Free Merry Wives of Maggody by Joan Hess Page A

Lambertino, Jeremiah McIlhany, and Ruddy Cranshaw were seated in a booth, arguing and jabbing their fingers at each other. Bopeep’s boyfriend, whose name I’d never heard (and hoped I never did), was clearly drunker than a skunk. Bony Buchanon leaned over the jukebox, his lips moving as he read the list of selections.
    An older couple, dressed for a more civilized affair, moved together on the tiny dance floor. From the way they kept stepping on each other’s feet, I could tell they were unnerved by the ambience. They stumbled into each other when Hairless Buchanon wandered by with an indignant chicken under his arm.
    “Well?” Ruby Bee snapped as she caught my arm.
    “I don’t know,” I said over the din. “Her car’s still there, and she’s not home. She wasn’t on her way to Seeping Springs, though. She may have been on her way back. It’s premature to issue an APB.” I glanced around. “Big crowd to night.”
    “It’s on account of this fool golf tournament. Some of the folks from out of state checked in this afternoon, even though the tournament doesn’t start until Saturday morning. They said they wanted to get in a practice round, but it seems late in the game to start practicing. You either know how to play or you don’t. Not that that’s stopping anybody. You heard who all has signed up?”
    Since she was going to tell me anyway, I obligingly said, “Who?”
    “Nigh onto twenty folks from Maggody, that’s who. It’s causing a real flapadoodle. All matter of husbands and wives didn’t bother to tell each other. The women have been taking lessons on the sly, and so have the men. It came out when registration officially closed this afternoon. There’s liable to be bloodshed in several house holds.” She tilted her head. “See Jim Bob and his cronies over there? I can’t tell if they’re angrier at their wives for fooling them or for booting them out on their butts.”
    I grinned. “That ought to liven things up this weekend. I thought my only headache was the parking problem. Now about the chicken ’n’ dumplings…?”
    Ruby Bee shrugged. “As long as you promise to get your fanny in action and find Estelle in the morning. I won’t be able to sleep a wink until I know she’s safe.”
    I gave her a half-hearted salute and found a vacant stool.
    • • •
    It was eight o’clock when the semblance of a meeting began in Roy Stiver’s back room. It was stuffy and crowded, and the best Roy could offer was saltine crackers and grape jelly. Most of the participants were jittery, unsure where they’d be sleeping that night, or maybe the next few weeks.
    “What it’s called is a tontine,” Jim Bob began. “I called this fellow I know who used to be a lawyer afore he went to prison. He drew up the papers. Once everybody signs it, I’ll take it to him and he’ll have it notarized. If one of us wins the bass boat, it becomes the property of the tontine. We’ll each get thirty-six and a half days per year to use it. We’ll figure out how to divide it up later. Thing is, if someone moves out of Stump County or dies, his share stays in the tontine. The last man standing gets the boat outright.”
    “Sounds dangerous,” Roy observed.
    “Whattaya mean?” asked Kevin.
    Jim Bob narrowed his eyes. “All you have to do is sign the paper, dumb-ass. You can write your name, can’t you?”
    “Sure, Jim Bob, but why is it dangerous?”
    “It’s dangerous because if you don’t sign it, I’m gonna rip out your eyeballs and feed them to Raz’s sow. Here’s a pen, boy. See this dotted line?”
    “What about Luke?” Larry Joe said. “He ain’t been in Maggody but a couple of weeks. He can hit a decent drive, mebbe further than any of the rest of us, but he ain’t what you’d call a resident. Bopeep’s had a string of boyfriends over the last five years. You can ask anyone.” He realized he was staring at Jim Bob and edged behind Roy.
    “Yeah,” Luke finally said as he lit a