Bayou Bubba

by Sam Cheever

  “What did you find?” Cal asked.

  The gritty mob stepped aside until the boy in the middle was exposed. Unlike the other kids, he didn’t seem eager to share his find. “Finders keepers, mister.”

  He was holding what looked like a long, bamboo stick with some kind of t-shaped PVC pipe on one end. The other end was jagged as if some of the bamboo had broken off.

  “Where did you find that,” Cal asked. He moved closer, examining the PVC end.

  The little girl who’d been carrying the cooler piped up. “It was sthtuck in the mud.”

  “Where?” Cal asked.

  She showed him a spot at the edge of the bayou where the mud was churned.

  Cal extended a hand. “Can I see it?”

  I couldn’t imagine why Cal was so interested in a broken piece of flotsam from the bayou. “What is it?”

  He took the stick and let it slide through his hands, examining the piping glued onto the end. “It’s a homemade push pole.” He glanced up at me. “I’ve seen one like it before.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “On the bottom of Lyle Borne’s boat.”

  He held my gaze as if willing me to understand. For a moment, I drew a mental blank. Then it hit me. “The murder weapon.”

  Cal nodded. “I think Sheriff Erk would probably like to have this pole.”

  “Hey!” The kid who’d found the pole exclaimed.

  Cal didn’t miss a beat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting a wad of small bills. He gave each kid two dollars. “Why don’t you go get yourself some ice cream?” The kids squealed and took off running toward Main Street.

  He handed the kid who’d found the stick a five. “This is evidence in an investigation. I’m sorry to have to confiscate it.”

  The kid took one look at the five-dollar bill and blew a raspberry. “I found a rusty paint can last week. It even had some dried paint in the bottom. I’ll sell you that for a tenner.”

  Cal turned away with the broken pole, heading for the Jeep. “Don’t press your luck, kid.”

  A familiar truck pulled up and parked alongside the Jeep as Cal and I returned to the Backwater Inn with our clue. Dorrie Tae rolled down the window and waved. “Hey there! We just ran into Lena in town, and she wanted us to bring you out to her shop. You want to go right now?”

  I glanced at Cal.

  “Go ahead. I’m going to talk to the sheriff. Maybe he can get his invisible deputy on the phone, and I can talk to him about this.” Cal lifted the broken pole. “Try to find out if she knows where Lyle was when Bubba was killed.”

  I nodded. “See ya later.”

  He reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Be careful, Felly.”

  My gaze caught on his, and my stomach jumped a little. The pet name sounded good coming from him. Warmth pooled somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. “I will.”

  I climbed into the back seat of the ancient truck and slammed the door.

  Dorrie Tae half turned in her seat. “He’s not at all hard to look at, is he?”

  I had to smile. “No. He certainly isn’t.”

  Irene backed the truck out and hit the gas, sending a cloud of dust up behind us. I quickly strapped on my seat belt. “You two an item?” she asked me.

  “No. I have no interest in a relationship right now.”

  Irene slapped her palm on the steering wheel. “Smart girl. Men just get in the way of doing what you need to do.”

  Dorrie Tae nodded her head enthusiastically.

  “So, what do you really want to see Lena for?” Irene’s narrowed gaze met mine in the rearview mirror.

  I blinked, taken back by her blunt question. “What do you mean?”

  Dorrie Tae gave me a knowing smile. “It’s obvious you and Mr. Gorgeous are investigating Bubba’s death. We’d like to help if we can.”

  “I’m just trying to find my father.”

  Dorrie Tae and Irene shared a look. Irene’s intense gaze found the mirror again. “Bubba wasn’t your father?”

  I could have kicked myself for speaking without thinking. “Actually, no. He wasn’t. My father called me a couple of hours ago.”

  Dorrie Tae grinned. “That’s really good news.”

  “Yes. It is.” I frowned.

  “That’s not exactly your happy face, Felicity,” Dorrie Tae probed.

  I dithered silently. My gut told me to keep everything we knew to myself. After all, we didn’t know anybody in Bent, and we had no idea who might be after my father. Somehow I didn’t think the two friendly but nosy old women in the front seat were hired guns. And they did know the goings-on in Bent better than Cal or I ever would. So, I decided to take a chance.

  As Irene drove the old pickup out of town in the direction Cal and I had gone that morning to speak to Lyle Borne, I laid out everything we’d learned so far, including the recent discovery of the push pole.

  They listened quietly and then Dorrie Tae frowned. “Did you tell Deputy Cooper?.”

  “He’s not in town until tomorrow,” I told them. “We tried telling the Sheriff...”

  Dorrie Tae snorted. “I bet I know how that turned out.”

  Irene nodded. “Man’s a living marvel. And what I mean is that it’s a marvel he’s still living.”

  “And the horse he rode in on,” I added.

  We sat in silence for a few beats.

  “So, what information do you need from Lena?” Irene finally asked.

  Despite my initial reluctance to tell them what we were up to, I was relieved to have their help with the investigation. Lena Borne knew them. She would probably open up to them much more quickly than she would to me. “I need to find out where Lyle was at the time Bubba was killed.”

  “You really think Lyle killed Bubba?”

  I shrugged. “Right now, he’s our strongest suspect.”

  “I have seen those PVC pipe push poles before,” Irene offered. “I think they come from a shop in Bilksville, but Lena also sells them in her shop.”

  That probably explained Deputy Cooper’s visit to Bilksville. “Add that to Bubba’s boat parked at his dock, the alligator hunting thing, and the fact that he himself admitted he found the body and didn’t turn it in…” I trailed off, letting the women come to their own conclusions.

  “Okay. We’ll find out where Lyle was. Anything else?” Irene asked.

  “We need to figure out…if it was Lyle…why he wants my father dead.”

  Dorrie Tae’s eyes widened. “That one might be harder.”

  “Yeah. I know. But there’s some connection between Bubba’s murder and my father. I just need to figure out what it is.”

  The truck rumbled over an old, wooden bridge that I didn’t remember from our earlier drive. A weathered wooden sign was painted with the words, Alligator Bridge. Estime’s story about Bubba riding the bike out of town toward the bridge played through my mind. I wondered if he’d been heading for Lena’s shop. “Her shop’s pretty far out of town, isn’t it?”

  “She used to have a shop on Main Street, but Lena decided it was too expensive to maintain. So she bought an old fishing shack right on the bayou, and she says she gets twice the traffic from fishermen and tourists now. It’s really kind of a cool place,” Dorrie Tae said.

  Irene slowed and turned at a sign that read simply, Lena’s.

  We bounced down a rutted dirt drive that wound through a veritable forest of big old cypress trees. The thick drape of Spanish moss gave the place an old-world, slightly haunted feeling that made me shiver.

  Straight ahead was a small cabin on tall stilts, its weathered sides were nearly black with age, and the tin roof was pitted and stained but otherwise looked to be in pretty good shape.

  A single car sat in the small gravel lot. It was a tan Buick four-door, as nondescript as a car could be.

  As we climbed out of the truck, something screamed out on the bayou. The sound was pitched high with terror and I jumped, wincing.

  Irene chuckled.
“Gator’s got to eat.”

  I shuddered in revulsion. Survival of the fittest was not my favorite of Mother Nature’s laws.

  A cheerful bell sounded as we opened the door. The smell of cinnamon hit me as I entered the shop, a soft breeze fanning it around the room. The place was bright and airy, the walls made of old wood painted a bright, clean white. A variety of fishing items were neatly arranged on the right half of the store, and on the other side were several racks filled with purses like the one I’d gotten. There were some leather belts, which I guessed were alligator, though I didn’t know if the leather was genuine. A circular rack in the center of the space held a collection of straw hats, some plain and utilitarian, and some covered in bright feathers and pretty flowers. A few of them had veils tacked along the brim, no doubt for keeping mosquitoes and other flying pests away from the wearer’s face.

  I was drawn into the shop like a moth to a flame, barely noting the arrival of Lena Borne as I reached to fondle the pretty straw hats.

  “You must be Felicity Chance.”

  I turned to find a woman about my height, with blonde hair and slightly tilted hazel eyes. Her face was pretty, with high cheekbones and a delicate nose. I had a lot of trouble putting her together with her brother Lyle.

  “Lena?” I shook the offered hand.

  She inclined her head. “Lyle called and told me about your visit to the house.” She frowned. “I understand you need to talk to everybody after what happened to your father…” Her gaze slid toward a wide, open window that overlooked the water. The soft breeze seemed to be coming through its dented screening. “It’s such a shame.” Her pretty eyes filled with tears. “I spoke to Bubba often. He used to ride his bike past the shop, and sometimes I’d offer him lemonade.”

  My pulse picked up. “He rode past the shop? Do you know where he was headed?”

  She shook her head. “Unfortunately, no.” She sniffled. Her light hazel gaze cleared. “Surely it doesn’t matter now, though.”

  I had no intention of telling her my father was alive. Besides, after traipsing all over Bent for two days talking to people about him, I was starting to feel slightly responsible for poor Bubba. “We might learn something about who killed him if we can find out where he lived.”

  She held my gaze for a moment and then sighed. “And you believe Lyle had something to do with it, don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “He couldn’t give us an alibi for the time of the murder. And Bubba’s boat is parked at your dock.”

  She shook her head, the bright curls of her long, blonde hair dancing softly around her shoulders. I told him to go to the sheriff with the boat. I didn’t know he’d taken it from Stink Island,” she quickly clarified. When I nodded, she went on, “He told me he’d found it drifting loose in the bayou. I had no reason to doubt him.”

  “Do you know where Lyle was that day, Lena?” Irene’s voice was firm as if she knew the other woman would resist giving up the information.

  Lena glanced from Irene to me, looking slightly panicked. “I…Lyle didn’t want you to know why he was on Stink Island, Irene. And it had nothing to do with Bubba.”

  Irene’s eyes narrowed. “He’s got a still out there, doesn’t he?”

  Lena nodded. “I’m sorry. He’s not trying to undercut your business, Irene. I promise. It’s just that we really need the extra money the shine brings in. He sells it outside of Bent. Mostly.”

  I had a feeling I knew what the qualification was all about. I’d seen the array of bottles behind the counter at the back of the store. “He sold some to Bubba, didn’t he?”

  Lena nodded. “Yes. He did. And I sold some of it here. But only to tourists, Irene. People who came from other cities, so we didn’t cut into your market.” She looked so worried about what Irene would think that I felt sorry for her. It was obvious she didn’t mean any harm.

  I touched her arm and she looked my way. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears again. “I love my new purse. And your shop is wonderful.”

  She smiled and it transformed her small, pale face. “Thanks, Felicity. Just keep an eye on that tooth pull. If it ever falls off, give me a call and I’ll send you a new one.”

  “I’d like to buy a couple more of these purses for my friends back home. Can you show me what you’ve got?”

  “I’d love to.”

  9

  By the time we left Lena’s half an hour later, I could barely get through the door with all the bags I was carrying. Once I got started, I’d had trouble stopping. I bought purses for two of my friends, a smaller shoulder bag for myself, and then couldn’t resist getting one of the pretty straw hats for sunbathing. Then Lena showed me her collection of light cotton sundresses, handmade and hand-beaded by local women, and I was lost.

  Irene opened the door of the truck for me, and I climbed in, my bags catching on every conceivable surface before I managed to wrench myself free and fall into the back seat, head first, butt out.

  Lucky me, Dorrie Tae was there to give my butt a shove, launching me inside. My cheek scraped across the old fabric of the truck’s back bench seat, and I landed with a grunt on top of the bag with my purses in it. “Thanks a lot, Dorrie Tae.”

  She climbed into the front seat as Irene turned the key. “Glad to help.”

  “It was nice of you to buy all that stuff from Lena,” Irene said.

  I shoved upright and rubbed my cheek, wondering if it had fabric burn. “I was happy to help her out, but I promise I bought all that stuff because I loved it.”

  Paper crackled in Dorrie Tae’s vicinity. She shoved a chunk of dark chocolate fudge into her mouth. “I mph thst fpudch.”

  Irene reached into the bag. “I can see that. Maybe next time you could say it after you swallow or before you take a bite. You sprayed chocolate all over my dash.”

  Winking, Dorrie Tae held the bag back to me. I extracted a chunk of the fudge for myself. “This smells delicious.”

  “Lena’s fudge recipe wins blue ribbons almost every year at the state fair,” Dorrie Tae said.

  I took a bite, and the chocolate creaminess melted over my tongue. Closing my eyes, I moaned in delight. “So good.”

  The sign for Alligator Bridge loomed up ahead and inspiration struck. “Hey. Would you guys mind if we drove back past Lena’s? I’d like to see if we can figure out where Bubba was going on his bike.”

  Without a word, Irene yanked the wheel to the right and, slowing only slightly, whipped the truck into a tight turn.

  I yelped, slamming my hands into the seat in front of me to keep from being flung around.

  Dorrie Tae shoved another bite of fudge into her mouth. Just another day in the Bayou for her.

  The elderly vehicle spit gravel and dust as its tires met the side of the road. It teetered on two wheels for a beat, suspension groaning, and then slammed down hard onto the surface of the road. Tires skidded violently against the pavement as Irene accelerated to take us back out of town.

  Despite trying to brace against it, I fell sideways on the first jerk of the wheel, hitting the door with my uninjured cheek as she whipped us around, and ended up on the floor, legs akimbo.

  “You all right back there?”

  I gathered myself up and slid back onto the seat, rubbing my cheek. “A little warning would have been nice.”

  Irene offered a, “who me?” look in the mirror.

  Dorrie Tae shook her head. “Irene doesn’t mess around, Felicity. If you ask her to turn around, she turns around.” She popped another chunk of fudge into her mouth.

  I glared at the back of Dorrie Tae’s frizzy gray head, but it did me no good. The two women might as well have been alone in the truck for all the attention they paid me.

  We drove past Lena’s, and Irene slowed. “You watch the right side, Felicity. We’ll watch the left.”

  The road curved away from the bayou a quarter of a mile from Lena’s and wove into a thick forest of cypress trees. It was so dark under the trees. I started to wonder if I’d
even be able to see the bike or any building where it might be parked.

  A minute later, the road turned back toward the Bayou and the trees thinned out on the waterside, brightening our path.

  My gaze fixed on the tree line on my side, I concentrated on looking for the familiar shape of a bike as we shot past.

  Suddenly, Dorrie Tae shrieked, “Watch out!”

  Irene slammed her foot on the brake and I flew forward, my legs hitting the back of the bench seat and my torso slamming downward.

  Pain spiked up my nose as it connected with the front seat. I hung there for a minute, butt in the air and little birdies flying around my head. Two pairs of hands grasped my arms and shoved me into the back again. I collapsed sideways as the birdies performed loop de loops around my head.

  “Sorry, Felicity,” Irene said.

  “There was a gator crossing the road,” Dorrie Tae explained.

  I mumbled something unintelligible into the musty-smelling upholstery.

  “What was that? Come on, girl, get your face out of the seat.”

  I tried to shake my head, but it barely moved. I stopped when I realized I was giving myself fabric burn on my, most likely, broken nose. I was going to look like an alcoholic with Rosacea by the time I got back to Bent.

  Voices danced around my head with the little birdies for a minute. Something that felt like iron clamps grabbed my shoulders and I was flung backward, smacking my head against the back window.

  “Ugh!” I groaned, sitting back and closing my eyes so the world would stop spinning. “Just shoot me between the eyes. It would be faster.”

  Irene opened the door of the truck and started to climb out. “Toughen up, girl. I see a bicycle.”

  My eyes shot open. “What? Where?”

  10

  The bicycle rested against the knobby trunk of a cypress tree. It was yellow, with tires like cross country bikers used, wide with heavy tread. It was in decent shape and had a good-sized wire basket strapped to the handlebars.

  I ran my fingers over the narrow seat, trying to remember if I’d ever seen my father riding a bike.