More lists needed to be made. But what Bubba really needed was information and he had a few ideas about that.
After Bubba finished his brunch he went upstairs and saw that his meager belongings had been searched. The box that had contained the bayonet was on the floor in the master bedroom and the contents messily rearranged. There didn’t seem to be much missing.
He didn’t feel like staying there, so he went outside and found that someone had thoughtfully returned his 1954 Chevy truck, colloquially called Ol’ Green. He still had the keys from when they had been returned to him from being in jail, so it was likely that his mother or Miz Adelia had performed the service. As they had done on multiple occasions before.
So now Bubba had a brand spanking new legal bill, questionable standing in a B-grade movie, a dubious relationship with a hot deputy, and he owed his mama big time. Can things get worse? Why yes, they can get worse. I done checked the house again and there wasn’t a new dead body. I could go back in and one will appear as if by magical means.
Bubba looked up at the skies.
I need to ask myself a question. Several questions, Bubba thought. Did I do something to bring this on me? Is it that sign I asked for, God? Is this the sign? Did I offend Thee in another life and now I’m paying for it?
While Bubba was waxing a metaphysical contemplation with a supreme being, Precious attempted to eat a squirrel. The squirrel hauled butt for the nearest oak tree and went up quickly, only pausing to angrily chirp at the Basset hound.
After all, I was just making a few bucks by saying, “It shore ain’t a pink elephant!” What in tarnation does that mean anyway? I wasn’t doin’ nothing criminal or immoral. Bubba had to stop to think about that. Movies ain’t immoral per se. Most of the time, anyway. He shook his head. It wasn’t illegal or immoral. Definitely not. He hadn’t murdered Kristoph. Someone else had done that. In Bubba’s house. In Bubba’s brand new house. In the house Bubba was planning to…
Bubba started to get a little mad. He supposed he should have been getting mad the day before, but instead he’d had another feeling. He had been somewhat embarrassed to get fired in front of the beauteous sheriff’s deputy. He had wanted to crawl in a hole. He knew that Willodean wouldn’t see it as something to be embarrassed about, because that was the kind of person she was, but still Bubba’s pride had been dented. It surely wasn’t the first time and it was more than likely not the last time it would happen, but that didn’t mean that Bubba had to like it.
But that wasn’t the part that made him most angry. Bubba hadn’t asked for any of this, yet it had landed in his lap, er, living room, using his daddy’s bayonet, and ruining the rug he’d purchased the previous week at Walmart.
Mostly the whole situation had to be cleared up before Bubba could do anything else about Willodean Gray.
That was the part that really chapped his tuckus. And if his tuckus was any more chapped, he was going to need the economy sized Boudreaux’s Butt Paste Can of Whoop Rash, just like Alfonzo and Pilar had for their daughters’ little tender tushies. (The can was so big they were going to be using it on their grandbabies and possibly their great-grandbabies, which made Bubba wonder if he should send some to Fudge and Virtna Snoddy so they could use it on Cookie.)
Speaking of which, Alfonzo was working on the side of the mansion. He had a roller and was painting the side an ivory white that would age well with the oversized house. Bubba waved genially. He was a little sorry he couldn’t help.
But Bubba had another job. It was true Sheriff John would probably figure out who did it. Sheriff John didn’t suffer fools gladly. If there was one thing Bubba had learned about John Headrick it was that he liked to get the job done and get it done correctly.
Of course, that hadn’t stopped Sheriff John from arresting Bubba on the suspicion that he had done the director in. Bubba frowned. John hadn’t had a choice. Although Bubba had saved his life once upon a time, he had been found in the immediate vicinity with a body that had a knife that belonged to him in its back and a woman nearby who was saying that he had done it. Mother Theresa would have had to be taken into jail if she had been in a similar position.
Bubba understood that. He didn’t like it but he understood it.
That also didn’t mean that Bubba had to sit on his gluteus maximus and twiddle his thumbs singing lullabies and waiting for Sheriff John to figure out who was really the culprit.
Precious leaned on the base of the tree with the squirrel in it and woofed derogatorily.
“Ride, girl?” Bubba opened the door to the truck.
Precious bayed once at the still-chattering squirrel. “I’ll get you, my pretty,” she thought with a lingering look at the aggrieved rodent, “you and your little dog, too!” Then she rushed for the truck before her beloved master could change his mind.
Bubba helped the canine inside the cab and decided on the first step of his master plan. The sooner this was all taken care, the sooner he could get back to the business of Willodean.
* * *
Fortuitously, the Pegramville Public Library was open and unoccupied by zombies, serial murderers, or politicians. (That Bubba knew about.) It was a nice little building built in 1986 with funds provided by the Lions Club, the Optimists, and Miz Demetrice’s group of avid gamblers. The library still received federal monies for one librarian and two aides. Bubba was happy to note that most of the books were fairly new. He often stopped in to check one or two out. He had been reading about a girl with a dragon tattoo lately and she was a rip-roaring character, if the truth be told.
Bubba left Precious in the truck with the windows open. Precious rested her long nose on her paws and glared at him as he walked up to the glass doors. Miz Nadine Clark, the head librarian, (the only librarian, if one wanted to be particular,) was in her forties despite having a mop of completely white hair. A plump woman just shy of five feet tall, Bubba disliked having to stare down at her as much as he had to. It often caused a crick in his neck.
Nadine also did not possess a sense of humor and reminded Bubba of Dee Dee Lacour, who was Doc Goodjoint’s nurse. Both women wore a perpetual expression of having just sucked all the juice out of a crate of lemons.
Nadine sat at the front desk, looking at a computer. “Say, Miz Clack,” Bubba said. “I wonder if I kin look at some newspapers and such.”
Nadine looked up and adjusted her Benjamin Franklin glasses. She’d worn a similar style of frames for many years and Bubba thought she would look strange if she changed them. “Bubba,” she said, “I understand you’re in trouble again.”
“It was dismissed a few hours ago,” Bubba said defensively. He looked around. It was only the two of them in the library and Nadine didn’t look especially uncomfortable with it, but he backed up two steps so she wouldn’t feel pressured.
“Dismissed,” she repeated. “They could still bring charges against you if they decided to, at a later point.”
“Yep,” Bubba said. Lawyer Petrie had discussed that in the walk from the jail to the car, but Bubba had pretty much tuned the attorney out. It had been “Charges blah blah blah. Evidence blahity blahity blahity. Murder blahy blahy blahy.” Bubba had really not wanted to listen and he didn’t want to talk about it with Nadine, not when he was going to have to go all Columbo. “I dint kill no one,” he said, and it was very nearly automatic.
A hint of something that might be called a smile crossed Nadine’s lips, although Bubba was not certain he’d actually seen it.
“Of course not,” Nadine said. “Old newspapers or new ones?”
“I’m not sure,” Bubba admitted.
“What are you looking for?”
“Suspects.”
Nadine seemed to take that in with implacable inscrutability. “We have five computers, Bubba,” she said. “You should Google Kristoph Thaddeus and see what you come up with.”
“I should Google Kristoph Thaddeus,” Bubba repeated. “That sounds a mite obscene and besides, he’s dead.”
> “Google is a search engine,” Nadine explained patiently. “Come on. Let me show you how to use it.”
It took Bubba about ten minutes, but it wasn’t hard. “Look, I can Google myself. I got 150,000 results. How kin there be so much about me on the Internet?”
Nadine was eminently patient. “There was all the news about you during the whole first, second, and third sets of murder. Then there was the Brownie/Matt Lauer thing. I really would like to know how he made a stun gun from scrap parts. Thank goodness the kidnapping didn’t make the news.”
“What kidnapping?” Bubba asked benignly. Brownie said he couldn’t remember anything about the event, although Bubba suspected that he had somehow tortured the kidnappers until they had fled the state screaming in terror. The two men from the junkyard hadn’t been seen in months. They were likely in fear for their lives if they dared to come back.
“And let us not forget about rescuing the beautiful sheriff’s deputy from a demented kidnapper and brother of the Christmas Killer,” Nadine added helpfully. “You should be glad all the commotion finally died down.” She bit her lip. “No pun intended.”
“You know the media’s back in town because of Kristoph’s death, don’t ya?” Bubba asked.
“One would have to be stupid and deaf and blind not to know,” Nadine said smartly.
“See,” Bubba said, pointing to an article from The Dallas Morning News he just opened in a new window on the monitor. The title was “Infamous Pegramville Man Arrested for Murder Again”.
Nadine sighed. “Just put in Kristoph’s name and see what you can find. I gather you’re looking for someone other than yourself to point a finger at.”
“You gather correctly.” He typed with two index fingers and occasionally used his thumb on the space bar.
“Call me if you need further assistance and that Larsson book is due next week,” Nadine said.
“It’s a long book,” Bubba said. “That Lisbeth is a pistol. I don’t like the other fella as much. Mikael’s a little stuck on hisself.”
“I’ll extend the deadline for you,” Nadine said and glided away.
Bubba immediately lost himself in the wonder that was a search engine. It was easy to get distracted. It turned out there were many search engines. Google was the most famous but Bing wasn’t bad and Bing had a pretty picture on its background that was animated. (Elk from Russia breathing out icy air as they romped through a winter meadow.)
Once he got un-sidetracked, he put in Kristoph Thaddeus’s name in the little window and made the little curser move over to the magnifying glass with the mouse. Using the mouse was like using a dainty cup of tea that his mother had in a china cabinet in the secondary dining room. One of those cups wouldn’t even be a mouthful, but Miz Demetrice insisted on breaking them out at least once a year. Bubba was deathly afraid he was going to pinch it too hard in between thumb and forefinger and it would become a tiny, crumbled footnote in the history of their family. The mouse was exactly the same except the computer would probably short circuit and blow up. Then the library would catch on fire and everyone knows what happens to books when exposed to a flame.
Bubba shook his head. The results numbered in the millions. Millions, he marveled, and I ain’t never heard of him before.
Concentrating, Bubba knew that he had to add words to his search in order to prune down the information.
“Enemies of Kristoph Thaddeus” produced another result in the millions. Bubba glowered.
Then he tried “People who hate Kristoph Thaddeus.” This narrowed it down to just over a hundred thousand results, with the top one being a Facebook page titled “We hate Kristoph Thaddeus.” It had seventeen followers and Bubba didn’t recognize any of the names. Additionally the author of the page seemed to be exceptionally put out with the way that Kristoph had accepted his Saturn award and not for any other reason.
Bubba Googled “People who want to murder Kristoph Thaddeus.” It took Bubba little while to understand, but it turned out there was a zombie game that had a segment where the director was a guest zombie. A good number of points could be scored by players who could “kill” him. (In the game.)
Bubba let a huge breath of air out. This is goin’ to be harder than I thought.
Chapter 12
Bubba and the Wonky Witnesses
Monday, March 11th
Two hours later, Bubba had read so many articles about Kristoph that his eyes were starting to cross. Some of the articles were biographical. (He had been born in Kansas and graduated from Satanta High School.) Some of the articles were critical. (“Night of the Flesh Zombies was the worst movie ever made!” This struck Bubba as somewhat hypercritical considering that the author of the article had also seen Jaws: The Revenge. This was directly noted in the context of the review.) Some of the articles were incidental. (“Kristoph’s six bedroom mansion has eight bathrooms! Eight!”)
I have a full bath and a half bath now, Bubba thought. One and a half! One upstairs and a half one for when I don’t feel like going upstairs. Pure luxury! (An elongated man sized potty, not that namby-pamby round one that only a ten-year-old kid would be comfortable on.)
There were articles about Kristoph’s personal life. (“Horror Movie Director Marries for the Third Time”, which was Marquita. Kristoph’s first wife had died of cancer and his second wife had run off to Mexico with a Lucha libre wrestler and divorced the director from tropical climes.) He had three grown children who were all in other businesses besides the film industry. (One managed a mattress store.) He owned a production company and he was good friends with Quentin Tarantino. (Supposedly.)
There was article after article about the artistry of movie direction where Kristoph had been interviewed. A slew of articles appeared after his Saturn award. Most of the articles were upbeat and an enthusiastic Kristoph was quoted endlessly.
Bubba switched to the articles written after Kristoph’s death was reported. Most of them focused on the arrest of a “local man.” Words used included tragic, before his time, unfortunate, and a loss of a Hollywood legend, although Bubba wasn’t sure of what the legend really was. There wasn’t a mention of the cause of death.
Groaning, Bubba finally gave up. He would bet there wouldn’t be as many articles the next day quoting the case’s dismissal, which was one more dip in the tar with the brush that was Bubba’s life.
Stopping by Nadine’s desk, Bubba said, “I reckon that’s all I kin do for now.”
Nadine seemed to consider Bubba carefully, correctly gauging his frustration. “Let me sum up for you.”
“Okay.”
“Kristoph fired you on the set. Hours later, he’s found in your house, stabbed in the back, is that correct?”
“With my knife,” Bubba said. “Well, my daddy’s knife.”
“Oh, my.”
“Yep. Oh, my.”
“But they still dismissed the charges,” Nadine said. Her eyes appeared huge through the glasses’ lenses.
“Their witness changed her mind. Said she was upset. And there weren’t any fingerprints on the knife.” Except Steve Simms’s and I don’t think he would have stabbed Kristoph in the back. He would have given him a ton of traffic tickets and hoped the director would have a heart attack. “And there wasn’t any blood on me.”
“So naturally it must be one of the crew or the people attached to Kristoph.”
“I was hoping to make a list,” Bubba admitted.
“His wife, his brother, his nephew, his best friend, and his dog?”
“Mebe his wife. I don’t know about the others.” Kin a dog stab someone? Hmm. Precious kin be powerful inventive-like. Best to put the knives in a drawer from now on.
“I was being facetious, dear.”
Bubba blinked. He knew what facetious meant, but he hadn’t realized that Nadine Clack was capable of facetiousness. He, himself, was rarely capable of facetiousity.
“While reading up on the art of detection, I have come to the conclusion that your si
tuation would be best solved by going undercover,” Nadine said. “You’ll have to integrate yourself into the film and get all the dirty laundry aired. Once you befriend the ones who know where all the metaphorical bodies are buried, you’re a shoe-in.” She paused. “I didn’t mean anything about bodies, really.”
“You’re reading up on the art of detection,” Bubba said.
“It seems like the thing to do of late,” Nadine replied with a sly smile. “It’s obvious that the sheriff’s department and the local police force are woefully inadequate in the practice.”
“Most murders are committed by people they know and ain’t real complicated,” Bubba immediately defended Willodean and Sheriff John, realizing belatedly he was defending Big Joe, as well. Big Joe was the local chief of police of Pegramville and a man who disliked Bubba on principle. He hadn’t helped things when he had roundhoused Big Joe in the pursuit of catching the Christmas Killer before the perpetrator could murder again.
“Yes, yes. Revenge over a past misdeed committed twenty years in the past. Very uncomplicated. Then there was the murder of a wife to get her money by not the husband, exactly, but the secretary. That would be straightforward especially since she also murdered the notary public who witnessed the will and the man who had been part of the original conspiracy and black mailing of her. Unsophistication personified.” Nadine’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Miz Clack,” Bubba said, “I did not know that you had a sense of humor.”
“I have a hell of a sense of humor,” she said promptly. “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
Bubba didn’t answer right away because he wasn’t certain if Nadine wanted him to answer. “Why did the chicken cross the road?” he asked after a long moment.
“Because the chicken had to murder the director of a big film,” Nadine answered without hesitation.
“I’m in the film already, Miz Clack,” Bubba said, unused to the amount of thinking he was doing.
“Good. Go and detect. Call me if you need some librarial assistance.”
Bubba and the Zigzaggery Zombies Page 12
