Hammet didn't much enjoy the evening in the closet, clamping his nose to hold in sneezes and trying not to squawk when a bug took to crawling up his pants. Jim Bob had stomped around for a long while, making it clear that he was real unhappy that Sonya and Tonya had left him high and dry. Not that he'd been dry, of course. From the way he kept popping open beer cans, Hammet figured Hizzhonor'd worked through a couple of six packs.

Finally, he'd gone to bed and Hammet had dashed outside to piss off the edge of the porch afore he exploded like a water balloon. Afterward, he'd crept back inside, opened the refrigerator, and taken a carton of orange juice back to the closet. The coats had made a soft bed, and he'd slept pretty well, considering where he was and what he was doing. His foster ma'd been reading the Bible to him most days, and he couldn't remember anything that said, "Thou shalt not sleep in thine enemy's coat closet."

Hammet didn't have a clue what time it was when he awoke to hear banging in the kitchen. Jim Bob cussed a blue streak when he couldn't find the orange juice, and just as much when he couldn't figure out how to operate the coffeepot. Hammer thought briefly about his foster pa, who always made breakfast on Sunday. It was kinda hard to know just what guys was supposed to be able to do, besides work on transmissions, untangle fishing line, and mow the yard. He had a feeling Jim Bob couldn't do none of that, neither.

Once the back door slammed, he eased open the door and listened real hard. The sound of a truck going down the driveway convinced him that the house was his, at least for the time being. It could be that Jim Bob was jest going to the supermarket to pick up a box of powdered doughnuts and a cup of coffee, and that he'd be back in a matter of minutes. Or mebbe he'd gone to work and wouldn't be back for the rest of the day.

Hammet knew he was gonna hafta take some risks if he was to live in the closet for the week. He took the empty lasagna pan to the kitchen. Keeping an eye on the driveway, he crammed it into the back of a cabinet with other pans that looked sorta the same.

A nasty smell was following him like he'd brought home a baby skunk, and he finally decided he was the one stinkin' things up. When he was living up on the ridge, he hadn't ever noticed such things, but after having been forced to bathe on a regular basis, he'd forgotten what he used to smell like when his clothes were dirty and his hair was so sour it could have curdled milk.

He ate a couple of pieces of bread while he watched out the kitchen window. If Jim Bob was fixin' to come right back, he'd do it pretty damn quick. After fifteen minutes, Hammet decided, or at least hoped, that the house was safe for the rest of the day. He went upstairs and opened Jim Bob's closet. He took out a shirt but left the trousers, since there weren't no way he could keep them up. He found some underwear and socks in a drawer, then went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. If he got caught, then so be it. He'd put up a helluva fight, punch Jim Bob in the gut, and run down the stairs and out the back door, whooping all the way like a wild Injun. Weren't no way anyone could catch him once he got to the grass and headed for the trees.

He leaned forward to peer at his face in the mirror. Yep, that was definitely a whisker on his chin. Another week or two, and he'd have to shave it off.

 

Bonita was quiet as we drove toward the cabins. I wasn't sure if she was feeling self-satisfied for having gotten her way, or alarmed because she had.

"Sheriff Dorfer seems to think you've got a career ahead of you," I said, sounding like my mother. If I didn't watch myself, I'd be asking if she had a boyfriend and what his parents did for a living.

"I'm saving my money for law school. I'll have to borrow and beg, and I don't know how long it'll take me to pay it back. But you just watch for me, Chief Hanks—I'll be a senator from Arkansas one of these days. Maybe the first woman vice-president. Maybe the first woman president. If that doesn't happen, I'll be putting on a robe with the rest of the Supreme Court justices."

"Not gonna mess around, huh?"

"We all have to start somewhere."

I might have been a bit worried about her sanity if she hadn't been so matter-of-fact. She, at twenty-three or so, knew exactly where she intended to go with the rest of her life. I was destined to be the Tomato Mama of Maggody.

"This ought to be it," I said as I turned onto a dirt road.

"According to the directions."

Feeling rather idiotic, I forced a smile as we bumped down a muddy road. "Now when we get there—"

"You're in charge. I understand that."

My smile tightened. "I was going to say that both of us need to tread carefully. I'll conduct the official questioning, but you watch for anyone who might want to confide in you. Take off that hat, Bonita, and undo the top button on your shirt. Admire their garden. Ask to see the schoolroom. Do your best to talk to the children."

"What do you think's going on, Chief Hanks?"

"I wish I knew. We're going to have to pressure them for an ID so that her next-of-kin can be notified. If she brought children with her, then it's going to be a bureaucratic nightmare. The law dictates that they'll have to go with social services until proper custody can be established. I can't leave them with their 'aunties,' no matter how moonstruck they may be. I doubt I'm going to be the Beamer postergirl." I took a deep breath as I navigated down the road. "And call me Arly, okay? This is not a good time for formality."

I may have expected some small token of reciprocity, but she merely glanced at me and said, "Good idea. We don't want to come in like a couple of storm troopers."

The first cabin we came to was bleak, clearly uninhabited. The next two, however, had clotheslines as Corporal Robarts had predicted, along with picnic tables and well-tended gardens. Three children of indeterminate age spotted the station wagon and darted into the woods. A fourth, too young to do much of anything, eyed us as he sucked his finger, his discolored diaper threatening to slide off his hips.

"We're low-key," I said to Bonita.

"Oh, yeah," she said as I parked beside the cabin. "Maybe they'll think we're Avon ladies."

Bonita wasn't quite as cool when one of the women emerged from the cabin, her robe trailing in the mud. Shaved head, as I expected, along with a pasty white face and a serious lipstick addiction. It could have been Rachael, or the clone of the woman whose body we'd found the previous night. It could have been Mrs. Jim Bob, for that matter, had she been kidnapped and indoctrinated into the cult while I was at the PD in Dunkicker.

"Yes?" she said.

"I'm Arly," I said, flashing my badge, "and this is Bonita. We need to talk to you."

"And why would that be?"

"Because of what happened late yesterday afternoon," Bonita said before I could respond. "One of your group was found, and she was real dead."

"Anthony told us about Ruth," the woman replied levelly. "It was unfortunate."

"That she was found, or that she was dead?" I said. "We need some information about her. Are you Deborah?"

"Deborah is not here. I am Judith. There is very little I can tell you about that woman. Ruth arrived only a few weeks ago. She was assigned to assist at the hot-meal program at the church in Dunkicker in order to make her contribution, but she claimed to have migraines that kept her in bed almost every other day. While she complained incessantly, we fed her children, clothed them, and provided for them. I believe these days she'd be called a 'slacker.' This was not the right place for her. I doubt she would have been allowed to stay much longer. This is a religious community, not a shelter for the dysfunctional."

"You're sure that it was Ruth?"

"I know that everyone else was accounted for this morning. We're waiting for official confirmation before we tell her children."

"Can you give me her real name?" I asked.

Judith stared at me. "When a woman arrives here, she is given a new name, as are her children. We do what we can to eliminate the negative influences of the secular world in order to devote ourselves to observing the purity that is the Daughters of the Moon. Last night was stormy, obscured with savagery and malevolence, but tonight you can gaze in wonder at the moonlight on the lake. You will see God's fingers rippling the surface of the water. The sky will be filled with an infinite number of diamonds. All you have to do is look, Arly, with your eyes and with your heart."

"I most likely will," I said, "but in the meantime, I need to know what happened to Ruth."

Bonita whipped out the pad that was apt to have been issued to her in cop school. "Before she got rewarded with this new name, who was she?"

Judith's lips curled downward. "I have no idea. We do not demand passports."

"Why did she come here?" I asked.

"Again, I have no idea. Deborah could tell you more, but as I said, she's not here."

"How many women are living here?"

She paused. "Five as of yesterday. I suppose we're down to four now that Ruth is no longer with us. It's not much of a loss."

I was taken aback at her attitude. "She was murdered not too far from here. Doesn't that bother you?"

"I suppose it should, but all she did was whine and demand to be waited on. Everyone is expected to contribute. Some sisters work in town, others school the children, tend to the garden, and prepare meals. Once a month we make our own soap and herbal remedies."

"When the moon's full?"

Bonita edged around me, her pen poised as though she was hot on the trail of a late-breaking story for a tabloid. "Then Ruth brought children? How many and how old? Where are they now?"

"I don't think she ever specified. They're with the other children, all of whom are quite frightened by this intrusion. Naomi has taken them to the schoolhouse to study the Book of the Revelation in order to help them come to grips with what has happened. Under no circumstances can they be interrogated."

I bumped Bonita out of the way. "I need to examine whatever this woman called Ruth brought with her."

"You won't find anything. Her instructions were to dispose of any personal items that might identify her."

"Instructions from whom?" I demanded.

"Deborah, of course."

I wasn't sure if all this was silly, surreal, or supernatural. Most likely, all and none of the above. "Just show me her things, okay?"

"As you wish," Judith said, heading for the nearer cabin. "The women sleep here, and the children in the other cabin. Unlike most families these days, the older ones have learned to share responsibility for the younger ones."

I whispered at Bonita to locate the children, then went inside. The iron bunk beds were much the same as we'd found farther down the hill. Attempts had been made to create a cheerier decor, with potted plants on the windowsills and drawings taped to the walls.

"Quite a comedown from the lodge," I said. "You must have been annoyed when the church groups began to arrive."

"One might think that, but we celebrate all demonstrations of faith. We've accepted the fact we'll be living here until fall. After that, Deborah is confident we can return to the lodge, where we will be warm and dry."

"Mrs. Robarts said you do community service in Dunkicker in exchange for being allowed to live here."

Judith looked back at me. "Is that a question?"

It was a struggle not to imagine her with normal hair and makeup; she might have been a reasonably attractive fortyish woman, working as a real estate agent or moving up the corporate ladder at a bank. I glanced at her feet to make sure she wasn't wearing pantyhose beneath her robe.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Since God called me to serve as a Daughter of the Moon. I have erased all memories of my former life, as have the other women. We have dedicated ourselves to prayer and good deeds. When the skies explode and the earth splits apart with fiery fissures, we shall be prepared to cast aside our physical shells and ascend to heaven."

"No men allowed, huh?"

"If one is to purify her soul, she must denounce all pleasures of the flesh and focus on her inner spirit." She produced a fleeting smile. "So, as you said, no men allowed."

"Corporal Robarts comes here."

"Anthony hardly qualifies, does he? Here is Ruth's bunk. Her possessions are in a suitcase under it. I will leave you now."

I waited until I had the cabin to myself. The suitcase contained nothing much more than dingy cotton underwear. Beneath that layer was a crumpled sundress and platform sandals, which she must have been wearing when she arrived. No purse or wallet, however, or so much as an envelope.

I took out everything to examine it more carefully. A few hairs on the dress indicated she'd been blonde before receiving her buzz cut, but the darker hue on one end suggested her coloring had come from the beauty aids aisle of a discount store.

I put it all back, replaced the suitcase, and pulled a similar bag from beneath the next bunk. It too held mostly underwear, but this Beamer had arrived in jeans and a faded T-shirt. I checked the pockets of the jeans. This time I did better, finding half a pack of flattened cigarettes and a matchbook from a glitzy bingo establishment just across the state line in Oklahoma. I found no other evidence that might help me identify the owner of the suitcase.

I was having no better luck with a third suitcase when Bonita came limping into the cabin. Her pants were torn and splattered with mud, and one elbow was bloodied. Dried leaves clung to her hair. Her face was scratched, her lower lip already swollen, her nostrils discolored with congealing blood. I could see she was going to have an impressive black eye within an hour.

"Are you all right?" I asked as I helped her to the nearest bunk. "What happened? Did they attack you?"

"Might as well have, the little shits. I finally found the so-called schoolhouse along a path behind the cabin just below us. I went on in. It's hard to say how many children were there. A few were in diapers, but most of them appeared to be between six and fifteen. All scruffy looking, with clothing that didn't fit well and bad haircuts."

"Take a guess at how many."

"I don't know—maybe a dozen. Naomi, who looks just like the other spooks, herded the smaller ones into a corner and somehow managed to keep them still. I told the older ones that I wanted to talk to them. They bolted out the door and into the woods. I was so pissed that I went after them, thinking I could catch at least one of them. Well, it seems like one of their homework assignments was to boobytrap the woods. Holes, hidden by twigs covered with leaves. Vines stretched between trees. Branches tied back with trip wires. I could hear them whooping every time I fell, which made me all the madder."

"And then you lost them. Stay here." I went into the bathroom and found a washcloth. I dampened it and took it back to her. "Police work's not as glamorous as they make it out to be in the movies."

"Where were you when I decided to enroll in the academy?"

"Start talking loudly if you see any of the Beamers heading this way. I doubt it'll do any good, but I might as well search the rest of the suitcases."

I found nothing more incriminating than a romance novel in one and a half-eaten chocolate bar in another. Deborah's dictum had been observed, with only a few misdemeanors.

I pushed the last suitcase back where I'd found it and stood up. The washcloth Bonita had been holding to her elbow was bright with blood. "We'd better get that seen to," I said. "Surely there's a local doctor who can put a few stitches in it."

"Don't rush off on my account. It's not like I'm bleeding to death."

"Poor choice of words," I said as I gestured to her to follow me out the door. I took her to the station wagon, put her in the passenger's side, and made her promise to stay there for a few more minutes.

Judith was observing this from the middle of a vegetable garden. "Would you like an herbal cream for her elbow? It'll fight off an infection."

"I don't think her health benefits would cover that. I'm going to take her into town to be treated by a doctor. Afterward, I'll go by the PD to find out if we've made any progress identifying the body. I can assure you that before the moon comes up tonight, I'll be back with arrest warrants and a social worker to take all the children into protective custody."

"You can't do that."

"I don't know if I can or can't, but I'll try—unless you and the other Beamers are willing to be candid with me. Will you promise to have them here, along with Ruth's children?"

"Rachael's working at the cafe, and Sarah is at a church, preparing hot meals to be delivered to the homebound. I have no way to go into Dunkicker and fetch them. Naomi and I will be here."

"What about Deborah?"

"I don't know."

I tried not to sound as frustrated as I felt. "Not much of a leader if she's never here. Maybe you all should take a vote and demote her."

Judith tossed aside a handful of weeds. "Naomi and I will be here, as well as the children. You should have no problem finding Rachael and Sarah in town. There's nothing else I can do, Arly, and little else we can tell you. Ruth never spoke about her former life. I don't know why Deborah considered her a likely candidate to become a Daughter of the Moon."

"Okay," I said. "I'll deal with Bonita, talk to Rachael and Sarah, and then come back here. As unpleasant as it may be, you're going to have to do better with the details of your former life. A woman has been murdered. I don't care if you want to play dress-up in the woods, but I will get to the bottom of this."

She crossed her arms and glared as I got into the station wagon and headed for Dunkicker. Bonita was sucking on her lip and doing her best to pretend her elbow wasn't giving her serious grief. A shadow below her left eye was already turning greenish-yellow; classic black and blue would appear shortly. She'd be lucky if she could get a straw through her lips to suck a milkshake.

"Those little pissants," she lisped as we reached the pavement. "As soon as I'm patched up, I'd like to go back and wallop all of them until they howl."

"You're out of commission for a few hours. Once you've been stitched up, I'll take you to the motel so you can lie down."

"I don't need special treatment."

"And you're not getting it."

"Would you treat Les or any other male deputy this way?"

I pulled into the lot outside the municipal building. "Please note that we are of the same sex, Bonita. I experienced all kinds of discrimination when I was at the academy, as I'm sure you did, too. The slope's a little steeper for us. Get over it."

I ordered her to stay in the car, went inside, and found Corporal Robarts, Les, and Brother Verber playing cards. "Is there a local doctor capable of patching up a deep cut?"

Corporal Robarts flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, but he won't be in his office on Sunday morning. You want I should track him down?"

"That would be the idea," I said. "Brother Verber, did Duluth say anything?"

"He was disinclined to open his heart to me. Many a time I counseled him and Norella, but he was skeptical of the power of prayer. There were moments when I was obliged to rebuke him for his profane language. You'd think, in the house of the Lord, that he'd observe—"

I took Les aside. "Take Brother Verber to the lab in Little Rock to see if he can identify the body."

"You think it might be Duluth's wife?"

"This woman showed up at Camp Pearly Gates about the time Duluth said she left town. She brought children. Now she's dead and he was damn near drowning in a ditch. If nothing else, we can eliminate the possibility."

"What's wrong with Bonita?"

"She needs a few stitches and a pain pill. I'll take her back to the motel to sleep it off, and then Corporal Robarts and I are going to have a chat with the various members of Daughters of the Moon. I'm not putting up with any more bullshit from them."

"Maybe Anthony should take Brother Verber to Little Rock. You may need backup."

"Corporal Robarts knows more than he's telling," I said softly, "and, trust me, I'm not about to go scampering into the woods at the first sign of a softball bat. It's going to take some doing on your part to determine if Brother Verber can make the identification. He'll be wetting his pants before you open the door to the morgue. Stay with him, force him to focus on her features, have the lab people drape her head with a sheet to hide the baldness and make her look more normal. I think it's Norella, but we have to know."

"So Duluth killed her?"

"Let's make a positive ID before we jump to conclusions. Do the best you can with Brother Verber. Don't so much as turn your back on him to buy a candy bar out of a machine unless you want to chase him all the way back to Maggody. He's haunted by some personal demons from his childhood. Given the slightest opportunity, he'll take off." I took a deep breath. "Brother Verber, you need to go with Les. He should have you back here before too long."

"Go where?" he quavered, groping his pockets for a flask.

"Les will tell you the details. I should be here when you return. We'll go back to the lodge and find out if Ruby Bee's making chicken fried steak and cream gravy, or pot roast with potatoes and carrots. I think we can count on buttermilk biscuits in either case."

"Her biscuits are real light," he bleated as Les dragged him out the door.

Corporal Robarts hung up the phone. "Doc Schmidt will meet us at his office. He wasn't real happy about being interrupted on a Sunday morning."

"Then let's hope Bonita hasn't bled to death, therefore inconveniencing him for nothing," I said. "Your prisoner is secured?"

"Of course," said Corporal Robarts, strapping on his belt and holster in case Doc Schmidt turned unruly and needed a bullet between his eyes to get him back on task. "No prisoner has ever escaped under my watch."

I thought about asking him how many prisoners had ever been under his watch, sighed, and flipped off the light switch as we left the Dunkicker PD.

 

"Say what?" croaked Earl Buchanon, gaping at his daughter-in-law. "You think you're moving in next door to the Beverly Hillbillies? That was nuthin' but a television show. Ain't nobody from Maggody buying a fancy mansion."

"Now, Earl," Eileen said as she passed him the hashbrown potatoes, "Dahlia's just talking about what might happen. She just thinks that because Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie are twins—"

"They ain't hardly identical."

"They most certainly are," Dahlia said as she forked open a biscuit and picked up the gravy boat. "They was born no more than three minutes apart."

Kevin twitched nervously. "They have the same adorable button noses and little pink toes. Kevvie junior likes to kick his legs, while Rose Marie is fond of sucking on her fingers. But they're still twins."

Earl slammed a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate. "But they're not identical, fer chrissake!"

"I will not allow blasphemy on the Sabbath," Eileen said. "Just because we aren't going to church this morning doesn't mean that—"

"They're not identical," growled Earl. "Any idiot'd know that."

Dahlia put down the gravy ladle. "You callin' me an idiot? Kevin, I cain't believe you're gonna sit there and let your pa say that to me!"

"I'm sure he dint mean that, my lusty bunny. All he meant was that—"

Earl pushed back his chair and stood up, the napkin tucked under his chin flapping like a battle flag. "They ain't identical. Tell 'em, Eileen."

"Are, too," Dahlia said, standing up as well.

It occurred to Eileen that she could have agreed to chaperon the teenagers for their week at Camp Pearly Gates. She could be sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of the lodge, reading a book, crocheting, or just enjoying the breeze off the lake. Later, they'd toast marshmallows and sing about where all the flowers had gone and how Michael had rowed the boat ashore, hallelujah. Once nightfall came, she'd fall asleep listening to lovelorn whippoorwills calling to each other.

"Listen up," she said, "this is Sunday breakfast, not an amateur wrestling event. Shut up, sit down, and eat. Anyone with a problem about that can fix a plate and take it to the kitchen, the back porch, or out to the pasture, for all I care! I spent two hours fixing this meal, and I intend to eat it in peace. Kevin, please pass the grits."

"Are, too," Dahlia said as she sank down.

"Are not," Earl countered, then glanced at his wife and sat down.

Kevin didn't know what to say, but he had enough sense to keep his mouth shut and passed his ma the bowl of grits. The babies, in adjoining highchairs and happily stuffing bits of scrambled eggs up their adorable button noses, had the same rosy cheeks and rosebud mouths. Their little feet curled when they cried. Their diapers seemed to fill up at the same time, which was most of the time when he was caring for them so Dahlia could go visit her granny at the old folks' home. They both hated beets and loved applesauce. If that wasn't identical, what was?

Across the table, Dahlia stared at the gravy congealing on the biscuit. There was something she was gonna hafta tell Kevin afore too long.