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  ‘And the children!’ Carol Anne spoke up, her face beaming. ‘I couldn’t love Mary’s children more if they came from my womb. And Rene’s, too.’ She shook her head. ‘It must be difficult if you’re not from a plural community, or know plural families, to understand the . . .’ she tilted her head and said, ‘dynamic? Is that the word you use?’ I nodded. ‘OK, the dynamic of our lifestyle. God, family, country. In a lot of Christian homes, it’s God, country, family. But when you’re in a plural family . . .’ She looked to Rene and they spoke in unison, both smiling. ‘Family is country!’ And they laughed.

  ‘Gross!’ came loud and proud from the stairway as two boys bounded down the stairs and into the living room.

  One, with reddish-blond hair and freckles on his nose, said, ‘Michael just did a number two so bad we’ll have to fumigate, Mom!’

  ‘Oscar!’ Carol Anne said, as the other boy interrupted. ‘Yeah, Mama Carol Anne. It was ripe!’

  Standing and taking both boys by the nape of the neck, Carol Anne said, ‘Dr McDonnell, this,’ she said, shaking the smiling boy with the reddish-blond hair, ‘is my son, Oscar, and this,’ she said, indicating the other boy, ‘is my son by Mary, Nathaniel. They are both very rude.’ The way she said ‘my son by Mary’ came out as almost one word.

  Rene stood up. ‘I do believe that’s my cue to go change a diaper,’ she said and headed up the stairs.

  Both boys tried to hide their smiles. ‘Sorry,’ they said in unison.

  ‘Say hello to Dr McDonnell,’ Carol Anne said.

  They both did.

  ‘Now if you’re so sure you’re going to vomit, why don’t you go outside and play?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ they said in faux-rejection, then both ran screaming for the front door.

  After the door closed, I asked Carol Anne, ‘Nathaniel is Mary’s son, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, pulling her arms across her chest, as if suddenly cold.

  ‘Does he know?’ I asked.

  She shrugged. ‘That’s up to his father,’ she said. At which point the front door opened and a disheveled and beaten-down Jerry Hudson walked in the door. I took that opportunity to leave.

  TWO

  Milt Kovak – Monday

  ‘I just think it’s another way of subjugating women,’ she said as we came in the front door.

  ‘What is, Mama?’ Johnny Mac, our six-year-old son, asked.

  ‘Sorry, honey,’ Jean said, ruffling his hair. ‘Work talk. Promise – no more.’

  ‘What’s subgating?’ he asked.

  ‘Sub-ju-gating,’ Jean supplied. ‘Look it up in the dictionary.’

  ‘I don’t care that much!’ Johnny Mac muttered under his breath as he turned and headed for the living room.

  I laughed and Jean threw her purse on the kitchen table and leaned her crutches against the wall.

  ‘Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?’ she said. ‘At that age, I would have looked up the word then been in the encyclopedias looking up proof!’

  ‘Yeah, kinda neat having a normal kid, huh?’ I said, smiling.

  ‘He is not normal!’ Jean replied.

  I got behind her where she stood at the sink and kissed her neck. ‘Sorry, sweetie. I don’t think our Johnny Mac is gonna skip three grades and be a freshman in college at fourteen.’

  ‘He could!’ she said, a little whine in her voice as she brutalized a potato.

  ‘I’m gonna change clothes,’ I said, heading to our bedroom, which was on the other side of the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll be there in just a minute. I want to get these potatoes on first.’

  It had been a rough day, for me and Jean both. Although she appeared to disapprove of a plural family, she seemed somewhat fascinated by the idea. And to tell the truth, so was I. Where the man, Jerry Hudson, got the nads to try to support three women and three households of kids was beyond me. Where he got the funds was another matter. Would that be enough to make a man want to kill his wife? His oldest wife. Running out of money, gotta get rid of one, why not the oldest? The other two – whoa. The redhead was hot, but that little brunette – she had one of those round little butts that you just wanna . . .

  Anyway, that was one theory. Jerry came home, killed his wife, while his kid was asleep in the next room? Cold, man. Really cold. I couldn’t see the man I met doing that. But I’ve read up in Jean’s books about sociopaths, who mimic the behavior of others, as they have no indicators in themselves to real feelings and stuff. Jerry Hudson could be one of those. But somehow I doubted it. What about the wives? Gotta be some jealousy going on. How could there not be? Three women, one man? Shit. Have you ever tried just dating two women? A man could get killed that way.

  We had some dinner and Jean got Johnny Mac bathed and dressed for bed. I took him upstairs to his bathroom to brush his teeth. Then we hit the bed, said our prayers, and I got him tucked in.

  ‘Daddy?’ he said as I started to leave the room.

  ‘Yeah, tiger?’

  ‘When did you know you loved Mommy?’ he asked.

  Hum. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘just about the minute I saw her.’

  ‘No, really.’

  ‘It was pretty fast, big guy. Why do you ask?’

  He rolled over, his back to me. ‘Oh, no reason. I just think I love somebody.’

  I sat down on the side of his bed. ‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘Miss Crenshaw.’

  ‘Miss Crenshaw your teacher?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘She’s beautiful.’

  ‘You’re right, son. She’s a real pretty lady.’

  ‘’Night, Daddy,’ he said.

  I kissed his ear. ‘’Night, son.’

  I left the room, heading back down the stairs. When I was in first grade, my teacher was a mean old bag named Mrs Van Nubbins. She had tightly curled gray hair, thick glasses, and a big ass. She also carried a ruler around and would always swat your knuckles for no good reason. Nowadays teachers are always young, pretty, actually talk to the kids, and they don’t hit. There’s something to be said, every once in a while, for progress.

  Later, when Jean and I crawled into bed, I told her about Johnny Mac’s crush on Miss Crenshaw.

  ‘OK,’ she said putting down her medical journal and taking off her reading glasses. ‘The general therapy for this—’

  ‘Whoa now!’ I said. ‘I didn’t tell you this as a psychiatrist, I told you this as his mama, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I’m both,’ she said.

  ‘I know that, and you know that, but Johnny Mac doesn’t know that. He’s in love with his teacher. OK. Let him have it. It’s barely October. By Christmas, he’ll have a crush on some little girl.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she said.

  I faked a heart attack. ‘Lord, I’m coming!’ I said to the ceiling. ‘Take me now! She actually said it!’

  My wife hit me with her journal. ‘Ha, ha,’ she said, in her usual deadpan way.

  I leaned over and started nibbling her neck. ‘You think I’m funny,’ I whispered. ‘And sexy.’

  She giggled. ‘It’s funny that you think you’re sexy!’ she said.

  I headed for her fun spots.

  Milt Kovak – Tuesday

  I had Holly run the Hudsons on the computer, see what she could find out. The only discrepancy we found was that Jerry Hudson named nineteen dependents on his 1040 tax form. I started counting up: Carol Anne said that Mary had had eight children, Carol Anne had four children, and Rene had two. Add the kids and the wives all together that made seventeen dependents, not nineteen.

  So I called the number for Carol Anne’s house and a woman answered the phone.

  ‘Mrs Hudson?’ I said.

  ‘Are you looking for Carol Anne?’ the woman asked. I could tell when she said more than ‘hello’ that this voice belonged to an older woman.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. And you are?’

  ‘This is Carol Anne’s mother. She’s over at Mary’s house right now dealing wi
th the children. Do you know what happened over there?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. This is Sheriff Kovak calling. I’ll just call her at Mary’s house.’

  ‘Have you found out yet who did this terrible thing?’ she asked.

  ‘No, ma’am, not yet. I’ll just call her at Mary’s house—’

  ‘Well, truthfully, I never really trusted that Mary,’ Carol Anne’s mother said. ‘She was a sly one.’

  ‘Oh?’ I said. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, just look how many babies she had, for goodness’ sake! My Carol Anne has her four babies then Mary just goes and pops out one after the other like she’s showing who’s boss! I don’t think how many babies you can have proves a darn thing!’ she said.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said, not sure how to answer her comments. ‘I’ll just call Carol Anne—’

  ‘And then he goes and marries that mousy Rene! That was Mary’s doing, you can count on that!’

  ‘Thanks for the information—’

  ‘I told my son, Dennis. I said, “Dennis, that Jerry is up to no good marrying that Rene!” And Dennis agreed with me. He said, “Mama, you are right!” Now don’t you think that’s true?’

  ‘Ma’am . . .’

  ‘That Mary was in her forties when she had her last baby. It’s just God’s sweet love that managed to make that child normal!’

  ‘I gotta go!’ I said quickly and hung up.

  I was afraid I was gonna have to actually meet that woman, ’cause the venom spewing out of her mouth sounded like motive to me.

  I called Mary’s house and got hold of Carol Anne. ‘How’s everybody?’ I asked.

  She sighed heavily. ‘Not well,’ she said. ‘Jerry’s got the older children upstairs praying, and I’ve got the little ones down here, trying to keep them relatively busy.’

  ‘He still hasn’t told all of ’em?’ I asked.

  ‘He and Rene and I were up all night talking about it, and we decided the cut-off point was five. Six and up we tell, five and below . . . not for a while.’

  ‘Won’t the older kids tell them about it?’ I asked.

  ‘Probably. We’re just trying to keep it quiet for a couple of days. When will Mary’s body be released?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll check with the ME, find out when the autopsy will be,’ I told her. ‘Ah, ma’am, I spoke with your mother—’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ she cried. ‘I’m so sorry! Did she talk your ear off?’

  I laughed. ‘Little bit,’ I said. ‘I also noted that Jerry lists nineteen dependents on his 1040 tax return, but there are only seventeen of y’all, to my count.’

  ‘Bet you didn’t count Mama!’ Carol Anne said. ‘Or my brother, Dennis.’

  ‘You’re right, I didn’t. Well, I just spoke to your mama, but I didn’t know about your brother. How are they dependents of Jerry’s?’ I’d sorta spaced out when the old lady was talking to me – she might have mentioned Carol Anne’s brother, but really, who cared?

  ‘Well, they’re both on disability and they live with me and the boys in my house. They are totally dependent on Jerry and their social security.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that – that they’re both disabled. What’s wrong with your brother?’

  ‘He was in a car wreck and hurt his back. Mama was in the car with him and she lost a leg and hurt her back, too, and then my daddy died, and they came to live with us.’

  I was beginning to feel real sorry for Jerry Hudson. It’s a wonder he didn’t kill the lot of ’em. ‘It was nice of Jerry to do that,’ I said, unable to come up with anything else to say.

  ‘Jerry is God’s original,’ Carol Anne said proudly. ‘The Good Lord broke the mold after he made Jerry.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said. ‘I’m gonna need to talk to your mama and your brother sometime today, if possible, Mrs Hudson.’

  ‘Please call me Carol Anne, Sheriff,’ she said. ‘I’ll set that up for you. Mama should be no problem, but I’m not sure about Dennis. I’ll see if I can track him down.’

  ‘I thought you said he was living with you?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, he is, but he’s out a lot. I’ll call you,’ she said, and hung up quickly.

  I sat there in my office, looking at the phone and thinking, how does old Dennis get around so much with a back so bad he can’t work? Then I thought it would be a sorry job if the only thing I got these people on was a little bitty fraud against old Uncle Sam.

  Around noon I took Nita Skitteridge with me to talk to Carol Anne’s mama, and hopefully her brother, Dennis. We stopped on our way out of Longbranch and picked up a couple of Big Macs and some fries and drinks for the trip. We just got a McDonalds a couple of years ago, and I’m afraid it’s done a job on the diner at the Longbranch Inn. I’m still a devout customer, but there are days when it’s just easier to pick up a Big Mac or some Chicken McNuggets and be on your way. But truthfully, there’s still nothing better than a sit-down lunch at the Longbranch with yeast rolls, cornbread, sweet butter, chicken fried steak and cream gravy, and three sides off the board. It’s just a little bit of heaven. And if it comes to it, I’d give up McDonalds in a heartbeat.

  This was my first time to work on a case with Nita. She was a pretty lady, with beautiful dark skin and huge brown eyes. She wore her hair as short as her cousin’s, but somehow it just made her look more feminine. She had a nice chest and a cute butt and what more can a man ask for, tell me that? She was also smart as a whip and nice and polite, although the polite may have had more to do with my rank than any real feelings on her part.

  When we got to The Branches, Nita let out a slow whistle. ‘Wow, would you look at this?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, showing my badge to the gatekeeper and driving through. ‘It’s pretty upscale, huh?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, letting me know she hadn’t really thought about the whistle before she did it.

  ‘But these people, the Hudsons?’ I said, thinking out loud. ‘I don’t think they’re rich like these other people. Lord, how could they be? You look in their houses, well, I’ve seen the insides of two of ’em, and while they look great the furniture is old, I mean really old. And there’s not much of it. They got these three houses at a tax auction, so I’m wondering if they didn’t get ’em for a song, all together like they are, and just lucked out?’

  ‘Yes, sir, sounds likely,’ Nita said.

  ‘Now, the house we’re going to belongs to the second wife, Carol Anne. She’s the artistic type. Lots of paintings and pictures and geegaws on the walls and such – all the walls painted bright colors. But the furniture’s still old. See if you don’t notice that.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Nita said.

  ‘If the mama and the brother are both there, you take the mama and I’ll take the brother. Got that?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Nita said.

  I parked the car in Carol Anne’s driveway and we went together to the front door. Before I could knock, we were accosted by the largest, ugliest dog I’d ever seen. His fur was blond with a greenish tinge, his tongue hung about down to his knees (if dogs have knees), he had one ear that pointed up and the other that – well, wasn’t much there. His eyes were covered with a ruff of fur like the bushy eyebrows of an old man. And he stank to high heaven. But he seemed friendly enough. The door opened before I had a chance to knock. The lady who answered the door was tall like her daughter with red hair that didn’t look quite as . . . well, natural as her daughter’s. The mama had ‘I Love Lucy’-red hair, was wearing black slacks and a black and gold skintight T-shirt that showed gigantic hooters and what my wife would call an unnaturally large muffin-top.

  ‘Scat, you filthy beast!’ she yelled, and I finally figured out she was talking about the dog. ‘Get!’ She shook a magazine at him and he backed away and yipped at her a couple of times, more like he wanted her to throw the magazine than anything dangerous.

  ‘Get!’ she shouted again, and the dog finally ran off.

  ‘Ma’am,’ I sai
d, holding out my hand to shake, ‘I’m Sheriff Milt Kovak, and this here is my deputy, Nita Skitteridge. I’m sorry, I never did get your name.’

  ‘Denise Rigsby.’ She looked at Nita slantwise and didn’t offer her hand. I wondered if I should let Anthony’s cousin interview this woman after all. ‘Excuse the dog! Well, there is no excuse for that dog! Jerry told the boys they could keep her if they put up one of those doggie fences where it shocks them?’ We both nodded our agreement that there was such a thing. ‘So they put it at the entrance to the cul-de-sac so the darned thing has the run of all three houses! Little devils,’ she said.

  ‘Miz Rigsby,’ I said, letting my voice get country-like (that kind of thing works a lot with women of a certain age), ‘I was wondering if your son might be around?’

  ‘Dennis!’ she screamed over her shoulder.

  ‘Ma’am,’ I said, all smiles, ‘may we come in?’

  She stood her ground. ‘I’m not sure how my son-in-law feels about letting mud people into his houses.’

  I could feel Nita stiffen next to me. Mud people. Never heard that one, but it sounded just as nasty as most of the words ignorant people call any people different from them.

  I used my bulk to get into the house. The lady had pissed me off. Once inside, with Nita beside me, I said, ‘Now, ma’am, exactly who you calling mud people? Me, ’cause I’m an old man, my deputy here because she’s an African-American, or both of us ’cause we’re police officers?’

  Denise Rigsby stiffened. ‘We’re not used to coloreds,’ she said.

  A man came in from the back of the house. He was shorter than his mother and sister both, slightly bent at the shoulders, had receding reddish-blond hair, a mustache that couldn’t make its mind up if it wanted to be or not to be, and watery blue eyes.

  ‘Mama, behave,’ he said, coming up to us and holding out his hand to Nita. ‘I’m Dennis Rigsby, and you are . . .?’

  She shook his hand and said, ‘Deputy Nita Skitteridge, and this is Sheriff Milt Kovak,’ she said, indicating me.

  He let go of her hand and gave me his. It was damp and the grip was weak. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt on being disabled. Having already talked to Mrs Rigsby on the phone, I figured if there was anything new to get out of her, Nita would be getting it.