"12 - Murder@Maggody(dot)com" - читать интересную книгу автора (12 - Murder@Maggody(dot)com)

Estelle gave me a haughty look. "He's in the graveyard out behind the Assembly Hall. Some say when the moon's lost in the clouds, you can hear him moanin' something awful."

"Hit by a Greyhound bus, wasn't he?" I said, checking the glass domes for pie. I knew precisely who made the best lemon meringue pie in Stump County, although I was going to have to come up with a slick alibi to get a piece of anything more than my mother's mind.

"He wouldn't have been lying in the middle of the highway if it weren't on account of his pain," countered Estelle. "Pain caused by ulcers brought on by worry when his ma was arrested for holding up that liquor store across from the Farberville airport. She was nigh onto eighty at the time, and everybody figured she'd up and die in the county jail."

"Did she?" I asked obligingly.

Ruby Bee banged down a piece of cherry pie in front of me. "No, she escaped through a ventilation shaft and was never seen again. That's what drove poor Collera to his untimely death." She put her hand on her chest. "I'm feeling those palpitations again, Estelle. Do I look pale?"

"You're as rosy as a tomato," I said as I leaned over the bar and plucked a fork out of a bin. "Of course, if you think you're having a heart attack, I'll be happy to call an ambulance. They charge more than six hundred dollars to come all this way, and simply being admitted to the emergency room is liable to cost-"

"Mind your mouth, Miss Nightingale. Maybe I was experiencing a bout of indigestion brought on by fretting about you. I don't believe you've explained where you were last night and earlier today."

I tucked into the pie while I could. "Last night I went to a movie," I said between mouthfuls, "and this morning I directed traffic in Emmet while deputies chased chickens. A truck driver took that sharp curve at the edge of town too fast. Let me tell you, there is nothing uglier than a half-mile chicken slick."

"A movie?" said Estelle, wiggling her eyebrows. "All by yourself?"

"Yes, Estelle, all by myself except for a hundred horny teenagers who were attempting to have sex despite the armrests or because of them. I wasn't sure. This morning was more exciting, though. Want to hear how one of the deputies snatched up what must have been a seriously constipated chicken and found himself with a face full of-"

Ruby Bee grabbed for my plate, but I scooted it out of reach. "No," she said, "I reckon we don't. I can't believe you're not more interested in this computer lab that Lottie's hoping to set up. Everybody in town's buzzing about it. I stopped at the Satterwaits' produce produce stand this morning to see if they had any lettuce, and they couldn't talk about anything else."

I gazed blandly at her. "I myself am entranced with lettuce. Even while I was ankle-deep in chicken guts all morning, the only thing running through my mind was endive. You wouldn't believe what a handful costs in Manhattan. Down here, you could buy a used pickup truck and have enough money left over for a half-pint of whiskey to stick in the glove compartment."

"I hope you ain't planning on a grilled-cheese sandwich anytime soon," she said grimly as she began to wipe the bar with a rag.

A tactical retreat, or at least a tactful one, was called for. "I really do think this computer lab is a good idea. More and more colleges are requiring students to bring their own personal computers. I'm not sure how many of the local high school graduates can afford them, but at least they'll be familiar with the concepts. Has the school board made a decision?"

"No, and nobody seems to know why he's so all-fired agin it. He being Jim Bob, that is. According to Lottie, the money can't be spent for anything else. Roy came by for lunch and said he didn't have any problem with it. I guess you know that Peteet's convinced he's being visited by aliens on a regular basis, which is why he hardly ever leaves his house without wrapping his privates in aluminum foil. Haven't you ever wondered why he rustles so much when he moves around?"

"I guess I've never noticed," I said, hoping my wince was not visible. "It's hard to miss. Anyway, Lottie went over to his house this morning and promised him that he could communicate directly with his friends by using"-she turned even rosier-"his antenna and a computer. That's two votes right there. Yesterday evening Mrs. Jim Bob didn't sound like she'd dug in her heels. I just don't understand Jim Bob's attitude."

Estelle took a sip of sherry. "Idalupino says he has a computer at the supermarket, and spends a lot of time doing things on it. Maybe he's afraid it'll come back to haunt him."

"I don't see how," said Ruby Bee.

The Internet explosion had taken place while I was huddled in my apartment, stalking roaches and reading travel brochures. Computers had appeared in the sheriff's office a while back, but they had not resulted in greater efficiency, or anything else, for that matter. The dispatcher, LaBelle, had told me on occasion that she had a direct link with the FBI files, but I'd had no reason to find out if indeed she did. Liquor-store holdups do not require access to a national databank, but merely a bit of common sense and, more often than not, a day or two of patience before a relative turned. Blood may be thicker than water, but money's a great decoagulator when a reward is on the counter.

"I don't understand it well enough to offer an opinion," I said as I polished off the pie. "When does Lottie hope this will happen? School is out in less than two months. It'd make more sense to start surfing in August."

Estelle glanced over her shoulder in case CIA operatives were hiding behind the jukebox. "She has a dozen computers in boxes in her garage. Earl Buchanon is planning to lay the foundation for the portable classroom tomorrow morning, and the electric co-op and telephone companies have work orders."

In spite of my resolve, I made a face. "And the school board wasn't notified in advance?"

"Not exactly," muttered Ruby Bee.

Estelle popped a pretzel in her mouth. "But we told Lottie that you'd be happy to have a word with Jim Bob. You're the chief of police, after all."

"And what does that have to do with the price of pot in Peoria?" I asked as I tossed the fork into a sink of brown water. "Am I supposed to hang out in the lab and arrest those students clever enough to figure out how to find porn sites despite Mr. Bailey's best efforts? Sheriff Dorfer's not going to let me fill up the county jail with goggly-eyed teenagers."