"I guess you have to be careful when you turn the pages," I said. It didn't exactly enhance the atmosphere between us, but I was getting tired of hearing about mama's little monster. Definitely a sour pickle, and sour enough to turn one's mouth inside out.

We arrived at the first floor without further discussion of delicate Catherine's needs and desires. Frannie headed in the direction of the office, no doubt willing to vent her maternal instincts despite Geri's propensity for hysterics. I opted for a sofa in the lobby rather than a ringside seat and was getting settled in when Lieutenant Henbit stomped out of the dining room.

"Where're your mother and this other woman who's with her?" he barked at me.

"I am not my mother's-" I stopped as I remembered the last time I'd tossed out the phrase.

"Your mother's what?"

"Keeper. However, if I were you, I'd try her room."

"She wasn't there," he said, still all red in the face and tacitly accusing me of some nefarious scheme to deprive him of his opportunity to speak to her.

"She's probably there now. She and Estelle felt some imperative to discuss their pipes with a plumber on the third floor. By now they're back in their room, arguing the wisdom of lead over copper and analyzing the mysterious death of Cousin Carmel back in 'eighty-six. Or was it 'eighty-seven?"

" 'Eighty-seven," Rick said from behind the counter. "It was a very good year for mysterious deaths and chablis with an impudent personality."

Lieutenant Henbit did not look amused as he continued across the lobby and took the stairs. Once the door banged closed, I looked at Rick and said, "What's the matter? Can't take the heat in the office?"

"That Gebhearn dame is driving me friggin' crazy. If she's not jabbering on the telephone, she's sobbing like someone ran over her poodle. She was not doing well on account of her boss calling, but then the queen mother barged in and started carrying on, too. Jesus! Was there ever a time when this hotel was calm and everybody was just going about his business?"

"I wouldn't know," I said truthfully. "I came only after my mother was arrested for attempted homicide, if you recall. I've been thinking about the so-called mugging in the stairwell, and I can't figure out why Durmond was placed in 217-or who called the police."

He sneered, albeit faintly. "The police seem more concerned about murder these days. They might be willing to assign a special task force to alleviate your curiosity, however. You should ask the lieutenant when he comes down."

"He does seem preoccupied with this other business, doesn't he?" I said, refusing to allow him to irritate me.

"But I think there's a parallel between the two crimes that he's ignoring."

"Do you now?" Rick twisted his ring, but his eyes were on me. For the record, they weren't the friendliest I'd seen and didn't begin to compete with Mr. Cambria's twinkle.

"In both cases, the bodies were relocated before they were discovered. Durmond was taken to 217, and Jerome to the dumpster in the alley. This means that someone went to a lot of trouble when it would have been so much easier and safer to depart the scene with all due haste."

"How do you know Jerome was taken to the dumpster? Maybe he went outside to play with the rats or something and was shot out there by some punk. The cops are not making an effort to keep me informed of their investigation, but I would not be surprised to learn Appleton's wallet and watch are missing."

"As is his luggage," I said with a frown.

Rick stooped under the counter and came to the sofa. "But why is it that you say he was killed someplace else and moved to the alley?" he persisted.

"Because my mother went to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk and saw the body," I said. "She didn't mention seeing his luggage, though. What happened to it?"

I'd been talking to myself for the most part, barely aware of Rick's presence, and therefore was startled half out of my skin when Mr. Cambria said, "What else did Ruby Bee see while on this quest for warm milk?"

I held back a giggle that would have been on the manic side. "Nothing else that I know of, but the lieutenant may be able to worm something more out of her-if he's as clever as he thinks he is. I wouldn't bet on it."

Rick looked at Cambria. "I swear this is the first I've heard of this. The cops didn't say a word about the guy being shot in the kitchen, or about his luggage disappearing. From what I've picked up, they were perfectly happy with him going out to the alley on his own two feet and then either his wife or some punk shooting him there. Only now am I hearing how that screwy broad was in the kitchen while the body was still warm."

"I was there, too," I said, "but after the body had been moved and before the four cases of Krazy KoKo-Nut had been returned."

Rick was twisting his ring hard enough to rip off his finger, and his face was turning paler by the second. "It sounds like there's a history of sleepwalking in this family. First the mother and now this chick go roaming around in the middle of the night, and both spouting off nonsense about what they saw and what they didn't see. I think maybe their brains are packed less carefully than Appleton's suitcases."

I was on the verge of verbalizing my displeasure when a truck squealed to a stop in front of the hotel. All three of us watched a man grab half a dozen flat white boxes and come charging across the sidewalk. "I told you to make some calls," Cambria said softly.

"I did, just like you said," Rick said, gulping. "I got hold of everybody I could think of. The word's out. I dunno what this guy is doing…"

The door opened. "Pizza man!" said the newcomer.

Brother Verber was puffing as he scrambled over a patch of loose rocks in what would be a bubbly, gushy creek in the springtime. He was having a hard time keeping his balance, in that he could barely see over the boxes he was carrying. Every now and then the white ribbon tickled his nose enough to provoke hearty sneezes that sprinkled the slick silver paper like tiny drops of dew.

"I presume we're almost there," said Mrs. Jim Bob. She wasn't as worn out as he was, but the humidity was getting worse by the minute. Heavy gray clouds had massed over the ridge, with occasional flickers of lightning and rumbles that threatened a downpour at any minute. "We haven't got all day," she continued, her beady eyes boring into his back, "and we can't have much of a fire in the rain. What's more, it's getting chilly."

He almost apologized for the weather, but decided he'd better save his breath and concentrate on picking up any stray cosmic suggestions as to the location of Raz's still. It had to be around there somewhere, he told himself as he stumbled and fumbled through the brush.

"How much farther is it?" demanded Mrs. Jim Bob. "Why, not all that much farther," he said with what confidence he could muster. "The problem is with the directions Raz gave to me after he finished repenting. I'm almost certain he said to take the second logging road and keep to the right all the way, but he was such a pathetic wretch that he might have been addled at the time and meant to have said to keep to the left."

"Then we may be on the wrong side of the ridge? Is that what you're saying?"

"Of course not! We're here to do our Christian duty, and the Almighty wouldn't let us stray down the wrong path, much less the wrong side of the ridge. Any time now we'll come around a clump of trees and feast our eyes on that soul-pollutin' moonshine still."

Mrs. Jim Bob glanced up, but there was no Divine Finger pointing the way to go. "We'd better find it right soon and get this nasty business over with before we find ourselves soaked to the skin." She wrapped her sweater more tightly around her shoulders, wishing she'd thought to bring a coat, not to mention an umbrella. Then again, maybe a shower from heaven would cleanse her soul of the gritty residue of guilt lingering from the night she'd lain in her bed and allowed herself to think about things that violated everything she'd learned from rigorous Bible study and services three times a week.