by C. L. Bevill
Bubba nodded, realizing that Willodean was trying to impart something very serious. Whatever it was, he would be willing to listen. But it wasn’t going to be now. He took the moment to divert her attention. He didn’t want to spook Willodean Gray. At least not until he knew he could get away with it. “Why did you come to the cemetery?” he asked gently.
“Follow-up,” Willodean said. Her head slanted. She knew that he’d deliberately changed the subject, but she smiled a little sly smile all the same. “I spoke to Miz Demetrice about the members, and she told me about someone who could have held a grudge against the group.” She stepped around him and looked at Matthew Roquemore’s memorial marker. “And isn’t that interesting?”
“The Christmas flowers with the worn green ribbon,” Bubba agreed.
“There’s no doubt that Matthew Roquemore is well and truly dead,” Willodean said. “I spoke to the Dallas Coroner’s Office an hour ago and found someone who remembered Roquemore’s death. He had to be identified by fingerprints.” She knelt at the side of the grave. “I wonder if we could get fingerprints off the ribbon on those flowers.”
Bubba brightened. “I didn’t touch the flowers or the ribbon, so ifin you could, it might be a big step to figuring out who wanted to avenge Matthew Roquemore.”
“His wife? His children?” Willodean said. “An angry best friend?”
“His wife divorced him, and she and the two kids were killed in a car wreck a few years before Matthew Roquemore got out of prison,” Bubba said. “Ma saw the obituary in the Pegram Herald.” Then he made a face. “No, she said she saw a news article about the car wreck.”
Willodean looked around. There were a few other Roquemores here. “They’re not buried with him.”
“He went to prison,” Bubba answered in explanation. “I expect they’re buried next to their mama.”
“Perhaps there was another child,” Willodean suggested.
“A grown-up who’s all ticked off right now,” Bubba agreed. “We thought that maybe it was a person new to the community who ingratiated themselves into Pegramville. Someone who got to know what all the former members were doing and how best to get to them.” He hesitated. “You in trouble because of letting us look at Sheriff John’s stuff?”
Willodean took a little breath. “Well, in the course of all the hubbub that followed, all of that just sort of got washed under the bridge. I believe if you and Miz D. don’t happen to mention anything, then we can just let it go. Although I have to say it was hell getting that paint off the camera lens in the back.”
Bubba wisely chose not to say anything.
“After I got off the phone with the coroner, I went to the former secretary of the Pegramville Historical Society Board,” Willodean said. Bubba resisted the smile that itched to come out on his face. She was only a half tick behind them. “You know what I found,” she stated.
“Any word on Sheriff John and his wife?” Bubba said. “You all got a guard on him at the hospital?”
Willodean withdrew a plastic bag from her uniform. Bubba was silently impressed with her preparedness. Not touching the ribbon, she carefully placed the clump of flowers with the ribbon into the bag and sealed it. Then she took out a Sharpie pen and wrote on the outside of the envelope. When she was done, she said, “They’re doing fine. Darla has completely recovered and has been released. She’s staying with her sister when she isn’t at the hospital. And yes, there’s a deputy at the hospital right now sitting outside Sheriff John’s door.”
Standing, she looked at Bubba again.
Abruptly, Precious trotted out of the darkness and looked balefully at the pair of humans. She didn’t know what was going on, but it didn’t include her, and that offended her canine sensitivities. Huffing softly, she threw herself down on gray winter grass.
“And the sheriff is very, very angry about the current state of events,” Willodean said carefully. She bent to scratch behind Precious’s ears, and Precious emitted a grateful canine groan. “I didn’t know that a man with a tube in his throat could get so riled up. He probably gave himself carpel tunnel syndrome writing instructions to me about the investigation.”
“Find out who’s in danger,” Bubba said. He thought about his list. Number 1: Find the others who were targeted. Number 2: Tell the police about it. Number 3: Kiss Willodean on her luscious lips and lose himself in her warm embrace. Number 4: Keep his mother out of trouble and out of the way of a killer. Number 5: Discover the mysterious identity of a murderer. Well, I can definitely cross number 3 off my list. He considered. No, keep it on there. I’m gonna want to do that again and again and again. “The Pegram Herald might have photos in their archives about society events that weren’t published. Roy and Maude Chance took over from Roy’s father, Ernie. I know Ernie was a packrat. We know it was around Christmas, and it was called the Christmas Days of Pegram County. The society board raised funds for the orphanage. It would have made the press.”
“We want a photograph of the entire board,” Willodean said. “That would help. Then your mother and Sheriff John could probably identify all of the people who are targets. We thought about putting out a request for folks who’ve gotten the Christmas letters, but some might not even have realized what they had and completely disregarded them. Like the sheriff’s secretary. I would have, too. It looked like pure nonsense. And do I need to mention that we don’t want to cause a panic. Half the town has served on one board or another.”
“And we can go talk to Matthew Roquemore’s uncle,” Bubba said.
“He’s got an uncle?” Willodean said. “It wasn’t mentioned in the obituary.”
“Over in Nardle,” Bubba affirmed. “And that’s because Miz Demetrice has an odd capacity for obscure facts.”
Willodean smiled secretively.
Bubba said, “What?”
“Big old redneck using multi-syllabic words,” she murmured indulgently. “Big faker, you.”
Shrugging, Bubba said, “I done read a dictionary once.”
“Right.”
“You want to make sure I get home all right?” Bubba asked lightly. “I might not make it ifin I don’t have a po-lice escort.”
“That kid still in residence?” Willodean asked warily.
“Oh, Brownie,” Bubba answered. “Shore. The Louisiana Snoddys are like ticks. I don’t think they’re going until all the blood is gone. That kid is a firecracker, pure and simple. He could tear up a steel ball.” He offered her his arm, and she took it, just as if they were strolling in a fancy park. He smiled down at her and then suddenly froze.
“What?” Willodean said.
“Kids,” Bubba said. He turned to look at the gravestone. It said “Beloved Father”’ on it. “His children died before he did. So who put ‘Beloved Father’ on the marker?”
*
It turned out that Willodean did escort Bubba home, but he made certain she was safely in her official vehicle with the doors locked before he went inside. He had, indeed, followed up on Number 3 on his list, many times to their mutual satisfaction, before Willodean had pulled away and fanned herself. Bubba watched her drive away before going inside smiling.
He thought fondly about Number 3 a great quantity of times while he systematically made sure that the mansion was secured and that all Sharpies and possible surgical implements were locked away.
The following day was as busy as the day before. Willodean had agreed on a division of duties. She would set some of the team on the photographs from Roy and Maude Chance. Additionally, some of the investigating team was working on finding a greenhouse that had all the flowers that had been used in the murders. Bubba and she would go to Nardle and talk to Forrest Roquemore, Matthew’s uncle. But first Bubba had to accompany Miz Demetrice, Aunt Caressa, and Miz Adelia to Steve Killebrew’s funeral.
Bubba managed to stuff himself into the only suit he owned. He fumbled eternally with the only tie he possessed until it was a semi-organized knot of dubious presentation. When he looked into
a full-length mirror on the back of a door, he saw someone he didn’t recognize. He looked sort of like his father, Elgin. Suddenly, he could see how Lou Lou Vandygriff had mistaken him for Elgin. He wondered what his mother saw when she looked at him.
His mother wore a dark brown suit and oversized dark glasses. It turned out that she still couldn’t quite get the Sharpie marker ink off the part around her eyes. Miz Adelia wore a black dress with a plain white jacket. Aunt Caressa looked unpretentious in a dark blue dress with matching pumps. Only the tip of her nose remained chocolate-colored where Brownie had drawn a cat nose.
They went to the services at the Methodist Church and listened as the preacher spoke about their loss and heaven’s gain. Steve Killebrew lay in a closed coffin in front of the pulpit; flowers lavishly adorned his casket, not one of them a Christmas-related blossom. Bubba thought a bit about Steve Killebrew and his antics. He believed in what he believed in. He hadn’t been a bad man. He hadn’t deserved his untimely gruesome death.
It prompted Bubba to think seriously about who might be next. They had no way of knowing unless someone came forward with a letter. Miz Demetrice had spent a few hours on the phone the previous evening calling people she had known to have served on the Pegramville Historical Society Board during the correct time period. She had subtly asked about receiving letters, but no one had admitted anything. They either had ignored the mail or disregarded it as some sort of junk mail.
The clock was ticking down. Bubba was certainly uncomfortable in his suit and less comfortable knowing that he could be actively seeking some way of identifying innocent victims.
He looked around the crowded church. To be sure, Steve hadn’t had this many friends. He had a way of alienating folks. However, murder was something that brought people out in droves. Some of the people were police Bubba recognized. Willodean winked at him from the back of the church where she could see everyone. He smiled at her, and his heart skipped a beat.
Big Joe Kimple stood a few feet away from Willodean, glaring at Bubba. Bubba sighed a little tiny sigh. Big Joe could go take a flying leap in a big puddle of mud.
Some of the folks were reporters. The “Christmas Killer” was getting some bigger press in Texas. There was even a news van outside with little satellite dishes on top.
Then there were the locals. Bubba recognized some of the folks from Steve’s auto parts store and business owners who did regular business with Steve. George Bufford was present, wearing a navy suit and looking appropriately saddened. His wife was notably absent, although his secretary, Rosa Grandado, was beside him, wearing a short black dress and looking bored to tears.
There were many other locals as well. Lloyd Goshorn had dug up a worn and tattered brown suit and stood in the back with the crowd who hadn’t managed to come early enough to find a seat. He gave Bubba an evil look that said he hadn’t forgotten the Saturn Vue incident. The Mercer sisters, who participated in Miz Demetrice’s illegal gambling ring, sat in a back row. Bryan Mcgee, who owned a Ford truck that Bubba often worked on, was sitting middle of the church with his wife. Even Doc Goodjoint was present, sitting close to Mayor John Leroy, Jr. and Mary Jean Holmgreen, another Pegramville Women’s Club member. Mary Jean caught Bubba’s eyes, and the septuagenarian licked her lips at him in a lascivious manner.
Bubba turned away before she could do something worse. For some reason Mary Jean thought that Bubba was a potential boy-toy or something equally horrifying.
He took a breath and Miz Demetrice reached over to pat his knee comfortingly. The preacher was lapsing into a monotone, and his thoughts were drifting away. New people, he thought. People who have come to Pegram County in the last year.
Bubba shifted his head around slowly. The new manager from Piggly Wiggly was there. Bubba couldn’t think of his name. Perhaps he some peripheral business with Steve Killebrew, although Bubba couldn’t imagine what. There was the new mechanic from George Bufford’s shop. He was standing three down from Lloyd Goshorn, looking distinctly pained while wearing a white shirt with a black tie strangling his neck. His jeans were probably the cleanest, undamaged pair he owned. Bubba could well imagine that George had probably told his mechanic that it would behoove him to come to Steve Killebrew’s funeral services. Robert Daughtry stood in back, clad in a simple white shirt with black trousers. His face was neutral as he stared at the front of the church.
There were a few people Bubba did not recognize at all. They might have been reporters or folks he simply did not know. After all, he didn’t know everyone in Pegram County, but he came close. The front pew was occupied by Steve’s sons and their families. The two grown men sat with their mother in-between. Wives and children were spread out to either side. They took turns dabbing at their eyes in a way that made Bubba’s gut clench in response.
Bubba looked forward while the preacher spoke about the memories of a man who took his beliefs as seriously as Steve had. Then he slowly scanned the audience again. Miz Demetrice took a moment to poke him in the side. “Pay attention, Bubba,” she chastised softly.
Tugging at his tie, Bubba muttered, “Sorry, Ma.”
Aunt Caressa turned her head on his left side and looked in the back of the church. “Did you know that they would be coming, Demetrice?” she asked quietly.
Miz Demetrice looked over her shoulder and saw to whom Caressa was referring. “My Lord, no. I’m not sure…” she trailed off because she abruptly perceived that the preacher had gone quiet and was staring steadfastly at her. She gestured lamely for him to continue his sermon. “Sorry,” she whispered.
Bubba took a moment but looked where Aunt Caressa had indicated. There on the opposite side from Willodean and Big Joe was the group of mental patients from the Dogley Institute for Mental Well-Being. Nancy Musgrave, the social worker, had them all rounded up and quietly listening to the preacher continue with his words of comfort.
David Beathard, the would-be psychiatrist, was staring at the ground, obviously still well medicated. Thelda was muttering silently, and Bubba thought he could make out words like, “verily,” “addlepated,” and “varlet.” Jesus Christ was quietly placid, his hands folded over his abdomen while he listened to the sermon. Possibly he was happy to heed words that had information directly about his person.
They were new people.
Bubba winced. Nancy Musgrave kept rein on them like they were well-trained horses in a parade. She had them all in line like they were waiting to storm the castle or dance in a recital. Nancy even took a moment to say something to Thelda, who immediately shut her mouth. It was less than likely that the loonies escaped Nancy’s notice and went off to kill someone only to return to her care hours later with bloody hands. He ignored them and continued to clandestinely examine the audience while pretending to listen to the minister.
Almost an hour later, the preacher was certain that he had saved all the souls contained in the church and successfully sent another one off to paradise. A baby was wailing forlornly in the back, sure that his life was abysmal because he wasn’t allowed to chew on the corner of the pew. The pallbearers included Steve’s sons, some of Steve’s employees, and a couple of old friends. They lifted in concert and began the trip to the hearse that was parked outside. Everyone stood as the casket passed to the back.
As Bubba watched, he realized that the loonies had vanished. Perhaps Nancy Musgrave had reached the end of their psychological ropes by expecting them to behave normally for the entire service.
Bubba got his mother, Miz Adelia, and Aunt Caressa back to the Snoddy Mansion, and changed back into human-like clothing. Then he went to find Willodean. Even if that meant that they were going to spend their time together looking for and speaking to a man that probably hated everything to do with Pegramville, it was still time spent with her.
The slow smile that crossed his face couldn’t be avoided.
~ ~ ~
Chapter Nineteen - Bubba Does Some Investigatin’
On the third day of Christmas, my true l
ove gave to me, three bloody knives…
Thursday, December 29th -
One curious but appealing thing about Willodean Gray was that she wasn’t a chatterbox. Bubba let her drive because it was considered official business, and maybe Forrest Roquemore would be impressed with the county car parked at his doorstep. Of course, Willodean let Bubba believe that he was “letting” her drive. The trip to Nardle, Texas took about forty minutes because the speed limit was restricted on the back country roads. Bubba took advantage of the fact by enjoying sitting in the same air space as the lovely Willodean. In fact, he was looking at her instead of the road, so it was just as well that he wasn’t driving.
“What?” she said after a bit.
“Cain’t help it,” Bubba murmured. “Would you please come out to dinner with me; tonight would be preferable.”
Willodean blushed a bit. It was a delicate pink that stained the curve of her cheekbones. “That’s a nice way of asking,” she said.
“And you haven’t answered,” Bubba said gently.
“Don’t you mean, ‘You ain’t answered’?” Willodean said promptly. Her lips curved into a pretty smile.
“Don’t reckon I can fool you much, can I?” Bubba asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “Being raised in Pegram County means men act and speak accordingly. But it doesn’t mean we’re all stupid rednecks.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid at all, Bubba Snoddy,” she replied. “I think you’re a little protective of people. It’s probably going to piss me off if you do it while I’m on the job, but it’s not a dishonorable trait.”
Bubba lifted his eyebrows. One of his large hands reached carefully over and brushed a black tendril of hair off her face. His fingers touched the faint blush on her cheek and then strategically retreated. No spooking Willodean. “I cain’t help that. People who I-um-people who are important to me are to be protected.”
Willodean digested that for a few minutes. “And I’m important to you.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “Dinner? Tonight? I’d ask you to my place, but I think it’s going to rain and the roof ain’t finished.”
