her mouth was filled with gravel. "Maybe you ought should look out the window and see if the hotel's on fire. I am not gonna scurry down some fire escape without putting on lipstick."

I did as she'd suggested. Eight stories below in the parking lot, a police car was parked at an erratic angle, its blue light spinning. An ambulance was speeding toward it. Guests and employees had gathered in the driveway. A woman dressed in jogging clothes and high-topped athletic shoes sat on a curb, her head between her knees. A police officer squatted beside her.

"There's been some sort of accident," I said, "but I can't make out what happened." I pulled back the heavy drapes, opened the sliding glass door, and went onto a balcony large enough to accommodate two chairs, a small table, and no more than three pigeons. My toes curled as they met cold concrete, but I grabbed the rail and looked down.

"Well?" demanded Estelle from the warmth of her bed.

I retreated inside and closed the door. "It looks as if someone fell from a significant height. A jogger must have discovered the body."

"What a thing to wake up to," she said as she struggled out from under the blankets. "Why didn't you shake me when you got here, Arly? I meant to wait up for you, but I guess I must have dozed off. Did you go by the hospital?"

I described my brief encounter with the ICU nurse at the hospital, then went into the bathroom to take a shower and brush my fuzzy teeth. When I emerged, she was on the balcony.

"Can you tell what's going on?" I asked as I got dressed.

"The body's been taken away in the ambulance, but from the way the police are measuring and looking up this way, the poor thing must have gone off a balcony right close to ours."

I prowled around the room while she took her time in the bathroom. It was too early to catch Dr. Deweese at the hospital; he wasn't slated to make rounds until eight. I ordered coffee and toast from room service and mindlessly watched some wake-up network show in which people seemed to be congratulating each other for breathing. Eventually I went back out onto the balcony, but the activity in the parking lot had melted away with the early-morning frost.

Estelle came out of the bathroom with her hair firmly pinned in place and several layers of scarlet lipstick defining her mouth. "I can't believe I went to sleep before you got here," she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "Night before last was rough, though, what with the gunfire well into the wee hours. I didn't think Ruby Bee'd ever fall asleep. When she finally did, I spent the rest of the night frettin' like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I just want you to know that I did my level best to make her say what was wrong, but I might as well have been butting heads with Mrs. Jim Bob."

I squeezed her hand. "I'm sure you did whatever you could, Estelle. She'll be fine."

"What'll we do if she isn't?"

I couldn't bring myself to offer much in the way of blithe assurances, so I refilled my coffee cup and sat back. "What did you mean when you mentioned gunfire?"

"You would not believe the awful place we stayed? I fully expected to be murdered in my bed. Stormy said she saw drug deals going on all night right outside our rooms. And of course there was the bald man that had the audacity to follow us on the Graceland tour, and then Baggins ups and sez we're not staying the night in Tupelo, which sent Taylor into a hissy-fit, even though Todd was-"

"Slow down," I said. "I have no idea who these people are."

"Folks on the tour, except for Baggins, who's the driver, and the bald man. I don't know who he is, unless he's Stormy's boyfriend. I was hoping Cherri Lucinda might know what he looks like, but she said she's never met him."

I held up my hands. "Forget I asked, Estelle. I drove half the night and I'm operating on three hours of sleep. You can tell me all the gossip and intrigue later."

She glowered at me, but fell silent and turned her attention to the TV set. I counted off minutes. It had taken me less than half an hour to drive from the hospital to the casino, and I wanted to be back there when Dr. Deweese arrived.

I was about to suggest we leave when there was a knock on the door. Wondering if room service had returned to repossess the coffee pot, I opened the door.

The woman in the hallway had noticeably bloodshot eyes and an ashen complexion. She put her hand to her mouth. "I am just so sorry for bothering you. I guess I have the wrong room."

"Is that you, Cherri Lucinda?" called Estelle.

The woman hurried past me, bent down to hug Estelle, and then sat down on the bed I'd recently vacated. "This trip is a nightmare? Everything's gone wrong. I wouldn't be surprised if that Miss Vetchling is some kind of nasty witch like the one that was going to eat Hansel and Gretel. If she was to walk into this room, I'd snatch the clipboard out of her hand and whack her over the head with it? I wouldn't be one bit sorry, either."

"I don't think she's responsible for Ruby Bee's ailment," said Estelle. "What's more, even though we didn't see any Shriners riding around Tupelo on their funny little motorcycles doesn't mean they weren't there. They could have been having their convention in another part of town."

Cherri Lucinda fell back across the bed. "That's not what I'm talking about. Don't you know what happened?"

Fearing that we were about to be treated to a lengthy discourse on the foolhardiness of high-stakes gambling or the effrontery of the male species, I said, "Estelle, we need to leave for the hospital."

"Didn't all the commotion wake you up?" persisted Cherri Lucinda. "I mean, I wouldn't be here if the cops weren't searching my room. I stood out in the hall for a while, but these ladies by the elevator started whispering and staring at me like I was some kind of freak just because the cops wouldn't let me put on makeup. They acted like they weren't gonna let me get dressed, either, but then the woman cop said I could if she stayed with me to make sure I didn't tamper with evidence. I don't see how I was supposed to do that when I don't know what evidence they were talking about."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Stormy," she whispered.

Estelle's eyebrows shot up like missiles. "You don't mean she… that was her down there…? Oh, Cherri Lucinda, I just don't know what to say. I am sick about this. Was it because of the spat she had with her boyfriend?"

"How should I know? It's not like we were best friends or anything. When she moved to Farberville, she called me on account of a mutual acquaintance giving her my number. I helped her get a job. We had a beer every once in a while, but we never pretended we were sisters. Well, once we did at a bar when these two geeks tried to pick us up. She told 'em our brother had laid claim to both our bodies and would chew the dick off any man who thought different. They skedaddled like a pair of possums. It was real funny."

"Wait a minute," I said as I stared at her. "Are you saying that a member of your tour group committed suicide?"

Cherri Lucinda sat up and shrugged. "All I know is that some lady found Stormy's body on the ground long about dawn, and the cops seem to think she jumped off the balcony in the room we were sharing. They're going through her things now, maybe thinking they'll find antidepressants or a suicide note."

"She didn't seem depressed to me," said Estelle, "but I didn't know her very well. She was nervous about something, though. Remember how she attacked Rex when we got here?"

There were too many names without faces, and it was nearly eight. "I'm sure the police will sort this out," I said as I stood up. "I'm going to the hospital. What about you, Estelle? Do you feel as though you need to stay here?"

"Oh dear," said Cherri Lucinda. "I forgot to ask how your friend is doing. Did they find out what's wrong with her?"

"Not yet," I said grimly.

Estelle told Cherri Lucinda to remain in the room as long as she liked, then followed me out into the hallway. No one whispered or stared at us as we waited for the elevator, descended to the lobby, and headed for my car.

"What a terrible thing," Estelle said, looking up at the facade of the hotel. "She wasn't more than thirty years old. She wasn't sweet like Taylor, or kindhearted like Cherri Lucinda, but she had spunk. You got to admire spunk."

Despite myself, I looked up at the balconies and then down at the unrelenting pavement. She'd had a moment when she must have realized what was about to happen. There'd been no opportunity to change her mind, no wings to spread, no bungee cord to save her.

"She'd had a fight with her boyfriend?" I asked as we got into the car and I backed out of the parking slot.

Estelle took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed her eyes. "She didn't exactly spill out her heart to me. When I was cutting her hair, she just sat like a chunk of cheese, not so much as watching in the mirror. Afterward, she mumbled something, took her bag, and sailed out of the motel room without bothering to thank me for my expertise. I did a right fine job, mind you, but she acted like I'd gone after her with pruning shears. You'd think I'd deserved a word of thanks, considering I did it for free. Back home, I would have charged her ten dollars."

"I don't think you'll collect it," I said as I turned onto the highway.

The hospital looked smaller and shabbier in daylight. Estelle trailed after me as we made our way to the ICU, where a blond nurse with a sour expression had seized control for the day shift.

"I'm here for Ruby Bee Hanks," I said.

"Hanks?" she said, pulling out a chart. "Dr. Deweese saw her a few minutes ago. He wants to talk to the next-of-kin when he or she gets here. I guess that'd be one of you. She's over in that cubicle if you want to visit for a minute."

I'm not sure if Estelle was included in the invitation, but she was stepping on my heels as she followed me. Ruby Bee's eyelids fluttered open as we entered the curtained enclosure.

"What are you doing here?" she asked me in a whisper that was both hoarse and hostile. "I don't recollect asking anybody to call you."

Estelle crossed her arms. "I don't recollect you asking me not to. She's your own flesh and blood, Ruby Bee. Don't you think she has the right to know when you make a scene like that in the hotel and have to be brought to a hospital in an ambulance? It ain't like you do this every week, you know."

"She has a point," I said mildly. "How are you feeling?"

Ruby Bee turned her face away. "Not real good, to tell the truth. The bad pain's eased up, but I'm bloated and having cramps. I told that doctor the only thing I needed was a dose of bicarbonate of soda. He just kind of shook his head and walked out." She looked back with a tight frown. "I ain't sure he's a real doctor. If he tried to buy a beer at the bar and grill, I'd darn well make him show me his driver's license-and I'd still have my doubts."

"Why don't you stay here until they run you out?" I suggested to Estelle. "I'll hunt down this impostor and find out what's going on."

I left them bickering about the extent of the so-called scene in the hotel lobby and asked the nurse how to find Dr. Deweese.

"His office is at the end of the main hall," she said. "The ladies auxiliary fixed it up and added all sorts of homey touches, but he seems to be in the cafeteria most of the time. I don't know why they went to the bother, and I'll be amazed if he sees much in the way of fruitcakes and cookies next Christmas."

I wandered down the hall and found the cafeteria, which was no more than a room with pea green walls, a long table, rickety wooden chairs, and an array of vending machines. The man who looked up was far from being a medical wunderkind; his eyes were blue and his smile guileless, but his wrinkles put him near my age. In that Ruby Bee doesn't believe I'm old enough to drive, I wasn't surprised by her assessment.

"I'm Ruby Bee Hanks's daughter," I said.

"Good." He put aside the journal he'd been reading and opened a manila folder. "Last night she was admitted with abdominal pains and fever. The white blood count indicated a low-grade infection. I started her on glucose and an antibiotic, and gave her some mild medication to ease the pain. Even though she claims to be better, I'd like to do an ultrasound and keep her under observation for a few days."

"Then it isn't anything life-threatening?"

"I don't think so. If the symptoms intensify, she can be transported to a hospital in Memphis in a matter of hours. I have to warn you that it'll be expensive, though, and Ms. Hanks told me that she has no health insurance. Medicare may cover some of it if she qualifies."

"She'd never admit it," I said. "You don't have any theories?"

"Gallbladder failure, food poisoning, pancreatitis, duodenal ulcer, blockage in the bile duct," he said rather casually, considering. "We'll keep her on a liquid diet and see what evolves. If it's nothing more than gall stones, we'll start her on some medication and she can go home. Surgery will be an option."

"An option?" I said. "Shouldn't she be having tests?"

Dr. Deweese regarded me for a moment. "Yes, she should. I'd love to order an MRI and tox screens and electrolyte analyses, but we lack the equipment. It's just as well, since most of our patients can't even afford a simple blood test. We do it anyway, and absorb the cost, but decent health care is for the wealthy. The tax benefits of these casinos have yet to dribble down to us. Look at the public schools in this community. Do you think we have computer labs and manicured soccer fields?"

"Don't the hospitals in Memphis have to accept charity cases?"

"If the patient's spurting blood or in the act of delivering a baby, yes. Sophisticated tests, no. We can do a decent job here, Miss Hanks. I'll make sure your mother is comfortable until we know what's wrong. Odds are good that she'll get through this attack and be able to have a follow-up with her own physician."

"How good are these odds?"

"I'd put them at three to one."

"Dr. Deweese," I said, grinding out each syllable, "I may decide to put a quarter in a slot machine, but I'm not going to gamble with my mother's health. Perhaps we should have a second opinion."

"Go right ahead, but you may have to rely on a veterinarian. I'm the only physician in the county." He put the folder down. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

I shook my head. "You're the only physician in the county?"

"The glorious state of Mississippi paid my way through med school in exchange for a few years of indentured servitude. Before I came, all patients had to be transported to Memphis. A lot of the heart-attack and stroke victims didn't survive the trip. The poor folks couldn't afford to go to Memphis, so they had no access to prenatal care or ongoing therapy. My staff and I do the best we can." He gave me a smile meant to be downright dazzling. "Let's make the odds two to one."

"Let's do," I said as left. I may have paused in the hall to remind myself of the purpose of my presence, but I resolutely returned to the ICU and found Estelle outside the door.

"That nurse has a mighty high opinion of herself," she muttered. "To listen to her, you'd think she hung the moon and most of the stars. She shooed me out like I was a hen and said no visiting until this afternoon. What'd you find out?"

"Not much," I said as we went outside. I gave her the high points of my conversation with Dr. Deweese, stressing his confidence without quoting actual odds. "Shall we go back to the hotel for a proper breakfast?"

"How can you eat at a time like this?"

"At a time like this, Estelle," I said, "I'd like to buy a gallon of chocolate ice cream, a two-pound package of Oreo cookies, and find a nice, quiet place where no one can disturb me. So which is it-the restaurant at the hotel or a grocery store?"

Her sulky silence was answer enough. I drove toward The Luck of the Draw, for the first time seeing the bleak landscape scattered with shacks, abandoned gas stations, sickly trees that would never become mighty oaks, and litter attesting to the previous night's festivities.

"Tell me about the woman who committed suicide," I said, to take my mind off Ruby Bee.

Estelle was unable to resist the chance to make it clear she knew more about some things than I did. "Her name was Stormy Zimmerman, and she said she was an entertainer. I don't know exactly what she meant by that, but from the way she behaved, I doubt she was referring to singing in a church choir."

"Is that all you know about her?"

"No, it ain't. She said she had a tattoo. Now it's none of my business if a girl wants to have something like that done, but I don't see any reason to announce it in mixed company. Then she had the gall to make all kinds of vulgar remarks about Elvis, even though she should have known the whole reason for the tour was to see the most important sites in his life and pay respect for everything he accomplished in his forty-two years with us. It was like she was trashing kin. Even Cherri Lucinda started getting peeved at that point."

I turned onto the road back to the hotel. "You know, Estelle, there's something about Cherri Lucinda that seems familiar. I feel as though I've met her, but I have no idea when or where. It's been bothering me since I first saw her in the hall this morning."

"Me, too," said Estelle, nodding, "but I can't quite put my finger on it. When we were driving to Memphis, I noticed Ruby Bee giving her a funny look, like she was thinking the same thing. I wish I'd gotten around to asking her, but with one thing and another, it plum slipped my mind. I guess it's too late now."

"She's going to be fine." I parked between a Lincoln Continental and a Volkswagen Beetle, cut off the ignition, and grabbed my purse. "If you want to sit there and work on your eulogy, it's your business. I'm going inside to have some breakfast." Scowling like Genghis Khan on a bad hair day, I climbed out of the car, slammed the door, and hurried toward the entrance.

"Keep your tail in the water," Estelle said as she caught up with me. "Of course she's gonna be fine, Arly. She sounded like her old self this morning, complaining about how she'd wasted all the money for the tour and would miss seeing the Elvis impersonators tonight. I'll ask Baggins if you can use her ticket to the show."

"No, thanks," I said curtly.

"Well, if you feel that way about it, forget I ever mentioned it-even though you might be missing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see El Vez hisself."

I slowed down as I noticed two police cars parked at the end of the building. "I guess they haven't finished the investigation," I said to Estelle. "We'd better go up to the room. It's possible they'll want to question you."

"Me?" she said. "How should I know anything? Once I got back from the hospital, I called you and then got some pretzels and a ginger ale from the vending machines at the end of the hall. I was too worried about Ruby Bee to so much as stick my nose out the door after that until we left this morning."

"So that's what you'll tell them," I said.

The lobby was a good deal busier than it had been at three in the morning. Lines had formed for the optimists who wanted to check in and the disillusioned who needed to check out. Bellmen wheeled luggage carts in the appropriate directions. A mountain of suitcases indicated the arrival of a group on a much larger scale than that of C'Mon Tours.

"It was right crazy when we got here yesterday," Estelle said as we went down the corridor to the elevators. "I kept trying to spot Ruby Bee, but there were so many folks and all these loud announcements and…"

"And what?" I prompted her.

She sucked on her lower lip. "Maybe I was seeing things," she said at last. "Remember when Tiphini Buchanon kept telling everybody about how she'd seen glowing purple aliens at the foot of her bed? She could describe them from the antennas on their heads right down to the peculiarities of their privates. She never quit believing it, even when her pa had her carted off to one of those sanitariums."

"I must have missed that," I said as I nudged her into the elevator and pushed the button for the eighth floor.

"Lottie Estes had a time with her in home ec, let me tell you. It got to be where every kitchen utensil reminded Tiphini of something else about her aliens. Now I could see how a turkey baster or an oven thermometer might lead to certain ideas, but a spatula? If you ask me, the girl just wanted attention."

Instead of engaging in a conversation fraught with Freudian overtones (and having a hard time making the leap to spatulas, myself), I said, "What are the visiting hours at the hospital this afternoon?"

"Two to four. Remind me to take Ruby Bee her bag so she'll have her toothbrush and nightie. Those hospital gowns might as well be made of wax paper."

"Is it in the room?" I asked. "I didn't see it."

"It's in the closet. When the ambulance fellows were loading her onto a gurney, Stormy offered to take Ruby Bee's and mine to our room as soon as Baggins got us registered. It's a good thing she did. I was so upset I would have left both of them setting in the hall."

When the elevator doors slid open on the eighth floor, we found ourselves facing a pear-shaped police officer. "You staying on this floor?" he said.

Estelle snorted. "Do you think we just came up to admire the view?"

I elbowed her aside and told him our names and the room number, then said, "Miss Oppers and my mother were both part of the same tour as the woman who fell."

"Yeah, then go to your room and stay there. The chief'll get around to talking to you before too long."

"He'd better not be all day," Estelle said. "I'm real sorry about poor Stormy, but we're not going to spend the day inside the room just because she committed suicide."

"That ain't what the chief thinks," said the cop.

Cherri Lucinda was no longer in our hotel room, which was the good news. The bad news was about to materialize with all the subtlety of an eruption of swamp gas. Estelle mumbled something about her slapdash makeup job and went into the bathroom to transform herself into a redheaded version of the redneck queen of mascara, Tammy Faye Bakker. I continued onto the balcony and looked out at the bleached flatness that stretched as far as I could see. Ruby Bee had lived all her life in the mountains; she would be disconcerted when she was confined to a bed in a room without a view.

I wished I knew if I could rely on Dr. Deweese's judgment. I certainly wasn't going to call in someone whose practice consisted of patients named Spot and Fluff. Tests at a Memphis hospital would run into thousands of dollars. Ruby Bee's income was apt to be only marginally healthier than my own-and I'd qualify for food stamps if I bothered with the paperwork at some bureaucratic quagmire in Farberville.

I was trying to think of someone I turn to for advice when I noticed a man on the next balcony. He was sprawled in one of the chairs, puffing on an unfiltered cigarette, sipping coffee out of a Styrofoam cup-and watching me as if I were a jewel thief who had rappelled from the roof.

"Yes?" I said frigidly.

"That your room?"

"That any of your business?"

He flicked his cigarette over the rail. "Might be, considering I'm investigating a crime. It's a little early for me to leap over there like a comic-book superhero, so I'll take the more routine approach and come around to your door."

I arrived at the door just as he knocked. Rather than usher him in, however, I said, "May I see some identification?"

"I left my badge at home on account of not being used to phone calls at the crack of dawn. My wife damn near whacked me to death when I told her to start some coffee, and I wasn't about to go back in the bedroom and grab my wallet. My name's Floyd Sanderson, and I'm the chief of police. If you want, call down to the desk and ask for Loretta. She's my niece. She don't know the particulars about my freckles and warts, but she can give you a general description."

He was unappealing enough without delving into the specific whereabouts of his freckles and warts. His belly was nearly the size of a beer keg, and his gray hair was cut so short it resembled the stubble on his jowls. His smile may have been good-natured, but his eyes were small and so deeply imbedded in his fleshy face that it was hard to imagine how light found its way to them. His shirt was stained. Much of what he'd had to eat for the last several days was memorialized on his tie.

"I suppose you can come in," I said.

"I thank you kindly," he said, brushing past me. "I don't recollect you telling me your name, missy. Would it be Estelle Oppers or Ruby Bee Hanks?"

"Arly Hanks." I followed him out to the balcony, not pleased with the need to address his broad backside. "Ruby Bee's my mother. She's in the local hospital, so I'm staying here for the moment."

"In the hospital? You be sure and give her my wishes for a fast recovery, you hear? We all feel real bad when someone comes to visit our little of town and fails to have a chance to partake of our hospitality. If our budget wasn't so skimpy, I'd send her a real nice bouquet of flowers."

"You're a prince, Floyd," I said as I put my elbows on the railing. "What can I do to reciprocate this generous, if empty, gesture?"

"We got us a problem, Arly. This morning we had a call that a body'd been found down there and over to your left a tad. Now this body was in real sorry shape. I don't remember much from high school, but I seem to think the formula for a falling body is sixteen feet per second squared." He looked down at the parking lot. "Or per second per second. I was too busy trying to figure out how get into Mary Joleen Wanson's panties to pay much attention. Anyway, it's same as if you'd thrown a concrete block off a balcony, or a golf ball, for that matter. In this particular case, it was a young woman name of Stormy Zimmerman."

"I was aware that something took place," I said. "Why are you convinced it wasn't a suicide?"

"Are you from this town called Maggody?" he asked, going back into the room. He picked up a bobby pin off the chair in which Estelle had been sitting, studied it for a moment, and carefully placed it on the table before sitting down.

Wondering if he and Reverend Hitebred read the same tabloids, I closed the sliding door and sat down across from him. "Why are you convinced it wasn't a suicide?" I repeated.

Chief Sanderson gave me a discouraged look. "Thing is, we got the list of everybody on this Elvis tour, and the two ladies registered for this room are from Maggody. A couple of other witnesses admit to a connection with Maggody, and I ain't gonna pop a suspender if you're from there, too. I'd be in my bed, nice and cozy, if it weren't for all you folks."

"I'll pass that on to the Chamber of Commerce," I said, "but I'd appreciate some candor from you."

"Well, it's like this," he said in a drawl that was almost a Hollywood parody (but then again, he might have ambled off the set of The Dukes of Hazzard). "The deceased was sharing a room with a woman named"-he took out a notebook and flipped it open-"Cherri Lucinda Crate. She just happens to know the fellow in the next room, who just happens to be the mayor of Maggody. First off, he said he didn't know her from Adam-or Eve, anyway, that he'd met her in the casino and they'd hit if off real fine. When I said that didn't exactly agree with what she'd told us, he conceded that maybe he'd visited with her a time or two at the club where she works in Farberville, but of course he never dreamed she'd be within a hundred miles of Mississippi. Then I mentioned that the desk clerk had admitted to taking a ten-dollar bill to put him in the room adjoining hers, and he remembered that possibly she might have let drop something real vague about the Elvis Presley Pilgrimage."

"Jim Bob Buchanon?" I said with a grimace.

"Guess you know him, then."

"I know him, and his relationship with Cherri Lucinda is somewhat more intimate than he suggested. I was pretty sure I'd seen her before. I should have recognized her, but she had a towel wrapped around her hair when I went to her apartment to question her about a business swindle. Ruby Bee and Estelle caught a glimpse of her about the same time." I could see no reason to add that Ruby Bee's vantage point had been from the inside of a Dumpster; some things don't invite elaboration.

Chief Sanderson scanned the tray from room service, found a half-eaten triangle of toast, and jammed it in his mouth. "This is where it gets complicated," he went on, spewing whole wheat crumbs with each word. "She swears she wasn't expecting him, which may or may not be true. They went down to the casino and shot craps till dawn, then came upstairs to his room. She told him to go into her room and fetch her bag, then got into the shower. He says her room was empty, but a group of ladies on their way to breakfast heard an argument from inside. They stopped, not sure if they ought to do something. After a few minutes, everything got quiet and they went on toward the elevator. All of a sudden, they heard a scream. One of the ladies was so startled that she fell and twisted her ankle. While one went back to her room to call for a doctor, the rest of 'em stayed out in the hallway, fussing over their friend. They all swear nobody went in or out of any of the rooms between that moment and when a hotel employee showed up. He helped them get the accident victim back to her room, but they were still hobbling along the hall when my deputy got there."

"So," I said in an amazingly reasonable voice, considering I was in the unpalatable position of defending Hizzoner the Moron, "Stormy'd already jumped when Jim Bob went into the room to get Cherri Lucinda's bag. There certainly could be a short lapse between the time she jumped and when the woman in the parking lot saw the body and screamed. That would explain why he said the room was empty."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" he said.

"Yeah," I countered.

"Lots of folks would go leaping to that conclusion, Arly. My deputy did, but she ain't been on the job more than a month. Japonica's a good girl, mind you, and doin' her level best to prove herself. She just didn't think to wait until the witness stopped throwing up in the hydrangeas and started remembering more of what she'd seen."

"Which was?" I said.

"Two people on the balcony. One was the black-haired woman in a negligee. The other was a man. She couldn't make out much about him-about all she saw was an arm-but the ladies from Tuscaloosa are real sure no one left any of the rooms on this wing of the eighth floor. We're a backwoods operation, but we would have found someone hiding in a closet or lying under a bed. The only man who could have been arguing on that balcony hustled his butt back into the adjoining room, flopped down on the bed, and lit a cigar."

"I guess it has gotten complicated," I admitted. I thought for a moment, then said, "What if she was arguing with someone on the telephone? I was told that she'd had a fight with her boyfriend. She called him, and he said something that devastated her so much that she decided to kill herself. The ladies mistakenly assumed there were two people in the room.

"That doesn't explain why the witness saw a man on the balcony."

"With coaching, the witness might be convinced she saw Elvis on the balcony. Why was she looking up at the eighth floor anyway? Wasn't she more concerned with stepping in a pothole?"

Chief Sanderson blinked at me. "I hope you're not suggesting I coached the witness, Arly. I've been on the force for twenty-seven years. I may have been accused of being a little too rough with the local boys, but I ain't never been accused of playing fast and loose with a witness to a homicide. All I did was hold her hand till she calmed down, then encourage her to think more carefully about what she'd seen. As soon as she got outside, she stopped to tie her shoe and heard voices from above her. She did what any of us would do, which is look up. She saw a man on the balcony, and the only man she could have seen was Jim Bob Buchanon."

"Arly?" said Estelle as she came out of the bathroom. "Who're you talking to?"

"Chief of Police Sanderson," I said to Estelle, then gestured at her to keep quiet. "I have no problem with Jim Bob coming here to surprise Cherri Lucinda, and I'm sure he wasn't planning to give her a lesson in blackjack strategy after she finished taking a shower. But what's his motive for pushing a stranger off a balcony?"

Estelle's eyes bulged with astonishment. "Jim Bob pushed Stormy off the balcony? Jim Bob Buchanon? Why would he go and do something like that? He didn't even know her."

"Not necessarily," said Chief Sanderson. "If he was in the habit of going to the club where Cherri Lucinda worked, he might well have met Stormy and become real interested in her… assets. That negligee of hers wasn't much more than a lace hankie. He coaxed her out onto the balcony and tried to get fresh. She attempted to slap him, so he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. She was kicking and spitting at him, and he got so angry that he went berserk. Before he knew what was happening, he'd pinned her against the railing and was ripping at her negligee. I ain't saying he deliberately shoved her over the railing. It could have been an accident, although if the prosecutor sees it as attempted rape, the charge might well be murder in the first or second."

"I can't believe Jim Bob was responsible," Estelle said mulishly.

"We're still looking into it. No charges have been filed, but we'll keep him in custody for the time being. He can enter a plea with the judge come Monday morning."

Estelle squeezed my shoulder so tightly I winced. "Arly, you tell this man that he's crazy as a june bug. You and I both know Jim Bob ain't gonna win any blue ribbons for husband of the year, but he's not the sort to push women off balconies. Why, even if he was drunk when I ran into him last night, he wouldn't-"

"Drunk?" said Chief Sanderson. "What time would that have been?"

"I just saw him for a second, and he wasn't staggering or swaying or doing anything except being more than a might surprised to see me. His language was crude, but it most always is. You have no business accusing him of being drunk?"

"You brought it up, Miz Oppers," he said.

"I did not!" Estelle glanced at me, then stalked back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

I waited a moment, then said, "So Jim Bob's in custody. Are there any witnesses besides the jogger?"

"Cherri Lucinda's at the station, making a statement. Her story's pretty simple-she came back from the casino with Jim Bob, took a shower, and was drying her hair when he busted into the bathroom and told her about the crowd gathering around the body in the parking lot. Cherri Lucinda said it never crossed her mind that it was her friend down there."

"Where did she think Stormy was?" I asked.

Sanderson tugged on his nose. "With a man she'd picked up in the casino or in the bar. Japonica said they acted real stunned when she went to the room in hopes there'd be a way to make a preliminary identification of the body. The driver's license photo is good enough for the time being, and it may take a long while to track down a next-of-kin, assuming there is one. Cherri Lucinda, will be asked to make a more formal identification before the body's packed off to the state lab for an autopsy. I don't reckon there's much question about the cause of death, but we play by the book when we can."

"The ladies from Tuscaloosa are positive no one came out of any of the rooms?" I said. "Could the man have jumped onto another balcony?"

"Anyone tip his hat as he came through your room?"

"No, but what about the balcony on the other side?"

"Jim Bob's room? Why would he risk breaking his neck when all he had to do was return the way he came?" He paused in case I had a brilliant comeback, then added, "We're checking all the possibilities and we'll even make sure nobody saw a hang glider sail across the parking lot. After twenty-seven years, I've learned that the most obvious answer is usually the right one. People do stupid things. Maybe your mayor got drunk and lost a lot of money at the craps table. He was too ornery to back off when Stormy wouldn't cooperate. A good lawyer can bargain him down to manslaughter, even get him off with a plea of diminished responsibility. Back before the casinos opened, I could handle anything that came along. These days we've got gangs, drugs, carjackings, and armed robberies. Folks get mugged in the hotel elevators. Sometimes they get killed. Husbands blow their paychecks, then go home and butcher their families."

He stood up and gave me a grim smile. "The only prosperity gambling's brought to the Delta is measured in court fines."

"Do you need a statement from Estelle?" I asked. "I don't think there's anything useful she can tell you. She was asleep when I came in around three this morning. The sliding glass door was closed and the drapes drawn, so neither of us heard a scream. The sirens woke us up."

"She didn't have any suspicion that Jim Bob was staying just down the hall?"

I shook my head. "Not unless Cherri Lucinda let something drop, and it sounds as though she had no idea of Jim Bob's little scheme for the weekend. I thought I caught a glimpse of him in the casino, but it seemed so ludicrous that I blamed it on fatigue. I only found out my mother was in the hospital last night, and…" I swallowed several times, desperately struggling not to get teary. "Estelle was as preoccupied as I was. She doesn't know anything."

"Can't see as she would. I'm gonna have Japonica get statements from everybody on the tour, but she can come here so you all won't have to bother going down to the police department. Will you make yourselves available?"

I nodded, then let him out and closed the door. There were way too many things happening all at once, I thought, my mind spinning like the tumblers on a slot machine. Instead of cherries and oranges, I was seeing free-falling bodies, and hearing a cry of terror that ended with a most emphatic thud.

Oh, to be in Maggody, where nothing ever happened.

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?"

"It's okay," I said to Japonica before she could offer further commentary on his obvious lack of social graces. "I'm sorry to say I'm used to him."

"Well, I'm not," she said as she stalked toward the front room. "Call if you want me to come back with a nightstick and teach him some manners."

When the door closed behind her, I said, "You've gotten yourself into a helluva mess, Mayor Buchanon. Chief Sanderson mentioned the possibility of first- or second-degree murder. I don't know if they have the death penalty in Mississippi, but I do know they have endless acres of cotton to be chopped under the noonday sun."

"Don't give me that shit. I didn't do anything wrong beyond telling Mrs. Jim Bob that I'd be at the Municipal League meeting in Hot Springs. Nobody goes to prison for that. When I get out of here, I'm going sue their sorry butts for false imprisonment."

"If you get out of here," I said, "you'd better stay on the far side of the river. You want to tell me what happened?"

"No, I don't want to tell you what happened," he muttered. "Guess I ought to, though, so you can convince that swinish chief of police to let me out of this hellhole." He flopped back on the cot and resumed staring at the ceiling. "A couple of weeks ago Cherri Lucinda said that she was goin' on this Elvis Presley Pilgrimage. I thought I'd come over and give her a thrill. She wasn't supposed to show up until today, but I figured I could amuse myself in the casino for an extra night. You never know who all you might meet, particularly at the craps table. Most women are so stupid they don't have the foggiest idea how to play, but they like the excitement and the excuse to press their tits up against your back so hard you can feel their nipples."

"Let's not go into that," I said. "So you didn't expect to see Cherri Lucinda yesterday afternoon?"

"It's a good thing your job don't require much in the way of brains. I just told you that she wasn't supposed to get here until later today. I got to the hotel around five, checked in, and was taking my bag up to the room when I damn near tripped over Estelle in front of the elevators. Then Ruby Bee collapsed on the carpet and Cherri Lucinda came dashing out of the ladies room and Estelle started bleatin' like a sheep and everybody from the bellboys to a group of Japanese tourists went crazy. I returned to the desk, slipped the kid a ten-dollar bill to change my room, then stayed in the bar until the excitement died down. Cherri Lucinda damn near peed in her jeans when I knocked on the door between the two rooms an hour later."

I waited in case he was going to ask about Ruby Bee, then sighed and said, "What about Stormy? Did you know she and Cherri Lucinda would be sharing a room?"

He sat up and frowned at me. "Is that the woman I'm accused of pushing off the balcony? Hell, I didn't pay any attention when Cherri Lucinda said her name. I had more important things on my mind-and in my pocket, if you follow me. I invited Cherri Lucinda into my room so she could express her gratitude for my going to the bother of driving all this way to see her. After that, we had ourselves a fancy prime rib dinner in the restaurant, then went to the casino so she could watch me shoot craps."

"She was at your side all night?"

"Ever' now and then she'd start whining that she was bored, so I'd give her some money to go throw away on the slots. She ain't the brightest thing to come down the pike." He smirked in a most unbecoming way. "Her talents lie elsewhere. On account of being an exotic dancer, she can get herself into some mind-bogglin' positions."

I leaned against the wall and regarded him with contempt. Back in Maggody, I was obliged to show a modicum of deference, but in this situation he was in a grimy little cell. It was an image I'd cherish for a long time to come, and my only regret was that I didn't have a camera. "At dawn you and she went up to your room, right? Did she go into her own room?"

"No, she went straight to my bathroom and started the shower, then asked me if I'd mind getting her bag so she could slip on her nightie. I went next door, stuffed everything back in it, and set it inside the bathroom. After that, I turned on the TV, lit a cigar, and waited for her to come out in a sexy little something, all steamy and warm and smelling of perfume."

"You didn't hear a scream?"

"I might have heard something, but I was trying to get the NBA scores due to a small wager with a gentleman that lives in Starley City. The siren was a might harder to ignore. I pulled back the curtain to see what was going on, then went out on the balcony for a better look. Cherri Lucinda came out of the bathroom about then and joined me. We hadn't made heads or tails of it when that uppity colored girl banged on the door." He got up and came over to the bars separating us. Despite his display of bravado, his forehead was beaded with sweat and saliva dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. "You got to make them believe me, Arly. There wasn't nobody in the next room. The bathroom was dark and the only light came from a gap in the curtains. I just collected the bag for Cherri Lucinda. That's all I did."

"Did you hear any voices that might have come from the adjoining room?"

"Jesus, you are a few cans shy of a six-pack. If I'd heard voices, I would have expected to find folks in there, wouldn't I? The room was empty. There was a tray from room service next to the TV set. I noticed 'cause my belly was rumbling, but then I remembered there was a treat in the other room that was tastier than anything out of a hotel kitchen. The bag was on the bed, like Cherri Lucinda told me. I already told you what happened after that."

"There are several witnesses who heard an argument from inside that room," I said, watching him closely. "It's odd that you and Cherri Lucinda didn't hear it when you came down the hall."

"She was pretty loose and trying to sing that old song about a lovesick farm boy what jumped off the Tallahachee Bridge. She was having a real tough time getting out the words, and every time she screwed up, she'd start laughin'. I kept trying to shush her before somebody called the desk to complain, but it didn't do a damn bit of good." He jabbed his finger at me. "That's another thing wrong with women-they can't hold their liquor."

"So what's your excuse, Jim Bob? After all, we're on opposite sides of the bars here."

Even Hizzoner the Moron could see the folly in pissing me off, since I was free to waltz out the door and he was, in a manner of speaking, between a rock and a hard place. "What do you aim to do about this?" he said, attempting to sound humble. "Will they let me go if I promise to stay at the hotel until the judge hears me out on Monday?"

"I don't think so," I said. "You'd better be a tad more polite to Deputy Jones. It's likely she's the one who decides whether you get a dry bologna sandwich or a blue-plate special."

"I ain't kissing up to no colored girls?"

"Suit yourself. I'll talk to Chief Sanderson and find out if there are any more witnesses. Stormy seems to have been the type to cozy up to men in bars. Maybe she found a tightrope walker with a lousy temper."

I could hear him cursing as I went down the hall and out into the main room. Deputy Jones gave me another view of her white teeth, but the previous warmth was long gone and I figured she'd never offer to loan me her car or braid my hair.

"He's something, isn't he?" I said, shaking my head. "I'd like to be able to tell you that he's a decent guy at heart, but a lightning bolt would strike me dead in the middle of the sentence. One of his pastimes back home is buying up widows' properties for back taxes and evicting them."

"Known some like that," she said. "All white, of course, since that's who has the money around these parts. None of the businesses you drove by on your way here are owned by my people, except Morton's Mufflers. Morton's my great-uncle. The Chamber of Commerce ain't asked him to join as of yet, but he's only had the shop for thirty-four years. He's real confident they'll ask him in another year or two. His wife's a maid at the hotel where you're staying. She's seventy-six."

I could tell from the way she was looking at me that she wouldn't be receptive to a generic apology for the abuses my race had heaped on hers for the last two hundred years. "Do you know what time you'll be at the hotel to take statements?" I asked.

"I'm waiting on Chief Sanderson. He went home to take a shower and have breakfast. Soon as he gets here, he'll take over the baby-sitting chores and I can leave. We wouldn't want your friend in the cell out back to hang himself with his shoelaces, would we?"

"Probably not," I said. "I gather Cherri Lucinda's gone back to the hotel. From what Jim Bob told me, it sounds as though she was pretty much out of it by the time they got to his room. She wasn't looking too robust this morning. I assumed it was her lack of makeup, but it's more likely to have been from a hangover."

Japonica's eyes narrowed. "That's what she said. You weren't on the tour. Where do you know her from? Did you know the victim, too? Maybe you ought to explain just who you are and why you're taking such an interest in this investigation."

I described my relationship with Ruby Bee and Estelle, but omitted any reference to my occupation since I was well out of my minuscule jurisdiction. Although Harve and I get along, there's plenty of jealousy among the various county law-enforcement agencies. The last thing I needed was for Japonica and Sanderson to think I was peering over their collective shoulder.

"As for Cherri Lucinda," I continued, "I had seen her before this morning, but it took the connection with Jim Bob to make me remember. They've been… carrying on for quite some time. I never met Stormy."

"Did you ever go to the club where they worked?"

"I couldn't tell you where Cherri Lucinda worked if you waved a winning lottery ticket at me."

Japonica's stare relaxed. "Yeah, you look kinda old to be going to nightclubs."

I was trying to think of a suitable comeback, when the telephone rang. She picked up the receiver, listened for a moment, and then held it out to me. "Sounds like you got a heap of trouble," she said.

My stomach constricted as if it had been pierced with an icicle. "My mother?"

"Your friend at the hotel. I'm beginning to wish all of you folks had gone to a different casino, like in the south of France."

I forced myself to exhale, then took the receiver. "Estelle?" I said. "What's wrong?"

"Miss Hanks," said a male voice, "this is Mackenzie Cutting, chief of security at The Luck of the Draw. Miss Oppers is here in my office, doing her best to convince me not to press charges for burglary and criminal mischief. I'm calling you at her request. Would you be so kind as to join us at your earliest convenience?"

By the time I reached the room, Estelle had locked herself in the bathroom and was running water in the bathtub. Niagara Falls was more subtle than her ploy.

"You come out of there," I said, wondering if I could order a crowbar from room service. It didn't seem likely.

Estelle had enough sense to stay where she was. "I am gonna take a bath to ease my jitters. I was never so terrified in all my born days when I was set upon by those women flapping down the hall in purple smocks. As a child, I was attacked by a flock of starlings, and it left me scarred for life. I feared for my very life this morning."

"Oh yes, I often lie awake at night worrying that maniacal maids will burst into my bedroom and dust me to death. Turn off the tap and get yourself out here to explain."

"I'll come out when I've a mind to. Now you just go about your business and let me have some peace and quiet."

I gave up and went on into the main part of the room. A maid who may or may not have been fluent in English had made the beds, vacuumed, removed the breakfast tray from room service, and left a fresh pink carnation in a vase by the telephone. An opulent arrangement of orchids and birds-of-paradise would not have cheered me up.

The message light on the telephone was not blinking. I contemplated calling the hospital, but finally convinced myself that I would have been notified if anything critical had taken place. Ruby Bee was older than she admitted, but she was basically robust. More often than not, she was a pain in the neck, but I wasn't sure if I could do without her nagging.

Some of it, anyway.

I was struggling with unpleasant thoughts when someone knocked on the door. Doubting that Estelle was going to rise from the bathwater like a phoenix from the flames and respond, I wiped my eyes and opened the door.

"Oh," said the woman in the hall, peering at me through wire-rimmed glasses. "My name is Taylor. Is Estelle here?"

"Estelle is taking a bath," I said as I waved her in. If the Shriners and the ladies from Tuscaloosa showed up in the immediate future, I was more than willing to arrange liaisons in the casino. Maybe I could lure Japonica over to meet Mackenzie Cutting, and set up an intimate dinner for Rex and Ms. Billington. Cherri Lucinda might take a fancy to Chief Sanderson. Or I could mix and match with giddy abandon. All things were possible.

Taylor eyed me uncertainly as she came a few feet into the room. "Do you know how long she'll be? I really need to speak to her."

I pounded on the bathroom door. "Hey, Estelle, you've got company. Someone named Taylor. Shall I order tea and cream cakes?"

After a significant moment of silence, Estelle said, "Tell her what happened. I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Something happened?" Taylor said, giving me a smile that was as lackluster as her beige skirt and sweater.

"Nothing much," I said. "Estelle was busted for burglary, but it happens all the time."

"It's my fault. Well, it's more Todd's fault. He's my fiancé. It's just that when he disappeared, I couldn't stop myself from thinking the worst." Tears erupted, fogging up the lenses of her glasses and making me feel like a bully with all the compassion of Attila the Hun.

"Why don't you tell me what you're talking about?" I suggested gently.

"Okay, after we got the key yesterday afternoon, Todd and I went to our room, which is down the hall. He took a shower and shaved, and said he was feeling better. We decided to hold off on dinner for a while and go to the casino to have a look. We were walking past the bar when a bunch of his buddies from high school yelled at him. I would have preferred to keep on going, but Todd insisted that we join them for a drink. I thought it was a dreadful idea."

I may have been expected to agree with her, but I hadn't yet zeroed in on the transgression. "Buddies, huh? I guess you were uncomfortable."

"I felt like the barmaid, although they paid more attention to her than they did to me. All of them were smoking cigars-even the girls-and it was obvious they'd been in the bar all afternoon. I seriously considered going back to the room.

"And then?"

"One drink, two drinks, another round, another round. Pretty soon Todd was telling everybody how I'd arranged for us to get married at the Elvis Chapel in Tupelo. He made it sound so tacky that I wanted to die right there. His friends were hooting and carrying on like junior high kids at a mall. I was totally humiliated. Can you imagine how I felt surrounded by all those-those overbred pedigreed puppies who've never had to do more than whimper to their parents to get next month's rent? The only time one of those girls has been cold and hungry is when she's gotten herself locked out of the sorority house!"

I still wasn't making the leap between Taylor 's unhappy experience in the bar and Estelle's more profound problem on the sixth floor. "Did you finally go to dinner?"

"The booze was coming too fast for that. I tried to convince Todd that he ought to eat something, but he ignored me and kept cracking up over all these inside jokes that made no sense whatsoever. I was like an orphan who'd wandered into a family reunion, so I told Todd I was going upstairs to order from room service. He said he'd join me in a few minutes." She took a shuddery breath. "I was waiting for the elevator when he and this slutty girl named Leanne or Luellen staggered up, hanging all over each other. According to Todd, she wanted him to fix a zipper. I had to think the zipper she had in mind was on her jeans, not her designer luggage. They got off on the sixth floor."

"And that's the last you saw of him?"

"It's been over twelve hours," she said, clutching a wadded tissue to her nose. "He's either floating in the river or shacked up with this old girlfriend. I hate to say it, but I'm having serious reservations about him. You'd think he'd want to be with me on what's meant to be our honeymoon. I mean, what he's doing is so unbelievably inconsiderate of my feelings."

I finally got it. "And this morning when you woke up and he was still gone, you came here to pour out your problems to Estelle, right? You knew that if Todd was in the hotel, he was likely to be on the sixth floor. Estelle"-I raised my voice, even though I knew she had her ear pressed to the door-"being the idiot that she is, offered to don a disguise and see if she could hunt him down."

Taylor shifted uncomfortably. "We thought maybe she could find out which room he was in. I don't know what I was going to do when she did. Drag him out of there, I guess, and insist we get married as soon as possible. Once that happens, he'll settle down and behave like a corporate lawyer instead of a frat boy."

"Maybe he passed out," I suggested. "The girl figured it would be easier to leave him until he woke up this morning. He may be on his way to your room."

"I could tell from the way he was looking at her that he wasn't that drunk."

Estelle came out of the bathroom. "You said he hadn't had anything to eat all day," she said to Taylor. "Arly's most likely right."

"You didn't see him?"

"I made it into more than half the rooms," Estelle said, "and there wasn't hide nor hair of him."

Taylor dried her glasses on the tissue and settled them back in place. "Is there a way to make the hotel give us the names of all the single women with rooms on the sixth floor?"

I winced at the image of Estelle trying to wheedle that tidbit of information out of a desk clerk. "Listen," I said, trying to be assertive, if not dictatorial, "it's quite possible Todd went back down to the casino after he zipped her zipper. He might be playing blackjack as we speak. Why don't you go have a look before you get Estelle into more trouble?"

"It could have happened that way," Taylor said without conviction. "But I watched them on the elevator, and there was something going on. Todd's not exactly a choirboy when it comes to sex. He bragged to me how he slept with every single cheerleader during his senior year in high school. Is that repulsive or what?"

"Are you sure he's the man of your dreams?" I asked.

"No, but he most definitely is the father of my baby. His mother seems to have found a way to repress his father's libidinous impulses, or at least insist on a modicum of discretion. I'll just have to hope I can do the same with Todd."

It was not a marriage made in heaven, I thought as I went over to the sliding glass door and tried in vain to see the roof of the hospital. "Did you hear what happened to Stormy?"

"Wasn't that ghastly? She wasn't a very nice person, but I did my best to make allowances due to her inferior socioeconomic background and limited intellect. I'd be surprised if she even graduated from high school."

Estelle stiffened. "I can't see that matters, Taylor. It's not like she was on welfare. We can't all be doctors and lawyers-or executives, for that matter. We need mechanics and clerks and waitresses just as much as we need folks with flashy degrees. If you ask me, they're a darn sight more useful. When's the last time an accountant stopped and offered to look under your hood?"

"It's just that Todd's gone," Taylor said, beginning to cry once again.

I stayed where I was, but Estelle relented and sat down beside her to hold her hand and murmur inanities. I was less than impressed with her display of grief.

"Then you were alone all night?" I said.

"I just told you," she whined so piteously that Estelle glared at me. "I was so upset that I literally cried myself to sleep. What am I supposed to do now?"

"Go back to your room and wait for him to drag in," I said. "Either accept his apology or kick him out. It's your future on the line."

Taylor pushed her bangs out of her eyes so that she, too, could glare at me. "That's not a very nice thing to say. Here I am asking for a little compassion and all you can do is say mean things. You don't realize what it's like to be in my situation. It's not easy, you know. Todd's parents are like majorly important in Little Rock society. His mother is the committee chairwoman for the entire debutante thing, and she-"

"You're right," I interrupted. "All I can do is say mean things, and I'm thinking of a whole lot more of them. Why don't you go to your room and call someone who cares?"

"Arly?" Estelle gasped.

I crossed my arms. "My mother's in the hospital in critical condition. Jim Bob's in a jail cell down the road, likely to be charged with murder. You aren't allowed to leave this room unless you're on a leash. I simply don't have time for errant fraternity boys on drunken binges and social climbers who've misplaced their ladders."

Taylor stood up. "Well then, maybe I should leave."

"I never accused you of stupidity," I said as I stepped aside to facilitate her path to the door.

After she flounced out the door (and flounce, she did, as if she were a raven-haired vixen in a Civil War movie), I turned my attention to Estelle.

"This is why you stole the housekeeping cart and passkey?" I said.

"I don't need any lectures from the likes of you. I was merely doing a small favor for Taylor. It's obvious you've taken a dislike to her, but you ain't being fair. Here she is, all alone, pregnant, and going up against this snooty family. She's gonna come into a substantial inheritance before too long, but in the meantime she's doing the best she can to keep her pride intact. You had no business speaking to her like that."

I flopped down on the bed. "I met her type in Manhattan. Did you notice that she never even pretended to be worried about this fiancé who's disappeared? The only reason she wants to find him is so that she can get the gold band on her finger. After that, she'll slap him on the buttocks and send him right back out to fool around with all of his ex-girlfriends."

On that note, I rolled over and gave her an unimpeded view of my backside. She prowled around the room for a long while, then went out onto the balcony, pointedly leaving the door open to allow the cold air to emphasize her disapproval.

I fell asleep just to spite her.

I walked over to the man Estelle had identified in her typically theatrical fashion, as if Charlton Heston-as opposed to Moses-had descended on the scene with a matching pair of tablets.

"Mr. Baggins?" I said. "I'm Arly Hanks."

"I know who you are. Don't go thinking C'Mon Tours is taking any responsibility for this. Everybody signed a disclaimer that said whatever happens ain't our fault. There's no way we can be held liable if people get sick."

"Nobody's blaming you," I said.

"Nobody better be," he muttered. "I ain't never seen a group more cantankerous than this. The bickerin' started before we ever left Farberville. The professor wasn't making it any easier, I'll admit, but all of them were fussing every mile of the way to Memphis."

"At which time they discovered they'd be staying in a dump in the sleaziest part of town. My mother forgot to pack her bulletproof vest and sidearm. What kind of company puts clients in that kind of danger?"

Baggins looked away. "Elvis slept there. I told 'em that."

"And the overnight stay in Tupelo? Did he forget to sleep there?"

"Things changed. Say, how's your mama doing? I sure am gonna be sorry if she can't go back with us in the morning. She's a fine lady."

"I doubt she'll be allowed to leave for a few days, and Estelle will want to stay here with her. You know about Stormy, of course?"

"The police told me. It's real sad, her being so young and all, and C'Mon Tours will be sending a condolence card soon as we get an address. Listen, miss, I need to find an auto-parts store before we drive home tomorrow. You tell your mama how sorry I am about her ailment."

"I most certainly will," I said, smiling so sweetly my teeth ached. "By the way, I need to ask you about the man in the black car at the motel in Memphis. What's his name?"

"How should I know something like that? I don't work for the Memphis Welcome Wagon." He edged away from me as if I, like beef past its prime, had a pungent odor. "There's close to a million people that live there. I ain't on speaking terms with all of them. Why would I know what cars they drive?"

He was so nervous that I began to think Estelle might be onto something. I bore down on him and said, "Did he want to know where the tour group would be staying last night?"

"Why would anybody care about that?" he said as he continued to back away from me. "All he wanted to know was how to get on the road to Nashville. If I don't find a place to buy a fan belt, this van's gonna be dead as an armadillo on the interstate come noon tomorrow."

I grasped his shoulder. "I need to know if he's stalking Estelle. Who is he?"

Baggins flinched as my fingers tightened. "It don't have anything to do with Estelle, your mama, or you. Leave it at that. He's not somebody you need to cross paths with. His problem was with Stormy. Now that she's dead, he'll give it up and go home."

"Give what up?"

He squirmed out of my grip and gave me a churlish look. "Don't go trying to trick me like I just got off the turnip truck. It's nothing to do with you. When I get back to Farberville, I'll try to talk Miss Vetchling into returning some of the money your mama paid for the tour. She's tighter'n bark on a tree, but you never know."

He climbed into the van and drove away. I was thinking about what he'd said as I walked toward the entrance. It sounded as though Stormy had been followed all the way from Farberville to The Luck of the Draw, where her luck had clearly and most sincerely run out.

I paused in the driveway to look up at the balconies on the eighth floor. The metal railings hindered the view but did not completely block it; voices, especially agitated ones, could have carried in the stillness of dawn. Japonica had no doubt recorded the exact words the witness heard seconds before the body came slamming down onto the pavement. Jim Bob's lawyer would be given access to her report when the trial date approached, but I decided to see if I could wheedle a copy of it in a more timely fashion. She wouldn't cooperate as long as she saw me as Jim Bob's staunch defender. I was trying to envision a way to inveigle my way back into her favor as I went through the revolving door.

"Arly!" shrieked Estelle. "You make him let me go or I'm gonna-I don't know, maybe I'm gonna do something we'll all live to regret!"

Mackenzie Cutting had her by the wrist. "Miss Hanks, approximately five hours ago you assured me that you would keep Miss Oppers out of trouble for a few days. I trusted you to keep your word. I think it would be better for all concerned if you and she checked out immediately and graced another hotel with your presence."

I stared at Estelle. "Now what?"

"I ain't saying a word until he lets go of me. He's gonna be darn lucky if I don't sue the hotel for a million dollars. Every time I turn around somebody on the staff's grabbing me and carrying on like I planted a bomb in a wastebasket?"

"A bomb?" said a cadaverous man in a lime green leisure suit.

"A bomb?" said the woman behind him, collapsing into a chair. "Julian, I need my pills!"

"No bomb!" Mackenzie yelled as the word began to ricochet around the room.

"We're all going to die!" screamed a women clutching a bug-eyed spaniel. She dropped to her knees and crawled under a table. "Oh, Bertie, Mumsy's so sorry she brought you here?"

"No bomb!" Mackenzie yelled once more, releasing Estelle in order to thrust his arms in the air. "No bomb! Nobody's in any danger!"

"Julian!" the woman sprawled across a chair screeched. "I am having palpitations! Call an ambulance!"

I caught Estelle and propelled her to the side of the lobby as the babble of voices grew louder. "Look at this," I said. "You were in here less than five minutes, for pity's sake! What did you do this time?"

"I'll tell you when we get to the room," she said haughtily, then removed my hand from her arm and strode toward the elevators as if she were Cleopatra boarding a barge. The queen of denial.

I looked back at Mackenzie, who appeared to be going down for the third time in a sea of panicky guests. His mouth was moving, but it was impossible to hear him in the increasingly frenzied din.

It seemed like the time for a prudent, if also cowardly, retreat.

Kevin had long since driven all the way around Farberville and was heading west in the direction of the Oklahoma border. He hadn't seen Dahlia's car anywhere along the way-not parked in front of a store or next to the side of the highway, which is where he figured it'd be if she had a flat tire. He'd done his best to teach her how to change a tire, but she'd always just given him a puckery look until he fixed it himself and they could be on their way.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. The state police car was still behind him, and now there was another following it. Since he was being real careful to stay well under the speed limit, he wasn't worried about them. It was getting on toward Saturday evening, after all, and they were most likely going home to have supper with their families and watch television. If only he could be doing the same, he thought wistfully. Instead, he had no choice but to go search for his wife so he could bring her back to her sweet little babies.

It was hard not to imagine the worst. What if she'd been run off the road by a motorcycle gang and was plastered against the steering wheel, unconscious and in danger of icing over like a white wedding cake? She'd been frettin' about money ever since she came home from the hospital. What if she'd been so desperate that she'd been hired by a drug dealer to take his filthy wares to Oklahoma? She could be in a jail in Muskogee or Sallisaw, hanging down her head in shame. Or what if she'd met some fellow with plenty of money and was lying in his arms in a motel room? What if the room had velvety red wallpaper, a mirror on the ceiling, and a king-size water bed? That would explain why she kept slapping away her lawfully wedded husband whenever he wiggled up next to her under the covers and let his fingers ramble over her wondrous ripples of flesh. Was she doing it 'cause she loved this fellow-or was he giving her money?

Kevin's eyes clouded with tears. It was his fault, not hers. If he was bringing home more money every week, she wouldn't have been obliged to sell her body to a stranger, even if he drove a fancy car and bought her boxes of chocolates and great big bottles of perfume that smelled like diamonds.

He blinked as he watched a car with the sheriff's logo cut across the grassy median and fall into line behind the other two. Maybe there was some sort of policeman's ball up the road a piece, and they were all gettin' ready to dance the night away. He slowed down to encourage them to get on to their party, but none of them pulled into the passing lane. In fact, they were acting like he was leading them right to the door of the Elks Lodge or wherever they were going.

Kevin had never before considered himself a natural-born leader. This was kind of nice, though. Here he was, gathering up all the law-enforcement agents in Stump County so he could guide them to where they wanted to go. He rolled down the window and waved at them so's to assure them that they were in good hands; in response, they turned on their blue lights, adding a downright festive air to the occasion.

It was only fitting that he was in a Bronco, and a white one at that, since he pictured himself in a big white cowboy hat with a little feather tucked in the band. Feeling like the trail master at the head of along line of covered wagons, each filled with stouthearted settlers, rosy-cheeked children, and all their worldly possessions, he took them onward into Indian territory.

The door slammed into me. I staggered backward, fighting without success to keep my balance as pain ripped across my face and shoulder. I hit the floor with a thud. The man stepped over me as he came into the room and snapped the deadbolt. The sound was as loud as a gunshot. Bad sign.

"Where is it?" he said.

"It?"

"The bag." He dragged me onto the bed and looked around the room. "I ain't in the mood for a guessing game. Just give me the bag and live to tell your story in the morning."

"Help yourself," I said as I gingerly examined my nose. Blood was dripping freely, but the basic structure seemed to be intact. "Take the toothbrushes and plastic cups in the bathroom while you're at it. I only have twenty dollars in my purse, but you're welcome to every one of them. Need an extra pillow or blanket?"

"Shut up." He grabbed Cherri Lucinda's duffel bag and dumped its contents on the other bed. "Where's the other bag?"

In the tradition of Lady Macbeth, I pointed a bloody finger at my overnight bag. "It's yours for the asking. I'm sorry I didn't bring my red flannel pajamas or whatever it is you want so desperately."

"You got some nerve. Has it occurred to you that you might just be in a real bad situation? The last thing you need to be doing is making me mad, you know?" He emptied my bag on the floor, pawed through my underwear and shirts, then looked down at me. "I don't know why the fuck you think you can get away with this. You know who you're dealing with?"

"No, I don't," I said. "Any chance you're going to tell me?"

"I don't have time for this shit. Get up."

"Get up and what?" I countered, assessing my chances of overwhelming him and dashing out of the room. His age was difficult to pinpoint, but there was little doubt he was several inches taller than I was and more than fifty pounds heavier. I would have preferred to take on the ladies from Tuscaloosa en masse.

"Get out of your clothes."

"You're not my type," I said as I wondered how effective the remote control might be as a weapon. If I clicked a button, could I change him into the Disney channel or Nickelodeon? "I don't know who you are or what you want, but if you leave right now, I'll give you a ten-second head start before I call security."

"You're not my type, either. You either strip or I'll do it for you. I won't be all that gentle."

"So you can rape me? There's nothing gentle about that." I may have sounded like a leather-clad warrior princess, but all of my internal organs were quivering with panic. He was too big, too assured-and possibly too experienced. In all my years in Manhattan, I'd only once been threatened on the street, and then by an asthmatic veteran in a frayed pea jacket that reeked of urine. I'd ended up admiring faded photographs of his children.

"I ain't gonna rape you," he said disgustedly. "I'm a professional. Now strip and let's get this over with."

"A professional what? A masseuse building up a clientele? A gynecologist who attacks women in hotel rooms in order to conduct pelvic exams as a form of community service?" Adrenaline was now controlling my mouth as well as my mind. I abandoned the idea of the remote control as a potential weapon and looked wildly at the room service menu. Thick, but plastic. Not promising.

"All right, then," he said, "just go out on the balcony."

I forced myself to suck in a breath and keep my pitch low as I said, "I don't think so. If you take one step toward me, I'm going to scream so loudly that the mayor of Memphis will hear me. I will scratch, kick, punch, and make every effort to claw your eyes. I'm not a black belt, but I had training in self-defense at the police academy."

He sat down on the other bed. "You're a cop? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"This is my room," I said, "which pretty much explains my presence. Your turn."

"This whole thing's a goddamn nightmare. You know that lady with the bright red hair that sort of looks like a fire hydrant balanced on her head? Where is she?"

"I don't know where she is. Who are you?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Like I said, I'm a professional just doing my job-okay? What do you know about this broad called Stormy? A lot shorter than you, big blond hair, enormous boobs? She went skydiving this morning, except she forgot to take along a parachute. She went splat." He slapped his palms together to re-create the sound.

I was beginning to think I might get out of this alive. "Let's talk about the woman with the red hair. What's she got to do with anything?"

"I wish I knew," he said. "Is she a cop, too?"

"Would it matter?"

"Okay," he said, standing up. "I don't have time to hang around and yak. Let's go out on the balcony."

"I wish you'd stop saying that. I'm not going anyplace with you."

He grabbed my arm, yanked me up, and propelled me out to the balcony. "You scream and I'll wring your neck. Understand?"

I nodded. He stepped back into the room, locked the sliding doors, and closed the curtains. I fell into a chair and put my head between my knees until the balcony stopped swaying and the roar in my ears began to fade. It occurred to me that I was ill-prepared to be outside, since I was wearing only a cotton shirt and jeans. This was, of course, infinitely better than being buck naked.

I looked over my shoulder at the curtains. There was not so much as a crack through which I could see what my uncivilized guest was doing in the room-if he was still there. I rose unsteadily and gauged the distance to the balconies on either side. Ten feet at a minimum, I concluded, and well beyond my prowess, since I had been thrown out of gymnastics class at the age of seven for declining to hop and skip across a balance beam six feet above the floor. A movie heroine would have climbed onto the railing, teetered for a tension-building moment, and then leaped onto the next balcony.

Lacking a stunt double, I leaned over the railing and looked down. Cars were pulling in front of the entrance to the hotel. Bellmen were taking suitcases out of trunks and piling them on carts. A woman with a dog on a leash appeared in the driveway, paused to light a cigarette, and headed for the nearest strip of grass.

Which happened to be directly below, proving there was no major cosmic plot against me.

"Psst!" I hissed as loudly as I dared.

The woman turned her head to stare at the bushes alongside the building. Her dog glanced up, then resumed sniffing the grass for the perfect spot to defile. After a few seconds, the woman looked down at him and murmured what I assumed were words of encouragement.

I made sure the curtain hadn't twitched, then bent down and said, "Up here."

The woman was clearly nobody's fool. Rather than responding, she began to speak in an urgent voice to the dog, which was in engaged in the performance of an imperative biological process.

"Please," I said, trying to sound as whimpery and pathetic as a puppy. "I need help."

The woman tilted her head and scanned the facade; eventually spotting my fluttering hands. "Are you addressing me?"

I leaned over as far as I dared. "Please send security up to my room. I've locked myself out."

"That's ridiculous. How could you have done that? Are you drunk?"

"No, ma'am," I said. "Just go to the desk and tell them there's an emergency in eight-eleven. They'll need a passkey."

"Is this some kind of practical joke? I have no intention of embarrassing myself in front of hotel staff. Hurry up, Bertie. Mumsy wants to go back inside." Ignoring Bertie's yelps, she dragged him toward the entrance.

I straightened up and put my ear against the door. I heard nothing, but the glass was apt to be double-paned to withstand the increasingly cold wind. If the man had left and Cherri Lucinda had returned, she hadn't turned on the TV or gotten into a telephone conversation.

All the balconies I could see were vacant. Even during daylight hours the view was far from entrancing; it was hard to imagine why anyone would venture out in the dark to admire a skyline more than thirty miles away.

The chairs were too flimsy to break the glass. However, they might make serviceable missiles to catch somebody's attention. I made sure no was standing below the balcony, then held my breath and dropped a chair over the railing. It hit the grass and bounced into the bushes. I was about to try the second one when I saw a bellman staring up at me from the curb. Before I could call to him, he scurried into the hotel.

I put the chair back in place and sat down, confident that the report of a deranged woman throwing furniture off a balcony would bring a battalion, or at least a platoon, of security men. The Luck of the Draw did not tolerate adolescent mischief, or so I'd been told.

The casino was lively. I wiggled my way through the crowd, peering over heads in hopes I'd be able to spot Baggins-or Estelle. I believed her story of shuttling to another casino with the same degree of confidence that I believed the Energizer Bunny would lead us to our salvation as a species. The fuzz-head would just keep on thumping and thumping as we tumbled over the cliff and into the sea.

The crowd was predominantly white, which helped. After some prowling, I saw Baggins beside a roulette table. I worked my way across the room and edged next to him as the wheel spun. He watched it with the intensity of a very hungry hawk.

"I need to talk to you," I said into his ear.

"Red, come red?" he shouted. When the ball settled into a black slot, he glared at me. "Fat lot of luck you are. I already told you everything you need to hear. Your mother may or may not get herself a refund. It's out of my hands. I'm off duty and having myself some fun."

"Well, I'm not."

Baggins bent forward to place chips in what I supposed were strategic spots. "Get on out of here. I ain't got anything more to say."

"Where's Estelle?"

"How am I supposed to know that? The show starts at ten. Till then, they're finding their own amusement. Mine happens to be roulette." He sucked in a breath as the ball once again dropped into a black slot. "I was doin' real fine up until a minute ago. Go pester somebody else."

I gave him an irritated look, but he was already slamming down chips and muttering incantations meant to influence the ball. I moved back and looked around. An unholy clatter came from the banks of slot machines, accompanied by outbursts of glee. Glaringly bright wheels whirled on several sides of me, reflected by mirrors on the ceiling. More lights flowed across the walls, flashing numbers. On a platform behind the bar, three hairy gargoyles jerked about with guitars, lost in personal rapture, while a fourth pounded on drums and shrieked about whatever was (or wasn't) on his mind.

Most of the accents around me were thick enough to pour over waffles. A few had the nasal intonation of the territory above the Mason-Dixon Line. As I pushed my way through the surge of bodies, I felt increasingly anxious. I'd dealt with crowds in Manhattan, but they'd been decorously dressed and ever so polite as they'd elbowed me out of line to buy champagne during intermission. In Maggody, a crowd was defined by the number of people who showed up for happy hour at Ruby Bee's Bar & Grill on a Friday afternoon.

Which wasn't always happy and rarely lasted an hour. Even with free popcorn.

All of a sudden I wanted to fight my way to the door and drive to the hospital. So what if Ruby Bee was asleep? I could sit with her, stroke her hand, be there if she opened her eyes and wanted a sip of water. That was the reason I'd come; Jim Bob's problems were nothing more than a diversion. Japonica's version of the struggle on the balcony made perfectly good sense: Jim Bob had been drunk, upset by losses at the craps table, enraged by Stormy's rejection.

Except, I thought as I found a haven at the end of a blackjack table, Jim Bob hadn't lost money, if the chips in his room were indicative. He and Cherri Lucinda had made their way quite merrily to his room. No doubt he'd poured himself a drink before he settled down and allowed himself to fantasize about the woman taking a hot shower in his bathroom. They'd had sex twelve hours earlier, and he was expecting a repeat performance within a matter of minutes. He had no motive to attack Stormy.

"Miss Hanks," Mackenzie cooed in my ear. "Would you like a cocktail?"

I may have flinched just a tad. "No, thank you. I just came down to see the casino in all its glory on a Saturday night. I can almost hear the money being sucked in by the corporate vacuum cleaners. Nickels here, quarters there. It does add up at the end of the night, doesn't it?"

"Do you object to gaming as a form of entertainment?"

"Not when that's all it is," I said, watching for Estelle or her infamous bald man. "It can be an addiction, though."

"I told you this morning that we try to screen out compulsive gamblers. They do nothing more than cause us headaches. They demand credit when it's beyond their means, and become belligerent when we decline. We were once offered a three-year-old child as collateral. We don't do that."

I finally gave him my full attention. "Here in your make-believe world, it's an endless party. Free drinks for everyone willing to lose money. As you said, you never close. Aren't you preying on people's obscure hope that there really is a way to transform a five-dollar chip into a fortune?"

"That would be the essence of gaming," Mackenzie said dryly. "Something for nothing. We merely provide a reasonably level playing field. Some people do win a lot of money."

"Right."

"Let's take your friend Estelle, for instance. She won a thousand dollars with a single nickel. A remarkable return on her investment, wouldn't you say?"

"Estelle? She was here earlier?"

"Oh yes. I think she might have preferred to be elsewhere when the attention focused on her, but there was nothing she could do but accept congratulations with a gracious nod. We don't mind, since it encourages other players to persevere. Hope springs eternal, as someone said."

"Alexander Pope," I said, "and I doubt he was referring to slot machines. Is Estelle still here?"

"I couldn't say. She collected her winnings at the cashier's window, then she did what she could to fade into the crowd. I watched her for a while, but shortly thereafter we had an unpleasant situation at a blackjack table and I went to intervene."

"Is the senator here tonight?" I asked.

"I have no idea," Mackenzie said, "and it's not relevant-as long as your friend does not attack him again. I doubt he'll ever be able to stand in front of a urinal without recalling the incident. I must say I look forward to the morning, when this particular tour group leaves. In the future, C'Mon Tours will not be welcome at The Luck of the Draw. From what I was told, this Miss Vetchling is shrill and bullheaded. She called yesterday morning and demanded five rooms, four of them doubles. We were booked. She made such graphic threats that the manager finally gave her the rooms he keeps in reserve for emergencies."

"Was it an emergency?"

"I handle security, not reservations. What about Estelle?"

"As soon as I find her, I'll drag her back to the room and chain her to the bed," I vowed solemnly, if mendaciously. Dragging Estelle anywhere would be much like attempting to stuff a large cat into a small bag. "I don't understand why you're upset about tonight, though. All she was doing was playing the slots. That is what customers are supposed to do. Someone has to win every now and then to sustain the feeding frenzy."

"You betrayed my trust, Miss Hanks. That's the only reason I'm upset."

"Here's a better reason," I said as I gestured at the bar, where Brother Verber was teetering on a tabletop in order to preach at a noticeably disgruntled congregation. I couldn't hear him, but I could surmise the gist of his remarks. "Blame Miss Vetchling for this, too."

"You know him?" asked Mackenzie.

"Not in the biblical sense," I said, then deftly merged into the flow of bodies moving down the aisle. This time I would choke the answers out of Baggins.

I returned to the roulette table, but his place had been appropriated by a young woman wearing so much jewelry that she seemed in danger of toppling onto the green felt. There was no point in asking the croupier if he'd noticed in which direction Baggins had gone.

I made my way past the remaining roulette tables, but Baggins was not in sight. He was playing neither craps nor blackjack. The band was striving for new levels of auditory abuse, as if to provoke more hysterical action from the players. The waitresses were tight-lipped as they made their way from table to table. The sour stench of sweat, smoke, and anxiety was impossible to ignore. Men dressed as impeccably as Mackenzie attempted to scrutinize the proceedings with unruffled stares, but their eyes were darting as though they anticipated an event of cataclysmic significance at any moment.

An exit sign beckoned me. I wiggled my way to the door, then went outside and sat down on a planter to regain my senses. Had my self-imposed exile in Maggody led to a bad case of agoraphobia? The sidewalks of Manhattan were always jammed with pedestrians who blundered along like professional boxers who'd had a few too many blows to the head. Department stores, especially during seasonal sales, were crammed with women lugging screaming babies and rebellious toddlers. Waiters and clerks had been recruited from classified ads in the back of paramilitary magazines. Taxis had careened down the streets as if determined to rack up points by shooting through a dozen green lights before squealing to a stop.

I'd never paid much attention.

Once I'd calmed down, I decided to walk across the parking lot to the hotel entrance rather than fight my way back through the casino. Brother Verber had undoubtedly inflamed a minor riot in the bar with his sanctimonious harangue, and Mrs. Jim Bob was apt to be in the vicinity, snarling like a red-eyed harpy. I had no idea how to find Estelle, Baggins, Jim Bob, or Todd. I had no desire to encounter Cherri Lucinda, the above-mentioned evangelists, Mackenzie, Rex, or even Miss Vetchling, should she be skulking in the shadows to keep watch over her pilgrims.

I hadn't planned to be outside, so I'd left my coat in the hotel room. Fog was rolling in from the river, veiling the lights in the parking lot in a smudgy haze. I stood up, brushed off my fanny, and was about to take a reasonably short hike when a man approached from the parking lot. He was wearing a white satin cape over a jumpsuit emblazoned with rhinestones and sequins, and his hair was combed back in an improbable pompadour, with only a single black curl out of alignment.

"Evening, ma'am," he said. "I'm sorry if I'm alarmin' you, but you look troubled. Anything I can do to help?"

I appraised the distance to the door. "I just came out for some fresh air."

"Did you lose your money gambling?"

"No," I said irritably. "I wasn't handling the crowd well. I'm fine now."

"Crowds used to bother me, too, growing up like I did in a small town and all. I was only ten years old the first time I sang in front of an audience, and my knees were so wobbly I could hardly stand up. You sure I can't do something for you? Here you are, a pretty little thing out here in the cold. Are you lonesome tonight? Can I buy you a cup of coffee and a piece of pecan pie?"

"Don't you have a show to perform?"

"I wish I did," he said, then turned around and walked back into the parking lot, gradually disappearing as he moved out of the diffused glow of the red and yellow casino lights.

It was most definitely time to get some sleep. A couple of catnaps could not compensate for an all-night marathon drive. My nerves weren't just shot; they were flat-out riddled with bullet holes.

I began to walk along the sidewalk to the hotel entrance, unable to convince myself that the arctic wind was medicinal rather than punitive. It was likely that Estelle was in her room, counting out her money and eating bread and honey (which she could most definitely afford), or flushing Mrs. Jim Bob's utilitarian underwear down the toilet. I didn't much care.

I'd almost made it when Cherri Lucinda came skittering up to me and came damn close to knocking me into the bushes (where I would have banged my head against at least one chair).

"You got to do something?" she shrieked.

"What's wrong?" I asked Cherri Lucinda.

"I ain't sure. Well, I have my suspicions, but I hate to say outright 'cause I'm most likely wrong. Did you hear about Estelle winning all that money playing the slots?"

"I was told she won a thousand dollars."

"They gave it to her in chips. She stuffed them in her purse, then sailed right out of the casino like one of those ships on TV on the Fourth of July. You know what I'm talking about?" I nodded, unable to keep myself from picturing Estelle as a figurehead on a Viking ship, her jaw thrust forward and her wooden eyes focused on a yet unconquered continent.

Cherri Lucinda shivered as a gust of wind whipped around us. "I went to catch up with her so I could offer my congratulations, but I saw this man standing real close to her in front of the elevators, holding onto her arm. They got in one and the doors closed before I could get there. The thing is, she looked real perturbed. I don't think she wanted to go with him."

"And?" I said.

"That's about it. It was more than half an hour ago. I was trying to think what to do when I noticed you poking around the casino. I followed you out here, but, well, I got slowed down. You didn't see anything odd, did you-like a person or something?"

"No," I said curtly, not willing to pursue the topic. "Describe this man who was with Estelle."

She tugged on her lip with fingernails long enough to do damage in a crowded room. "Hefty. Brown hair, ordinary features. He was smiling, but the way he was doing it wouldn't have made me invite him into my apartment for a beer. He reminded me of my mama's third husband-and he ain't coming up for parole till the year two thousand and eight."

I was fairly confident I knew the subject under discussion. "He wasn't threatening her in any way?"

Cherri Lucinda gave me a look that implied she put my IQ somewhat lower than that of a slice of cheese. "Not that I could tell."

"Have you seen Baggins?" I asked.

"Since when? I saw him yesterday afternoon, when he gave us our keys. I saw him last night at the roulette table. I saw him this morning, tearing into eggs and ham. I saw him a while back, lined up at the cashier's desk."

"Cashing in his winnings?"

"Not hardly. He was using his credit card to get money. The professor was doing the same, although he was squabbling with them. I guess knowing everything there is to know about Elvis doesn't always cut the mustard. There were several casino guys arguing with him."

"I'd better go make sure Estelle is okay. Thanks for tracking me down."

"You sure you didn't see anybody wandering around out here? A fellow dressed kinda funny, acting like he wanted to have a nice talk?"

I shook my head and went into the lobby. Everybody who was going to check in or out had done so, leaving the bellmen to share a tabloid (EXTRATERRESTRIALS IN CONGRESS!) and the desk clerks to stare at me with far more curiosity than I warranted. I took the elevator to the eighth floor and was digging through my purse for the room key as I stepped into the foyer.

Japonica damn near pushed me back into the elevator. I caught myself and said, "What's going on?"

"Hostage situation. Soon as we get backup from the sheriff's department and the state police, we can seal off the floor. You go downstairs."

I realized she had a gun in her hand. Chief Sanderson stood in the corridor, his weapon drawn. An anemic young man who appeared to be within seconds of both physical and emotional disintegration was slumped against the wall.

"What's going on?" I repeated. "Have the ladies from Tuscaloosa kidnapped one of those cute little croupiers to be their sex toy?"

"Get out of here," Japonica said as she moved behind her boss. "We can't know for sure, but we figure he's armed."

"Who?" I asked as I followed her.

Chief Sanderson looked back at me. "Would you mind relocating your ass elsewhere? The pertinent phrase is 'armed and dangerous.' We don't need civilians cluttering up the scene. Japonica here tells me you're a cop, but you're out of your jurisdiction, and you'd damn well better not be carrying. If you don't want to spend the night in jail, go play the slots."

"Floyd," I began in a reasonable tone, "I don't-"

"Put her under arrest," he snapped at Japonica. "Don't bother to charge her with anything; just lock her up and let the judge deal with it on Monday. Could be Tuesday, come to think of it, or even Wednesday. We're at the mercy of the circuit judge. He likes to go duck huntin' this time of year."

I stepped over the extended legs of the young man and positioned myself in front of the door to the stairwell, should the situation deteriorate further. "What the hell is the problem?" I whispered to Japonica.

"Hard to say. Somebody saw a man with a gun in the hall. He had a woman in front of him, and she was looking grim. We're not sure what's going on."

"Estelle?"

"I think so, unless there are two women on this floor with twelve-inch-tall hair. You know what room she's in?"

"Yes, but I think I'd better scoot downstairs before I get arrested. Why don't you call the desk? Ask for a man named Mackenzie Cutting."

Japonica grabbed me before I could push open the door. "They're paging him. Can you help us?"

"If you want me to," I said, sounding as sulky as a wallflower with an empty dance card, as opposed to someone who wanted to trample down Chief Sanderson and burst into Estelle's hotel room à la Mighty Mouse. "This is likely to be the man I was trying to tell you about earlier, the one who locked me on the balcony. He wants something. We should give it to him."

"Sanderson has his own agenda, and reelection is at the top of his list. How's it going to look if he lets this guy walk out of here?"

"How's it going to look if he lets an innocent tourist get killed because he failed to negotiate? Anybody who's ever been to the movies knows that the cops are supposed to negotiate while the SWAT team creeps over the roof."

Japonica grimaced. "You're looking at the SWAT team. That boy on the floor is Sanderson's nephew, Lloyd. Lloyd attends evening classes at the community college, working on a degree in agroeconomics. He's got bad allergies, especially this time of year. He's our sniper."

I looked down at the purported sniper, who was blowing his nose into a grubby handkerchief. "Hey, Lloyd," I said, nudging him with the toe of my shoe, "you ready to cover me if I try to break into the room?"

Lloyd sneezed. "Yeah, sure, just give me a minute. Japonica, did Uncle Floyd remember to bring my gun this time?"

I took a deep breath, then went over to Sanderson and tapped his shoulder. "Why don't I go talk to this man?"

"And get yourself blown across the hall? How am I supposed to explain that to the voters next fall? One more term and I'm officially retired. We've never had an unsolved homicide."

"It won't be unsolved if he shoots me," I pointed out in a remarkably cool voice. "You, Japonica, and Lloyd will all be witnesses. Well, Lloyd will have to get off his rear and come into the hall if he wants to watch the fun, but that's not important. What is important is that this man is holding Estelle in her room. I'm the only person who can talk to him."

"Why's that?"

I didn't have a good answer, but rather than admit it, I rolled my eyes and said, "Haven't you read Japonica's reports? It's all laid out like a recipe for lemon icebox pie. Maybe you should go to the office and get caught up. We'll wait here, our fingers crossed that no one gets hurt until you get back."

"You're one major pain in the neck," Sanderson said, holstering his gun as he stepped back into the foyer. "Anybody else ever tell you that?"

I gave him a tight smile as I went down the hall and knocked on the door of eight-eleven. "Estelle?" I called. "Are you in there?"

The door opened an inch. I could see Estelle's face, whiter than a pillowcase and dazed with fear.

"Arly?" she said huskily.

"You want to go down to the restaurant and have supper?"

"I don't think I can do that just now."

"Has someone got a gun stuck in your back again? I swear, Estelle, I can't take you anywhere without this happening. Let me talk to him."

The man who'd assaulted me earlier took her place. "You must think you're pretty damn funny. Any other jokes before I put a bullet in your friend's head?"

"And then dive off the balcony? In how many languages can you say 'Splat'?" I clapped my hands in case he'd forgotten his previous sound effects.

He grunted. "So what else you got to say?"

"There's a highly trained SWAT team in the parking lot. If you so much as step onto the balcony, you'll be hyperventilating in ways you never thought about before. I guess that covers it."

"Just take the money and let me be," said Estelle from behind him. "I hadn't even gotten around to considering how to spend it. Easy come, easy go."

"That's not what he's after," I said. "It's something that used to be in Stormy's bag. Of course, if it's in the hotel safe, he's going to have to do more than wave a gun under your nose."

"It's not something she'd have put in the safe," the man said, curling his lip. "She didn't hide it in her hotel room or the one right next door, either."

"Why would she have hid it in here?" I asked.

"'Cause she saw me in Memphis and knew I was after her. Someone saw her carrying three bags yesterday afternoon. She must have switched 'em around."

"You want to look in mine?" said Estelle. "Be my guest."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mackenzie edging along the wall toward us. This was not good. I extended my hands. "I'm unarmed. Why don't you let me inside and we'll all search together? Afterward, you can keep me as the hostage until you're out of the hotel and on the road to wherever your heart desires."

Mackenzie was so close that I could hear his shoes scuffling the carpet. Surely he'd been informed that Estelle was in there, I told myself. I glanced toward the elevators. Japonica and Chief Sanderson were watching from behind a potted plant; Lloyd must have chosen a more prudent position, perhaps in a rapidly descending elevator.

"I already looked in here," the man said. "Besides, I don't trust those trigger-happy cops at the end of the hallway. Goddamn amateurs, thinking they'll get their pictures on the front page of the local newspaper for being heroes."

"I'll make sure they agree to meet your demands. They may not be able to arrange for a helicopter to land out front, but they'll cooperate if you want a car and a picnic basket. That's the only way you're going to get out of this, you know. Estelle's prone to fainting when she's scared. I can't see you tossing her over your shoulder like so much dead weight and trotting down the stairs."

Estelle's face reappeared. "I am not prone to anything, thank you very much. If this man wants me to be a hostage, then I can walk out of here on my own two feet. You make me sound like a dirty dishrag. I can't recall when I've ever fainted, not even when the doctor lanced a boil on my buttocks without bothering to give me a local anesthesia. It was not pleasant, let me tell you."

He looked back at her. "You are about the wordiest woman I've ever met. I ought to-"

Mackenzie shoved me aside, shouldered open the door, and fired his gun. The man gave him a stunned look, then crumpled to the floor. Rather than faint, Estelle opted to scream bloody murder (which was partly true). Japonica and Chief Sanderson thundered down the hall. I learned later that Lloyd was the guilty party who panicked and set off the deafening clamor of the fire alarm. An elderly lady in a silk bathrobe charged out of her room, swinging an umbrella. A dog raced past me and disappeared around the corner. Doors flew open and voices demanded to know what was happening. A sprinkler head on the ceiling began to mist us as if we were ferns.

I sat down on the floor. Mackenzie had continued into the room; the door was ajar but I couldn't see what he was doing. Chief Sanderson followed suit, but Japonica stopped and knelt beside me.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Just peachy," I said. "I had the situation under control. The guy was willing to allow Estelle to leave. I really didn't think he would hurt me, as long as everybody stayed calm. That did not happen, as you may have noticed. Why couldn't Mackenzie have held off for a few more minutes?"

"Kind of gung-ho, wasn't he?"

"No kidding." I pushed myself up and wiped water out of my eyes. "I guess I'd better see if Estelle's okay. Why don't you see if you can convince someone at the desk to cut off the alarm and the sprinkler?"

Japonica headed toward the foyer. I went into the room, stepped over the supine body in the same fashion he'd stepped over mine hours earlier, and sat down on the bed next to Estelle. Mackenzie was on the telephone, requesting an ambulance-no lights, no sirens, no unnecessary disruptions. Chief Sanderson was examining what I assumed was the perp's wallet.

"Well, you've still got your winnings," I said to her. "When Ruby Bee has recovered, you two need to take a really boring cruise in which your most pressing problem is how to eat your way through all the buffets without spilling out of your bathing suits."

She looked up with a faint smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Who was he, Arly?"

"I'm pretty sure he was the second man in the car you saw at the Starbright Motel. He was looking for Stormy's duffel bag, which he seemed to think might have ended up in here. Problem is, he already searched it earlier this afternoon. It was in the closet in her room. He also searched mine, Cherri Lucinda's, Jim Bob's, and Brother Verber's. He seemed to believe Stormy switched the three bags she brought upstairs in the elevator. Hers, yours, and"-I hesitated-"Ruby Bee's. Japonica told me he'd gone through Stormy's bag and left the contents on the floor of the closet. You don't think…?"

"Think what?"

"Just sit here. I'll be back." I wormed my way through the horde of security people who had appeared as if they'd been delivered on a chartered bus, and went down a couple of doors to the room I was sharing with Cherri Lucinda. I let myself in, engaged the chain, and opened the closet door. The faded flannel nightgown and support hose were hard to overlook, as was the tube of denture adhesive. These were not the items a sexually active young woman packed for the weekend. I was looking at the contents of Ruby Bee's bag-not Stormy's. Which meant, of course, that the pertinent bag was stashed on a shelf several miles away.

I should have returned to Estelle's room to do something, although I had no idea if my presence would be tolerated, much less allowed. Instead, I went out to the balcony and stared at the uninspired landscape of the parking lot as I tried to sort out all the stray bits of information I'd been given.

A few ideas surfaced, but none were such that I could dash down the hall and impress Chief Sanderson with my insights. I went inside and dialed the number of the sheriff's department. I'd expected LaBelle to be gone for the evening, but she answered with her customary charm.

" Stump County Sheriff's Department. State your business."

"This is Arly," I said. "Any chance Harve's still there?"

"How's your mother doing?"

"Not as well as I'd hoped. What about Harve?"

"He's gone for the day, and the deputy in charge is picking his nose and gaping at a gun magazine. I was just on the way out the door, so if you don't have any more-"

"Do you have a list of the employees at the club where the drug bust took place?" I asked.

"Do you realize how many lists this task force has made me write up in the last four days? Every time I turn around, I'm typing up some fool list for them. And by the way, Reverend Hitebred was in here earlier complaining about you. You didn't exactly charm the socks off him. Harve is wanting to discuss that with you."

"Find the list, LaBelle," I said levelly. "I want to know if Cherri Lucinda Crate and Stormy Zimmerman are on it."

"Yes, they are. There's an APB out on both of them. I'd like to think you haven't helped them escape. That'd be aiding and abetting, you know."

"What's the story on them?"

"Both of them were working on the night of the incident. By the time the task force got around to them, their apartments were vacant. Supposedly, they're on vacation, but I know for a fact the DEA boys are looking for them real hard on account of them being at the club when the you-know-what hit the fan."

I sucked on my lip for a moment. "Anybody else missing?"

"I am missing my supper, if that counts. Other than that, various people are wanted for questioning. A couple of thugs were seen hanging around before midnight. A girl, probably not more than sixteen, was shooting pool and asking for trouble. A biker broke a cue stick over someone's head. A bookie got into it with a client. A truck driver put his fist through the front of the jukebox. A flasher was hanging outside the ladies room, doing the raincoat routine. Just your typical night at the Dew Drop Inn."

I made a note not to make dinner reservations there. "Has the money turned up?"

"No, and the DEA boys seem to think there's a kilo of cocaine floating around as well. Their solution is to hang around the bars on Thurber Street, ogling the college girls and drinking beer. Undercover, or so they say. If you ask me-"

"What's a kilo worth?"

"They're saying fifty thousand."

"Oh," I said, as if a mule were dragging a plow across my brain in a painfully slow progression. Furrow by muddy furrow, it came to me. "I think you'd better find Harve and have him call me."

LaBelle cackled. "Long distance? You think our budget is funded by the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes?"

"Just do it-okay?"

"I'll call over at his house, but if he's not there, I am most definitely going to my sister's for supper. I promised her I'd come make dried-flower potpourri sachets for a rummage sale at the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall. Why she let herself get talked into it is beyond me. Here she is, with two boys under the age of four and a husband that can't hold a job for more than-"

I hung up and stared at the wall. I knew where one of the so-called thugs was, which was on the carpet in Estelle's room. I knew where the kilo of cocaine was, and quite possibly a lot of money. Since the second thug, presumably the bald-headed one, didn't know its location, there was no reason to send the troops (Floyd, Lloyd, and Japonica) to the hospital. The problem was that I didn't know where he was.

I decided to go back to Estelle's room and see what was evolving. As I came into the hall, I found myself in the middle of a stream of blue-haired women of varying size and shape. " Tuscaloosa?" I said hesitantly.

They all stopped and stared at me. "Do we know you?" one of them demanded.

"Aren't you one of Joe Henry Blakeman's daughters?" asked another, staring at me.

A third shook her head. "She has the same jaw, but her build isn't right. The Blakeman girls all have broad hips. Good for childbearing, I suppose."

A dozen sets of eyes assessed my hips. Feeling as if I should give birth in the hall to prove my worth, I said, "Did you all happen to be out here this morning when the woman fell off the balcony?"

"Why's that any of your business?"

I expected at least one of them to smack me with a handbag. "Mama's in the hospital," I said, sucking in my cheeks and doing my best to snivel in an acceptably genteel fashion. "It's all so confusing. I drove all night so I could sit by her bedside, and then this morning I heard that dreadful scream and I guess someone told me you could help me understand what happened. Mama isn't doing so well. If she doesn't get better, I just don't know where to turn. My brother is over at the state hospital, and no one's seen Daddy or any of the dogs since the fire gutted the house."

It didn't make much sense, granted, but they bought it. Amidst much clucking and patting, I was escorted back into the room and settled in a chair. Seconds later, a damp washcloth was pressed against my forehead. Had it been within their power, I'm sure a cup of tea laced with brandy would have materialized as well.

"You drove all night? It's good to hear young folks still have that kind of regard for their parents," said one of the women. "I'm real sorry your husband couldn't accompany you. Were you able to find someone to look after him and the children?"

There was one and only one right answer. "My sister agreed to see to them," I said, gulping ever so bravely. "LaBelle has three of her own, all as sweet as they can be, but she promised to pick up Kevin and little Rose Marie after school and take them to their piano lessons. Harve will read them a bedtime story as soon as he gets home from the bank." I gazed up at their concerned faces. "You heard that scream?"

All of them nodded. The one who seemed to be the spokeswoman said, "We were on the way to breakfast when we heard it. Hattie stopped so abruptly that poor May ran right into her and fell backward, sending Dorothy crashing into Jewell Ellen. I can't remember when I've seen so many feet and fannies in the air at one time. We were all trying to catch our breath and get everybody off the floor when we realized Jewell Ellen had twisted her ankle. I don't know what we would have done if that nice man from room service hadn't come along. He helped Jewell Ellen back to her room and even called the desk to send up a doctor."

"Someone ought to inform the hotel manager about this conscientious employee," I said. "Did you happen to get his name?"

"There was some Mexican name on his name tag," said one of the ladies. "I was a bit surprised, since he did not have a accent."

"No, he didn't," added another, "and his hair wasn't the least bit greasy"

"What sort of hair did he have?" I asked.

"Short, and fuzzy on top. He reminded me of that unpleasant man from the bakery just down the street from my house. Do you remember him, Hattie?"

"How could I ever forget him?"

I jumped in before we digressed into stale cinnamon buns. "How old was he?"

The general consensus was that he was young, but as I looked at each in turn, I decided that from their perspective youth was relative. Children believe anyone over twenty is ancient; septuagenarians believe anyone under fifty is adolescent.

"But he most definitely had hair?" I asked. "No one would say he was bald?"

They were intractable on this point. Knowing I would never convince them otherwise, I thanked them for their concern and promised to give "Mama" their best wishes for a speedy recovery.

When I returned to Estelle's room, paramedics had arrived and were preparing the body to be transported to the local morgue. Japonica was questioning Estelle, but I could see from both of their expressions that nothing substantive was being communicated. I didn't see how it could be-Estelle had no prior awareness of the man who'd taken her hostage. It was likely he'd been in the car at the Starbright Motel in Memphis, but she'd never seen his face.

Mackenzie Cutting was still on the telephone, speaking in a low, urgent voice. Wondering if he was ordering fruit baskets for everyone on the eighth floor, I sat down across from him and glared until he replaced the receiver.

"Why on earth did you pull that shit?" I said angrily. "Didn't it occur to you that Estelle might have been hurt-or me, for that matter? What if his gun had gone off as he fell? The situation could have been resolved peacefully if you hadn't blundered in like that!"

"It seemed like the quickest and quietest way to handle it."

"To shoot him?" I said, raising my eyebrows. "If you develop a hangnail, are you going to cut off your finger or your whole arm?"

Mackenzie glanced up as the paramedics wheeled the gurney out the door. "Be sure and take the service elevator," he said to them, then looked at me. "My primary concern is the well-being of our guests. I perceived one of them to be in danger. The man had a gun, Miss Hanks. Should I have invited him to join me in the bar for cocktails and counseling?"

"No," I said, "I suppose not."

"What did you mean when you mentioned all these bags? Do you have a reason to think someone from C'Mon Tours has brought an illegal substance into the hotel? If so, you need to tell me where it is right now. We don't want any hint of scandal at The Luck of the Draw. We rely on our reputation to renew our gaming license each year."

Estelle came out of the bathroom, her lipstick applied by a noticeably unsteady hand. "Arly," she said as she sat down next to me, "that was a brave thing you did-talking to that terrible man like he was nothing but a backwoods Buchanon. You risked your life, and I appreciate it." She glowered at Mackenzie. "You, on the other hand, made a real mess of it, didn't you? Arly here had everything under control, but you had to come charging through the door like a professional wrestler. You're darn lucky no one else got hurt."

"What is going on in here?" demanded Mrs. Jim Bob as she came into the room. "There are all sorts of wild stories being repeated out in the hall. I must say, Estelle, that these stories seem to imply that you're involved with the wrong sort of people. I have enough to worry about without being exposed to a procession of gangsters all night long. Perhaps it might be better if you moved your things to another room, preferably not on this floor."

Chief Sanderson cleared his throat. "Even though we all saw what happened, Japonica is going to have to get signed statements. It can wait till morning, long as nobody's planning to leave town anytime soon. Any problem with that?"

No one, including Japonica, seemed inclined to argue. Chief Sanderson jammed his hat on his head and left the room. Japonica and Mackenzie followed him.

"Well?" said Mrs. Jim Bob. "Is someone going to explain why my bag has been emptied on the floor? If you wanted to borrow toothpaste, you should have asked instead of just pawing through-through my things and making such a mess." Tears began to slide down her cheeks. "Would that have been too much to ask?"

Estelle opened her purse and handed Mrs. Jim Bob a tissue. "You're tuckered out from the long drive. You just sit down and I'll gather up your things."

"Thank you," Mrs. Jim Bob said as she dabbed her nose. "This has been a trying day. First, Jim Bob goes and gets himself arrested like a common criminal, and then has the audacity to-" She took a deep breath. "You do believe he's innocent, don't you?"

"Yes," I said, "I know he is. I just wish he'd sat tight until I could convince Chief Sanderson and Japonica. Anyway, you don't need to worry. Everything will be straightened out by morning."

She tried unsuccessfully to suppress the dribble of tears down her pale cheeks. "I just feel so confused. It's obvious Jim Bob came here for reasons I can't bring myself to consider. I don't know what to do."

Holding her hand did not appeal. "Is Brother Verber still in the bar? I can try to find him for you."

"Brother Verber is in his room. He assured me that he felt the need to read the Bible and pray in solitude for the redemption of Jim Bob's soul, which appears to be in need of all the assistance it can get." She took a final swipe at her eyes. "It is well past my bedtime. I'm sure the Good Lord will not begrudge me a few hours of rest." She took her bag and went into the bathroom.

"I need to go downstairs," I said to Estelle, "but first, I want you to tell me every last thing that happened from the moment you and Ruby Bee climbed on the van."

Estelle seemed to enjoy her few minutes in the limelight. We went through hairstyling, tuna-salad sandwiches, and so many petty squabbles that I myself would have preferred to take a swim in the muddy Mississippi than put up with the pilgrims.

Once she'd run out of steam, I said, "Can I trust you to stay here?"

"Never in all my days have I broken my word when it mattered. I think I'd rather wait in your room, though. Mrs. Jim Bob doesn't sound like she's in the mood to order sandwiches from room service and watch movies. Besides, I'd like to have a word with Cherri Lucinda."

I gave her my key. "Put the chain on the door, and don't open it for plumbers, hotel security, other people on the tour, cops, room service, anybody. Got that?"

Estelle nodded. I took the elevator down to the lobby, wondering if there was any way to find Baggins in the Saturday night chaos of the casino. As I pushed open the doors, I came close to recoiling. The music was louder, the voices more strident, and slot machines cacophonic in their desire to assure all players that fortunes awaited those who risked one last coin. The shouts from the direction of the craps tables brought to mind a pack of hyenas closing in on a wounded gazelle.

I wound my way toward the roulette tables. A dozen were active, ringed with optimists wearing everything from T-shirts to minks. As before, Baggins had one of the few dark faces. I grabbed his arm and literally dragged him to the relative calm of the bar.

"What's your problem?" he said sulkily.

I pushed him down into a chair and waved off a waitress. "Why did the itinerary change?"

"You need to ask Miss Vetchling. I'm nothing but the hired help. I do what I'm told."

"Not good enough."

"Sweet Jesus, why don't you go on over to the hospital and worry about your mama? Here she is, sick as a dog, and all you can do is-"

"Yesterday at noon you announced that the tour would not be staying the night in Tupelo as promised in the flyer. Why?"

Baggins sank back and rubbed his forehead. "Miss Vetchling got a call from this lady in Little Rock who'd caught wind that her son was eloping. It seems him and Taylor ran into someone on Beale Street who spilled the beans. The lady insisted that the tour not stay the night in Tupelo, but instead come on over here. Miss Vetchling agreed."

"For a sum, I suppose."

"She ain't the patron-saint of travel agents. I felt real bad about disappointing Taylor, but I didn't have any choice. The motel in Tupelo wasn't much fancier than the Starbright, anyway. At least you get clean sheets and cable here."

"When were you informed of the change in the plans?" I asked.

"While everybody was at Graceland. Soon as I got off the phone, Todd staggered out of the men's room and damn near barfed on me. Taylor and I hauled him back to the van. The rest of them showed up within a few minutes and we left. Do you mind if I get back to my game?"

"Go on," I said, taking his seat. Baggins would never admit he'd discussed the itinerary with the thugs in the motel parking lot in Memphis -but his information that night had been wrong. The tour had not stayed in Tupelo the previous night.

Interesting.

"Miss Hanks," said Rex Malanac as he sat down beside me, "are you ready for that margarita I promised you earlier? Frozen or on the rocks?"

I bit back an annoyed response and looked at him. His face was mottled. Sweat beaded on his earlobes like pearl earrings. His hair resembled a rigid cap of carbon.

Before I could reply, he grabbed my hand and said, "I was wondering if you could do a minor favor for me. There's been a most embarrassing mix-up with my credit card. If you loan me a few hundred dollars, I'll pay you back later tonight. My luck has to change; I can feel it in my bones. I've studied the fine art of blackjack and I know how to play the percentages. Anyone can have a momentary bad run. A couple of lucky hits and I'll be where I started, and then some. Why, I can even give you a small fee for the use of your funds for an hour. Ten percent, shall we say?"

"I don't have a few hundred dollars in my checking account," I said, "and my credit cards are maxed out."

"Then whatever you've got."

"Let me ask you something, Rex. If you're such a well-known authority on Elvis, why did you come on this tour? I'd think you've been to Graceland and Tupelo more times than you can count."

"Well, yes, I have been to those places in the past." He found a paper napkin on the next table and wiped his forehead. "I just thought it might be refreshing to stand beside someone viewing them for the first time. A neophyte might see something that we popular scholars have overlooked all these years, or at least offer an amusingly naive interpretation. I brought along a notebook to record such observations."

"But you didn't go on the Graceland tour."

"I intended to catch up with them as soon as I'd taken a look in the souvenir shops." He wadded up the napkin and dropped it on the table between us. "About that loan…?"

"Did Cherri Lucinda recognize you?" I asked abruptly. "Do you frequent the Dew Drop Inn out by the airport?"

"Why would I do a ludicrous thing like that? I'm a tenured professor at Farber College, not some sleazy miscreant who finds bliss in drinking longneck bottles of beer and listening to atrocious music on a jukebox. I spend my evenings at concerts, poetry readings, and theater productions, or at home in the company of Brahms and Beethoven. I'd never seen Miss Crate until she climbed onto the C'Mon Tours van two days ago."

"You've never utilized the services of a bookie at the Dew Drop Inn? Your name won't be on the list of members?"

Rex stood up. "It most certainly will not. Feel free to confirm this in any way you see fit."

He stalked away. I leaned back and tried to think, despite the sensory overload that was as aggravating as the wind outside the casino. A waitress approached and looked inquiringly at me. I shook my head, further addling my thoughts. What were the odds I was totally and hopelessly wrong?

Three to two, or something like that.

I brooded long enough to hatch an illusionary egg or two, then went back into the hotel and down the hall to the private offices in the netherworld behind the registration area. Mackenzie was seated at his desk, scribbling what was apt to be a vaguely worded press release to explain away a teeny disturbance on the eighth floor.

"I have a question about security," I said as I sat down and propped my feet on the corner of his desk. The posture wasn't as comfortable as in my personal domain in Maggody, but it was not time to be picky.

"Shoot," he said, then winced. "Poor choice of words. What's your question?"

"Let's say I arrive at the hotel in search of my great-aunt, who's eloped with her hairdresser. I don't want her to know I'm on her trail. If I slip the desk clerk twenty bucks, will he tell me her room number?"

"Absolutely not. It's grounds for immediate dismissal. The only jobs in this region are in the hotels and casinos, and all of us crosscheck references very thoroughly. Nobody with enough wits to determine the room number would dare give it out."

"That's what I figured," I said, frowning. "I wonder how he knew which room Stormy was in."

Mackenzie sighed. "Is this an obscure reference to this enigmatic bald man? Give it up, Miss Hanks. The police have the killer in custody. Twelve witnesses have sworn that no one else could have been in the hotel room."

"I ran into the ladies earlier, and I have to agree that they seemed reasonably sharp."

"Well, then, if you don't mind, I need to continue working on my report of the incident." He picked up a pen and began to shuffle his notes.

Politely overlooking his hint that I make myself scarce, I said, "Actually, there were thirteen witnesses. The ladies from Tuscaloosa and the guy from room service. Did you talk to him about it?"

Mackenzie slapped down the pen. "No, I did not. I have no idea if Chief Sanderson or Deputy Jones bothered with him. I hope not. The food service employees are an edgy group; the presence of a uniformed officer in the kitchen area would have caused a major stir."

"I want to talk to him."

"Out of the question. This is a very busy time for them. Besides, his appearance at dawn suggests he's working the midnight shift. If you're going to be stubborn-and I can see you are-then perhaps I can arrange for you to meet with him early tomorrow morning."

"I really don't want to spend the night in this chair, Mackenzie. Can you get me a rollaway bed?"

Glowering, he snatched up the receiver and jabbed a button. I felt a twinge of sympathy for whoever had the ill fortune to answer at the other end. "Cutting here," he snarled. "I want to know who delivered a tray to the east wing on the eighth floor this morning around six. I don't know the room number. Once you have the name, find out if he's currently on duty. Call me back as soon as possible."

He hung up and gave me a chilly look. "Satisfied, Miss Hanks?"

"Want to play a couple of hands of gin while we wait?"

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.

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