Bubba and the Mysterious Murder Note

by C. L. Bevill

  “You got a call from a killer?” Kiki asked. Her tone conveyed an air of how-cool-is-that?

  “I reckon I did.”

  “Oh, then we were right. It is someone in the area. That’s going to narrow the search down significantly.”

  “You shouldn’t tell anyone,” Bubba said in a near whisper. Willodean nearly overbalanced herself as she tried to lean closer. “Not anyone. Dougie shouldn’t tell anyone. It’s not safe.”

  Kiki was silent again.

  “Or you should forget it, and I’ll find someone else to do it,” Bubba said.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Kiki said. “I get it. This person wouldn’t call you unless you’re close to figuring it out. They got something to lose. They’re trying to scare you off. They couldn’t kill you. You’ve got law enforcement friends. You’ve got your mama big in local politics and all. They want you to back off.”

  “Yep.”

  Kiki thought about it. “They threatened you.”

  “Not me.”

  “They threatened…your mother? Willy?” Kiki gasped. “I’m going to so track them down. Nothing is hidden on the Internet. Fret not, brothah. We’ll get their twisted ass tied into a little Gordian knot so fast, their mama’s head will be spinning.”

  “Be careful.” Bubba looked up as Sheriff John called Willodean’s name, and she reluctantly walked away to listen to what the sheriff wanted. Bubba said, “Listen, ifin Willodean gives you some cake to et, don’t do it.” He hated to say it, but it had to be done. “That cake ain’t right.”

  “Oh, that explains why the smoke alarms went off so many times last night,” Kiki said shrewdly. “We know about Willy’s cooking.” There was a significant pause. “She only cooks when she’s nervous about something, you know.”

  Bubba disconnected the line and looked at the phone. He knew that Willodean would probably call the number back. In fact, she might even recognize the number. She was friends with the neighbors. Furthermore, she had heard half of the conversation although he had been trying to keep his voice down. He might as well have been pouring gasoline on a campfire.

  Willodean came back to him and took the phone. Returning it to her pocket, she demanded, “Are you going to explain that conversation?”

  “I asked Kiki to do some research on who M might be,” Bubba said. He weighed the statement in his head. It was truthful and suitable. It didn’t cross the line. It might make Willodean happy. It might keep him out of relationshipal hot water. Ifin I’m lucky.

  “You asked Kiki,” Willodean said. She turned and walked toward the street. Bubba followed, but he felt like scuffing his feet on the grass like a small child.

  “Kiki thought that…” Bubba started to say and cut himself off. Whenever Willodean was about, his brains pretty much melted into a warm mess of grayish matter. You were supposed to wait until the festival was over, he told himself. But you know that wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. And I done tole her that I would look into it a little bit. But that was before the little incident at the front gate of the Snoddy Estate. You know, the whole exploding bomb thing. And the whole threatenin’ thing. Especially the whole threatenin’ thing.

  Willodean stopped abruptly. There was the vendor who started to say to her, “You, deputy, need the Polliwog Genuine Master Sleuth App—” but who snapped his mouth shut suddenly and stepped back. Bubba figured that the expression on Willodean’s face was likely enough to shut up most people. Her back straightened as Bubba watched. Finally, she looked over one elegantly shaped shoulder and stated politely, “You should get home and get some rest, Bubba.”

  The rapid change of disposition made Bubba distinctly nervous.

  So it was that Willodean drove Bubba home and didn’t say anything else the entire drive there.

  Bubba climbed out of the official Bronco a minute second before Willodean gunned it and whipped back down the driveway. In fact, he hadn’t even shut the vehicle’s door all the way. The physics of her speedy departure made the door close for him.

  Bubba’s initial thought was that Willodean was angry with him. But there was a funny little smile on her face as the Bronco passed him upon its breakneck exit from the grounds. He saw it and was momentarily disconcerted.

  “Ain’t you goin’ t’offer to protect my body with yours?” Bubba yelled after her and then was immediately remorseful. Willodean didn’t deserve that. But there was that little niggling thought that came right after that, Neither did that poor woman who had to write a note and stick it in a car part hoping that someday someone might see it and not immediately throw it in the trash.

  Turning to the porch, Bubba expected a flash of long ears, brown and white, and a sloppy tongue to jump upon him in the manner of a whirling dervish, but there was nothing. Alarm went through him until he heard her characteristic whine. His eyes quickly scanned for her remarkable nose and found it directly. Precious sat stalwartly on one end of the veranda. She wasn’t in the hunting position, but clearly she had cornered something. There she would stay until the prey escaped, or she was called back.

  His eye followed the line that the hound was pointing in and discovered the very large figure hiding behind one of the wicker peacock chairs sitting on the end. The chair didn’t cover the figure. Neither did the matching peacock chair beside it. A third and fourth peacock chair probably wouldn’t have covered the person. Two very large brown eyes looked out nervously.

  “Hey, Bubba,” the man said.

  “Precious,” Bubba said, “heel.”

  Precious bounded over to her master, and she spent the next thirty seconds silently protesting his recent absence in her life.

  The figure slowly clambered to his feet and stared at the pair. “That hound don’t like me much.”

  The figure continued to straighten up. And up. And up some more.

  Bubba bent to scratch under Precious’s jowls and made sure to get behind her ears. One of her back legs happily thumped in accompaniment. “Who’s my precious-wecious-mecious?” he crooned to the hound.

  She was. Precious fell on her side and put all four legs in the sky so that Bubba could properly worship her belly. Finally, Bubba looked at his visitor. There was a lot to look at.

  “Dan,” Bubba said. Daniel Lewis Gollihugh finally straightened to his actual height. (A hair above seven feet in stocking feet, feet flat on the floor. It was said that he had come out of his mother’s womb at nearly three feet in length. Mrs. Gollihugh had never denied it, but she also never had another child.) The taller man didn’t look like he was particularly put out with Bubba. (This was a relief for Bubba because while Bubba was sure that he could give Dan a run for his money, he wasn’t sure that Dan wouldn’t pound Bubba into something that could be drenched and dredged and called chicken-fried.) Dan was known to have a vicious temper. (Once he had dumped a load of manure in his ex-wife’s convertible, but Bubba couldn’t remember which ex-wife it had been because Dan had six at the last count.) Dan’s most infamous action had been urinating on a police car while the police officer had been inside the vehicle. (Regardless of what that particular officer said in later years, he had not gotten out to protest the action until a platoon of other officers had arrived upon the scene.)

  Bubba couldn’t imagine why Daniel Lewis Gollihugh would be coming to see him. Bubba hadn’t slept with any of Dan’s ex-wives nor had he had anything to do with Dan at all for years. “Precious don’t care for no one who ain’t family to be coming on the property whilst we ain’t present,” Bubba said, although explaining that a man’s hound was protective was hardly necessary in the great state of Texas.

  “I kin see that,” Dan said. “I weren’t breaking in or nothing. I dint even spit.”

  Bubba waited. It wasn’t prudent to ask Daniel Lewis Gollihugh undue questions. After all, he blocked out the sun. Each one of his fists was the size of a soccer ball.

  “I guess you be wondering what I’m doin’ out here,” Dan said conversationally.

  “I am,” Bubba said.
He was also tired, his head hurt, and he wanted to get something else in his stomach. An Ultimate Breakfast Sandwich with hash brown sticks and a bite of would-be red velvet cake only went so far in a man’s day.

  “This last round in the slam taught me something,” Dan said gently, as if imparting a gem with which to deposit into the most secure of bank vaults.

  “Okay,” Bubba said. He thought he was supposed to say something. Dan seemed to expect it and nodded applicably.

  “There was a fella in there who taught all of us about Buddhism,” Dan said after a moment of silence. “The entire cell block.”

  Bubba wasn’t really expecting that.

  “You see, Buddha was a fella who believed in enlightenment,” Dan explained thoughtfully.

  Precious whined.

  “By ending our ignorance about suffering, we can become better folks,” Dan went on. “I had a great deal of ignorance.”

  Daniel Lewis Gollihugh had become a Buddhist. Imagine that.

  “I practice the concept of ahimsa,” Dan said. “That means that I shouldn’t harm other people or living things. I’m a vegan now. Also, I cain’t be bashing on folks what tell me something I don’t care for.”

  “That’s good,” Bubba ventured.

  “But your ma explained to me that some folks might be out to harm you,” Dan said.

  There was a moment of comprehension. Daniel Lewis Gollihugh’s presence could be explained through the interference of Miz Demetrice. The odd little smile that Willodean had exhibited could also be rationalized. Willodean had met Daniel Lewis Gollihugh many times. To be precise, she had used her favorite can of mace on him on at least three separate occasions. Dan did not care for mace.

  “Ma asked you to come out here?” Bubba said.

  “Well, ifin a fella was to come out here to harm you,” Dan said, “then he might see me and be dissuaded thusly.”

  Dissuaded. As if seeing the seven foot tall Daniel Lewis Gollihugh would be inviting to most people. His practiced scowl would scare away the most intent door-to-door salesman. His size and brooding expression would frighten away everyone else. “So you wouldn’t have to break your rule of nonviolence?” Bubba asked. “That is, ifin they just saw you and were dissuaded thusly?”

  Dan smiled and showed that he had a gap in his top row of teeth. “I knew a fella like you would understand me. You wouldn’t believe some of these good ol’ boys who think Buddhism is right funny. Makes me proper angry and then I remember what Buddha would say about that.”

  “So Ma said for you to come out and keep an eye on me? Be my bodyguard? Is that right?”

  Dan nodded. “I parked ‘round back. My old Dodge be an eyesore, so I don’t want to make the front of your perty mansion all ugly.”

  “The Chevy back there, too?”

  “Your green truck is there,” Dan said. “Miz Demetrice said someone had blown up the front gate, and you was up there with the truck, so I guess that’s why some of it is so black now.”

  “I suppose the deputy talked to you, too,” Bubba said.

  “That gal is shore good as grits,” Dan said appreciatively. “Shore handy with a can of mace.”

  Bubba paused to stare at Dan.

  Dan quickly added, “Not that I’m after another wife. I need to straighten out my own bizness first.”

  “I need something to et, Dan,” Bubba said. Precious woofed in agreement. “You up to something?”

  “I reckon I’m so hungry I could et a horse and then chase down its rider,” Dan said agreeably. “That is,” he added, “if I weren’t a vegan now. Perhaps something in the vegetable or fruit group?”

  Bubba nodded. That was usually the way of it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bubba and the Unruly Callers

  Monday, August 20th – Tuesday, August 21st

  It turned out that Dan’s idea of what a vegan was, was somewhat skewed by his level of intelligence. “I kin eat tuna fish,” he insisted to Bubba. “Everyone knows fishing don’t hurt the fish, so there ya go. Besides I don’t think fish are really part of the meat group.”

  Bubba shrugged. It was not up to him to correct other people’s definitions. If Daniel Lewis Gollihugh, who was ¼ of an inch taller than seven feet, had determined that tuna was on his list of items acceptable to eat, then who was Bubba to correct him? However, Dan’s list seemed to be on a varied sliding scale depending on how much he particularly liked the item.

  “Ranch dressing?” Bubba asked, stopping to look at the contents in the refrigerator. No face on a ranch, right?

  “Mayo,” Dan said. “A lot of mayo. Swimming in mayo.”

  Bubba toasted eight slices of whole wheat bread and found a block of cheddar cheese. He was somewhat past the edge of not-going-there and teetering on the verge of the-hell-with-it. The margarine looked acceptable because it did not seem to have anything organic in it. He had briefly scanned the ingredients. Most of them were names with four or more syllables.

  “Cheese?” Bubba asked, holding up the cheddar. Cheese definitely doesn’t have a face. The cow has the face, but the cow don’t have to die for her to give milk.

  “I reckon no harm came to the cow,” Dan reasoned. “You know, I bin eting a whole lot of peanut butter, so I’m plumb tired of it. A tuna fish sandwich sounds rightly tasty. Hey, is that bacon?”

  “Canadian.”

  “Throw some of that on there. Perty shore those Canadian pigs don’t feel much pain neither. Ain’t they grown for bacon there?”

  Bubba wasn’t sure about the purity of Dan’s convictions. Anyone who said eating dairy products was bad didn’t sound all there to him, but evidently Dan didn’t mind a little latitude on his new-found system of beliefs.

  “I saw that kid, Mark somethingorother, on Saturday,” Bubba said as he assembled the sandwiches. On Dan’s plate, Bubba piled on a mountain of green grapes. On his own plate, he put potato chips. Then he changed his mind and gave Dan some chips, too. Obviously, no one had murdered a potato to make them. He even gave Precious a potato chip. She was partial to the crinkled ones. The salt and vinegar ones made her gag.

  “How about a nice RC Cola?” Bubba asked as Dan obviously thought about what kid named Mark somethingorother.

  “Shore. You mean that kid what I beat to hell?” Dan finally figured it out.

  “Mark Evans,” Bubba said. “His hand is all better.”

  “I did do a little dance on one of them hands,” Dan said solemnly, “before I put him back into the car. I thought it was perty nice of me to get him back in the automobile.”

  “Through the windshield.” Bubba added a stuffed olive on top of the sandwich and admired his handy work. He got a chef’s knife and sliced both sandwiches in half.

  “Shore hope the kid forgives me,” Dan remarked benignly. “I done tried to talk to him last week, but the boy ran away faster than the wind blows.”

  They were in the kitchen, and Dan was sitting at the table, pretty much making it appear as though it had been made for a dwarf. Bubba brought the plates over and then went back for the bottles of RC. He spent a moment popping the caps and then went back to the table. Dan already had half of the tuna fish sandwich in his mouth.

  “Ah ma ungrah,” Dan said and sighed through a mouthful of food.

  “Yep, I’m hungry, too,” Bubba agreed. He put the bottles down and sat, contemplating the meal before him for a moment. Sometimes a fella had to stop and appreciate the smaller things in life. The moment was a rarity. All was good for that single segment of time, and nothing was bashing him on his head.

  There was silence for some time with the exception of Precious’s movements under the table. With a few judicious nudges, she received a bounty of three grapes, two large pieces of tuna fish, and three potato chips, plus Bubba produced a Milk-Bone from his pocket. He didn’t know how long it had been in there. Precious wasn’t particular. The previous week she had brought a desiccated skunk to the back door, clearly thinking it a wondrous prize. The humans ha
d disagreed and the skunk had vanished into a garbage bag, which had vanished into another garbage bag, and was then sprayed liberally with Lysol.

  When they were finished, Dan helped Bubba with the dishes, which Bubba thought was surreal at the very least. Dan wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He did throw out a few quotes from Buddha, which had been adjusted for Dan’s subjective propensities. “Conquer the angry man by a lot of lovin’,” he said. “Ain’t sure ifin that means love them or kiss them, but I aim to find out.”

  There was also, “Make an island of yourself.” Dan gleefully interpreted that as, “I am as big as an island, so I figure I am the island. Ain’t no one goin’ to mess with the island. That could mean, ‘Leave the gosh-darned island alone.’”

  Bubba was wiping his hands with a kitchen towel when he said, “Dan, I don’t mean to be improper and impolite, but I need to get some sleep. As nice as some of them nurses at the hospital are, I dint sleep worth a diggly dang there.”

  “I will get to milking the chicken then,” Dan said, putting the last dish away. Bubba took that to mean that he would get to work in his newly found work as Bubba’s bodyguard.

  “Shore,” Bubba said. “Television’s down that way.” He pointed. Then he pointed again. “There’s books in the library, ifin you’ve a mind. I reckon you know where the kitchen’s at.”

  “Them books have pictures?”

  “Some of ‘em,” Bubba said and went upstairs. Precious followed and snuffled when it became obvious that Bubba was not going to produce her ball and play with her.

  Bubba took a moment to call David Beathard with a small request. He kept it to minimum amount of words.

  David said, “She isn’t going to like it.”

  Bubba said, “I don’t reckon she will.”

  David said, “Okay, but if she hurts me, it’s your fault, ye rascally bilge varmint.” Bubba hung up the phone and collapsed onto his bed without taking any of his clothing off or even pulling back the covers.