"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.

The sheriff of Stump County, Arkansas, was counting the number of days until he could retire and devote all his time to fishing, when LaBelle clattered down the hall and commenced to rap on the door. He put aside the calendar, popped an antacid tablet in his mouth, and said, "What?"

"There's somebody to see you."

"I ain't here."

"I swear, Harvey Dorfer, if you keep this up much longer, I won't be, either. My sister-in-law makes better money at the poultry plant in Starley City, and all she has to do is pull out gizzards and livers. She never has to deal with task forces and bosses that hide in their offices while other people have to deal with the public. Are you gonna open the door or are you gonna sit on your fat butt and listen to me while I go down the hall and out the front door for the last time?"

Harve considered his options. "How much does she make?"

"That's it! As of this very minute, I am no longer an employee of this office. I am going to empty my desk drawers, rip up my time card, and go home to write a letter to the quorum court explaining why this job is unbearable. Your name is going to get mentioned more than once, Harvey Dorfer. I don't care if you're my cousin and your wife is having a bad time with her rheumatism and your son-in-law has so many speeding tickets that he could wallpaper his bathroom with 'em. My mind is made up. You can kiss my typing skills good-bye!"

"Aw, LaBelle," Harve said as he hastily unlocked the door, "you don't got any call to resign. What's going on?"

"A fellow calling himself Reverend Hitebred is sitting on the couch in the front room. He sez he'll sit there as long as it takes until you agree to hear him out. He has these creepy pale eyes and he stares at me like he thinks I'm doing the Devil's own work when all I'm doing is totaling up the monthly expenditures at the jail. I can't take any more of him."

Harve led her into the office and pushed her onto a chair. "You know you're the only one who keeps things running smoothly here," he said, going so far as to scoot a tissue box within her reach in case she turned weepy. "Soon as the task force gets some decent leads, they won't be here so much. I know for a fact that they're narrowing in on a couple of employees that didn't show up for work the day after the incident. Both of their apartments are under surveillance, and the minute either one of them comes home, we'll start getting some idea of what went on."

"I don't care," LaBelle said darkly. "It'd save us a lot of bother if they'd all shoot each other. That way there won't be any cocaine or crack dealers and we can go back to worrying about moonshine and marijuana."

"The good ol' days," Harve said as he sat down behind his desk.

"That's right."

"Along with polio, lead poisoning, bomb shelters-"

"I am not in the mood for this. You decide here and now if you're ready to resume your responsibilities. Otherwise, I may not enjoy plucking chickens, but I can do it. The going rate's eight dollars an hour, with benefits and two weeks' paid vacation."

The telephone rang. Harve looked at it, as did LaBelle. They looked at each other. The telephone rang again. LaBelle settled back in the chair and studied her fingernails.