"Yes, I guess so," I squeaked, aware that I had everyone's attention. "I need eighteen cheeseburgers to go. Hold the onions, and toss in some packets of mustard and catsup."

"Eighteen?"

"That's right."

"To go?"

I forced a weak laugh. "It's going to take me a while to eat them, and I don't want to tie up the stool all day."

"You're gonna eat eighteen cheeseburgers?" she said incredulously.

"Could you please just put in the order?" I asked, hoping my back was not being permanently scarred by the hostility radiating from all corners of the room. "And some napkins, if you don't mind."

"How many napkins?" said this fiancee, if not bride, of Dracula. "Eighteen?"

"That would be great." I focused on the menu until she drifted away, and eventually a low babble of voices resumed behind me.

"Don't mind ol' Rach," said a uniformed cop as he sat down on the stool beside me. "She looks kinda funny, but she's got a good heart. When Miz Gillespie was dying last winter, Rach was there every evening, making vegetable soup, bathing her, seeing to her animals, even splitting firewood. Miz Gillespie's brother tried to make Rach accept a few dollars for helping, but she wouldn't take a penny."

I eased my badge out and flashed it at him. "Chief of Police Arly Hanks, from Maggody. I'm not here in any professional capacity. A group of local kids are staying at Camp Pearly Gates for a week."

"I'm Corporal Robarts," he said. "Panknine's the chief. You'd usually find him here on a Saturday afternoon, having pie and coffee, but he's got back trouble and is in a contraption over at the hospital in Fort Smith."

"Traction," I suggested.

"Yeah, that's what they called it. He got to where he couldn't hardly get out of bed in the morning. His wife got sick of waiting on him and hauled him over to see a specialist."

Corporal Robarts was possibly a few years older than Kevin Buchanon, but no brighter. His hair was slicked back with what may well have been bacon grease, and his face was slack, as though he'd just awakened and needed a jolt of caffeine. I doubted it would help.

"Anything else I can do for you?" I asked politely.

"We don't get a lot of visitors. Chief Panknine sez we got to keep our fingers on the pulse of Dunkicker."

"There's a pulse?"

He stood up. "We don't want any trouble, Miz Hanks. We all get along just fine, no matter our differences. Rach and the others make their contribution to the community, same as everybody else. They may not look like the folks back in your town, but that's not any of your business. Leah went door-to-door to collect clothes and eyeglasses for the county nursing home. Judith helps the old folks get their gardens ready for spring planting. Sarah runs the hot meal program down the road at the Baptist church. Don't go rockin' the boat."

I regarded him evenly. "I came in here to buy cheeseburgers, Corporal Robarts. I've got ten hungry teenagers willing to devote a week to making repairs at Camp Pearly Gates. That's all I'm doing."

The waitress named Rach appeared with two bulging bags stained with grease. I paid at the cash register, smiled at those watching me with deep suspicion, and went outside to the hideous blue bus.

The needle on the gas gauge was quivering just above the empty mark. I was down to four dollars, but that would at least allow me to buy enough gas to let Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber worry about the possibility we might be stranded in our bucolic labor camp.

Resisting the urge to eat a couple of the cheeseburgers, I drove to the convenience store and was unscrewing the gas cap when a disturbingly familiar station wagon pulled up beside me.

"Why, ain't this a coincidence!" squealed Estelle as she poked her head out of the window. "I was all set to go inside and ask for directions to Camp Pearly Gates, but here you are."

I looked at the somewhat less enthusiastic passenger in the front seat. "What are you all doing here?"

Estelle got out of the car and dragged me behind the gas pumps. "Your mother is mightily depressed," she said. "She wouldn't hardly eat a piece of pizza last night, and this morning she couldn't find the energy to go to the flea market on the other side of Hasty. We go there most every other week, you know, and just last month she found a real nice cookie jar."

"And you think rebuilding bleachers will make her feel better?" I asked.

Ruby Bee gave Estelle an icy look as she joined us. "What's going on is that the electrician came and said he had no choice but to cut off the power to the bar for four or five days. That meant everything in the freezer would spoil. The stove's ruined, so there's no way I could cook it all up. I was gonna get some trash bags when Estelle suggested we pack up all the food in ice chests and come down here for a few days. If nobody wants catfish and chicken fried steaks, I can dump it in the garbage bin, same as I would have done in Maggody."

Estelle stared at me, perhaps thinking we were in the midst of some sort of mute communication. "What's more," she said with a shrill laugh, "we brought bedrolls, fishing poles, and suntan lotion. When Ruby Bee's not cooking, we'll be sitting on the dock in our shorts, gazing at the clouds and dabbling our toes. You reckon there's room for us?"

"There most certainly is," I said, worried by my mother's demeanor. "I haven't seen much of the lodge, but I was told there are bedrooms on the second floor. I can assure you that anything you're willing to cook will be met with glee; Mrs. Jim Bob's proposed menu for this evening consists of spaghetti, lima beans, and applesauce."

"You never had a taste for applesauce," Ruby Bee said, brightening a bit. "I've got ten pounds of catfish steaks, along with enough cornmeal for hushpuppies."

"And a quart of Joyce's green tomato relish," added Estelle. "Just watching Mrs. Jim Bob's face when you serve it ought to make every mile of the drive worthwhile."

Ruby Bee struggled, with marginal success, not to gloat. "We drove by a produce stand on the edge of town. If Arly here can tell us how to find this campground, we can go back to buy some new potatoes."

I found a scrap of paper on the floor of the bus and drew them a map, relatively uncomplicated since only one road went through Dunkicker. "I've got a couple of bags of cheeseburgers for the kids," I said, "but I can assure you they'll all be waiting to unload everything when you get there. You'll have whatever help you need in the kitchen."

Ruby Bee stiffened. "I'll have you know I've been feeding folks at the bar and grill for thirty-odd years, with no help from anyone, including the likes of you."

"Of course not," I said.

"So don't go thinking I need help these days. I may not cook fancy food like they do in Noow Yark City, but nobody's ever left my bar and grill with an empty stomach or a complaint about the black-eyed peas."

I stared helplessly at Estelle, who could only gnaw on her lower lip. "Nobody, Ruby Bee. Why don't you pick up potatoes at the produce stand and come on to the camp? I'll have some of the kids haul the ice chests to the kitchen and carry your suitcases upstairs. I can't promise the fishing is any good, but-"

"It ain't like I can fix crepes," Ruby Bee said, getting testier with every word. "I hope you all can handle buttermilk pancakes and sausages for breakfast."

"Sounds great," I said as Estelle hustled Ruby Bee back into the station wagon, gave me a grim look, and drove away. I toyed briefly with the idea that Ruby Bee might be persuaded to see a doctor in Farberville, but I knew it was a ridiculous premise. There was no way on God's earth that I could hint that she might be in the throes of menopause, or even suffering from depression as a result of the fire in the kitchen. She'd raised me on her own, with help from no one. She would accept none now.