by C. L. Bevill
“This is important. Really, truly important, people, so listen up,” Tandy announced. She put her arms akimbo and contemplated the dead man on the bench. “Did he have any more NicoDerm patches on him? Was he holding out on me?”
Bubba walked around David and approached the doctor’s body. He stopped beside the bench and systematically looked around. As he turned toward the direction of the hospital, he realized he could see the building where they had just been, the same building where Bubba had been held captive for a brief time. He looked, and he thought he could see a glint in the same window that had the binoculars in it.
Reluctantly, Bubba touched his index and middle fingers to the doctor’s neck. He was momentarily repulsed when he realized that Dr. Adair’s flesh was cold. He’d been out here for some time. Rather he’d been out here long enough to be coldish to the touch. Once Bubba got past the whole flesh-not-warm-thing, he ascertained there wasn’t a heartbeat. As for the knife, Bubba wasn’t going to mess with it. Finally, he could say that he wasn’t going out on a limb by announcing, “Yep. Really dead this time.”
“What do you mean, this time?” Peyton asked.
“Isn’t it obvious, man?” David pronounced. Judging on the poor British accent, Bubba guessed that Sherlock Holmes had returned even while still wearing Mrs. Penhallow-FitzGibbon’s dress and shoes with broken heels. “The first death yesterday was not a death at all, you barmy nitwit.”
“While you’re over there, Bubba,” Tandy said, “do me a solid and check those suit pockets for NicoDerm packets.”
“Don’t you have cigarettes already?” Bubba asked.
“I’m going to need them later because I’m going through them quickly.” She held up the two she had lit as an example.
“You should get his keys,” David said.
Bubba agreed with that. Ratchley had the other set, and no one knew where she was presently located. While he found a set in the doctor’s jacket and quickly inserted them into his pocket, he thought about what was happening. His glance went over to the cliff. Why leave a corpse where someone could find it? Why not chuck it over the cliff like they had done with the Semtex? Someone wanted someone else to find the body and probably for the reason that had brought Bubba out to Dogley to begin with.
“David,” Bubba said quietly, “did you touch a knife like this today?”
David glanced at the knife and his mascara-adorned eyes went very big in obvious realization. Bubba looked at the knife, too. It was a standard 8-inch chef’s knife. The brand was Henckels. Bubba recognized the Gemini logo on the handle’s heel. It looked like one of the many knives Miz Adelia had in the Snoddy kitchen; Miz Adelia had about as many knives as Miz Demetrice had guns. (No one looked askance if one was a cook with that many knives, even if some of them weren’t exactly used for the culinary process.) In fact, Bubba had a touched a knife like that earlier when he’d made a sandwich.
“I do remember a sandwich earlier,” David admitted. “I like the crusts cut off. Then a diagonal cut is best for the roast beef. Exposing the grain enhances the flavor, you see?”
“And what did you do with the knife?”
“I put it into the sink.”
“Did you wash the knife?”
“I did not wash the knife.”
“I see.”
“You mean, someone went and got the knife he used on a sandwich and then used it on the doctor?” Tandy asked. “What if he hadn’t had a sandwich?”
“Then it would have been something else that David had touched,” Bubba concluded. “A lamp. A statue. A rock. A flashlight. A toilet seat. Something. The knife was providence for the murderer.”
“Lucky murderer,” Peyton said weakly.
“Unlucky doctor,” Tandy added. “Was the doc in on it?”
“Prolly,” Bubba said. “We ain’t apt to know today. The po-lice will have to fill in the blanks.”
“Bubba,” David said, “I have an urge to wipe off the knife’s handle.”
“Don’t matter,” Bubba said. “There’s something else with your fingerprints handy. Don’t you fret, David. Sheriff John will clear you right up. He ain’t convicted me yet, and look at all that I bin through.”
“Watson,” David protested, “I have boocoodles upon which to fret. I shall be the villain in this horrid affair. Especially if none of you are no longer here to say that I am not the villain in this horrid affair. Why couldn’t you be the villains in this horrid affair?” He paused and looked at Tandy and then added, “and the villainess.”
Tandy shrugged in an unconcerned fashion.
Bubba thought about it. He could be the villain if someone looked at it, if someone had used the knife he’d used on the bologna sandwich, and if someone wanted to point the finger at someone besides David.
“You’re the one who liked to play games with all of the people and especially Hurley Tanner,” Bubba said defensively. “Ain’t fair, but it is what it is.”
David stomped up and down the path. The act didn’t come across the way it was supposed, considering that he was wearing large-sized pumps without heels. But then, Bubba didn’t have any shoes on and it was okay.
“So let’s forget that, and the cigs,” Tandy said, “and figure this out. The doc got up and walked out of the cafeteria when we rushed out to see the Mercedes Benz burning up the Rabbit. Did he get kidnapped along with Cybil, or did he kidnap Cybil, since you’re suggesting that the doctor had the most motive to kill people off? Which, by the way, I don’t understand because, unless the doctor has been doing some underhandedness, he wouldn’t be in anyone’s wills. I think rich people would suddenly notice if their loved one kicked off, and he or she left money to the doctor who was in charge of their care. That would be suspicious.”
“It was the other murderer who was paying the doc off,” Bubba said. It was actually a theory, but he bet the police would figure out where the money came from that had recently been deposited into his formerly bereft bank account. In the midst of bankruptcy, an account didn’t go from $17.32 to $100,017.32 without some significant explanation. “I reckon the doctor was smart enough to ask for a deposit up front or no can do. But he didn’t can do. He can didn’t. Once the murderer dint need the doctor anymore, he was history.”
“$100,000 wasn’t going to pay off all his debt,” David reflected. “Furthermore, it’s not so smart to deposit a blackmailing slash murder payoff into your bank account where the IRS will be privy to anything over $10,000.” He paused for a moment to allow that to sink in. “So the doctor was expecting a large payoff.” He glanced at the corpse. “But not that kind of payoff.”
Tandy crossed her arms over her chest and said with two cigarettes hanging out the side of her mouth, “Do I understand this correctly? So the bad guy or girl has an accomplice. Then the accomplice needs to be eliminated. When that’s done, does he or she go after us? Is that what happened to the rest? Did this person just winnow the gaggle, or did all our brethren take an opportunity to beat feet into the woods? He couldn’t have gotten to all of them. He can’t get all of us, right? Right? Right?” The last part started to elevate in tone, showing that Tandy’s typically equable exterior was beginning to break down.
“I hope not,” Bubba said. “It would prolly be best ifin we went back to the cafeteria.”
“I vote we climb down the newly created ledges and haul ass for Farmer John’s barn where there will be cell phone coverage,” Tandy said. “Or Farmer Pete or Farmer Fred or whichever farmer who doesn’t have a collection of chainsaws and/or sharp knives that were touched by David-freaking-Sherlock Holmes.”
“I’m sticking with Bubba,” Peyton said. He brushed back locks of multicolored hair from his face. “The client is always right.”
“I say the client is only right if one isn’t about to be murdered in an icky fashion or mysteriously disappear,” Tandy said.
Bubba decided that if his head were to suddenly explode it wouldn’t be so bad at that very moment in time. People wer
e vanishing pell-mell. There were at least two murders. He was surrounded by individuals who had been, and were, certifiable, with the exception of Peyton, and Peyton might as well be certifiable. (To be perfectly frank, the people in Pegram County who weren’t certifiable were the minorities.) The only thing that kept him going was that he was going to stumble around enough to figure out why this was happening and who was responsible.
“Why didn’t they kill you, Bubba, when they first got to you?” Tandy asked with obvious doubt in her words. “No one saw you get hit in the head, and furthermore, how could they have dragged you off? No offense, but you’re a big boy.”
“240 pounds,” Bubba admitted sourly, wishing he had something unwholesome to eat at the moment. Had Ratchley rubbed off on him, or was it still the sympathetic pregnancy? (Popcorn covered with salsa, the hot kind of salsa, sprang to his mind. He’d need a spoon with that one.) “I think someone used a cart with me, and I don’t know why they dint kill me. I figure that one of them two killers isn’t really a killer or is just enough of a killer to kill off the person or persons that counted. I dint count. I hope that some of them others don’t count neither.” An insidious thought occurred to him. Perhaps they needed Bubba for something. For what? That would be the insidious part.
“I miss Thelda,” David said. Then he whispered, “Thou villainous, full-gorged lewdsters.”
“And Jesus likes to lay hands on,” Tandy said. “It didn’t make me want pot or cigs less, but he meant well.”
Bubba looked at Dr. Adair again. They could cover him up, or they could carry him to the hospital, and hopefully he wouldn’t vanish like Blake Landry. But then Bubba had a pretty darn good idea that no one was going to vanish like Blake Landry. He bit his lower lip and looked around again.
“What are we goin’ to do?” he asked himself.
“‘I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit,’” David quoted, and it was a second before Bubba realized it was a quote. Then David added, “‘It’s the only way to be sure.’”
Peyton tittered. “I just love Sigourney Weaver. She should be an honorary transvestite.”
“We don’t have a spaceship or a nuke,” Tandy said acidly. “And really, how do we know it’s not you, Bubba? You were alone most of the time. You had the opportunity.”
“Same as the doctor,” David said. “Who was going to write Bubba into the will?”
“Maybe it’s not money at all,” Tandy said slowly. “Maybe it’s because he’s addicted to dead people. Dead people are falling all around about him. I mean, the dead probably rise from the grave to come and see him.”
“That’s not my fault,” Bubba protested. “It was a movie with zombies. You were there. There wasn’t really any dead people except the one guy.”
Tandy took a step backward. She dropped one of her cigarettes and mashed it with her foot. “I don’t know anything. I’m tired. I need a hit of blue mystic pot. I got a stash at home in the base of my Olmec head statue.” She paused. “I did not tell you that. I don’t have an Olmec head statue.” She paused again. “Just in case anyone is listening. I don’t have a stash at home.”
“I brought Bubba into this,” David said with a reasonable tone as if he was talking to a child. “He didn’t know anything about it before yesterday. He was fishing on a lake, looking at baby name books.”
“How do I know you’re not all in on it?” Tandy asked, taking another step back. “You could be all be murderers. A Sherlock Holmes murderer. A wedding guy murderer. A redneck murderer.”
“Wedding planner murderer,” Peyton corrected helpfully.
“Peyton isn’t a murderer,” Bubba said sharply. “He’s just a fella that done got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I don’t know that,” Tandy said cuttingly. “I think I’ve been a pretty good sidekick up until this point.” She motioned at Dr. Adair’s body with her remaining cigarette. “Sarcastic, biting, humorous. Yep. All there. But this is murder. Really murder. I should have realized that when we saw Blake’s body. I don’t know what was wrong with me, but my eyes are open right the eff now.”
“What did you think it was?” David asked gently.
“It’s all surrealistic. This kind of crap doesn’t happen to normal people.” Tandy waved at Bubba. “No one named Bubba goes around finding dead bodies all the time. Furthermore, Pegram County is becoming the murder capital of the world. How many murders have you had here in the last two or three years?”
Bubba had to think about it. There was his former fiancée, Melissa Dearman, the realtor, Neal Ledbetter, and Steve Killebrew and Mrs. Smothermon were victims of the Christmas Killer. That murderer had also killed Robert Daughtry who’d worked at a driver’s license bureau, but Bubba didn’t think it had happened in Pegram County. Then there was poor Mary Posey, but that hadn’t happened in the last two or three years. Of course, Justin Thyme had been done in by the same person who had done in Mary Posey. Then the movie director had died but that turned out to be a case of creative coverup-a-cide.
“Five,” Bubba said. “And I only found the first one, the second one, the third one, and the fifth one, but he vanished.” He brightened. “Just like the people keep doing around here.” It wasn’t anything to be happy about. He wished he could vanish. First, a meal, then a nap, and conclude with vanishing.
Precious whined sharply and sat down next to Bubba’s sock-covered feet. He hunkered down next to her and scratched the part under her jowls she liked. He wished he had some more Milk-Bones or even a ragged tennis ball to throw for her. Sometimes it seemed as though all the problems in the world could be solved by throwing a tennis ball for a Bassett hound.
David said, “Uh, Tandy, don’t get all paranoid. You know one of the symptoms of chronic marijuana use is paranoia. In fact, cannabis use can exacerbate schizophrenia.”
Bubba glanced up. Tandy was all the way to the edge of the woods with one foot inside the tree line. At least she wasn’t pointed toward the cliff. Her face was wild; her eyes were large. She was twitching and not in a good way. The cigarette in her mouth went up and down as her head jerked.
“Just because chronic pot use can cause paranoia doesn’t mean that people aren’t after you,” Tandy shrieked. She twirled and ran off into the woods.
David started after her and Bubba said, “What are you goin’ to do ifin you catch her, David?”
“If she’s alone, she might run into the killer,” David barked. “She’s not safe, Bubba.”
“And she won’t trust him anymore than us,” Bubba said. “Cain’t tie her down. Cain’t lock her in a room. Hopefully she’ll lock herself into a room until we can get her some he’p.”
Peyton glanced into the woods. “Miss North!” he yelled. “Don’t trust anyone! Lock yourself in a room! We’ll come looking for you when the police come!” He sighed. Then he looked at David and Bubba. “What? She might get married one day, and she’ll think of Pure Love Weddings, LLC, and then I’ll be in clover. Although I should say I’m not entirely sure which way she swings. She might very well marry the Olmec head she talked about.”
“That’s the bass calling the trout fishy,” Bubba muttered.
“I heard that, dear redneck groom,” Peyton said calmly. “I am entirely heterosexual. Ginger is my goddess. She will come to the wedding, and you will see. She’s got more woman in her little finger than all the women in this county have in their bodies.” He looked David up and down. “Of course, your disguise was all that, Sherlock.”
David raised his eyebrows. “Of course,” he agreed. He looked after Tandy. “We can’t just let her run off.”
Bubba stood up. “No, we cain’t. Come on.” He strode into the forest and winced when he stepped on a pinecone. “I hate pinecones,” he mumbled.
“Precious,” he said. The canine bounced up, having found some energy from somewhere that Bubba wished he could find. “Find the lady. She’s got Milk-Bones. Hunt, girl. Hunt.” He carefully picked up Tandy’s g
round out cigarette butt and let his dog inspect it.
Precious sniffed around the butt and then into the air. She swung her head about. Bubba wasn’t sure why she had been a miserable failure at being a hunting hound. With the right motivation she did just fine. Usually food had to be involved.
Precious stopped to bay at the skies.
David winced and whispered, “The hound of the Baskervilles is among us once more.”
Chapter 22
Bubba and Nefarious Noodleheads
Sunday, April 7th
“We shouldn’t have let her go,” David said, looking at Bubba. They had hunted through the woods for Tandy North for an hour and hadn’t found anything but a telltale smoking cigarette lying on the trail nearest to the hospital. They had reluctantly returned to the cafeteria. Bubba had helped himself to more coffee before he noticed that there were three cupcakes left in the cupcake stand. Three. Three cupcakes. Three people left. How obvious was that?
Bubba glanced at David, who turned away and gazed out the large windows. Bubba looked away from David because he felt guilty. Then he stared at the cupcakes. The cupcakes didn’t appeal to him and not because there was zucchini and carrots hidden within the recipe. No, it was because they represented something evil and warped.
“Did you eat those cupcakes?” Bubba demanded of David.
David had changed back into man clothes to include the deerstalker cap and Inverness coat. He chewed on the end of the calabash pipe and apparently contemplated the idiosyncrasies of murder. Sherlock Holmes was no longer in disguise; he was large and in charge. He also shook his head. “Chocolate gives me the volcanic whoopsies,” David said sadly. “Plus, I wouldn’t be able to fit into that dress that your mother gave me. It doesn’t matter how much zucchini and carrots Leeza put into the recipe. It all goes to my hips. I don’t know how some women do it.”
Bubba thought about the Smith & Wesson in the white clutch purse. The purse had gone the way of the white heelless pumps and the dress. Bubba wanted to assume that the weapon had gone into one of the deep pockets of the Inverness coat along with the brass knuckles and the sap, but everyone knew what happened when one assumed.
