Muletrain to Maggody by Joan Hess Read Free Book Online

me.”
    Estelle bristled like a prickly pear. “And just how do you know that? Was there a time I’m unaware of when you worked at the county clerk’s office filing birth certificates?”
    “Never mind, “said Ruby Bee. “But like you said, we could use a windfall. I just don’t see how we can find this particular cave any more than we could find a talking squirrel and sell it to a carnival.”
    “And I can’t see us asking Raz for advice. I’m not fond of having tobacco juice spat in my face. He ought to be put down like a rabid skunk.” She popped a pretzel into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “But I can think of somebody else who knows Cotter’s Ridge better than most anybody, somebody who had the run of the ridge all his life, someone on speakin’ terms with all the copperheads and lizards…”
    “You’d better not be thinking what I’m thinking you’re thinking,” said Ruby Bee, her tongue getting tangled along the way. “We’ve got all these fancy folks and make-believe soldiers coming to Maggody. I don’t have any idea how many tourists will come to gawk at them, but I reckon more than two or three. Mrs. Jim Bob’s liable to march in here any minute and tell me she expects cheese grits and cornbread for a hundred people. This movie fellow and his assistant will be staying out back, and they’ll probably expect room service and mints on their pillows at night. There is no way on God’s green earth that we’re going to bring in a hundred pounds of pure trouble. You just put that right out of your head, Estelle Oppers! I ain’t having anything to do with this birdbrained scheme of yours, not even for a share of a million dollars!”
    “Suit yourself,” said Estelle, lifting her chin so she could look down her nose at Ruby Bee with the condescension of European royalty. “I am perfectly capable of doing this by myself. I just hope you recollect the story of the Little Red Hen. She ended up eating her fine fresh bread all by herself.”
    “Arly will kill us.”
    “Well, at least we’ll be able to afford marble headstones.”
     
    Brother Verber was stretched out on his sofa, his head propped on a pillow and a glass of sacramental wine nearby on the coffee table. It being Saturday afternoon, he should have been slaving over his sermon for the following morning, but he was having a problem settling on a theme. Lust, adultery, perversion, fornication. None of them grabbed his fancy as they usually did. Hardly a week had passed in all these years since he’d received his mail-order diploma from the seminary in Las Vegas that he’d failed to berate his congregation for one or more of these, odds being he’d hit home in the second or third pew. Why, just watching beads of sweat popping out on someone’s brow justified his calling to the cloth. His flock floundered, but he himself was the shepherd that collected up their souls and led them back into the glorious green pasture of righteousness.
    And there was that bothersome story about a fortune up on Cotter’s Ridge.
    Brother Verber kicked off his slippers and took a drink of wine. All that gold, just waiting to see the light of day. It could be put to use in the Almighty Lord’s war against evil, he thought as he wiggled his toes. Sin was out there, behind every door and down every alley. Young women pulling off their lingerie for the sake of a few dollars, lurking in houses of ill repute where gentlemen paid for their services, laughing when they should be down on their knees repenting for their sins. And what they did in the photos of the magazines Brother Verber kept in his closet was enough to keep Satan hisself stoking the furnace.
    The fortune had to be put to use to combat this pervasive moral degradation, he decided. He struggled to his feet and went into the kitchen to make a cheese and sweet pickle sandwich. Ever since he’d heard about the gold, he’d felt uneasy, as though some foul odor was beginning to taint Maggody.