"There's nothing good or clean about wagering," she said, her lips pinched.
Brother Verber loomed over my shoulder. "Sister Barbara knows of what she speaks. 'The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life.' That's from a letter the Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans."
"I said wagering," said Mrs. Jim Bob. "You don't get wages when you wager."
"You don't? It'd seem like you would."
"Well, you don't." She looked at me. "I don't believe I've heard the whole story as of yet."
"Perhaps Jim Bob should tell you himself. I'm planning to go to the hospital in a few minutes. I can drop you off at the jail and pick you up later."
"I can see from the way you're squirming that you're avoiding the truth," she said. "I have to know what he did."
Brother Verber grabbed her hand. "I'm here for you, Sister Barbara, no matter how painful this turns out to be. I'll be at your side, praying for you night and day until your ordeal is ended."
"I'm not sure it's started," she said as she disengaged his hand, then retreated across the room. To my regret, she did not continue out the door. "Did he come here on account of this woman that died?"
"No," I said, relieved to be able to answer truthfully. "As far as I know, he'd never met her until late yesterday afternoon. The problem is that he had the adjoining room. Witnesses say he was the only man who could have been on the balcony"-I pointed at the one in question-"when Stormy was pushed. He claims he wasn't."
"Was he?"
I stood up. "He says not. Let's go into town and you can talk to him yourself. I'll get Estelle and we-"
"She's not in the room," said Mrs. Jim Bob. "She said to tell you she was going to take a shuttle bus to another casino. I hope she's not gambling. A fool and her money are soon parted, and the good Lord knows she's a quart low on common sense, probably on account of sniffing all that perm solution over the years. I have often prayed for her, just as I have for your mother and you as well. It's hard to picture you with a proper husband and children, but the flame of hope must never flicker and die out."
"Amen," intoned Brother Verber, then winced as I glowered at him.
So Estelle had escaped once again, I thought as I hustled them down the elevator and through the lobby. The only flame of hope I had involved Estelle's whereabouts; if she had left The Luck of the Draw, all was well-but if she hadn't, I was liable to find myself sleeping under a bush.
Or in a cell.
Japonica smiled as we came into the PD, but her heart wasn't in it. "Everything all right?" she asked me, eyeing my companions with justifiable wariness.
I introduced them, then said, "They'd like to see Jim Bob, if that's allowed."
"Sure. I feed him on a regular basis and escort him to the toilet when he hollers, but he's carrying on something fierce. I've already reached my limit on aspirin for the day. Maybe some company will shut him up for a spell."
"I think you can count on it," I said as I gestured for Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber to follow her through the door to the cells. Rather than trail along to watch the fun, I studied the wanted posters until Japonica emerged. "Did you interview all the witnesses?" I asked.
"Did you forget to mention you're the chief of police in this town of yours?"
"Run a tracer on me?"
"The town can't afford a computer, but I've got one at home. Chief Sanderson pays me a little extra out of petty cash to stay linked. You'll be glad to know you don't have any outstanding warrants."
She wasn't overtly hostile, but I could tell she was annoyed with me. I considered various responses, most of them glib or evasive, then shrugged and said, "It didn't seem relevant. This isn't my turf. I'm just nosing around because of the local connection." I paused as I heard strains of a hymn resounding from the back room. "I don't like Jim Bob. He's pulled so much shit in his time that he could be the poster boy for small-town bullies-but he's not a killer."
"The evidence says he is," Japonica said, unmoved by my Clarence Darrowesque summation. She sat down behind her desk and began to align the scattering of pens and pencils.
"The investigation is done?"
"We won't have the autopsy for a few days, but all it's going to tell us is that she died from the trauma of the impact. It doesn't matter if there was the alcohol in her blood, or even drugs. She was pushed. The man who pushed her is locked up. The prosecutor will decide how to go with it. Yeah, it's done except for the paperwork."
"Did you interview someone named Todd?" I asked.
"The fickle fiancé? No, he's still missing, or at least he was as of a couple of hours ago. From what the girl said, I don't see how he could offer anything useful-if there was anything useful to be offered, which there's not." She opened a folder and shuffled through several handwritten pages of notes. "He got off the elevator on the sixth floor around ten o'clock in the company of an old friend, name unknown. His fiancee continued on to their room and went to bed. Rex Malanac stayed in the casino most of the night, then went to bed. Hector Baggins took the C'Mon van and went to visit family. When he got back at midnight, he went to bed. Your friend stayed in her room. She went to bed, too. It seems all God's children went to bed."
"With the exception of Cherri Lucinda, none of them has an alibi."
"None of them needs one. The only person the ladies from Tuscaloosa saw in the hallway was the hotel employee. They may be elderly, but they've spent their lives observing other people's private business. Even though Tuscaloosa's a sight bigger than your town, I'll bet they know every last soul who's drying out at a so-called spa, taking money from the cash register, and slipping in and out the back doors of all the divorcees in town. On the lily-white side of the tracks, anyway. The only 'colored folks' they take an interest in are their cleaning women and yard men."
I was developing an irrational dislike of the ladies from Tuscaloosa -and of Japonica as well. "I guess I'd better go to the hospital to check on my mother. I'll come back in half an hour and gather up Jim Bob's visitors."
"Hold on," she said, picking up the telephone receiver. She dialed a number and asked to speak to someone named Carlette. "Hey, girlfriend," she said, "how's Ruby Bee Hanks doing? You got time to poke your head in her room?" After a few minutes of silence, she said, "I'd dearly appreciate it if you'll call me at the PD if she wakes up. Save me a seat at church in the morning and I'll tell you what that fool brother-in-law of yours said when his wife caught him and Magda Maronni in the backseat of his car. Talk about lame?"
She replaced the receiver and looked up. "Your mother's sedated and sound asleep. The ultrasound machine hasn't been repaired. Dr. Deweese went home for the night. Carlette'll keep a real close eye on your mother, and let me know if anything changes. If it does, I'll call you."
"Ruby Bee's bag is in the car. I'm going to run it over to the hospital, stick it in the closet in her room, and come back here. It shouldn't take me more than twenty minutes."
"Take your time," Japonica said. "I'd sooner listen to hymns than complaints. If we leave them back there long enough, I'm liable to get a full confession. I'll be hard pressed to actually believe he kidnapped the Lindbergh baby, assassinated Lee Harvey Oswald, and slept with the governor's wife, but I won't be surprised. It might just perk up my day."