Free Merry Wives of Maggody by Joan Hess

gloss can sink ships.”
    “Think of all these cosmetologists slinking through the woods, dressed in camo smocks, carrying M-16 scissors, perm grenades, and curling irons.”
    Ruby Bee put her hands on her hips. “If you reckon on having chicken ’n’ dumplings anytime soon, you’d best go out and investigate Estelle’s car for signs of a struggle.”
    “I thought her car broke down and she was kidnapped while walking to Seeping Springs,” I said.
    “Then go see why her car broke down,” she countered. “When you have some answers, you can have cobbler and cake.”
    “I’m not a mechanic.”
    “No, you’re a chief of police whose duty is to investigate crimes. Run along and do your job.”
    I realized that I wouldn’t get so much as a dimple of a dumpling until I complied. There was a streak in Ruby Bee that rivaled a stone wall. The best I’d ever done was chip away at it, with minimal effect. I left the bar and grill, went over to the PD to get my car, and drove down the road alongside the SuperSaver parking lot. There was a crowd gathered around the bass boat, reverently gazing at it as if it were an artifact out of the Bible. One of the men was furtively wiping his eyes. When a child reached out to touch it, adult faces recoiled in horror.
    Estelle’s station wagon was parked as purported by Boyle Buchanon.
    He wasn’t the most reliable of witnesses, in that he came by the PD every few months to report a close encounter with polar bears. I frowned as I noted that it was facing Maggody’s main road, not Seeping Springs. I continued until I found a place to turn around, then came back and parked behind the station wagon.
    If it had broken down on her way back from Seeping Springs, she could have easily walked, even in her four-inch heels, to the SuperSaver to call for a tow truck.
    I got out of my car and inspected hers for overt damage. The doors were locked, and the key was not in the ignition. Wherever she’d gone, she’d taken her purse. I drove to the SuperSaver and went to the nearest checkout line.
    Idalupino Buchanon nodded at me. “Hey, Arly, how’s it going?”
    “Did Estelle Oppers come in here this afternoon?”
    “Not that I recollect. I always notice her ’cause she looks like she’s got a japonica bush on her head. Business has been good on account of the boat out there. People come in to buy something so they have an excuse to stop and goggle at the boat. It’s the first time some of the husbands have ever been in here. Mostly they let their wives do the shopping.”
    “A fascinating insight into tribal behavior. Are you sure you didn’t see her? Could you have been on break?”
    “Jim Bob don’t like us taking breaks, but when you gotta go, you gotta go. Cinatra and me cover for each other.” She raised her voice. “Cinatra, you seen Estelle today?”
    Cinatra Buchanon glanced up from a tabloid. “Can’t say I did.”
    “She would have needed to make a phone call,” I persisted. “Any chance she might have dropped by for a minute and then left?”
    “One of us would have seen her,” Idalupino said stubbornly.
    “The pay phone’s right there. Jim Bob don’t let anyone use the phone in his office. He’s afraid he might get caught looking at porn on his computer. He always keeps the door locked except when he’s in there slobbering over nekkid girls. He left about four.”
    “Thanks,” I said. It was getting peculiar, and Ruby Bee did have a right to be concerned. Estelle had disappeared sometime during the afternoon, abandoning her car on a county road. I drove to her house, took the key from under a flowerpot and looked in all the rooms, then went back to the bar and grill. All I’d learned was that Estelle had a fondness for romance paperbacks and peppermints.
    There were some new faces in the booths and on stools. Ruby Bee was dashing all over the place, slamming down blue plate specials, hamburgers, and pitchers of beer. Hizzoner Jim Bob, Larry Joe