by C. L. Bevill
“Folks have been over every inch of this property,” Bubba said slowly because there was a vein in his forehead that was threatening to explode. “Ain’t no gold here, fellas. Ain’t no gold here if you’re a Ph.D. Ain’t no gold here if you’re God. Beg pardon, Ma.”
“I think God understands,” Miz Demetrice said tightly.
Precious finally took her head out from underneath the seat and had poked it out the window toward the house. She perceived several things at once. Her master was speaking nastily to men she didn’t know. He was angry with them. They were all talking at once. And most importantly, one of the men was holding a shovel, and the other one was holding one of those strange beeping devices in his hand. She’d seen those before. It meant something that was all kinds of fun. “Woof,” she said, perking up dramatically.
Brownie got in the window beside her and knew something was up.
Precious pawed impatiently at the door. Brownie muttered, “What the heck?” and opened the truck’s door. Precious leaped onto the ground and raced to get herself into the fracas. Intruders on the menu!
The Ph.D. heard the baying charge of the common everyday Basset hound and proved that he had more than a little common sense. He dropped the shovel and fled. The other one looked and followed in an indistinct manner that had his heels barely ahead of Precious’s snapping teeth.
“She’ll wear out after about a half mile!” Bubba yelled after them. “You better not touch a hair on my dog’s head neither!”
Fudge, Bubba, Brownie, and Miz Demetrice watched the two educated individuals sprinting down the path barely ahead of Precious.
“I bet Precious brings back a boot,” Miz Demetrice said.
“That t-shirt would be right funny,” Bubba added.
“For a short legged dog, she shore can run lickity-split,” Fudge commented.
“Is Precious gonna et them two fellas?” Brownie asked interestedly.
“No, boy.”
“Oh,” Brownie said dejectedly.
“Them the two fellas who’ve been pestering you about permission to search on the property?” Bubba said to Miz Demetrice.
“Who could forget a name like that?” Miz Demetrice questioned with a sly glance at Fudge. “You going to put French doors right there, Fudge?”
Fudge looked at the maul and then at the hole in the side of the mansion. He seemed to be considering the possibility of the question. It wasn’t really a good location for French doors, and well, French doors wouldn’t do anything for the whole moldering plantation-house look. “No, ma’am,” he finally replied. “I’ll fix it. Fix it just as good as new.”
She nodded and went inside. Brownie followed, still holding the book under his arm.
Bubba looked out in the direction of where Precious and the two men had gone. There was an echo of baying howls and then someone screamed loudly. It sounded like a woman, but it was rapidly followed by harsh male curses denigrating the maternal status of Basset hounds.
“You know, those fellas might sue you all,” Fudge said. He eyed the hole and sighed. “I reckon I can borrow some tools.”
“I know you’re due to stay here until after the New Year, Fudge,” Bubba said slowly. “But Miz Demetrice is worried about the person who killed those folks.”
“Yep,” Fudge agreed. “Someone’s got it in for the old girl.” He caught Bubba’s surprised expression and added, “Miz Adelia’s got a mighty big mouth on her.”
“I reckon I’m saying you might want to take the wife and the boy and head on home,” Bubba stated.
“Because of the danger?” Fudge asked, clearly surprised. “Sounds like something Virtna would say.”
“I’d hate to see anything happen because you all were in the wrong place,” Bubba said. Brownie stuck his head through the interior of the hole and said, “AWWEE-some.” He vanished inside while yelling, “Hi-ho-Tinkerbelle!”
“Raising kids is like being pecked to death by a chicken,” Fudge said staidly. He took a moment to cogitate about what Bubba had suggested. Then he appended, “Well, as you know my wife could simply look at a fella and turn him into stone.” Fudge considered. “Kind of like Auntie D.” He took a second to shudder. “Dang. I married Auntie D.”
Bubba took a moment to shudder in instant comprehension. Virtna wasn’t exactly like Miz Demetrice. There were a few similarities.
“I don’t like that someone has taking a disliking to Auntie D.,” Fudge said. “I don’t reckon for it all. I suppose ifin that person were to come round some evening, I’d hit ‘em with the butt end of this maul.” He looked seriously at Bubba. “And well, Virtna would probably beat me to it.” Then he sighed. “And Brownie. Well. The boy would have them hogtied and Super Glued to the floor before they knew what hit them.”
Bubba nodded. “Kid’s got a lot of moxie.”
“Making him slow his caboose is like putting a g-string on an alligator,” Fudge said gravely.
“There’s a mental image for you,” Bubba choked on a laugh. He looked at the hole again. “Fudge, you do know there ain’t no gold, don’t you?”
*
It was Virtna who came up with one suggestion. “New people,” she said at the supper table. Miz Adelia had cooked a roasted chicken seasoned with rosemary and thyme. There were fresh biscuits that melted in their mouths. There were corn and peas. There was a potato dish that had a lot of cheese in it. Everyone was digging in and Precious was sitting under the table being surreptitiously fed by Brownie and Fudge, each in turn
Bubba cut a piece of chicken off with his fork and knife, wishing he could just pick the damned thing up with his big hands. For some reason he could deftly handle small tools, but items like silverware seemed to twist and curl in his hands as if they had taken on a life of their own. Then he realized that Virtna was speaking to him.
“New people,” she repeated.
“New people,” Bubba repeated dumbly. He glanced at the piece of chicken on his fork. Manners dictated that he put it down and listen to his cousin’s spouse, but he was very hungry. He sighed and put the fork on the plate with the chicken still pierced.
“If the person who wants everyone dead lived here all this time, wouldn’t they have done something about it long ago?” Virtna said triumphantly.
Miz Demetrice shrugged. “Probably.”
“Then take a gander at all the folks who’ve moved here in the last oh, six months or so,” Virtna said. “That’s what I’d do ifin I were a po-lice officer.”
“Maybe even a year,” Fudge said. “Get themselves in the community real good. Take a gander at all the politicking going on. Get a feel for what’s up and how folks do business here.”
“People come and go,” Miz Adelia said as she put a platter of chicken down by Fudge’s elbow. Brownie reached for a leg and got whacked over the knuckles by his mother.
“Use the serving tongs, boy,” Virtna chastised. “This ain’t KFC.”
“Lots of new people around,” Bubba said reflectively. Even Willodean Gray was new-ish. She’d come into Pegram County from Dallas about five or six months before. He sat up straight. No, not her.Anyone but her.
There was a new manager over to the Piggly Wiggly. He hadn’t been here a year. There was a new mechanic at George Bufford’s store. He’d replaced Bubba when Bubba had refused to go back to work for such a purified jackass. There were several people in town who’d started an organic farm north of Pegramville. They were busy plowing up fields and attempting to sell their produce before it was even planted. There was the new guy at the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department; Robert Daughtry was one of the receptionist/clerk/operators who worked with Mary Lou Treadwell. He stuttered, but did that make him a potential murderer?
Bubba was going to get a headache thinking about it. And how to narrow it down? He didn’t have a clue.
After dinner was finished, Bubba kept thinking about Matthew Roquemore. It had been a sorry state of affairs, to be truthful. No man should have to steal to provide C
hristmas gifts for his children. No man should have to resort to it either. The long-dead Roquemore had made his choices, misguided as they had been.
Bubba rounded up Precious and told his mother to make sure she had a loaded gun under her pillow. Miz Demetrice shook her head at him and nodded toward Brownie, who was watching a Harry Potter movie on the television. “Don’t need to tell the boy we’ve got better weapons than knives about,” she whispered.
“I think he already knows, Ma,” Bubba said dryly. He was remembering that Brownie had been chasing Precious around with what appeared to be a stun gun. It probably had been a stun gun, and Bubba didn’t really want to think about that too hard.
“Where you all going?” Fudge said.
“Just had a thought about something today,” Bubba said. “Be back in thirty minutes.”
Bubba went out to his truck, followed closely by Precious. Five minutes later, he was pulling into the Pegramville Cemetery. Night was already falling like a piece of darkest wool over the land. The gravestones were like whitened pegged teeth sticking out of the ground at random intervals.
The gates were still open so Bubba pulled into a tiny parking lot and stopped. He let Precious out, and she immediately went after a possum that fled into the heavy brush. He looked around and knew that the area he was looking for was in the middling to older section. If he’d been earlier he would have asked the caretaker. As it was, it didn’t take long to find Matthew Roquemore’s grave. It was an unpretentious stone. It listed his name, his birth year and death year, and had a simple inscription, “Beloved Father.”
Bubba looked around. His ex-wife had predeceased him. He wouldn’t have expected her to be buried next to him. But what about his children? Two children, dead in a car wreck. Buried next to their mother, wherever she was located. It perplexed Bubba. Matthew Roquemore. Not alone. There were a few other Roquemores spread about here. One was Martha, possibly a mother because the years were correct. Another was Soloman. Maybe he had been Matthew’s father.
Precious scampered by Bubba’s feet hot on the trail of an armadillo she’d scared out of its hiding place. She’d lost the possum but gained another critter.
Puzzled, Bubba scratched his head. Something bothered him.
Precious yipped loudly and retreated. Apparently the armadillo wasn’t defenseless.
Squatting next to Matthew Roquemore’s gravestone, he looked at it carefully. It was weathered enough to be a decade old. The words were perfectly legible. There wasn’t a blazing sign that led Bubba to believe he was onto to anything but a great big nothing.
Glancing around, Bubba realized that he was pretty much alone in the cemetery. It was a December evening, and the sun had set; blinking stars were promptly appearing over his head. There was the dull grayish brown of winter grass. There was the multitude of ivory-colored stones with an occasional one made from a darker hue of granite. There were bunches of flowers presented to the dead as reminders of their devotion; splashes of colors denoted both fresh flowers and fake ones that had been left as mementos.
Precious came back to him and plopped down beside him. Bubba gave her an absent scratch.
Abruptly, he stood up and turned to leave. Precious made a canine-like groan of protest but rose all the same.
Bubba took three steps and stopped. Slowly he turned his head. There were flowers on Matthew Roquemore’s grave. The little urn at the base of the stone was full of them. Pretty red flowers. Poinsettias, and as fresh as the day they were cut, and tied with a frayed green ribbon. Not fake flowers. He could see that one edge of a leaf was torn and the garnish of the other greenery was starting to twist from the cold.
Christmas flowers, Bubba comprehended. The Christmas flowers were just like the ones left at all the murder sites except Sheriff John’s, and possibly that was because Bubba had scared the perpetrator off before he could make his addition.
There was a voice from behind him. “Bubba,” it said softly. “Got you. Got you good.”
~ ~ ~
Chapter Eighteen - Bubba and the Gorgeous Willodean Gray
Wednesday, December 28th - Thursday, December 29th
Bubba had been so focused on the thoughts swirling about in his brain that he didn’t hear someone else walk up on him. He jumped about a mile even while he spun around. Precious let out a dismayed yip while her dogly eyes searched frantically for the threat that her master had perceived. Certainly she’d seen the person well before Bubba had, but that person had never been a threat before. On the contrary, her master seemed to be very attracted to that person. He would stand close to her and pay a lot of attention to her and had been known to drool over the same. Precious would have been irritated had she not been actively seeking the real menace.
Willodean Gray stood a few feet away. Her countenance was startled in the starlight. She was surprised that she had surprised him. For a moment, her neatly formed black eyebrows narrowed in concentration. Her lips pursed as she considered him. The cop inside her was thinking that Bubba was acting kind of…guilty.
Exhaling, Bubba thought that sort of propensity was par for police officers. They dealt with so many people who were guilty, who lied with every word out of their mouths, who were criminals just waiting to be caught. He relaxed and said, “Willodean, I was lost in my thoughts and didn’t hear you drive up.” He looked over her shoulder and saw her official vehicle parked next to his truck. Obviously she hadn’t snuck up on him.
“Sorry, Bubba,” she said. Then Willodean simply looked at him.
It was a long moment where Bubba forgot to think about anything in particular. She was looking at him. Her face had become neutral, but the interest in her lovely green eyes was patently lavish. It made him warm inside, and he thought that if he wasn’t blushing, then he didn’t understand why.
Willodean merely stood there, and the pair looked at each other. Their mutual regard was palpable. Then determination traversed her features. She murmured, “I don’t want you to think that I’m only interested because I’ve found out that you were innocent.” She stepped closer, and Bubba could feel the intensity of her body. She smelled like fresh flowers and Willodean Gray.
Bubba opened his mouth to reply, not honestly knowing what he was supposed to say to that. Several responses popped into his head, most notably, “What?”, “How do you know I’m innocent?”, and “Could you please move a little closer?” But nothing came out, and the latter turned out to be a moot point.
Stepping into the natural curve of his body, Willodean came up on her tiptoes while her slender arms wrapped around his neck. Amazed, Bubba resisted for a moment, looking down into her face. It was woman, warmth, and yearning all wrapped up in a fine package. Her fingers twisted into his hair and tugged his head closer to hers. Bubba had a moment where delight and intent flared like a bright fire inside him. He followed up by diving in for the first kiss. Both heads tilted at just the correct angle, as if they were in perfect accord. Their lips met, and it was spontaneous combustion. Bubba couldn’t even think of another woman’s name in the moment their flesh came together. He could barely even think. Had there been other women in his life? I don’t think so. Willodean.
His arms came round her slender form and gathered her closer. She was a foot shorter than him and weighed a hundred and thirty pounds less, so he didn’t mind giving her a little assistance.
Their first kiss was everything Bubba had hoped for; he’d had some moments of fear that they would never kiss, or even worse, that when they did kiss, it wouldn’t have a tenth of the fire and passion that he’d built up inside his head. But the previous doubts were washed away with a tidal wave of desire and aching. Willodean wanted him. That was all that Bubba really needed to know. It was everything he had imagined and more besides.
And then the words she had said made sense to him. Willodean wanted Bubba to know that she liked him and didn’t want him to think that it was only okay if he was later cleared of all culpability in the murders. She believed in him.
Bubba sighed into Willodean’s mouth. She immediately took advantage of it.
Precious made a questioning, “Arruhhhh?” It sounded like she was asking, “What the hell are you two doing?” Then the dog decided everything was copasetic and dashed off after something in the bushes.
When the two pulled apart a long time later, Bubba murmured reverently, “Oh, dear God in heaven.”
Willodean smiled up at him, her arms still wrapped around his neck. “You can put me down now, Bubba.”
“Oh,” he said dumbly. He had picked her up, body and all, and lost himself in the rapture of their impromptu embrace. Slowly he lowered her and sighed when she stepped back.
“We’re clear about my interest in you now?” she asked.
Initially Bubba would have thought that Willodean was as calm as a post. However, even in the starlight, he could see her pulse jumping in her throat and the pink staining her pretty cheeks. He would have glanced down at her chest to see if she was breathing heavily, but he really didn’t want to embarrass her. “If it were a bucktoothed snake, it would have bit me,” he agreed. Oh, hell yes, I’m very clear about your interest. Happy, too.
But then Bubba grinned and added, “Are we going to tell our grandchildren about our first kiss in a cemetery?”
Willodean’s exquisite mouth opened. She was digesting the question and the assumption involved therein. Instead of protesting or disregarding him, she said teasingly, “I think that maybe you have to ask me out before you start counting grandchildren.” Then she hesitated for a moment and added neutrally, “Then I guess we need to see what happens.” It wasn’t a negative statement.
Her face changed a little; it became somewhat sad. Bubba wanted to kiss the look away starting from the tip of her well-formed chin and proceed up to her lovely green eyes with a side trip to her shell-like ears. She said, “I have a…history with a bad relationship. It’s part of the reason why I moved to Pegram County. One day I’ll need to tell you about it.”
