"Okay, so I'm not here to fish. That doesn't mean I killed anyone."
"Why are you here?" I repeated. "Is there something about the swarms of gnats and mosquitoes that appeals to you? Cold stew, poison ivy, the occasional cottonmouth dangling in the branches above your head? Aren't you too old to be working on a merit badge?"
"I'm, well-I guess you could say I'm along the lines of a private investigator."
I'd suspected as much, but I still wasn't sure how to respond. "So you're keeping tabs on the Beamers?"
"I was hired to look into things."
"By whom?"
"You know I won't tell you," he said with a wink meant to distract me, which it did, but only momentarily. "Privileged and all that shit. I'm just making sure the children are healthy for the time being. My employers will make the next call."
"No, I will. A woman was murdered yesterday, and you just happened to be walking down the road in a downpour. You must have seen the clouds gathering. Why on earth did you opt to walk to Dunkicker?"
"Exercise?"
"No, Jacko, or whatever your name is," I said. "We're grateful that you were there to bring Darla Jean to the lodge. No one's arguing with that. But if that's all you have to say, I'll have no choice but to have you taken into custody until you can produce a better explanation than a sudden urge to appreciate nature at its worst. The food in the Dunkicker jail is likely to be better than canned stew. The view, on the other hand, is not so picturesque."
"You've talked to these women, right? They brought their children and started preparing themselves for what they call the Rapture. The family that hired me is worried. They suspect their daughter might…"
"Harm the children?"
"Yeah," he said. "Can you blame them? Jonestown wasn't that long ago; it may have been an anomaly, or it could happen again."
"Which woman have you come to find?"
Jacko shook his head. "I have no information concerning the homicide yesterday. I walked to the gate, then realized the storm was moving in and headed back. I found the girl under a scrub oak and carried her to the lodge. That's pretty much all I have to say. Run my plate if it entertains you; you'll discover that I live in Springfield, Missouri, and have no outstanding warrants for felonies, misdemeanors, jaywalking, or overdue library books. I may be a lousy fisherman, but I am an upstanding citizen. I'd show you my plaque from the Jaycees if I hadn't left it at home."
"You are very annoying," I said.
"Any chance you'd like to crawl into my tent and let me really annoy you?"
"No, I would not," I said forcefully, if mendaciously. "Don't leave the area without telling me or Corporal Robarts."
"I'll be here for a few more days." He picked up the can of stew. "Sure I can't offer you lunch?"
I went back to the road and found his car. The license plate had been removed. The doors and trunk were locked, naturally. I contemplated letting the air out of his tires just to prove which of us could be more annoying, then virtuously headed for the lodge.
Raz gazed sorrowfully at Marjorie. "I reckon you would have preferred a mule, but it was a real nice goat. Not pedigreed like you, a'course, but with fine flanks and big brown eyes. You and her could have got along jest fine, even been friends."
Marjorie looked away.
"Uncle Tilbert raised goats till his lactose intolerance got the best of him. He always said they wasn't the smartest animals, but they could find their way home come suppertime, which was more than his young'uns could do. I can't hardly keep from cacklin' when I recollect how his eldest boy upped and married that bearded lady named-"
Marjorie sniffled.
Raz realized he wasn't makin' no progress with goats. "Thing is, I can't just up and go over to Perkins's place, unless I want a load of buckshot in my backside. Even if I was to temporarily borrow Perkins's mule, it'd have to stay in the barn till things quieted down. What kind of companionship are you gonna git with a mule down in the barn? It ain't even air-conditioned."
It was clear from Marjorie's expression that she hadn't considered that.
"If you was to spend your time in the barn," he persisted, "you'd miss your favorite shows on the satellite channels. I'd say offhand that it's a matter of time afore Gilligan drags Ginger behind a coconut tree. What's more, any fool can see that Ozzie and Harriet are headin' for divorce court, with judge Judy presiding." He paused, then went in for the kill. "But if you're down in the barn, as opposed to watching reruns and pay-for-view, then so be it. Don't think I'm going to bring down bags of microwave popcorn, 'cause I ain't. I'll be sittin' right here watchin' Xena's boobs bobble."
Marjorie's eyes watered and her snout began to drip on the new tangerine area rug.
Raz figgered he needed to reconsider his options. Arly was out of town, which was good. Perkins, on the other hand, had been mouthin' off at the barber shop about what all he might do iff'n anybody set foot on his place. It occurred to Raz that a quart of 'shine might help.
All was idyllic at the lodge. The kids were sitting on the lawn, the girls still involved with magazines, the boys with poking each other and making what I was sure were crude remarks. They were doing so quietly, however, since Mrs. Jim Bob was on the porch in a wicker throne, staring at them as though she would, if a profanity was spoken aloud, order Larry Joe to pull out the tools and start constructing a guillotine. She professed to being a devout Christian, but I'd always felt she preferred the Old Testament approach when faced with transgressions of both major and minor magnitude.
"Where's Larry Joe?" I asked.
"Calling his wife," said Amy Dee. "That is like so sweet. If I ever get married, I'd want my husband to call me every day."
Big Mac snickered. "I hear they have rules about how often you can make phone calls from the state pen."
Heather arched her eyebrows. "And you should know, considering how many of your kinfolk are there. I hear tell they have a whole wing set aside for Buchanons."
"Excuse me," came a voice from the porch.
"Not your side of the clan," Heather said hastily. "All I meant, you know, was like how maybe-"
"That will do," said Mrs. Jim Bob. "In case all of you have forgotten, this is the Sabbath. Put away your trashy magazines and gather on the porch steps. We will have a reading from the First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians, in which he expounds on the evils of sectarianism. There is enlightenment to be gleaned."
"Good work, Heather," Jarvis muttered as he rose.
I grabbed him. "I'll bring him back in a few minutes," I said to Mrs. Jim Bob, then dragged him behind the bus, ignoring the alarmed stares of the other kids.
Once we were out of sight, I said, "I need to ask you a few questions."
"About what? Cookies missing from the pantry?"
"Why? Did you steal some?"
Jarvis gave me a sly look. "Wanna frisk me?"
In that he was wearing a threadbare T-shirt and tight shorts, I was fairly certain he had not concealed much more than a cloverleaf on his person.
"Larry Joe said you went back to the softball field yesterday afternoon," I said.
"Yeah, I did. My ma gave me a wallet for my birthday last month. I thought I'd left it up there, but I was wrong. I must have left it at home."
"But you were up there for half an hour."
"Look, I didn't want to come here in the first place," he said. "It was my ma's idea. She ain't doing all that well these days, so I said I'd do it just to keep her happy. By the afternoon, I was getting real tired of all the whining and complaining. These girls carry on like they're in middle school. Big Mac, Parwell, and Billy Dick don't stop bragging about… well, you know. It's not my thing. I went to the softball field, sat in the dugout for a few minutes, and then went back to the cabin."