by C. L. Bevill
Bubba thought best with a full stomach. His stomach wouldn’t be really full, but he would definitely feel better. Holding the frozen corn package to his head, he swallowed the sandwich with a minimum of chewing. Evidently, Precious was rubbing off on him.
He burped and murmured, “Excuse me.” He located a bottle of Coca Cola in the refrigerator. It wasn’t an RC Cola, but it would do.
When Bubba was done with the Coke, he burped again and sighed. “Okay, then. Let’s get this thing done.”
David and Peyton paused in their argument to glance at Bubba. Bubba retrieved the clipboard and said, “There was Mrs. Ferryjig, who they said had a heart attack.” He wrote the name down. “It seems unlikely that a gal could be murdered in a way that would look like an actual heart attack, but I reckon we need to include her seeing as how that search was included on your Xoom, David.” He paused and chewed the top of the pen. It didn’t taste bad for a pen. “There was Hurley Tanner, who supposedly committed suicide but had bruises on his arms and remnants of duct tape.” He wrote that down. “Then Blake Landry, social worker, who was strangled. No question about that one.” Bubba jotted some more. “Those were the ones who were dead, well and truly dead, correct?”
David and Peyton both nodded. Precious found a corner to lay in and digest in peace.
“Then Leeza and Thelda vanished.” Bubba wrote some more. “No evidence of them being dead yet.”
David developed a stone expression on his face.
“Followed by Jesus and Abel,” Bubba said. “That’s it for now. Did I miss anyone?”
“And the sun isn’t even close to being up yet,” Peyton added helpfully.
“We should look at the missing people’s rooms,” Bubba said. “We need clues.”
Peyton shrugged.
“Here, here, Watson,” David said. “Do I need a new disguise? I do a wonderful rector’s wife. I can quote from three passages of the Bible. I make a smashing high tea with biscuits.”
“I can do his makeup,” Peyton threw in.
“No makeup,” Bubba said. He put the clipboard back where he’d found it because writing things down didn’t seem to help in solving anything.
Bubba beckoned to Precious, and the three of them plus one tired canine went back into the cafeteria. Bubba looked at Dr. Adair, Ratchley, Cybil, and Tandy. “We’re going to look at people’s rooms for clues.”
“That’s not even remotely legal,” Dr. Adair protested.
Bubba cast the doctor a stern look. Bubba wanted the look to say “I know you’re keeping something to yourself. It’s something about Abel’s brother. I know it on account of the look you made when I said something about it. You know it. You know that I know that you know. We all know that something, something, something,” but all he could come up with saying was, “Don’t matter much now. Stick together.”
“You know,” Peyton interjected, “no one has been sticking together.”
“I had to pee,” Ratchley protested. “I don’t want to die with a full bladder. I drank five cups of coffee and two lemonade smoothies. I also ate an orange, a Pop Tart, and two bagels with cream cheese. Then after I peed, I threw up. I’m having a very bad day.”
“Not just her, but him—” Peyton pointed to the doctor “— and her” to Cybil,“— and her,” at Tandy.”
“You went off by yourself, too,” Dr. Adair accused.
“I wanted to check the bars on my phone,” Peyton explained. “Just in case I could get through to Ginger. Besides the murderer doesn’t want me. I’m just here to plan a wedding. No one ever wants to kill the wedding planner.”
No one could argue about that, although Bubba recalled a fleeting moment of wanting to strangle a wedding planner.
“Besides, I can’t be the murderer,” Peyton went on. “I didn’t know any of you except Bubba before yesterday. It’s not a crime to not have an alibi. Or is that an interesting Texas quirk I didn’t know about?”
“So no one has any alibis,” Bubba said. “Could be any of us.”
“You’ve been alone more than anyone,” Dr. Adair said quickly.
“But you were gone when Bubba was getting knocked out,” Peyton pointed out.
“I thought I heard something,” Dr. Adair said. “It was strange. I thought I heard music. It sounded like ‘Gangnam Style’ by Psy.” He momentarily mimicked the dance and then caught himself with an embarrassed grimace.
“I thought I done heard something like that earlier,” Bubba admitted. “Is there more buildings than the one to the west?”
“There’s a lodge back there,” Ratchley said. “We usually use it for the VIPs.” She glanced at Tandy. “It had a water leak last month, though, and needs some work.” The nurse shook her head. “They said it was really torn up and dangerous.”
Bubba paced back and forth for a minute. Things were starting to percolate in his head, which was still banging like a bad drum. “Does anyone have some aspirin?”
“Are you kidding?” Ratchley asked. “This is a hospital.”
“From something what ain’t bin opened,” Bubba amended.
“There’s a pharmacy on the second floor,” Dr. Adair said. “Come on. Does anyone else need their meds?”
Tandy, David, and Cybil raised their hands.
“Cybil,” Dr. Adair protested.
“I could use something to calm me down,” Cybil explained. “If ever there was a situation that that was necessary, this is it.”
“Okay, let’s all go,” Bubba said.
“I’m going to need some of those NicoDerm patches,” Tandy said, “or I can just start ripping out people’s throats.”
Dr. Adair led the way. He didn’t think they could fit in the tiny elevator, so they went up the large staircase located in the oversized foyer. He said, “Meds were prepared for the patients before the pharmacists left, so they’ll be on a cart in the locked facility with everything labeled in baggies. They’ll have some aspirin for you Bubba, and we can get Ms. North her nicotine patch.”
“Maybe five or six,” Tandy said.
A few minutes later they were standing at the pharmacy’s heavy steel door. Bubba had looked in here before, sticking his head up to the walk-up window and carefully peering into the corners looking for Thelda or Leeza. He’d opened the door with Dr. Adair’s keys and stuck his head inside, but the place had been as deserted as most of the remainder of the hospital.
“Those carts are preloaded,” Dr. Adair said, “and brought in by truck. They’re locked so that employees don’t have a temptation to help themselves to meds. Particularly the more narcotic ones.” He jingled his keys. “Only the staff doctor on call and head nurse have access.”
“That cabinet has all the non-narcotic samples in it,” Cybil said. She pointed. “Ibuprofen, acetaminophen, et cetera.” She tapped the end of her nose. “I think Leeza had a script for a light anti-anxiety drug which would be very helpful at the moment.”
“I am not giving you Leeza’s meds,” Dr. Adair said. “And how would you know where all the drugs are going?”
“Disagreeable doodad,” Cybil muttered. Then she added, “You think there are any secrets in a hospital? Really? Seriously?”
“Just open the door,” Bubba said, holding the dripping bag of rapidly unfreezing corn to his head. “I’ve got a splitting headache what ain’t helping me think better.”
The doctor opened the door and spent about five minutes getting the correct medications out of a cart labeled Sunday, April 7th. Then he opened another cabinet and asked, “Aspirin, ibuprofen, or acetaminophen, Bubba? There’s naproxen, too.”
“Pass ‘em all over to me. I’ll take the aspirin first.” Bubba adjusted the corn.
Ratchley passed out small paper cups filled with water.
Dr. Adair passed Cybil a cup of pills. “There. A very mild sedative,” he said. “That’ll take the edge off.”
Then he handed two small packets to Tandy. “NicoDerm CQ patch,” Dr. Adair said to her. “You simply
—”
“This isn’t my first tobacco withdrawal rodeo,” Tandy snapped and snatched the packets from his fingers. She sighed and added, “Sorry. Quitting pot and tobacco in the same week is just not the easiest thing to do.”
Bubba swallowed the pills from one of the small packets he’d been given. He took a cup from Ratchley and chased it down with water. “That’s got to be better soon.”
While Bubba waited for Dr. Adair to make notes on the paperwork that came with the cart, he thought about murder.
“I am the murderer,” he murmured.
“What was that, Watson?” David asked. “You can’t be the murderer, old chap. You didn’t even know some of these people.”
“I’m trying to put myself in the murderer’s shoes,” Bubba said. “That’s what works in the TV shows.”
Bubba went into the hallway and waited while everyone but the doctor followed. The doctor locked up the cart, put the paperwork away, and then locked the door of the pharmacy. He also wrote on a chart hanging on the wall.
“I’m the murderer,” Bubba muttered again. “What do I want?”
“What does any murderer want?” Tandy asked. “It’s like I said.” She ripped one packet in half, removed the backing from the patch, and slapped it on her upper arm. Then she pressed all around the edges so as to maximize the effect. Then she repeated it with another patch on the opposite arm. “Revenge. Money. Because you’re nuts. You do realize we’re in a mental institution, although I’m not exactly nuts, except when I don’t have a cig.” She giggled. “Like now.”
“If I’m nuts, don’t I just kill in any old way?” Bubba asked. “I get out the nearest convenient weapon and start whaling away. Mebe a knife around here.”
“Or a garrote made out of a telephone cord, pointless Perry,” Cybil added helpfully.
“It was computer wire and a metal ruler,” Dr. Adair pointed out.
“Whatever,” Peyton said. “If you’re nuts, I would imagine you wouldn’t be picky. It could be a banana plant—” he waved at a nearby potted plant— “or a pen through the ear— ” he waved at the pen in Dr. Adair’s hand— “or anything that could be used in a deadly fashion.” He smiled. “At one wedding I did, one of the bridesmaids went after another one with a stiletto heel. Very messy. They shredded the wedding bouquet they were fighting over.”
“But if you’re crazy,” Bubba said, “you don’t really plan ahead, right?”
“I dislike the terms, nuts and crazy,” Dr. Adair said virtuously. “It doesn’t help the mindset of the patients.”
“The point Watson is attempting to make,” David said, “is that whomever is killing here is not mentally deficient. On the contrary, the perpetrator has all the canniest wits about him or her and is ready to use them at a moment’s notice. Indeed, this person, or persons, is a mad genius.”
Ratchley said, “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“I want to look at Mr. Tanner’s room,” Bubba said.
“Why not Mrs. Ferryjig’s room?” Peyton asked. “Wasn’t she the first?”
“Because you cain’t make a murder look like a heart attack,” Bubba said. “I reckon poor Mrs. Ferryjig had a heart attack, then someone took advantage of that. That someone went to David’s Xoom and did a search on how to make a murder look like a heart attack.”
“That’s ironic since all those people on the movie set were trying to make a heart attack look like a murder,” Tandy said. “Poor Kristoph didn’t have a clue so many people thought other people hated him.” Kristoph had been a movie director for The Deadly Dead, which had been recently filmed at and around Pegramville. Kristoph had also had the bad fortune to kick off in Bubba’s house, which had been the questionable beginning of events that rapidly went south, so south that it made hell look good. It didn’t make Bubba particularly happy because no one wanted someone to die in their newly constructed house. Regardless of Bubba’s wants, all the publicity, good and bad alike, had sped the film through its process, and it had been released in record time, with Kristoph’s widow at the helm.
“I loved that movie,” Cybil said. “They were going to fly away to an island and live happily ever after.” She glanced at Precious, who was waiting patiently for someone to give her food or do something to entertain her or for a doggy bed to appear before her. “The zombie Basset hound didn’t really work for me.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Bubba said, then he lowered his voice for Precious, “She dint mean it, Precious woobie. You were the best dang zombie Basset hound ever.”
Ratchley said, “So someone thought they would point a finger at David about Mrs. Ferryjig’s heart attack. Then what?”
“More searches about how to make murder look like suicide,” Bubba said.
“Hurley Tanner,” David said.
“Okay, but isn’t that a little hard to do?” Peyton asked.
“Not if he’s drugged first,” Bubba said. He glanced meaningfully at the doctor.
“I didn’t drug Hurley,” Dr. Adair protested.
“His wife and daughter came to visit him,” Bubba said. “Maybe they did.”
“But then why is the rest of this happening?” Cybil asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Let’s take a look at Hurley’s room,” Bubba said gently. “Is it still got his stuff in it?”
“It’s all there,” Ratchley said. “The hospital was waiting on the coroner’s report on Mr. Tanner’s death just to make sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed.”
“Lead the way, doc,” Bubba said, and Dr. Adair winced again.
Chapter 16
Bubba and Mysterious Motives
Sunday, April 7th
Bubba had, in fact, looked at Hurley Tanner’s room before that moment. But he hadn’t been looking for clues; he had been looking for Leeza and Thelda. Leeza and Thelda were still not in the room.
Now the door was open because Dr. Adair had opened it with his keys. Bubba stood just inside the room. Dr. Adair stood beside him. David crouched on the floor, holding an enormous magnifying glass in one hand. The magnifying glass’s frame was decorated with dragonflies and butterflies. Bubba guessed that it was the largest one David could find, and it had originated in the toy section of the nearest Walmart. As a result it appeared rather curious in Sherlock Holmes’s hand. Furthermore, Bubba had to wonder where David had been keeping the oversized instrument, but not too much.
The others peered around the edges of the doors, intent on what Bubba was looking for.
“Of course, they cleaned up,” Dr. Adair said. “The sheets and bed were stripped. The towels were taken away. The police took the pill bottles and tumbler. The family requested that they be allowed to pack the remainder once they arrived to claim the body.”
“Was he in bed when he died?” Bubba asked.
“Yes. He apparently drank a glass of water with the pills and then laid down to, er, complete his task.” Apparently the psychiatrist found it distasteful to say the s-word.
“He was secured to the bed with duct tape,” David corrected. He slid past them and indicated several locations on the hospital bed’s frame. “Remnants of tape here, here, and here.” He used the magnifying glass to point.
Bubba knelt next to the bed. “Looks like something sticky was there all right. And it was in the four spots someone might use to make someone be still for a bit.”
Tandy rubbed her arms where the nicotine patches were located. “If he was tied down, how did they get the pills in him?”
“Shoved them into his mouth and held it shut,” David said. “A reflective ultraviolet photograph revealed perimortem bruising on his jawline.” He held up a hand and spread out his fingers. “Four very suspicious finger end-sized bruises on the right side and one thumb end-sized bruise on the left side of his face.”
“You took a camera into where the body was stored?” Dr. Adair asked, appalled. “Is our security that lax? Was the door open?”
“Of course
not,” David replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “I had keys that I borrowed from one of the doctors.”
“Mental note to self,” Dr. Adair muttered, “change all the locks. Beef up security. Check with our attorneys. We need a whole new key inventory. Perhaps we should upgrade to key cards.”
“Reflective ultraviolet photography is a technique used by police to document bruising on children,” David explained with his pseudo-British accent back in place. “It’s a time-consuming method but highly valuable in the area of revealing bruises that might not have had time to appear once death occurred.” He took the dragonfly-embellished magnifying glass and observed a section of the bed mattress. “The bruising on his biceps were a tad older and showed before he died.”
Bubba realized that everyone was staring at the former PSS. Bubba didn’t know anything about reflective ultraviolet photography, but David was pretty clever. He probably had read up on as many police investigatory procedures as he could. However, it didn’t really fit into the era that Sherlock Holmes fit into, so David’s persona had adapted for the present. (Not unlike the dragonfly-ornamented magnifying glass.) “Do you know anything about that type of photography, doc?”
“I’ve read some papers on it,” Dr. Adair said weakly. “We occasionally get called upon to testify in court cases and such. It’s a natural side effect of dealing with our area of expertise. We’re not, however, really forensic specialists at Dogley.”
“Sometimes it can find fingerprints, too,” David said mysteriously. “Fingerprints on a corpse, for example. Fingerprints not made by the corpse upon himself, you see.”
Bubba almost bit the side of his lip as he considered what David was saying. “Uh, David, you saying that you took a bunch of special photographs of Hurley Tanner?”
“Without permission of the decedent’s family,” Dr. Adair said. “I demand you give all the photographs and negatives to the hospital.”
“What was it that you wanted to look at, Dr. Watson?” David asked in lieu of responding to Dr. Adair.
