by C. L. Bevill
“Didn’t you say that some of the flowers had blooms on them?” Bubba asked. “Maybe you should be looking at local nurseries for folks buying Christmas flowers. I know everyone’s got a poinsettia but not the other one, the Holly, wasn’t it?”
She gazed at him directly. “Looking at greenhouses could be one way we could narrow it down,” Willodean said with a wistful tone in her voice. At least Bubba thought it was wistful. Or was he being hopeful that it was wistful? “Tee’s doing the paperwork right now to let you out. Your mama’s doing a victory dance out front. A busload of tourists have stopped to watch her. I think a couple of them were taking video of her with their phones. Could be on YouTube soon.”
“I bet you haven’t gotten a lick of sleep, Willodean,” Bubba said softly. “Although I’ll be damned if I could tell. You look just as beautiful as you always do. You should go take some rest.”
Her head tilted a little. The expression was odd. She didn’t look like a woman who thought she was being played. She didn’t look as if she disliked the attention or the compliment. Willodean stepped closer to the bars, and her hand touched one tentatively as if she were touching his flesh.
The hair on the back of Bubba’s neck stood up. He opened his mouth to say something eloquent, something romantic, and something that Willodean Gray would never forget. He even had the right words for the moment, when Newt Durley abruptly yelled, “Oh, Jesus God, I need condoms! I don’t want no pink spider boy babies!”
And the moment was gone.
~ ~ ~
Chapter Fifteen - Bubba’s Mama Spills Some Beans
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, five unbreakable alibis…
Wednesday, December 28th -
Bubba stepped outside and surveyed a sunny day. He took a breath. Ah, sweet freedom again. Stepping outside of jail and/or the police station and taking a deep breath seemed to be becoming a habit. A few people made a wide loop around him, and he realized that he looked like he’d just crawled out of a local sewer. He appeared as if he might mug someone for two bits and a decent winter coat. He sighed. Then he looked around.
Fully expecting Miz Demetrice to be front and present, he was surprised when it was his cousin, Fudge, who stepped up next to him. The remnants of Brownie’s nocturnal drawing were still partially visible on his face. He hadn’t managed to rub the “I fart”’ all the way off his forehead. “Cuz, you look like a cat what got caught in a blender,” Fudge said blithely.
“Big blender,” Bubba agreed. He saw that Fudge’s truck was parked close by. Brownie waved cheerfully from the passenger side and Precious was sitting on Brownie’s lap baying happily.
“Kid all right?” Bubba gestured at Brownie.
“Yeah,” Fudge glanced at his only son. “Decided that since there isn’t a Santy Claus that means he can ask for more stuff next Christmas.” His face twisted uneasily. “A kind of make-up notion for his mama and daddy telling all them lies.”
Bubba looked at Fudge with a little surprise. “Smart kid. Bit a po-lice officer so hard he needed a tetanus shot. Better than Precious did.”
Fudge chuckled. “I’ll be telling that one to the grandkids.”
“You seen Ma?”
“She said she had things to do and could I come get you,” Fudge said. “And I’d like to ask you a favor.”
“A favor,” Bubba repeated. Coming from Fudge a favor could be just about anything from borrowing money to talking to Miz Demetrice into leaving Fudge a bigger share of the Snoddy Estate.
“I like how you’re a good influence on my boy,” Fudge said nervously. He wasn’t comfortable with the subject. Since Fudge was picking Bubba up from a night spent in jail as a viable suspect in an attempted murder of a law enforcement official, Bubba couldn’t imagine why Fudge thought this could be. “The boy’s doing better here with you than I can do with him. He ain’t been in one fight.” He paused. “Unless we be counting him biting the po-liceman and if you ask me, that peckerwood deserved it. He was about to kick Precious out of the way, and Brownie done likes that dog something fierce.”
Bubba looked at Brownie in the cab of his father’s truck. Precious was trying to get out of the window with Brownie holding on fast. Brownie was trying to catch her collar at the same time pulling her back, saying, “Bubba’s coming, girl. Just wait a minute.”
“Okay,” Bubba said slowly. It didn’t sound like any favor was contained therein. Bubba wasn’t assenting to anything concrete. He hadn’t signed over his firstborn child or written an agreement in blood. “You do know that they just cleared me about Sheriff John’s attempted murder?”
“Well, hell, boy, we all knew you wouldn’t do something like that. So anyway Virtna and I done agreed. We want Brownie to keep coming to visit y’all,” Fudge finished quickly. All said and done, it was the most words that Bubba had ever heard come out of Fudge’s mouth.
That was the favor. If Bubba was a tad more cynical he would have suspected that Fudge and Virtna were hoping that Brownie was growing on the Texas Snoddys, and they would adopt him. Or more realistically that Brownie would grow in affections on Miz Demetrice, and she would gleefully leave the child her entire fortune.
Hah, Bubba thought. Ma will probably leave all couple hundred bucks of it to one-legged, indigent rodeo clowns.
“Of course, all this murdering business is going to have to stop,” Fudge added imperiously.
“Of course,” Bubba agreed. Wait. Did I just agree to have Brownie come visit more often? The town will probably build a big wall between the Snoddy Estate and the city limit. With concertina wire on top and barbed bits all over.
“Good,” Fudge said. “With all them corpses, ain’t no place for a little innocent child.”
Innocent child? Is he still talking about Brownie?
Fudge stopped. He looked. “And once them loonies are gone.”
Bubba turned his head in the direction that his cousin was looking. There was Nancy Musgrave herding her group of patients up the stairs. She stopped to make sure Jesus Christ wasn’t bringing a dead branch back to life, and then waved at Bubba and Fudge. Fudge, who apparently wasn’t sure on the contagiousness of mental disorders, stepped back.
Nancy hesitated next to Bubba. “Looking for the police chief again. Have you seen him?”
“Probably in the sheriff’s department,” Bubba said. Nancy looked tired. Riding roughshod on three patients was taking it out of her.
Thelda looked at Bubba with a ferocious expression. “Thou art truly a loggerheaded, pale-necked varlet. Verily.”
Bubba said, “What?”
“You see,” Jesus Christ said, looking at Bubba’s bump, “I have heeeeaaaaled you. It is God’s work. Truuuuly.”
“Uh, thanks, Jesus,” Bubba said politely.
“The guy down at the market,” Nancy said, “he said Jesus Christ took a case of underarm deodorant. Ten sticks. What is he going to do with ten sticks of DO?”
“Keep fresh and clean,” Bubba suggested.
Nancy made a noise. “I have to get this straightened out. This town seems determined to think the worst of mental patients.”
Fudge said, “Well, damn, if they don’t act like crazy people then maybe folks wouldn’t treat them that way.”
Nancy paused to glare at Fudge. Then she gestured at her herd and got them moving again.
David Beathard looked at Bubba longingly but didn’t say anything. His eyes were red, and his Mr. Rogers outfit looked as if he had worn it too many days in a row. He wasn’t even pretend-smoking his pipe. With a weary expression, he shambled slowly up the stairs after the rest.
“Thorazine shuffle,” Fudge said.
“What?”
“I once worked in a psychiatric hospital,” Fudge said. “The nurses called it that.”
“What, the guy who thinks he’s a shrink?”
“Yeah, they doped him up good,” Fudge said. “Now all he can do is shuffle around like a zombie. Come on, cuz. Miz Adelia made c
innamon rolls again and them rolls is good.”
*
Bubba took a shower, put on clean clothes, and fell into a stupor on top of his bed. He couldn’t think anymore, and when he did think, he thought of the chills that ran down his back when it looked like Willodean wanted to touch him. When he woke up a few hours later, he could hear that work had resumed on rebuilding the caretaker’s house. It had been burned down by Lurlene Grady/Donna Hyatt, but Bubba had used some of his savings to get things rebuilt. He’d also traded on favors and promised a beaucoup amount of automobile work in exchange. The construction company that had taken a break at Christmas had returned with a vengeance. Hammering and sawing were cheerfully competing with each other as to which could make the loudest noise.
Once he got downstairs, he found that Miz Demetrice had disappeared again. Fudge and Aunt Caressa were watching Oprah Winfrey while Virtna was helping Miz Adelia with some cleaning. Bubba blinked at that. Brownie was letting Precious fetch a shoe and damned if it wasn’t one of Bubba’s new Nikes.
“Miz Adelia,” Bubba said to their longtime housekeeper/cook. “You know where Ma is at?”
“She ain’t here,” Miz Adelia said promptly, picking up a fork and polishing it with a clean white cloth.
“Did you get a letter?” he asked deviously, suddenly prompted to eliminate potential murder victims. If his mother had been involved in something, there was a better than average chance that Miz Adelia might have been involved as well.
“A letter?” Miz Adelia repeated. “From whom?”
“A Christmas letter,” Bubba said suspiciously.
“Oh, those letters,” Miz Adelia said.
Virtna looked on with great interest. She held a silver serving spoon in one hand and a container of silver cleaner in the other. She had managed to scrub the flaming arrows off her face but the eyebrows still appeared slightly purple. The heart with “Ma” on the inside was still faintly visible. “A Christmas letter.”
“It has to do with the murders,” Bubba said in explanation.
“Oh,” Virtna said. “Didn’t Miz D. say that she was going to spend some time looking up some records, Adelia?”
Miz Adelia’s lips flattened into a grim line. Clearly, Virtna wasn’t supposed to have revealed that fact, but Virtna wasn’t in on the Keep-Bubba-Out-of-the-Loop Conspiracy.
“Wasn’t it the public library?” Virtna said innocently. Then the side of her mouth twitched once. Oh, she knew about the conspiracy, but she wasn’t playing ball.
“Thanks, Virtna,” Bubba said. “Miz Adelia keeps the really old silverware in the cupboard above the stove.”
Virtna perked up. “Really? How old is really old? Real silver or plated?”
He heard the words, but he was already headed out. Precious lifted her head from a mangled athletic shoe and perceived that her master was going somewhere without her express permission. She leaped to her feet and followed closely. Brownie perceived that his canine entertainment was escaping without his express permission and leaped up to follow.
Fudge looked out of the living room and said, “Yeah, boy, you go spend time with your Uncle Bubba.”
“He’s not my uncle,” Brownie said as he scrambled after the dog. “He’s my second cousin. Or my cousin once removed. Something like that.”
Bubba was reaching for his keys when he realized that he had a parade following him. He heard Fudge’s statement, but it took a moment for the words to sink in. He looked down at Brownie with the child’s big anime looking eyes staring hopefully up at him and sighed. “No writing on my face with a Sharpie, boy.”
Brownie nodded fiercely.
Ticking items off on his fingers, Bubba went on. “No bombs, cursing, biting, and you will do what I say.”
Brownie continued to nod furiously in agreement. Apparently, the splendor, wide-openness, and mystery of the Snoddy Mansion had worn thin. He held up his fingers like a Boy Scout and said, “I swear.”
“You’re a Boy Scout?” Bubba couldn’t picture it. Is it possible that Brownie found a way to blackmail his scout master?
“Sure. I got twenty badges already,” Brownie bragged.
“For what?” Bubba went out the door and to his truck. He loaded boy and dog inside and followed suit. Was there a badge for torturing animals? Or illicit graffiti on living room walls? Had Brownie thrown an elderly lady across a crosswalk on the pretense of helping her traverse a busy road? He shuddered mentally.
His first stop was at Roscoe Stinedurf’s farm. The Stinedurfs had lived in Pegram County just about as long as the Snoddys but in somewhat less fortunate circumstances. The present round of descendants had themselves a set of mobile homes that formed a little circle on their five acres of property adjacent to the Snoddy lands. For sure the mobile homes didn’t look as stately as the woebegone Snoddy Mansion, but the Stinedurfs generally kept things neat and tidy. There were no rotting auto carcasses. There wasn’t even a pack of half-wild dogs that was apt to chase the mailman halfway back to Pegramville. There were only the mobile homes, or what the Stinedurfs called them, manufactured homes, with little white picket fences and a big garden. In the back, Roscoe and his clan kept a herd of goats, the non-fainting types, some cows, and a chicken coop replete with cluckers.
Roscoe had his head under a tractor’s hood. He lifted it briefly and nodded at Bubba when the Chevy truck parked next to the tractor. Bubba was faintly surprised that Roscoe’s face remained genially placid upon first contact. Bubba told Brownie he could play with the kids in the yard if he had a mind. A minute later, Brownie was comparing marbles with one of Roscoe’s many children. They had become fast friends over the state of a piece of rounded glass. Bubba was amazed.
Precious attempted to eat a rooster but made a strategic retreat when the chicken attempted to return the favor. The dog hid in-between Bubba’s legs while the rooster fluttered to the top of a gate and glared sulfurously at the canine.
Bubba stuck his head under the tractor beside Roscoe and examined the engine. It was true that it wasn’t a Chevy big block, but the mechanics were about the same. “You check the battery?”
“Yep. All good.”
“Hand me that 10 mm socket wrench there, Roscoe,” Bubba said.
“American tractor,” Roscoe said, handing the tool over. “With a foreign engine.”
“You get your Saturn back?” Bubba asked as he fiddled with spark plugs.
“Yep. Shore wracked it up but good, dint you?” Roscoe said, but it wasn’t really a question.
“I’ll put it together better than it was,” Bubba said. “Or I’ll buy another one in better shape for you.”
“You saved Sheriff John,” Roscoe said, pointing to the wires next to the plugs. “Need to replace them, don’t I?”
“I reckon.” Bubba pulled out a plug and examined it. He asked for another tool and adjusted the gap. Then he replaced it just as deftly. “Starter’s new.”
“Just replaced that last month,” Roscoe said.
“Yeah, I got to Sheriff John just in time,” Bubba said slowly. “Gonna have himself a rope burn for some time, I reckon.
“Good. Sheriff’s not a bad fella,” Roscoe said.
Ten minutes later Bubba had the tractor running, and Roscoe was smiling. Or at least his thin face was making a semblance of a smile. “Why don’t we negotiate on some mechanicality instead, Bubba? We got plenty of cars that work just fine, but they all need some TLC.”
“Okay, Roscoe,” Bubba said agreeably. “Let me know what you want me to work on, and I’ll start next week.”
Bubba called to Brownie and Precious, and both came to the truck without protest.
Roscoe stood up and wiped his hands with a shop cloth while he watched. Bubba was opening his door when Roscoe said, “You done good, Bubba. Don’t care what folks say about the other. Ain’t too many people what would save a life without expectation.”
Bubba stared at his truck for a moment. He nodded simply. Now it was time to find his mothe
r. There was going to be a come-to-Jesus moment, even if he had to tie her down with duct tape.
*
Miz Demetrice’s Cadillac was parked outside the Pegramville Public Library. Brownie observed that they were actually parking outside of a library and moaned protestingly. “Not a library,” he lamented. “I have to read books for school. Not going to do it when it’s Christmas break.”
“Find a picture book,” Bubba said and told Precious to stay in the truck. She stuck her head out of the window and panted. When she comprehended that she was being left behind she barked sharply and silently promised doglike retribution.
“Yeah,” Brownie said. “They have a medical section with cut open bodies, don’t they?”
“Uh?” Bubba said as he opened the door. Is that bad? Maybe he wants to be a doctor?
Miz Nadine Clack stood at the front desk and looked down her nose at Bubba and followed it by looking down her nose at Brownie. She hadn’t changed much since the last time Bubba had seen her. Her hair was still white. She was still plump. She still wore Benjamin Franklin styled glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She still kept utter control of the library. She was the GODDESS of the library and let no one person forget it.
Brownie’s eyes went large as he correctly recognized the shift of power contained there. If the two had been Sumo wrestlers, then Brownie would have solemnly bowed to Miz Nadine and backed slowly away. The boy knew when he had been beat.
“Ma around, Miz Nadine?” Bubba asked politely.
“In the documents section,” Miz Nadine answered just as politely.
“You’re looking well, Miz Nadine,” he added swiftly. “Hope your Christmas was, well, better than ours.”
Miz Nadine’s lips flattened. “I assume you’ll be attending Mr. Killebrew’s funeral services tomorrow, Bubba.”
Bubba gave Brownie a little shove in the direction of where the children’s books were located. Brownie took a detour at nonfiction and disappeared into the stacks. “I don’t know if his children would want me there, since matters ain’t settled.”
Bubba had his mind so wrapped around the issues that were percolating that he’d forgotten about the plain necessities of a person who’d died. The Killebrews would want to mourn their father. Additionally, Miz Beatrice’s nephews would be burying their beloved aunt shortly thereafter. Miz Demetrice would want to attend both services, and Bubba would be obligated to accompany her despite the fact that “matters ain’t settled.”
