by C. L. Bevill
For the life of her, Miz Demetrice wasn’t sure how she was supposed to act. Big Joe thought she was hiding something. Well, she was hiding something. Two somethings. Certainly she hadn’t realized that any one was in any danger when she had received the note. It had been pure coincidence that Miz Beatrice had mentioned her note to Miz Demetrice, but it had been enough to get the pair thinking about events that had happened in the past. Unquestionably Miz Demetrice hadn’t thought that anyone was vulnerable in in any kind of way, or she would have taken steps to prevent it.
But now, after poor Miz Beatrice’s untimely, violent demise, Miz Demetrice knew that she was in a pickle.
“Will Sheriff John be coming in to question me as well?” Miz Demetrice asked politely.
“Why do you want him?” Big Joe snapped instantly. “You want to confess?”
Miz Demetrice stared. “Very well. I confess. I’ll spill it all. You won’t have to use the Jim Nabors music on me, and we won’t mention the wretched coffee.” She steeled her shoulders and took a deep breath. Finally, she said, “I cut Mary Jean Holmgreen off last week when I passed her on the old highway. She wasn’t happy. She even called me up later and complained about it.” She tapped the side of her nose. “Also I didn’t make it to church last week. That’s something I should confess about. As a matter of fact, Brother Jacob said you weren’t there neither. So mayhap you should be confessing as well. And do we need to talk about how much you owe us for Bubba’s hospital bill?”
Big Joe sputtered. He wasn’t used to interrogating folks who didn’t shudder in their boots at his very presence. He wasn’t used to people like Miz Demetrice who could switch subjects like a racecar driver making an abrupt U-turn.
“The hospital clerk told me it was going to be about $8000, and Gideon Culpepper told his insurance company they ought to collect from the Pegramville Police Department.” Miz Demetrice delicately crossed her legs at the ankles. Her peach-colored dress fluttered a bit, and she smoothed the material down as if she were sitting in a pew. “Seeing as how you all caused Bubba’s injuries and all.” She paused. “Without due cause.” She paused again. “I’ve had calls from the ACLU.” She paused a third time. “The eight grand would be just for the hospital bill. I haven’t a clue how much we could get for pain and suffering. Could be five figures. Perhaps even six.”
“It was completely righteous!” Big Joe bellowed.
“Bubba wasn’t running from you!” Miz Demetrice bellowed back. Then her voice went to a more normal tone. “Neal Holmgreen got the whole thing on his smart phone and posted it to YouTube. Although it’s very difficult to tell who pummeled poor Bubba on his noggin.”
“YouTube?” Big Joe repeated, horrified. “You mean like a video?”
“The scourge of law enforcement everywhere,” Miz Demetrice declared with utter glee. The black stars around her eyes and the flamboyant purple lips made her smile look monstrous. “By the way, would you mind telling your wife that the Pegramville Women’s Club won’t be meeting this week, Joseph? I’m a mite too upset about unfortunate Miz Beatrice to have a societal congregation or such.”
Big Joe couldn’t find anything to say. Finally, he muttered, “Anything else you want to confess about, Miz Demetrice?”
Miz Demetrice took that under consideration. “Well, the day isn’t over yet. Perhaps something will come to me later.”
~ ~ ~
Chapter Nine - Bubba Has a Willodean Moment
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, eight fellas a-fleeing…
Tuesday, December 27th -
Bubba came out of the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department and took in a relaxing breath of pure freedom. It was a surprising breath of unadulterated liberty that was wholly unexpected. It was surely true that this particular set of murders wasn’t going like the last one, excepting that Bubba had found the first body. By his personal reckoning during the course of the previous investigation, he had been in jail twice by this time. Here it was nearly three days after the first corpse had presented itself to the world, and he was still scot-free. That had to be a sign from God of something. Now if Bubba could only figure out what exactly that meant.
His legs were twitching to get away from the sheriff’s department before Big Joe convinced Sheriff John that Bubba had an urgent and dire need to stay the night or three. If the jail still got its food from the Pegram Café, then it was going to have strange, inedible ingredients once Nancy Wheatfall found out her restaurant was supplying Bubba Snoddy three meals a day. And God forbid that Newt Durley had been in the jail because that meant a plumber would have to be called.
Bubba shook his head and realized that his good hat was still missing. It was presumed trampled to pieces by numerous and heterogeneous law enforcement officials with happy boots galore. He put on a light jacket to keep off a chilling December wind. He would have gone over to the grassy yard of city hall to look for the missing headgear, but he really didn’t want to be caught looking at the scene of the crime like some type of perverted sicko. Six months before he wouldn’t have thought like that, and Bubba took a moment to be ashamed.
After all Bubba hadn’t killed anyone. Someone else had cruelly murdered Steve Killebrew and left him in a Christmas/Nativity scene dressed as Santa Claus. That same someone, and it was a foregone conclusion, had inhumanly stabbed Miz Beatrice Smothermon with a Santa Claus cheese knife that likely belonged to the Snoddy family. He was hoping that Miz Adelia had cleaned that set of knives good and proper so that no fingerprints remained on it. Furthermore, he hoped that Sheriff John didn’t exactly remember how to open the secret door behind Cornelia Adams Snoddy’s portrait if they happened to do a second search of the mansion.
Bubba stared at the Christmas/Nativity scene across the street. It looked as pitiful and forsaken as a child left sitting alone in the dirt with only sticks with which to play. The area had been cordoned off with yellow DO NOT CROSS tape, and the mannequins were off-kilter. One of the remaining reindeer had fallen on its side with its nose in the mud. Mary and Joseph were askew. The crib with baby Jesus was leaning precariously on one of the wise men. The wise men looked like the arms were about to fall off. The scene was desolate and alone. It had been desecrated, and apparently everyone knew it.
The bells from the garlands on the nearby Civil War cannons were tinkling delicately in the December wind, and the sound gave Bubba a sense of disquiet. If Big Joe had his way, it would be Bubba in jail. And Sheriff John was giving Miz Demetrice a close look because he knew she was lying to him. The sheriff knew that folks who lied to him were often guilty. Guilty of something, and it was up to Sheriff John to put a pin in it.
So the real culprit wasn’t jumping out at them, screaming, “I DONE DID IT! I HAVE DIGITAL! Where’s Oprah for my interview?!” Bubba might have thought it was Fudge or Virtna, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to suspect his cousin and his wife. True they were avaricious, and if the Snoddy Estate fell into their laps as a result of the latest mystery, then they wouldn’t be yelling, “No! No! We cain’t have this!” On the contrary they would take it and say, “Well, Bubba is a despicable murdering scumsucker. So the Snoddy Mansion does rightly belong to us.” But they wouldn’t initiate the circumstances and especially not in the manner in which the unpleasant situations had been bloodily instigated.
Over the last week, it was evident that Fudge and Virtna were calculating and grasping, but they weren’t murderers. They loved their boy, Brownie, with a clarity that Bubba would have never given credence to had he not personally witnessed it. Bubba had observed Virtna helping Aunt Caressa up the stairs and Fudge taking the time to ensure that Miz Demetrice knew all about the goings-on in their Louisiana home. Virtna picked up her own dinnerware and carried it into the kitchen without being asked. Brownie teased Precious, but he also made sure that Precious’s bed blankets were shaken out each night and plumped comfortably for the continued rest of his canine victim. They were irritating and covetous but not comple
tely evil. Crass and greedy did not mean killers.
Probably.
Bubba scuffed his feet. It wasn’t clear what would happen. He hadn’t had a lot of faith in the law the last time. During the investigation of the death of Melissa Dearman, he had been cheerfully blasted down a very long log shoot. Lurlene Grady aka Donna Hyatt had closed all the exits for him and planned carefully. Only a few folks had reached out a helping hand to restrain his speedy advancement. In the present matter the evidence seemed circumstantial and coincidental. He knew Steve Killebrew and Beatrice Smothermon, but he had absolutely nothing to gain by their deaths. He had talked to both in the days before their deaths but then he had spoken to half the town as well. As for the arguments, they were nonsensical and proved absolutely nothing. If Bubba cared to murder anyone who looked at him crossways, then most of the town would have been dead in their graves by now.
And truthfully, Miz Demetrice had similar lack of motive and means. Bubba knew good and well had his mother an irate feeling about Steve Killebrew or Miz Beatrice, then she would have taken it up with them in a proper Southern method. Miz Demetrice didn’t back down from confrontation; she relished a good squabble and was happy to go to town.
“Hey Bubba,” someone said behind him.
Bubba’s shoulders straightened. He would have slumped, but he was Pegramville born and bred, and Snoddys don’t have any cause to slump in the face of adversity. He should have known the police wouldn’t let him get down the street.
Slowly he turned and looked into Willodean Gray’s exquisite face. He could stare at that face all day long and never get tired of it. Her green eyes looked back at him with no small amount of concern wrinkling her tantalizing brow. “They send you out to bring me back?” he asked tiredly. If someone had to tackle him, cuff him, and drag him back inside, it definitely could be much worse than the curvilinear Deputy Gray.
Surprise crossed her features. “No, sheriff doesn’t have enough evidence to charge anyone, much less you. But if he didn’t question you about Miz Beatrice and Mr. Killebrew he wouldn’t be doing his job properly, now would he?”
There was a sudden noise from down the street. A man was dumping his trash into a dumpster. Willodean jumped a mile, and for a split moment, she looked scared. The thought that went through Bubba’s head was, Something’s frightened her badly. He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Willodean settled down after a breath and shook her head. Bubba realized that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of her about that and reluctantly let it go.
“Ma still in there?” Bubba asked politely. He glanced over his shoulder for her Cadillac and saw it parked next to his Chevy truck.
“Still giving Big Joe hell,” Willodean said. “I thought he was going to have an apoplexy because his face turned the color of a Tijuana sunset. I believe she’s gotten him to agree to pay your entire hospital bill by the time I left. There might have been something about a college fund being established for your children, too.”
“I don’t have any—” Bubba started to say but saw the teasing twinkle in Willodean’s eye. “You know I don’t have any children, don’t you?” he asked anyway.
“I know.”
“Do you know of what reason that might explain why Steve Killebrew and Miz Beatrice were murdered so vicious like?” Bubba asked somberly. He glanced back at the Christmas/Nativity scene. “A person would have to get up close and personal to do what was done to them, and it strikes me as something so angry and spiteful that it has to be particular.”
Willodean followed Bubba’s gaze. “That’s what the consensus is, although I don’t think Big Joe cares much who he parks in Huntsville waiting on a needle and a drip.”
“Sounds a bit like Sheriff John,” Bubba said inflexibly.
Willodean snorted. “Bubba, that Hyatt gal had you hogtied sideways to a defense lawyer’s ass. She covered every angle except the ones she couldn’t control. She couldn’t have known how hard some folks fought for you. Sheriff John investigated you because he had to, and he could have thrown the book at you at any point, but he held back because he knew better.”
His head turned toward her. Willodean Gray was more than a pretty face. She was kindhearted and unwavering. “You were one of those folks,” he said quietly. “Most people think where there’s hoof beats there’s horses. In this case, for example. Ifin I found another dead body, then by God, it cain’t be blessed serendipity.”
“Sheriff John isn’t stupid, and you shouldn’t assume he is,” Willodean stated softly. “Any more than I am. Or you are for that matter.” She let the words drift into a comfortable silence. Bubba looked at the scene across the street and wondered where everyone was located; the city seemed like a graveyard.
“Miz D. is hiding something, am I right?” Willodean asked.
“Something,” Bubba agreed. “Hiding it from myself as well. I’m aiming to pry it out of her, but she ain’t the type to allow a thing to be wrested from her. A Soviet torturer could learn a mite from her.”
“It’s not about,” Willodean paused and looked behind her, and her voice lowered, “the Pegramville Women’s Club, is it?”
Bubba shook his head. “She doesn’t think about that overly. If some wretched soul were to complain about losing their paycheck there, then Miz Demetrice wouldn’t give it back to them.”
“Give it back to them?” Willodean repeated.
“Some of those gals cain’t afford to gamble away their monthly notes,” Bubba said sardonically. “So Ma stakes them. She pays them out of her winnings.”
“And she keeps the game at table stakes,” Willodean said with understanding. “I lost fifty bucks last week.”
“And it don’t hurt you none to lose fifty bucks.” Bubba set his shoulders. “But Ruby and Alice Mercer are on fixed incomes. They don’t need to be playing with their Alpo money, but Ma feels sorry for them. She doesn’t want them to be left out in the rain, and they have a helluva lot of fun. It wouldn’t be right to let poor Bill Clinton starve because his mama don’t have the sense that God gave a cucumber in a pickle jar.” Bill Clinton was the name of Ruby’s beloved mongrel dog. An unenthusiastic smile crossed over Bubba’s features. “Deputy Gray, you have just been appointed to the Pegramville Women’s Club’s Charitable Works Committee. Whether you like it or not.”
“You speak like a redneck sometimes,” Willodean said wonderingly. “And sometimes you forget, don’t you?”
“All those years in the Army,” Bubba drawled. “Got me into some proper bad habits. You can put a porcupine in a blender, but you ain’t gonna make maple syrup.”
“Miz D. says I should take a gander at your education some time, too.” Willodean’s pretty lips curved into a reluctant grin. “Said I might be surprised. I don’t believe I would be surprised.”
“My ma likes to tell tall stories,” Bubba said with a grimace. His mother was matchmaking. Miz Demetrice knew all about his affection for Willodean Gray and was trying to turn the tables in his favor. Bubba didn’t think a woman like Willodean was the type to be impressed by a college degree or a fancy car, and he wouldn’t have wanted her if she had been. “Don’t believe it would make a difference, would it?”
Willodean pulled back an inch. Her smile straightened. “Not with the right man, it wouldn’t. If he was a garbage collector, then I would be happy for him to wash up before he came home.”
Bubba’s mouth opened. He was tired, and his head hurt. He had a crudely drawn flower on a bulky bump on his forehead with a “Smell me!” scrawled on his cheek. He was worried about a great many things, the least of which was his own freedom. People were dying who had been close to his mother. And Willodean Gray had just given him…something. Bubba would have called it…encouragement, but he wasn’t certain. And he wanted to be certain. Blessed encouragement.
Remarkably elusive and correct words were bouncing about in his head like SuperBalls on an acid trip from the sixties. He was desperately searching for the right thing
to say when Mary Lou Treadwell came springing out of the sheriff’s department holding a potted plant, happy to be going off shift. The plant was tucked in-between her new and improved “D” breasts, and the scarlet red of the flowers conflicted with the scarlet red of Mary Lou’s hair. She immediately realized that she had interrupted something critical and attempted to back pedal. “I-oh-oh, butter my butt and call me biscuits,” she muttered. “I’ll just slip on past you all, and you go on with what you were talking about.”
“It’s all right, Mary Lou,” Willodean said softly. “I think we got something important straightened out.”
“We did?” Bubba said stupidly.
“You did?” Mary Lou said happily. “Well, that’s just peachy fine.” She hesitated. “There’s a few more poinsettias inside if you care to take one home. Sheriff John said he was tired of looking at them.”
Bubba looked at the flowers, and something clicked in his head. “Thems is Christmas flowers, right?” It wasn’t really a question but Willodean answered.
“Have been for as long as I can recollect.”
Mary Lou shrugged and took her booty to her beaten-up Toyota. A moment later the car started with a raucous stammer. She backed out, and the vehicle vanished around a corner.
Bubba stared across the street; a frown wrinkled his brow. “There were cut poinsettias at Miz Beatrice’s house.”
Willodean nodded slowly. She looked across the street as well.
“And there were flowers there, too,” he said slowly. He gestured at the Christmas/Nativity scene. Immediate memory assailed him. Bubba kicked at a clump of flowers and suppressed a groan. “Did you see them?”
“Flowers with Steve Killebrew’s body?” Willodean stated. “We didn’t do the processing on that crime, remember, Bubba. That was all the city. I don’t know if Big Joe’s people found any flowers.”
“I was standing there bemoaning the fact that I’d found another damn dead body, and I kicked a clump of flowers. Ain’t no flowers in the middle of city hall’s lawn. And especially not at Christmas. They plant daisies and gardenias around the cannons in the spring but nothing now. I didn’t even think about it.”
