by C. L. Bevill
“I don’t know who did it,” Bubba said, “but I reckon you and Sheriff John are looking into it.”
“We have a specialist looking at the remnants of the bomb,” she said.
Bubba’s eyebrows went up. “I promise to be more careful,” he said very slowly.
Willodean stared at him. “My mother says you can come stay with them for the rest of the week.”
Bubba nearly shuddered. He didn’t dislike Willodean’s family, but most of the females were actual law enforcement officers. They all had guns with the exception of her father, who obviously didn’t need the firepower with all the other firepower about. There had been implicit threats against his person in relation to the issue of his possibly hurting Willodean. It would be like a mouse strutting around in the house where a dozen hungry cats lived.
“I cain’t leave Ma or Miz Adelia,” Bubba said. “Would you leave ifin I asked you to run away for the week?”
Willodean continued to stare at him. “I don’t like looking down at you in a hospital bed.”
“I don’t like being in one,” Bubba said frankly. “Willodean, I ain’t a fool, but ifin someone wants to kill me, they’ll have to try harder than that.”
Bubba could tell that she didn’t like that. After a few moments, Willodean nodded. “I didn’t think you’d go for it. Try the cake.”
Bubba hesitated. Then he moved the lid to the side and plucked up a plastic fork that she had considerately included in the container. For some reason the red velvet cake didn’t exactly smell like red velvet cake. He got a forkful, and his stomach did a little cartwheel. Even if it didn’t smell exactly right, he was still hungry. She was watching as he put it in his mouth and began to chew.
Bubba was never sure how he managed to keep a neutral expression on his face as he chewed. It was a test he was positive that he could have never passed. He chewed, and he didn’t spit it right back out, the way it probably would have happened if Willodean hadn’t been staring him in the face.
Willodean took a breath and went around to the other side of the bed where David had left the chair. She turned it around while Bubba tried to keep himself from gagging. Fighting for composure he kept an eye on her as she arranged the chair. As soon as she turned back to him, he resumed chewing.
Mebe some of that water will wash it down, he thought desperately.
“I’ve never baked a cake before, and I didn’t get a chance to taste it.” Willodean said. “My mother can cook. Miz Adelia can cook. My sisters never bothered to learn. My father cooks. As a matter of fact, there’s this coconut cake he makes that will make you gain twenty pounds overnight.” She looked at Bubba consideringly. “Maybe not you.”
Bubba swallowed and forced the lump down his throat. It was like eating baked, half-burned concrete. How could she have possibly burned half and undercooked the other half? He didn’t know the answer, but he did know that she hadn’t done it on purpose. His eyes scanned the room. Was there a plant in the room that he could dump it behind? No. No plants. The bed pan? No, the bed pan was on the other side of the room. Dang it all.
Willodean kept talking as he tentatively put the fork in another part of the cake. One of the tongs broke off, and the remainder vibrated fiercely. He dug the fork in again, and this time got a chunk. It split off the rest as if a hammer and chisel had parted it. The piece looked like red-colored concrete.
“Did you know there’s a difference between baking soda and baking powder?” she asked. It occurred to Bubba that Willodean left the whole leave-town-now subject awfully quickly. She really hadn’t expected him to go for it. She had something else up her sleeve. She was mad at him, but she wasn’t that mad.
“Mmgrphit,” Bubba said because his mouth was full. He couldn’t bring himself to swallow the second bite, no matter how he tried to convince his throat to work. Swallow, damn you! Swallow!
“That’s a funny recipe, too,” Willodean said. “It calls for vinegar. I accidentally put more in than it called for, and that buttermilk I got from Bufford’s didn’t have an expiration date on it.”
That’s because George Bufford buys his dairy products from a dealer in Houston who shops in dumpsters behind supermarkets. Then he scrapes the expiration dates off.
Bubba felt something move in his throat. It wasn’t the food, and it wasn’t his flesh. Had she gotten the flour from Bufford’s, too? George dint care ifin the flour wiggled or not as long as someone paid him for it. He nodded encouragingly at Willodean. She smiled tentatively.
They heard a scream from outside the room and David yelled, “Prepare to be boarded! Wanna shiver me timbers?”
Willodean got up to see what trouble David was getting into, and Bubba shoved the cake under his pillow. He spat the rest into his hand and stuck it under the sheets. The only thing left were some of the crumbs and the broken fork. He wondered how he was going to get the rest of the cake away from Willodean before she poisoned someone.
“That’s the finest pirate booty me has ever seen!” David called as he ran past Bubba’s room.
Bubba’s mind went blank.
Chapter Twelve
Bubba and the Art of Detectification
Monday, August 20th
Bubba had to do three things. He had to call Culpepper’s Garage and tell Gideon he wouldn’t be in on account that he couldn’t straighten his body all the way out, and he didn’t think he could work for a few days. (Bubba had sick time coming to him, and he also needed to figure out if someone planned to blow him up again. Most importantly, he didn’t think Gideon would want him anywhere near the garage because of what had happened during spring break. Bubba had sworn on a stack of musty-smelling Bibles that spring break was the first time that someone had blown him up, and it would be the only time.) He had to track the Travellers down. He had to know, no, he needed to know where Paddy Sheedy had gotten that part. While it was possible that a murder attempt had been a purely coincidental activity, it was more likely that it had something to do with the note.
Finally, he had to strip the hospital bed before one of the staff saw the blood red cake oozing out from under the pillow and the sheets.
Willodean left with a promise to see him later. If he needed a ride home, he was to call her. Bubba smiled with his mouth closed and accepted her kiss on his cheek. Her hand briefly caressed his whiskered cheek.
“Hey,” he said as she went to the door.
Willodean looked over her shoulder. He had a brief vision of what she looked like with her black hair spilling luxuriously over her shoulders, and it warmed his soul, among other things.
“They find that fella, Justin Thyme?”
Willodean’s pretty green eyes narrowed at him. “I don’t think so.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you want to make me angry, Bubba Nathanial Snoddy?” she asked.
“I love it when you middle-name me,” he commented. He fanned his face with his free hand. “It makes me hot.”
“That guy is probably in hiding from playing his part in the festival,” Willodean said carefully. “Big Joe says he wasn’t at home with the missus. There’s no evidence of anything going on there, and his common-law wife was working at the manure factory at the time.”
“Dint know the factory started up a Saturday shift again,” Bubba said.
“I’m sure that Crockett and Tubbs checked out her alibi,” Willodean snarked.
“Oh, Haynes and Smithson, sure.”
Willodean’s head tilted. “What does that have to do with the note?”
“Dunno.” Bubba had a handful of partially chewed red velvet cake, and he was pushing Willodean’s buttons. He was living on the edge. “Nothing, I reckon. Prolly just the festival folks playing some games.”
“Probably,” Willodean agreed and gave Bubba a discerning gaze. “See you later, big guy.”
Bubba sighed and withdrew his hand from the sheets so he could wipe off the cake. He had to sweet talk a nurse into getting him some kind of paper towels and then
into letting him use a phone to call Culpepper’s.
•
Walking out of the hospital a few hours later dressed in clothes that Miz Adelia had dropped off, Bubba only felt mildly like a stretched-out, broken rubber band. His head felt like cotton had been stuffed inside it in a way not dissimilar to the plushes at Build-A-Bear. There were bruises on places that he couldn’t account for. He didn’t actually recall the minutes between the bomb detonating and when Errol Flynn started ranting about hurrying up, so he wasn’t sure what had happened to his body and where the bruises had come from. During the whole unconscious segment, a dozen drunken rednecks could have come up and snapped him with wet towels, and he wouldn’t have known.
Duelly Daft David showed up with his purple Smart car just in time to pick Bubba up. The car did, indeed, have Jolly Roger wraps on it. Bubba didn’t think he would fit in the front passenger seat, but with his knees up to his chin, he was able to sit inside. Additionally, with some moves circus contortionists would have been envious of, he was able to fasten his seat belt. He nearly cheered.
David sang, “What do you do with a drunken sailor?” while Bubba wiggled about in a vain effort to get comfortable.
“It’s like getting into a Styrofoam cup,” Bubba said.
“It has eight airbags, matey.”
“Eight airbags,” Bubba repeated. “That’d be swell ifin we got swept away down a river. We could float on the airbags until someone rescued us.”
David chuckled. “Me car is no joke. It can hold a bundle of pirate booty.”
“You mean booty or booty?”
“Either one.” David laughed again. “Me had five wenches in here last night.” He winked at Bubba. “The lovelies adore the pirate.”
Bubba looked at David. David was an individual who was often motion sick in cars. Bubba knew from personal experience how hard it was to remove the smell of vomit from his truck. “How do you avoid getting car sick in this one?”
David shrugged. “Turns out driving less than twenty minutes at a time means me don’t get sick.” He frowned to himself. “Haven’t tried out a schooner yet, bucko. Might need one of those bracelets.”
“Okay, take me to Willodean’s place,” Bubba said.
David nodded slyly. “Booty,” he said.
“You’ve got a dirty mind even for a pirate,” Bubba snapped. “I need to talk to her neighbor.”
“Be the neighbor boy or girl?”
“A girl,” Bubba said. “You’ll like her. She has dreadlocks and doesn’t wear underwear.” He immediately wished he hadn’t said the latter.
“How would ye know that?”
Bubba ignored the question and gave David directions. The Smart car had an amazing amount of pep for such a tiny vehicle, but after five minutes, his thighs and calves were screaming for mercy. When they reached Willodean’s duplex, David parked the car into a slot that really wasn’t whole-car sized. He cheated by pulling straight into it instead of parallel parking. Bubba was thankful to exit the miniscule car. One of his legs abruptly cramped up once it was fully extended, and he almost fell on the grass next to the street.
Bubba was also thankful that Willodean was at work so that she wouldn’t immediately know that he was poking his nose into other people’s business.
But Willodean was beginning to understand and Bubba knew it. A few weeks before, he might have let the note go. It would have nagged at him in his mind, but he wouldn’t have jumped on it like he was a bear and it was a jar of honey. Before. But once someone tried to blow him up, then the situation changed dramatically. Bubba wasn’t thinking of himself. Instead he thought of his mother and Miz Adelia, either of whom might have shown up at the gate before Bubba, either of whom might have tried to push the gate’s sides away from the drive. Either of whom might have been blown to smithereenies.
In addition, there might be any of a dozen very nice, non-murdering people who might have come up to the gate and attempted to push the sides back.
Bubba didn’t really know that the attempt had to do with the note, but he had a gut feeling. More importantly, the attempt made sure of one thing. Bubba was now dogged. There wasn’t any letting go.
“Really,” David said as he turned off the ignition, “how does ye know she doesn’t wear her skivvies?”
“Ifin I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”
“On the souls of fifteen men on a dead man’s chest,” David vowed.
“When I asked her about Willodean being missing, she came to the door only in a t-shirt,” Bubba said quickly. He patted his clothing and found the note in a baggie. He’d rescued it from his old, singed clothing. It hadn’t been damaged, although some of the Sharpie writing wasn’t as legible. Brownie would be disappointed about the sammy.
“I don’t think she really noticed she wasn’t wearing undies,” Bubba added.
“Ooo,” said David.
There was a walkway with flowerbeds that led to the duplex’s doors. On one side was Willodean’s front porch with a swing. Bronze wind chimes dangled from the rafters of the porch and tinkled in the breeze.
On the other side was a mirror-image porch. However, there wasn’t a swing or wind chimes. There was a flag flying from the side. It showed a little anime figure holding a samurai sword out in preparation to swing away. The words below it said “Trust me, I’m a ninja.”
“Wonder if a samurai sword would work better than a saber,” David mused.
There was also an empty six-pack of Mongozo beer. The packaging said it had been banana flavored. Empty bottles of something called Bilk sat on the railing. The empty bottle’s label had Japanese Kanji and graphics that showed cows in a field. Lastly, there was an empty bottle of mescal. The worm was absent.
Bubba sighed and rang the bell. He could hear it echoing inside to the tune of the music from Halloween. Someone cursed from inside. Something fell over. Someone else said, “Get the door!”
Waiting patiently, Bubba turned to see David having a conversation with a flower from the flower bed. “Ahoy, ye pretty petunia, me will chop your leaves off if you’re not sweet to me.”
“It’s not a petunia, David.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t you have work to do at your business?”
“Closed on Mondays,” David said. “Not enough work to open up. Besides, me is due to be slaughtered by Milo Minute at noon at the library. Don’t tell anyone Milo is going to do me in.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
The door opened, and Kiki Rutkowski looked out. Her dreads fluttered around her head, and she was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt. Bubba was afraid to look below her waist, but David clarified the status quo with a slightly disappointed, “Avast, ye jean-wearing wench.”
Kiki glanced at David and then back at Bubba. “Hey, Bubba,” she said. “I heard you found some more dead bodies.” She chortled.
“Kiki,” he said politely, “this is David Beathard. He’s a pirate.”
Kiki looked at David again. Bubba suspected that David was leering at Kiki, but he didn’t turn to look at the other man. “I can see that,” she said. “J-Depp style. That would be apropos if we were having a pirate festival or if it was Talk Like a Pirate Day.”
“Arr,” David said succinctly.
Bubba had thanked Kiki for her help a few weeks after she had assisted him in locating the beauteous Willodean Gray. Specifically, he’d brought her a rum cake that Miz Adelia had made, which made him think of the science project that the lovely deputy had constructed in the very next duplex. Hope Willodean doesn’t share the rest of the red velvet cake with the college kids. Should I warn Kiki?
“I hate to drop in,” Bubba said, “but I have another problem.”
“Oh, dude,” Kiki said and winced. “I remember your last problem. Willy hasn’t been kidnapped again?”
“No, she’s fine.”
“Your mother? Your cousin? Your cousin’s kid?” Kiki laughed. “Love that kid. Did you see him at
spring break? He was wicked-wild.”
“I saw him.”
“Okay, come on in,” Kiki said and stepped back. Bubba finally saw that she was wearing cut-off jeans along with the Rolling Stones t-shirt. Fortunately, her legs and feet were the only thing that was bare. Thank you, God.
They went into the small living room. It was decorated in cast-off-garage-sale style. A broken rocker was on one side. Two mismatched camp chairs sat on the other. One had an umbrella, which was up. The television mounted on the wall was the only thing that was of any value. It was a fifty-something-inch plasma. A man lay on the floor with his arm covering his eyes. His t-shirt had a little stick figure on it with its arms raised to the heavens. The caption said “I pooped today!” He was also wearing boxers, a fact for which Bubba was profoundly grateful.
Bubba stepped over the man and Kiki said, “That’s Dougie, one of my roommates.”
Dougie said, “Urggle.”
“They had a party last night,” Kiki explained.
David said, “Me appreciates a good crunkage.”
“Dougie, this is Bubba and Pirate Pete,” Kiki said.
“Mrrrgoph,” Dougie said.
“Don’t mind him,” Kiki advised. “I told him not to mix his alcohols, but he didn’t listen. I cut myself off at 10 p.m. because I have a murder today. My name is Hedda Lettuce, and I’m murdering Rick O’Shay at 1 p.m. I think I’m strangling him with my pearl necklace because he stole my 401k and my virtue, but I don’t remember the exact details.”
“Back to school soon?”
“After Labor Day, but in the meantime, a job is a job, and besides it’s kind of fun being murdered and murdering people. Festivally speaking, of course.”
“Of course,” Bubba agreed. He didn’t think it sounded fun in either case.
“It’s Bad Black Dog McGee,” David said.
“Is he killing someone today?” Kiki asked.
“No, my name is Bad Black Dog McGee,” David insisted. He threw his fake beaded dreads over his shoulder.
Kiki glowered. “Dreads are a life statement, dude. Fake ones don’t do it.”
