Janie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the milk some more.
Miz Demetrice was reminded of a ten-year-old boy who had sat in the same chair at the great table. To be perfectly exact, Celestine Gray was sitting where Miz Adelia had said Nancy Musgrave had sat with her overgrown .50 caliber hand cannon.
“Thank you for all of your help with the searches,” Evan Gray said as he took a cup of coffee from her.
Miz Demetrice served everyone and one for herself.
“The sheriff said you were responsible for half the people who were looking. He said you delivered a batch of flyers up to south Dallas,” he said.
“I like Willodean,” Miz Demetrice said as she added sugar and cream to her coffee. “I’m going to church tomorrow to pray for her as I’m fresh out of other ideas.”
Celestine’s mouth opened and then shut.
“Praying is good,” Evan said hurriedly with a glance at his wife. “Everything helps.”
The six were quiet for a long moment. Janie took an index finger and very specifically pushed the glass of milk about two inches away from her.
“Would making it chocolate interest you, dear?” Miz Demetrice asked Janie.
Janie glowered. Obviously real eight-year-old girls didn’t drink milk, much less chocolate milk. Her scowl transferred from the milk to Miz Demetrice. Miz Demetrice was an expert at receiving the hard end of a stare. She stared back until the girl looked away with a little dismayed grunt, knowing when an elder had beaten her at her own game.
“Cookies anyone?” Miz Demetrice said with a dry cheerfulness that she didn’t feel. “I’m sure ya’ll need all the energy you can get. They’re store bought, but they’re not bad. My housekeeper has a fondness for them. They’re called Oatmeal Doodle Squares. They have raisins in them.”
Janie brought her stare back upon Miz Demetrice. “You know something,” she announced coldly.
Miz Demetrice was not perturbed. “As a matter of fact, I know many things. Is there a particular area to which you want to narrow that?”
“Janie!” Anora barked. Janie’s chin lowered to her chest.
Celestine let out a great sigh. “Wills talked about you, Mrs. Snoddy.”
Miz Demetrice turned her attention to Celestine. She wasn’t wearing her police uniform. On the contrary, she had on a sweat shirt and worn jeans. Her shoes had mud on them, and the cheeks of her face were windburned from being outside for long hours in the cold of a January day.
“She called you Miz Demetrice,” Celestine went on.
“Most people do around here,” Miz Demetrice said in a calm tone. “You’re welcome to do so.”
Evan Gray appeared disconcerted to be in the Snoddy Mansion. The daughters appeared calm but anxious to be elsewhere. Janie was ready to let her ire down upon the unwary head of the first unrepentant soul she could locate.
“Is there any news about Willodean?” Miz Demetrice asked. She looked at each of them in turn. No one was sad. They were tired. They were worried.
Evan shook his head. “Nothing. We’ve got nothing at all.”
“But I’ve gotten a couple of calls from Dallas,” Celestine added dryly.
Miz Demetrice nodded. “About Bubba.”
“Yes, about Bubba.”
Taking a seat at the end of the table, Miz Demetrice paused to stir her coffee. “He’s very keen to help find Willodean.”
Wasn’t that a way to put it?
Bubba had been trailing after Deputy Willodean Gray for months and just as he was finally about to make a move in the right direction, a rampaging killer appears and Willodean vanishes.
“We don’t need his help,” Janie snarled.
“Janie,” Anora snapped. “If I have to tell you again, I’ll take you back to Dallas tonight, and you can just go back to school tomorrow, like you should be instead of helping us.”
“Mom!” Janie protested.
“And drink your milk,” Anora added. “It’s good for your bones.”
“I can see how you might be concerned about Bubba,” Miz Demetrice said, “but he only wishes for her safe return.”
“Bubba is messing with police investigators,” Celestine said without emotion. She cast her icy eyes upon Miz Demetrice, but the Snoddy matriarch had been stared down by much better, to include the pouting Janie. “He’s interfering where he shouldn’t be. He’s causing problems for the people who need to be looking for my daughter.”
“I’m not going to say that Bubba isn’t making mistakes,” Miz Demetrice said carefully. “But you cain’t expect him to do nothing at all.”
Celestine ground her teeth together. Miz Demetrice could hear the enamel chipping away from clear across the table.
“Willodean is important to Bubba,” Miz Demetrice said. The truth was more complicated. Bubba truly liked Willodean; he might even be in love with her.
Miz Demetrice had begun to realize that it was more than just that. Something had happened on the day Willodean had gone missing, something more than her disappearance. No, it was the day before that. Bubba had gone out on Wednesday, and he had come back smiling. For a short period of time, it hadn’t mattered that two old family friends had been murdered or that he was suspected in the attempted murder of Sheriff John or that his mother’s life had been threatened by the same evil perpetrator. A hint of a smile remained on his face as he’d walked through the house checking windows and ensuring doors were locked.
Of course, Miz Demetrice peeked out earlier to see Bubba driving up before that, escorted by a county vehicle. He had spent quite a bit of time in close contact with the deputy and Miz Demetrice smiled to herself.
‘Bout time. But how did one explain that to Willodean’s mother?
Bubba was an old soul. He had strong beliefs and his morals could make a fine dike to hold back just about any body of water. When he dated the treacherous Lurlene Grady, he hadn’t made any false promises to her. His intentions had been sincere. He went out with and treated her like a lady.
So after the treachery had been revealed Bubba moved on from Lurlene Grady. When it came to Willodean Gray, he’d taken it slowly, having previously made mistakes with the feminine persuasion. Initially, Willodean hadn’t shown any interest in Bubba; however, he wore her down. She had wanted to help him because she believed he was innocent.
Willodean believed in Bubba. No, she believes in him.
So that was what Miz Demetrice said. “Willodean believes in Bubba.”
Willodean’s sister, Hattie, wiped a tear from her cheek.
Evan reached out and put a hand over his wife’s hand. A muscle contracted in Celestine’s cheek.
“I know that if it was Bubba who was missing, I would move heaven and earth to find him,” Miz Demetrice said gently. “And Bubba feels the same way about Willodean.”
“Are they…?”
It was the first time that Miz Demetrice heard the tremor in Celestine’s voice.
Miz Demetrice shrugged wryly. “Everyone wants to know, but no one knows but them.”
“He looked like he…loves her,” Janie said. Her voice was diminished from the lively, in-your-face tone it had before.
The girl toyed with the glass of milk. Half of it was gone although Miz Demetrice hadn’t seen her take a drink.
“Why do you say that, baby?” Anora asked.
“When the police were all waiting for the dogs, I mean, hounds, to go searching for Auntie Wills, he looked like he was sad.” Janie stared at the milk. “Real sad. Like his heart was breaking. Like Grandma looks when she thinks no one is watching her.”
Hattie choked.
“I wish I could say that everything will be all right,” Miz Demetrice said to Janie, “but I don’t know what will happen. Only God knows.”
“I’ve talked to Him,” Janie said. “I don’t know if He’s listening.”
Celestine covered her mouth with a trembling hand. After a moment, she reached for her grandchild’s hand. “He’s listening,” Celestine
told Janie. “He always listens.”
Janie drank the rest of her milk using the hand that Celestine wasn’t holding. Then she slammed the glass onto the table like it was a shot glass and the table was a bar. Then she wiped the milk mustache away with the back of her free hand. She culminated her unsavory actions by defiantly staring at the people watching her.
Her mother winced.
It was at that inopportune moment that Bubba arrived. He walked in the door of the dining room and froze. He stared at the group with an uncertain expression. His intense gaze bounced from Celestine and Janie to Miz Demetrice.
“No,” he said, assuming they were there because of the worst possible outcome of Willodean’s disappearance. His large hands clamped into white-knuckled fists at his sides.
Miz Demetrice stood up and said rapidly, “No, there’s no news, Bubba.”
His chest heaved once. After a long moment, he said, “I don’t know whether to say thank God or not.”
Celestine gave Janie a last squeeze and took a moment to wipe off a bit of milk from the corner of the eight-year-old’s mouth with an index finger. “That’s pretty much how all of us feel,” she said.
Precious scooted inside the door and paused as she took in the crowd. She snuffled once and sat down in the middle of the floor. A low whine questioned what was happening.
“Oh!” Janie said. “Another hound.”
“She’s a Basset hound,” Bubba said.
Miz Demetrice sighed and sat back down in her chair again.
“Who’s a little, precious cute girl?” Janie said as she got up to approach the dog.
Precious perked up at the sound of her name.
Bubba observed as Janie approached the hound and tentatively offered her fingers for the animal to smell.
He said in a grating voice, “Really, there ain’t anything new?”
“The tip line has over five hundred messages,” Evan Gray said glumly. “Most of it is trash or people who thought they saw someone who looks like Willodean, except with blonde hair or red hair or purple hair. She’s in Alaska on a fishing trawler. She’s in Los Angeles selling Maps to the Stars. She was on the late flight to Tokyo. The sheriff has people working on the tips.”
“I hate those lines,” Hattie said. “The police know that they’re mostly a waste of time and manpower. But how can we not have one?”
Precious licked Janie’s face and she giggled.
“You need to get the kid a dog,” Celestine said.
“She wants a German shepherd,” Anora said. “A real police dog. Those dogs poop piles the size of dinner plates.”
“So get her something smaller,” Celestine said. “Keep her out of the station house and talking to junkies and prostitutes. Two weeks ago she gave me a lecture on different types of methamphetamines that she had learned from someone named ‘Turtle.’ ”
“It’ll be a great class project,” Anora said weakly.
Everyone trailed off into an awkward silence.
“What’s next?” Miz Demetrice asked.
“We wait,” Celestine said, the grimness evident in her voice. “We wait, and we get used to waiting until we don’t have to wait anymore.”
“Da dah DAH!” yelled a man dressed entirely in purple as he jumped into the room.
There wasn’t anyone in the room who didn’t jump. Precious scrambled for the cover of the dining room table, and Janie sat back hard on her rump. Miz Demetrice dropped her coffee cup. Anora reached for her daughter. Hattie pushed back and reached for the gun strapped under her jacket. Evan jerked as his eyes got very wide.
But Celestine had her firearm out in record time and was aiming at the individual in purple who stood at the door with his arms akimbo and his chest thrust out.
Bubba yelled, “Don’t shoot! He’s harmless!”
Miz Demetrice eyed the spreading circle of coffee and the broken cup that had belonged to her side of the family for three generations. “That’s a matter of opinion,” she said.
“Harmless,” the man in purple said with dubious intent.
He reached up and adjusted the purple scarf across his eyes and head. He returned his hands to his waist and puffed his chest out further.
“I’m not harmless. I am THE PURPLE SINGAPORE SLING!”
The Purple Singapore Sling eyed Celestine’s Glock and laughed theatrically. “Bullets bounce off my chest! You shouldn’t bother with that.”
“Bullets don’t bounce off your chest, David,” Bubba said, waving one hand at Celestine. “They’ll bounce through your chest.”
“Go ahead, shoot me!” The Purple Singapore Sling sang out. “I am impervious to manly weapons.”
Miz Demetrice’s eyes narrowed at The Purple Singapore Sling. “Is that David Beathard? Why, last week he was a psychotherapist.”
“He’s a psychotherapist?” Hattie said incredulously.
“He’s not a psychotherapist either,” Bubba said. “It’s just one of his…personas.”
“This is who you went to see?” Miz Demetrice demanded.
“I need to know about stalkers,” Bubba defended himself. “David Beathard knows lots about psychology, and the parole officer of the man who was stalking Willodean wouldn’t give me the name of his therapist.”
Miz Demetrice gazed upon The Purple Singapore Sling. “But he’s not exactly David Beathard today.”
“You went to talk to someone crazy about Wills’ stalker?” Anora asked. She looked at Hattie. “He went to a crazy person to talk about another crazy person.”
“It’s just like when Clarice Starling went to talk to Hannibal Lecter,” Janie said from where she still sat on the floor staring up at The Purple Singapore Sling. She even quoted, “‘Quid pro quo, Clarice.’”
“Did you let her watch that movie?” Celestine asked Anora. The horror on Celestine’s face made it seem pale and lifeless.
“No!” Anora glared briefly at Janie. “She had already finished the novel when I found it under her bed last month. Then she watched the movie at Hattie’s house. Hattie left it lying around.” She flashed a glare at her sister. Hattie shrugged.
“At least she’s reading at an advanced level,” Evan said, resignedly.
“Seriously, my daughter is…” Celestine said and her words died as she looked at Bubba’s tired face.
“Why did you bring David-I mean, The Purple Singapore Sling here?” Miz Demetrice asked.
“He’s a superhero,” Bubba said.
Celestine put her weapon away.
“He’s not,” Janie said. “He needs to go to the special ward at the hospital. The loo told me about it. They have these jackets you put on them so they can’t do anything with their hands.”
“Are they purple jackets?” The Purple Singapore Sling asked.
“I don’t know,” Janie answered as if that was a very good question.
“He might change back into David Beathard, psychotherapist,” Bubba whispered to his mother. “Then he might be able to help me understand this Le Beau guy. And once he found out that Willodean is missing, he insisted on coming to help.” Bubba glanced over his shoulder at The Purple Singapore Sling. “On account of him being a superhero and all. It turns out that he’s at the institute on a voluntary basis, so he can leave any time he wants. And he wants.”
“Oh,” Miz Demetrice said understandingly.
She had dealt with a number of peculiar individuals in her life. After all, she had dealt with Bubba’s father, who was a peculiar individual in his own right, by using a machete while he slept one night.
“Well then, Mr. Sling,” she said courteously. “Would you care for some coffee and cookies?”
Chapter Fifteen
Bubba Goes to Prison
Wednesday, January 4th
Bubba woke up to a shower of canine slobber. Precious endeavored to comb his hair with her tongue to remind him that she was fairly peckish first thing in the morning.
A moment of blessed ignorance clouded Bubba’s brain. This
was followed by a second of wretched recollection. Willodean was still missing. There wasn’t a sign of her stalker. The searches hadn’t revealed anything. Nothing much had changed. The sun had come up, but no one was singing a chipper, choral rendition of Happy Days are Here Again.
Life threatened to simply go on without so much as a nod to the ignobility of it all.
The previous evening there had been a phone call from Gideon Culpepper who owned Culpepper’s Garage where Bubba worked. They’d had an agreement whereby Bubba would refrain from staining the good name of Culpepper’s Garage while he tried to clear up the mystery of the Christmas Killer’s identity. Now that Nancy Musgrave had been apprehended, Gideon was anxious to get things back to standard operating procedure. So why wasn’t Bubba back at work like a good troop?
Bubba didn’t intend on going back to work for Gideon until he found Willodean, and he didn’t bother returning the message.
There were other things to do, and Bubba still had some savings to live on. His situation wasn’t urgent but hers was.
If he dared to put a time limit on the length of days or weeks he would search for Willodean, then it would be like stabbing a knife into his own back.
Calling back Gideon automatically went on the bottom of Bubba’s mental checklist.
Instead he took care of personal business and showered off dog drool. Getting dressed and tromping downstairs ensued. He fed his pet while she did a little dance waiting for kibble to descend to the appropriate level for proper consumption.
Bubba got out the largest coffee mug available and filled it up with the life-saving caffeinated liquid that Miz Adelia had already made that morning. He briefly waved at Miz Adelia, who had brought relatives to help with the massive clean-up of the mansion. Apparently, the housekeeper was highly offended about how the place had been left by relatives, police, and various and sundry individuals.
He ate two still-warm cinnamon rolls and didn’t think about how the taste of the rolls was off. It wasn’t that the rolls weren’t up to their usual standard, because they were. But nothing tasted right to Bubba.
Bubba and the Missing Woman Page 16
