4

"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.