by C. L. Bevill
Ultimately it was Bubba who led Celestine, Willodean, and David Beathard back into the caretaker’s house. Precious trailed behind them looking unhappily at all the humans. The door was unlocked, but Bubba was used to that. He trudged into the living room expecting to find…nothing.
Bubba grunted and gestured with one hand. “This is where it was the last time. My right hand to God.”
Willodean peeked under a cushion on the couch. “No one there.” Bubba grimaced in response.
Celestine looked behind the couch. “We should search the house. It’s got to be around here somewhere.”
Several minutes later they appeared back at the living room sans a body, dead or otherwise.
“I can’t even find Lady Whiteshade, my arch nemesis,” David said. Then he giggled. His brass monocular whizzed and clicked in time with his giggles. “Of course, she could be all…tied up,” he added. He rubbed his hands together in a distinctly mad scientist manner.
“The glass in the back door is broken,” Celestine announced. “You should replace that door with a solid one. Having a back door with glass panes in it is like asking for a burglar to break in.”
“I’ll put it on my list,” Bubba said morosely. “I got to get plastic for my crawlspace.”
“What’s wrong with the crawlspace?” Willodean asked.
“Moisture,” Bubba said. “Apparently we got to protect the house from moisture in the crawlspace with plastic.”
“Ten millimeter, high density, cross-laminated virgin polyethylene,” Celestine said helpfully. “It doesn’t have the pinholes and imperfections of six millimeter clear or black plastic.”
“Gee thanks, Mama,” Willodean said and shrugged. “That can wait until later.”
Bubba patted Cookie on her head. Somehow or another she had returned to the carrier on Bubba’s chest. She also had the smallest Kevlar helmet available on her little head. It was duct taped to Bubba’s chest so that it wouldn’t fall on the ground. In addition there was a police supplied vest duct taped across Cookie’s body. One of the state police had supplied it in exchange for the recipe to Miz Adelia’s caramelized onion pizza canapés. Instead of camouflaged, it had TDPS in white, four-inch high letters across the black background. Cookie was very nearly lost in it. One could only see her eyes and the vampire teeth binky as well as her hands and feet.
Bubba had attempted to return Cookie to Virtna and Fudge but the baby wasn’t having any of it, so a certain level of safety had been initiated as influenced by Willodean. It wasn’t ideal but it was what he had to do for the moment.
He looked around the house and couldn’t see anything out of place. There was still an empty flute sitting on a table and the throw rug made by his cousin was still AWOL.
Bubba tried to talk it out. “Someone lures the guy in here as soon as I leave. They poison him.”
“Or they poisoned him outside and dragged his body in,” Willodean suggested.
“Or that. I see the body and go to get he’p,” Bubba pointed at the living room and then toward the front door.
“The body disappears,” Bubba finished.
“The missing throw rug,” Willodean said. “You know I don’t like that rug.”
“It can stay missing,” Bubba said. “I’ll tell cousin Taffy it was an unfortunate event.”
“She weaved his old underwear in it,” Willodean explained and her mother nodded understandingly. “Seriously.”
“So you came back and the body was gone,” Celestine said.
“Then I came back and the body was back. There was hay on it.” Bubba pointed toward the back. “I expect it went into the barn for a certain amount of time. Then back in here.”
“And it went missing again,” Willodean said. “This is confusing.”
“The second time I’m shore it was Ma that did it,” Bubba said. He glanced at Celestine. “You ain’t goin’ to arrest my mother, are you, Miz Celestine?”
“On suspicion of moving a dead body?” Celestine asked. “I’m not certain what charge I would file. Besides there’s a whole jurisdictional thing, so no. Go on.”
“She put him in the crawlspace,” Bubba said. He waved his hands in a way indicating how a petite, older woman might cram a dead body into a too small opening.
“Miz D put a body in the crawlspace?” Willodean asked. She tittered and then turned away so that she could cover her mouth.
“I would have put him in a dirigible,” David remarked.
Celestine arched an eyebrow at David.
“I would have,” David insisted.
“Maybe we should search Baron Von Claptrap’s car,” Celestine said.
“It ain’t big enough to hide a body in,” Bubba said. “Trust me, I know. An arm or a leg would be sticking out.”
“You looked in the crawlspace already,” David said.
“It dint come back up through the trapdoor,” Bubba said. He nodded and stomped into the kitchen to grab the same flashlight he’d used before. Then he plodded outside. The others followed him without a word. He went around the side of the house and stopped in front of the little white door.
Willodean crouched by the door and pointed without touching it. “It’s open.” She took a stick and pushed it all the way open. Peering inside, she said, “I don’t see anything.” Bubba handed her the flashlight and she clicked the button on the side before looking inside the opening.
“I’ll do it,” Celestine said. She traded with Willodean her handgun for the flashlight and crawled inside, hoisting the skirt of her dress over her knees. A minute later she said, “There are marks in here. Something got dragged around. I can barely see them, but it comes from the direction of the trapdoor. It kind of smells like that moonshine we confiscated last month.”
Bubba had seen the marks before, but he hadn’t thought that it meant anything necessarily. “Someone dragged the body out.”
“It’s very erratic for a path,” Celestine said. “As a matter of fact, it looks like two sets of drag marks.” She clambered back out, handed the flashlight to Bubba, and brushed off her skirt. Out of a shirt pocket she produced a belt buckle. She held it gingerly by the edges and showed it to Bubba, Willodean, and David. It was silver edged with black in the middle. The letters said, “Always Open,” in cursive. The two phrases, “24 hours” and “7 days” framed a beer bottle opener in the middle. It was, in fact, an actual operational beer bottle opener as well as an actual operational belt buckle.
“Newt Durley,” Bubba said. “That’s his belt buckle.”
Willodean frowned. “What was Newt doing under the house?”
“Drunk, hanging out with the mailman, and mebe Lawyer Petrie, too. The lawyer said he recollected drinking a jug with Newt. Somehow they ended up out here. I suspect the mail truck was hijacked by Morgan and the mystery fella. I think that Newt and Lawyer Petrie were in the back, entirely by coincidence. They ended up out here. Prolly popped up when they realized that Fred Funkhouse was in back with them and caused Morgan to crash the truck into the chinquapin oak. I expect Morgan realized how drunk the two were and decided it wasn’t worth his while to kill them. We all know that Morgan ain’t as bloodthirsty as his sister.”
“So Newt moved the body?” Celestine asked.
Bubba toed something at his feet. He took a moment to crouch and pick it up.
Willodean tilted her head as she looked at what he was holding. “That looks like a piece of holly,” she said.
Flowers, Bubba thought. Morgan had a little clump stuck in his breast pocket, just like I’m goin’ to have a carnation on my jacket later. He nodded and rose up. He stuck the little clump in a shirt pocket.
Something else caught Bubba’s eyes and he toed an empty package nearby his feet. It was a MoonPie wrapper. Once it had been all banana topping, cookie and marshmallow center. Now it was only crumbs. Next to the wrapper was a bottle cap. It was an R.C. Cola bottle cap if Bubba wasn’t mistaken. He knew them well. There was only one person besides Bubba who knew
where he hid his hoard of MoonPies and R.C. Colas, and it wasn’t Willodean. (She said the banana flavor gave her the most horrible after burps imaginable and R.C. Cola was like drinking battery acid. Willodean might have been interesting, beautiful, and wondrous, but her taste in food was atrocious.)
“Has anyone seen Brownie lately?” Bubba asked politely.
* * *
Brownie and Janie Did a Thang
Around 1:15 PM
“I sense we have made a mistake,” Brownie told Janie.
Janie leaned in and whispered, “It’s not like we can undo it.”
They stood on the edge of the crowd and watched the numerous law enforcement officials doing their things. Janie often made comments about police procedure. “I don’t think he’s wearing his insignia correctly.” “I would never do that with my baton.” “Wait until I tell Ma’s loo what they do down here in Pegram County.”
“You know in England they call a bathroom a loo?” Brownie asked.
“Well, in police officer talk, they call a lieutenant a loo,” Janie snapped back. “Should we squeal and hope for the best since we’re minors? A slap on the wrist and complete wiping of our records once we reach the age of majority.”
“I think we should practice pleading the Fifth Amendment,” Brownie said. “After all, we dint murder anyone.”
“No, we didn’t do that,” Janie agreed.
“Them fellas who kidnapped me knew all about the Fifth Amendment,” Brownie said. “It means that we don’t have to talk about ourselves in a court of law. You know that part of the Miranda Warning that they say you have the right to remain silent?”
“Of course I know it,” Janie said. “I think Grandma’s got it tattooed on her shoulder.”
“Really?”
“No,” Janie smirked at Brownie. “She says she should get it tattooed on her butt so the perps have to read it when she’s sitting on them.”
“Why would your mother want to sit on a perp?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Janie said, “but it’s because they’re bad and she wants to subdue them.”
Brownie swatted the palm of his hand with his racket. “They all went back to the caretaker’s house. Do you suppose they have some way of figuring out who did what?”
“The surveillance camera is only in the foyer,” Janie said, “so no, I don’t think so.” She thought about it. “But we did use a wheelbarrow twice. Some of these people probably noticed that we were using a big ol’ wheelbarrow and that our cargo was covered with a tarp. All those folks over at the mayor’s truck were definitely messing with the keg when we made our move. I don’t think any of them saw us, but it’s been a few hours or so.”
“I dint think it would last more than one hour,” Brownie said honestly.
“Grownups are stupid,” Janie agreed. “With all these police around, who’s going to get married?”
“I say leave well enough alone,” Brownie said, “unless someone twists our arms.”
“What about the fireworks?”
“Someone will set them off,” Brownie said confidently. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“Brownie,” Bubba called as he approached them. “Don’t move. I know all about you and Janie.”
Brownie froze. Janie asked, “Is it too late to blab?”
* * *
Bubba and the Beginning
of the Big Denouement
Around 1:30 PM
“Sheriff John,” Bubba said to the selfsame man, “I need your he’p.”
Sheriff John looked at Bubba and then looked at Melvin Wetmore. Melvin was a mechanic who still worked at Bufford’s Gas and Grocery. Bubba had once worked with Melvin, and Melvin still held it against Bubba that he’d left Bufford’s while taking a calendar of The Women of Texas with him without allowing Melvin to look at the ones he hadn’t yet seen. Melvin glanced at Bubba and then looked at his hands which were encased in plastic baggies.
“I dint shoot at you, Bubba,” Melvin said.
“Glad to hear it,” Bubba said. “Still need your he’p, John.”
Sheriff John sighed. “I never get to play with the forensic stuff. You know the state po-lice brought me two dozen kits of this. They also agreed to et the cost on the testing. I need to apply for more grants ifin we’re goin’ to have more murders.” He gazed at Melvin. “Don’t move, Melvin.”
“I was in the cupola with that cute little redhead from Dogley,” Melvin said. “Just ask her.”
“I thought you liked blondes,” Bubba said.
“A man’s got to have diversity,” Melvin said. “Bubba, you have time to talk about what the problem could be with Ralph Cedarbloom’s Jeep?”
“The problem is that Ralph’s taking that Jeep out into Sturgis Woods and it ain’t a heavy duty four wheel drive,” Bubba snapped at Melvin. “Try the drivetrain where he’s bin dragging it over dirt ruts.”
“Thanks, Bubba,” Melvin said.
Bubba dragged Sheriff John to one side and said, “Everyone’s got to get out of this area.” He pointed at the ground indicating the immediate spot.
“Why?” Sheriff John asked. “Is there another bomb? Please, God, not another bomb. I got nightmares about those. I dreamed Constance Posey came back from that prison and blew the entire town to smithereens. I had no idea she was such a whackjob. Her family just gives her explosives to play with. She prolly played with dynamite as a baby.”
Willodean wandered up holding a tray with canapés on it. Sheriff John reached for one of the canapés, and she slapped his hand. “Get your own, John,” she growled.
“Are those the wasabi shrimp with avocado on rice crackers?” he asked plaintively.
“Don’t mess with a pregnant woman,” Bubba said.
Sheriff John rubbed the back of his hand and stared indignantly at Willodean. “Why do we have to get folks to leave?”
“I have a plan,” Bubba said.
“It’s not a great plan,” Willodean said, “but we’re dealing with a stupid perpetrator, and it might work.”
“Who’s the fish?” Sheriff John asked. “Did we find the dead body?”
“I think I know where it’s at,” Bubba said.
“Where?”
Bubba made a face. “Ifin I tell you will you let me do my plan?”
“No,” Sheriff John said promptly. He lifted his wrist to look at his watch. “Do you know that you half less than a half-hour to the big event? Also, did you know that you have that baby strapped to your chest again? That vampire teeth binky gives me the willies.”
“Noob,” Cookie said.
“Wow,” Willodean said. “She’s smart.”
“Haha,” Sheriff John said. “Let’s get these folks loaded up in the paddy wagon, and I’ll think of something.”
“Wait,” Willodean said. “What if the perp is one of those guys you’re loading in the wagon?”
Bubba sighed. “Nope.”
“You know who it is?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re not going to tell me?” Willodean tried to put her hands on her waist, but had a hard time finding her actual waist because of the Kevlar vests and the heavy tray she held.
“What ifin I’m wrong?”
“What if you’re right?”
“Then we’ll be getting married within a half-hour, mebe an hour tops.”
“Why don’t we just arrest the fella now?” Sheriff John asked.
“Cain’t prove much of nothing,” Bubba said. “Mebe you’ll have that gunshot residue or mebe the fella has washed his hands in beer three times since you started bagging people’s hands up. Mebe he’s on the surveillance tapes at the prison or mebe they’re far enough away that folks couldn’t tell for shore. Mebe you kin get him for using someone else’s identification, but what else you got him for?”
“Ifin that Morgan fella is dead, we’ll have him for that,” Sheriff John said. “Also do you really want to take a chance at him gettin’ away?”
“He ain’t goi
n’ nowhere,” Bubba said. “And you want a solid case, right? That’s worth a chance. He don’t got no gun now, and I’ve got eyes on him.”
Sheriff John turned to look where Bubba had looked and evidently couldn’t see an obvious perpetrator. “All I see is the mayor crying over an exploded keg and a bunch of tailgaters.”
“Get ‘em out of this area,” Bubba repeated. “Then we’ll be watching.”
“Give me five minutes,” Sheriff John said.
“What were you doing with Brownie and Janie?” Willodean asked as she ate a wasabi shrimp with avocado on a rice cracker. She shivered. “Love that wasabi,” she said. “You want one?”
“Oh, no thanks, that wasabi makes me twitch something fierce. One time my dorm mate got drunk and his friend stuffed his mouth with wasabi. You cain’t git that smell out of the room. Not with Febreze or nothing.”
Willodean ate two more before she stopped to think about that. “I guess they didn’t do that to you.”
“No, they knew about my temper,” Bubba said, “but I worked that out now. I’m kind of a Buddhist like Dan Gollihugh. All I have to do is work on a car engine for a bit, clear my head, and I’m as right as rain.”
“I can’t think of the last time you really lost your temper,” Willodean said. She finished the last of the canapés and used her finger on the crumbs.
“I do believe it was about the time you went missing,” Bubba said.
Willodean sighed. “I do love you, you know.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s a good thing I’m not getting encased in carbonite.”
“What?”
“Good Lord, we’ve got to get you watching more Star Wars movies, but first things first.”
“Rab NURG!” Cookie instructed. Then Precious nipped Bubba’s leg, and Bubba knew he was being well and thoroughly prodded into action.
Chapter 24
Bubba and the Continuation
of the Big Denouement*
*Denouement Being a Big Word for Finale
Like in a Circus Except This isn’t a Circus
Saturday, April 27th around 1:45 PM
Bubba didn’t know exactly what Sheriff John had said to the other law enforcement officials. Perhaps it was the utter absurdity of the situation that enabled their acquiescence. Certainly there had been a shooting. (There was a recognizable dent in the brass lion’s head knocker that couldn’t come from anything else, and Agent Monday had found the freshly smoking weapon.) Most of the people moved around the side of the mansion away from the caretaker’s house, and toward the road. Mayor Leroy had been half-carried by Stanley Boomer and Jesus Christ and was still crying over the HunchKeg of Notre Dame. (“Oh the deposit! The freaking deposit! They’ll never let me have another keg! And all that beer gone to earth. I’m going to cry! Also, vote Leroy!”)
