2 Bubba and the 12 Deadly Days of Christmas

by C. L. Bevill

  Virtna gulped audibly.

  “And if you’re not liking the hospitality about these parts,” Bubba went on, “then get the hell out, and don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way.”

  He passed them and paused at the door. “But you best be putting all the…items in the back of the truck, back in the house. That silver don’t have Fudge Snoddy’s monogram on it, and the Delft pottery belonged to Ma’s great grandmother. It ain’t like the Snoddy Mansion is a motel and them things are little bars of soap and tiny bottles of shampoo.”

  Bubba closed the door behind him as Precious followed on his heel and listened as Virtna and Fudge whispered to each other frantically.

  Then he went down the hall to look in the kitchen. Miz Adelia was fixing Miz Demetrice something, and she had the special container sitting on the counter. Miz Adelia had a very good idea how upset Ma was and knew what to do. His mother would be asleep in her room in an hour because of the singular ingredients of the tea. Bubba knew better than to ask Miz Adelia what they were because he knew that one of Miz Adelia’s cousins had a pot patch down near Sturgis Creek. Miz Adelia’s mother had breast cancer of the terminal type, and Texas wasn’t a state that allowed medicinal marijuana. Of course, the rest of the family didn’t mind that Miz Adelia’s cousin, Ralph, made a profit off the remainder of the patch. John Q. Law would take exception to a cannabis plot on what were public lands, but they hadn’t caught Ralph yet.

  Miz Demetrice wasn’t speaking, but Miz Adelia was patting her awkwardly on the back while she put the leaves in a tea ball with her other hand. Bubba reached down to pat Precious on her head. She whined a little as he scratched her behind her ears. “Sorry, girl,” he muttered. “I got things to do.”

  Bubba went into the formal dining room and looked around. There were two sideboards there. It was a large room. He looked in one and found white bone China dishes that had been wedding presents to Elgin and Demetrice Snoddy. There was a less formal set of antique gold Fiestaware in the other. There was silverware and various dishes that Bubba didn’t have a clue what they were used for. Occasionally his mother would have a formal dinner party to which he was often invited, but he attended less and less of late. He wouldn’t know a bone dish from a salver. Not that his mother put much credence on things like that.

  In the last drawer he found some cheese platters. There was the Santa-themed one that Bubba remembered. A silver box sat tidily on top of the platter. Bubba carefully reached in and tipped the top off. There was a set of eight knives. And wasn’t it surprising that some of the knives were missing?

  Bubba glowered. The Santa knife was notably absent. Carp. The sit-chi-a-shun has just gotten worse.

  And it’s about to get even more worse, he thought. Bubba gathered up the box and the platter and found a place to hide it. The secret door behind the portrait of Cornelia Adams Snoddy, Colonel Nathanial Snoddy’s long-suffering wife, hid about a foot of space. Colonel Snoddy and other numerous Snoddys had used the door to slip out of the house clandestinely. Even Elgin Snoddy had used it to go to the Red Door Inn among other illicit destinations.

  Bubba looked around and ascertained he wasn’t being watched by Snoddy or stranger alike and put the knives and platter behind Cornelia’s likeness. After he put the portrait back into position, he took a moment to look at the poor woman’s prune-like expression. Years of living with a drunken, syphilitic egomaniac had taken their toll on the Eastern miss. It reminded him of Elgin’s own treatment of his mother.

  However, Miz Demetrice hadn’t been raised in the East. On the contrary, she was Texas born and bred. She was eccentric and proud. She lived for her causes and her only child. His mother never had put much credence on things like knowing the difference between forks and knives. She liked that Bubba was kind to his dog and broken-down strangers. She liked that Bubba did the right thing even when the right thing did him wrong. She protected her family. She fiercely loved the Snoddy Mansion. She made enemies because she wasn’t apt to back down.

  Somehow, somewhere, Bubba knew she had made a deadly serious enemy. Someone had helped themselves to the cheese knives and used one of them to kill Miz Beatrice Smothermon with it. And that wasn’t going to reflect well on either Miz Demetrice or Bubba.

  *

  Upstairs Miz Demetrice sat on her bed and took out the note that she had taken from Miz Beatrice’s house before Bubba had arrived. She examined it with tired eyes and then put it with the other note that she had received. Both were similar.

  Bubba was wrong about that. Sheriff John wasn’t going to find it, not if she had something to do with it.

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter Eight - Bubba in the Sheriff’s Department…Again

  Tuesday, December 27th -

  Bubba had a headache when he woke up on Tuesday. It wasn’t surprising that it was so. Running on a dearth of sleep and increased anxiety levels made for anyone’s head to hurt. Then when one added on the fact that his head had been cheerfully clomped on by overenthusiastic law enforcement officials and their heavy boots, it was a given circumstance.

  He’d spent half the night prowling around the Snoddy Mansion half expecting a psychotic murderer to break in and attempt to kill someone. At one point in the night, he’d intercepted Fudge trying to carry a set of Waterford crystal stemware out to his truck. Fudge had interjected that he was only getting a drink of bourbon from the vehicle. Bubba had stared at the boxed set of matching glasses and said sardonically, “With eight glasses?” After three a.m. he’d heard Brownie patrolling the hallways for early morning mischief. Bubba had gently herded the boy back into his bed and told him a story about a dog that turned into a fairy that left special presents for clever young boys who were their friends. After that, Brownie had rolled over and started to snore. At four a.m. Miz Demetrice had come down for some aspirin and a shot of coconut-flavored rum. She had given Bubba a sour look that said, “Ain’t talking to you. Ain’t spilling secrets now. Ain’t gonna let anything go right now,” and Bubba had capitulated. He had let his mother return to her bedroom unscathed and smelling faintly of faraway Caribbean beaches.

  It had been after five a.m. that Bubba stumbled into his bed and fell down face first into the sheets. He had been snoring before he’d blitzed the 1000 thread count sheets. About eight a.m. his alarm had gone off in the form of Precious licking the top of his head until he was certain he was bald. She made noises and licked until she was certain that he was fully awake.

  Feed me, human slave/scum, Precious thought imperiously.

  Bubba rubbed the wet spot on the top of his head and gingerly touched the lump that remained from the Pegramville Police Department’s efforts to subdue him. When he looked in the mirror while he was brushing his teeth, he could see that the blackened swelling was changing to blue and green. It made him look like someone had drawn a flower on his upper forehead with a Sharpie. Then he looked closer and realized that someone had drawn a flower around the bump with a Sharpie. A little green stem came down to the side of one of his eyes. Then in careful block letters, “Smell me!” was written on his cheek The little dot at the bottom of the exclamation mark had been made into a flower.

  Apparently Bubba had been sleeping heavily.

  When he finally made it downstairs to feed his dog, Bubba had discovered that spit, soap, water, toilet cleaner, and bleach disinfectant would not remove Sharpie pen marks. He looked thoughtfully at Precious and calculated whether or not canine saliva would be more effective and finally disregarded the notion in favor of hygiene.

  After feeding Precious, who was close to fervidly devouring Bubba’s shoes, Bubba looked around for the coffee pot. Miz Adelia came into the kitchen and stopped abruptly upon glimpsing his new and improved visage. She covered her mouth with one hand and her dark eyes twinkled. “Coffee?” she said from behind her hand, but it came out more like, “Coooph-eeee. Eee. Eee. Eee.”

  “A gallon,” Bubba agreed reasonably. “Don’t suppose you have some sort of cleaning
supply that will take this off?”

  Miz Adelia let her hand drop, and her mouth tightened into a flat white line. It took Bubba’s weary mind a moment to understand that she was attempting to keep herself from laughing out loud. Finally she said, “Just…um…go into the dining room, and I’ll bring some more coffee in. I’ll break out the Community Coffee and just go with extra strength.”

  Bubba sidled past her with a wary expression on his face. When he came to the door to the dining room he understood why Miz Adelia was amused. Fudge had a mustache, goatee, and Harry Potter glasses drawn on his face. The words, “I fart,” scrolled across his forehead. Virtna had flaming arrows and purple eyebrows. She also had a heart drawn on her forehead with an arrow shooting through it and the word, “Ma,” on the inside. Aunt Caressa had a cat’s brown nose and whiskers. She had gotten off the lightest. Miz Demetrice had black filled-in stars around her eyes and exaggerated purple lips. She also had a blue beauty mark shaped like a twinkling star just to the right of her nose.

  At the end of the large dining room table sat Brownie. He was unambiguously alone and sipping chocolate milk with a crazy straw. His face was mysteriously devoid of markings. But his hands had the remnants of Sharpie ink on it like a little Jackson Pollock who hadn’t bothered to wash his hands after the glorious implementation of his caper. Multiple, damning colors were present there. Of course, the little twerp hadn’t been able to find anything to remove the evidence from his flesh either. So much for bedtime stories lulling him to sleep.

  Fudge, Virtna, Aunt Caressa, and Miz Demetrice were all stirring or drinking various coffee or teas while trying to not look at each other or Brownie. Fudge caught sight of Bubba, and his eyes went large. He made a choking noise, and he desperately gulped to keep the horse-like whinny inside. The noise caught Virtna and Miz Demetrice’s attentions, and they both turned to look at Bubba. Aunt Caressa turned her head and tittered delicately.

  Miz Adelia brought the coffee in, and Bubba helped her while keeping a cagy eye on Brownie.

  When Bubba really thought of it, it was a pretty good trick. All the nasty grownups had gotten their just dues. That’s what they get for lying about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. And anyone else on the made-up-for-children list. After all, every one of them had asked Brownie on Christmas Eve if he was excited about Santa Claus coming.

  Miz Adelia carried in an assortment of cleaning supplies with a pile of paper towels and plunked them down on the sideboard. Fudge eagerly dived right in and immediately sprayed Mr. Clean into one of his eyes. While he was shrieking in pain, Brownie ducked his head and bit his lip in consternation.

  With surprising dexterity Virtna climbed on top of her husband and poured a glass of water into his eye while Miz Demetrice choked on tea. Aunt Caressa smiled pleasantly and said, “Brownie dear, would you like a donut? I saw some with sprinkles in the kitchen.” Knowing when to depart, Brownie got up and vanished quickly and silently in the direction of the kitchen.

  Fudge started to snarl something about the kid not being able to sit for a month of Sundays when Miz Demetrice said, “None of that, Fudge. It’s only markers on the face.”

  Rubbing frantically at his stinging eye, Fudge said, “It’s permanent markers, Aunt D. It ain’t coming off until the cows come home in fucking July from the beach. And I’m a gonna—”

  “Try the rubbing alcohol,” Aunt Caressa said. She got up and peered into the mirror over the sideboard. “It’s not a bad look. I could have gotten the ‘Smell me!’ writing. I especially like the little flower on the bottom of the exclamation mark.”

  Miz Adelia said, “I seem to recollect something about toothpaste doing the trick on those dagnabbed permanent markers.”

  “Toothpaste,” Fudge repeated gravely. “I’ll get some right here.” Then he vanished into the hallway. A moment later his footsteps pounded up the stairs.

  “Who’s going to see him?” Bubba asked. “I’ve got to go to the sheriff’s department. All them folks are going to be rolling on the floor when they see me.”

  “Not to mention Willodean Gray,” Miz Demetrice said slyly.

  Bubba groaned.

  “Who’s Willodean Gray?” Virtna asked as she dabbed herself with peroxide. “Oh, that does sting a little.”

  “A girl,” Miz Adelia said lingeringly. “A cute girl who also happens to be a sheriff’s deputy.”

  Virtna clicked her tongue. “Well, as a suspect in two murders, that ain’t apt to appear real good. Sorry, Bubba. Is that real Roseville pottery, Miz Demetrice?”

  “If we leave now we can swing by and pick up your Cadillac, Ma,” Bubba said with an internal whimper of discontent. It was amazing how badly a situation could change in a matter of days. “Willodean” had become “Deputy Gray” and that was going to be denigrated into “Ma’am, I’ll just stand across the room from you and pretend we never spoke before.”

  Miz Demetrice got up and came to stand beside Aunt Caressa. Side-by-side they looked in the mirror at their reflections. “I look like one of those singers from KISS. Not Gene Simmons though.”

  “I thought they used only black and white makeup,” Aunt Caressa said sincerely. “I suppose you could apply a great deal of base and lots of powder. Who would say ‘boo’ to you?”

  Virtna said, “You know, I seem to recollect that Listerine might do the trick.” She vanished out the door.

  “I wonder if Doc Goodjoint would know something,” Bubba pondered. If he vanished out the door would anyone care? Like, for example, a certain deputy?

  Miz Adelia snorted. Then she laughed. “Good prank for the kid. Damn good trick. Wish I thought of it first.”

  “Come on, Ma,” Bubba said. “You can tell them you’re taking up a new profession if someone is brave enough to ask. Mexican wrestler for Lucha Libre perhaps?”

  *

  An hour later Bubba was sitting in a little interrogation room with Sheriff John and Deputy Steve Simms. It felt a wee bit like déjà vu. Well, hell, he had been there before and in the very same room. Then the pair had been looking at him as if he had been a particular noxious form of pond scum. However, now the pair of law enforcement officials was sitting across from Bubba looking at him with distinctly odd expressions. It was a mix of disbelief, astonishment, and puzzlement.

  “Say, Sheriff John,” Bubba said. “You had the room painted. It was a sort of green before.”

  “Some human resources individual from the state said yellow was more calming to the folks who come in here,” Sheriff John said slowly, staring at Bubba.

  “Is that a flower?” Deputy Simms finally asked. He had gained a few pounds over the year. His Sam Browne belt was a little tight, and some belly was hanging over the side. It was going to be harder for him to get his hand on his sidearm. “You’ve got a flower drawn on your…bump?”

  “My cousin’s kid got a little creative with Sharpies,” Bubba said pleasantly. “It’s hard to get the markers off, and all of us done tried and tried. And then tried some more. Am I going to give you a statement or not?”

  “Is that the same kid who bit Haynes out at Snoddy Mansion the other day?” Sheriff John asked. “Thought we were going to have to pry that kid’s teeth off his leg with a crowbar.”

  “Just because you got off the last time don’t mean a hill of beans,” Simms declared authoritatively.

  “I thought it was because I didn’t actually kill Melissa Dearman or Neal Ledbetter, not because I got off,” Bubba said coldly.

  “How about taking another polygraph test?” Simms asked. “Bet you don’t pass this one this time.”

  “Only if you don’t ask me how I feel about looking at your face, because a gentleman wouldn’t own up to something like that.” Bubba sighed. He glanced at the mirror at the side of the room and hoped Willodean Gray wasn’t watching them. That would be downright depressing.

  “What’s wrong with my face?” Simms asked indignantly looking at the mirror as well.

  “I didn’
t kill anyone,” Bubba stated firmly. “I don’t know who did. I found poor Steve Killebrew because my dog was barking at the Christmas/Nativity scene. Ma called me about Miz Beatrice.”

  “I don’t remember your dog barking at Melissa Dearman’s body,” Simms said belligerently.

  “You think your cousin’s kid has an alibi?” Sheriff John interjected.

  Bubba looked at Sheriff John and tried to judge if the sheriff was being serious or not. At the conclusion of the events that had happened before, Bubba would have thought that Sheriff John, while not a bosom buddy, didn’t actively dislike Bubba. “Brownie is ten years old.”

  Sheriff John sighed loudly. “Okay. Let’s go over this again. Let’s start with Steve Killebrew.”

  Bubba sighed loudly.

  Simms didn’t sigh loudly, but he did huff.

  *

  Miz Demetrice examined her fingernails. She needed a manicure. Truly she didn’t get them often, but her nails looked like hell. She was sitting in the other interrogation room because the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department only had two rooms. Pegramville Chief of Police Joe Kimple sat across from her because Big Joe and Sheriff John had agreed to work together on the cases of Steven Killebrew and Beatrice Smothermon.

  Big Joe stared at the artwork on her face and then at her hands. He hadn’t mentioned Brownie’s artistic mischief, but it was on the tip of his tongue. Miz Demetrice could tell the chief wasn’t in a good mood. He had a large cup of coffee in front of him, and it looked like he had squeezed it in frustration; the Styrofoam was cracking and the liquid was staring to drip down the sides. His face was also the color of a London double-decker bus. His eyes were bloodshot, and his lips were as flat as pancakes.