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Gasparilla spat again。 〃Nothing。〃
〃What were your movements that evening； Mr。 Gasparilla？〃
Gasparilla kept stirring。 〃If you're hinting that I killed that woman； then I just about figure this conversation's over； mister。〃
〃I'd say it's just begun。〃
〃Don't get snippy with me。 I never killed nobody in my life。〃
〃Then you should have no objection to detailing your movements that day。〃
〃That was my second day here at Medicine Creek。 I hunted up at the Mounds late that afternoon。 She was there； digging。 I came back here at sunset； spent the night in camp。〃
〃Did she see you？〃
〃Didyou see me？〃
〃Where was she digging； exactly？〃
〃All over。 I gave her a wide berth。 I know trouble when I see it。〃 Gasparilla gave the stewpot a brisk stir； brought out an enameled tin bowl and a battered spoon； ladled some stew into it。 He scooped up a spoonful； blew on it； took a bite； dug the spoon in again。 Then he stopped。
〃I suppose you'll be wanting a bowl。〃
〃I would not object。〃
Wordlessly； he brought out a second bowl； held it up before Pendergast。
〃Thank you。〃 Pendergast helped himself to the pot； took a taste of the stew。 〃Burgoo； I believe？〃
Gasparilla nodded and stuffed a goodly amount in his mouth； juice dribbling down into his tangled black beard。 He chewed loudly； spat out a few bones； swallowed。 He wiped his mouth with his hand； then wiped his hand on his beard。
They finished their stew in silence。 Gasparilla stacked the bowls； leaned back； took out the plug of tobacco。 〃And now； mister； if you got what you're looking for； I hope you'll be about your business。 I like a quiet evening。〃
Pendergast rose。 〃Mr。 Gasparilla； I will leave you in peace。 But first； if there's anything you'd care to add； I would advise you to tell it to me now； rather than waiting for me to discover it myself。〃
Gasparilla spat a brown rope of saliva in the direction of the creek。 〃I don't particularly care to get involved。〃
〃You're already involved。 Either you are the murderer； Mr。 Gasparilla； or your continued presence here puts you in grave danger。 One or the other。〃
Gasparilla grunted； bit off another plug； spat again。 Then he asked； 〃Do you believe in the devil？〃
Pendergast regarded the man； his pale eyes glinting in the firelight。 〃Why do you ask； Mr。 Gasparilla？〃
〃Because I don't。 As far as I'm concerned； the devil's a lot of preacher bullshit。 But thereis evil on this earth； Mr。 FBI Agent。 You asked about the curse of the Forty…Fives。 Well； you might as well get on home right now； because you ain't never going to get to the bottom ofthat。 The evil I'm talking about； most of the time it's got an explanation。 But some of the time〃…Gasparilla spat more tobacco juice； then leaned forward as if to impart a secret…〃some of the time； itjust don't。 〃
Thirteen
Smit Ludwig pulled his AMC Pacer into the parking lot of Calvary Lutheran； which was wall to wall with hot cars glittering in the August sun。 A big placard； already curling in the intense heat； was affixed to the front of the neat； redbrick church。 It announced； 33RD ANNUAL BAKED TURKEY SUPPER SOCIABLE。 Another； even bigger placard beside it burbled；MEDICINE CREEK WELES PROFESSOR STANTON CHAUNCY ！！！ There was a touch of desperation； Ludwig thought； to the three exclamation marks。 He parked his car at the far end of the lot； got out； dabbed the back of his neck with a handkerchief； and walked up to the entrance。
Then he paused； hand on the door。 Over the years； the town had gotten used to his nice human interest stories； to his uncontroversial coverage of church and school； 4…H and Boy Scouts and Future Farmers of America。 They had gotten used to theCourier glossing over and even ignoring the petty crimes of their children…the occasional joyrides； the drunken parties。 They had taken for granted his downplaying of the inspection problems at Gro…Bain； the rising injury rate at the plant； the union troubles。 They had forgotten that theCourier was a newspaper； not the town PR organ。 Yesterday； all that had changed。 TheCourier had bee a real paper； reporting real news。
Smit Ludwig wondered just what the reaction would be。
With his free hand； he nervously fingered his bow tie。 He'd covered the Baked Turkey Sociable for every one of its thirty…three years； but never had he approached it with such trepidation。 It was times like this that he most missed his wife； Sarah。 It would have been easier with her on his arm。
Buck up； Smitty；he told himself； pushing open the doors。
The Fellowship Hall of the church was jammed。 Practically the entire town was there。 Some were already seated； eating； while others had formed long lines to load up on mashed potatoes； gravy； and green beans。 Some were even eating the turkey； although Smitty noticed； as usual； that the Gro…Bain plant workers were nowhere to be seen in the turkey lines。 It was one of those things that nobody ever mentioned： how little turkey was actually consumed at the Turkey Sociable。
A huge plastic banner on one wall thanked Gro…Bain and its general manager； Art Ridder； for their generosity in providing the turkeys。 Another banner on the opposite wall thanked Buswell Agricon for their ongoing donations for the upkeep of the church。 And yet another banner； the biggest of all； trumpeted the arrival of Stanton Chauncy； the year's guest of honor。 Ludwig looked around。 Familiar faces all。 One of the joys of living in small…town America。
From across the room； Art Ridder caught his eye。 Ridder was wearing a maroon…and…white polyester suit； and the usual smile was plastered on his unnaturally smooth face。 His body was as solid as a chunk of suet； and he moved through the crowd slowly； without deviating from his path。 People moved for Art Ridder； thought Ludwig； not the other way around。 Maybe it was the faint smell of slaughtered turkey that seemed to hang around him； despite heavy doses of Old Spice； or maybe it was that he was the town's richest man。 Ridder had sold the turkey plant to Gro…Bain Agricultural Products and had stayed on as its manager； though they'd written him a nice fat check。 He said he 〃liked the work。〃 Ludwig thought it was more probable Ridder liked the Town Father status that being plant boss conveyed。
Ridder was still approaching； eye on the reporter； the smile stamped on his face。 Of all people； he was probably the least likely to appreciate yesterday's article on the murder。 Ludwig braced himself。
Out of nowhere； salvation…Mrs。 Bender Lang darted up； whispered something in Ridder's ear。 Abruptly； the two veered off。This fellow Chauncy must be about to arrive； Ludwig thought。 Nothing else would have made Ridder move that fast。
In all thirty…three years of the Sociable's history； this was the first year that the guest of honor had not been selected from among the town's own。 That in itself demonstrated the importance that Medicine Creek placed in impressing Dr。 Stanton Chauncy of Kansas State University。 It was Chauncy who'd decide； by next Monday； whether or not Medicine Creek would bee the test site for several acres of genetically modified corn； or 。 。 。
A high； shrill voice intruded on his thoughts。 〃Smit Ludwig； how dare you！〃 He turned to fi