by C. L. Bevill
“I have a pocketknife,” Bubba admitted with a huff.
Several firearms straightened and re-aimed in response and Willodean groaned. “It’s in his pocket. Right, Bubba? The knife is in your pocket and both your hands need to stay on Sheriff John.”
“Cain’t let go of him,” Bubba wheezed. The muscles in his arms and in his back were beginning to burn with strain. He needed to get back to working out regularly. “And he needs a doctor straightaway.”
It took some finagling, but after several long minutes, Willodean used her knife to cut the rope that was hanging the sheriff. Bubba eased the older man onto the ground and then backed carefully away, whereupon Big Joe and three of his heaviest officers jauntily jumped on him.
Willodean was cursing roundly at Big Joe’s back, but the police chief quickly secured Bubba without apparent injury. He lay on the ground face down with his wrists in handcuffs and didn’t fight. One of the officers, Bubba thought it was Haynes because he could see the metal tip of one of his boots next to his nose, had his knee planted in the middle of Bubba’s back.
Three vertebras audibly cracked and Bubba sighed. “Better than the chiropractor,” he breathed in-between gasps.
An ambulance came as close as possible, and EMTs hurried to Sheriff John. One ended up performing an emergency tracheotomy on the older man. There was a collective round of sighs when Sheriff John’s lungs took in a full breath of air through the brand new hole at the base of his neck. One EMT said, “Rope might have crushed his esophagus.”
“Bubba,” Willodean said as she knelt down beside him, “we’ll get it straightened out really quick. Maybe it’s best if you’re in jail for the night. No question about alibis and such then.” She swiftly glared at Haynes who said, “What’d I do?”
The goat got up again and stuck its nose in Bubba’s face, saying, “Maaaah.” Then Big Joe said with a stomping motion of his foot, “Shoo, you little chunk of barbeque on the hoof,” and it seized up again, falling over on its back with hooves heavenward.
“Who buys these stupid goats?” Big Joe snarled.
The EMTs got Sheriff John onto a gurney with help from Big Joe and one of the other officers. Bubba was glad to be lying on the ground catching his breath. It had been ten excruciatingly long minutes while the Pegramville Police Department had circled the Boomer’s farm, seeking the right way in.
Finally, Bubba could breathe, even with Haynes’ knee in his back. He said, “Did you see someone come out of the farm road?”
“Shuddup,” Haynes said.
“I hope Doc Goodjoint used the really big needle on your butt,” Bubba muttered. “A rusty one. And I hope Brownie bites you again.”
“Ain’t nobody come out of this place, Bubba Snoddy,” Big Joe said gruffly, watching the EMTs taking Sheriff John away. “You can just axe that story.”
One of the other officers cleared his throat.
Big Joe snapped, “What, Smithson?”
“There was a white van that peeled around a corner when I got to Stonewall Road,” Smithson said sedately, obviously not wanting to put a damper on Big Joe’s case against Bubba Snoddy. “It was hell bent on turning. It went up on two wheels because it took the turn so sharp and slammed back down just before it could roll. Ifin we hadn’t had this call,” he gestured at the Christ Tree, “then I would have gone after it.”
Big Joe digested that with an expression that looked as if he had just swallowed a very large and very sour lemon.
“Might want to speak to Stanley Boomer,” Bubba said just before Officer Haynes leaned a little bit more of his bulk into Bubba’s back. Two more vertebras popped.
“Why?” Big Joe said sharply. “Could be anyone. Could be anyone at all. Could be kids come out here to scare the stupid goats.” He gestured rudely at the fainted goat near Bubba. “Who wants those damn things anyway? You look at them and they fall over.” He looked heavenward as if he was praying.
“They’re kind of cute,” Officer Smithson said. He caught the rancid expression on his boss’s face and added, “in a roasted-on-a-spit-over-a-smoker kind of way.”
“Did you get a goddamned license plate, Smithson?” Big Joe barked.
“Sir?” Smithson looked at Big Joe and his shoulders slumped. “It was a Code 3, chief. I looked back and the van was gone down Cooper Road. White van. No side windows. I didn’t see any writing on the doors. But it was that damn quick and it was a code.” The last word came out as a combination whimper/plea.
“Christ on a shingle,” Big Joe swore. “Get Bubba to the jail, and get the forensics people out here to process the scene.”
Willodean whistled as she looked around. The ground was torn up. All manner of vehicles had driven over the dirt road where Bubba had said the other vehicle had driven. The rope was the only thing left. She looked pointedly around her, and Big Joe said another four-lettered word, then he repeated it with emphasis, and added on some other four-lettered words for extra oomph.
“My daddy had a saying for a situation like this,” Willodean said slyly. “That dawg won’t hunt.” She slapped a look at Officer Haynes and his impending knee. “You might want to lay off him. This time he might sue you and the Pegramville Police Department, too.” Silently she was implying that she would be a star witness, fellow law enforcement officer or not.
Bubba caught his breath again as Haynes eased his knee back.
“Much obliged, ma’am,” Bubba got out hoarsely.
“Get him into the squad car,” Big Joe roared.
*
An hour later, Smithson stood on one side of Bubba, and Haynes stood on the other. Bubba was summarily uncuffed, and without being asked, he handed his belt to Tee Gearheart. He was the jail official in charge of Pegram County Jail. He was also the largest law enforcement official for hundreds of miles around Pegramville. He was about six foot even, but weighed about three hundred and fifty pounds, if he had cared to weigh himself, which he did not. His hospitable manner, and the not insignificant muscles behind the weight, allowed him to run the jail in a harmonious fashion. Across most of the eastern part of the state it was widely known that if one had to go to a jail, Pegram County Jail was the place to be. Personally Bubba had been in a few jails, and by far, Pegram County Jail was the best one in which to serve a few weeks. Considering that the smaller city jail was full up, Bubba knew he was fortunate.
“Say, Tee,” Bubba said when he stepped up to the main counter where Tee waited patiently.
“Hey, Bubba,” Tee said, taking the belt. Bubba handed over his wallet, his watch, and Darla’s cell phone.
“That’s Miz Darla’s phone,” Bubba said to Tee. “Can you get it back to her?”
Haynes made a noise and took the phone. “Evidence,” he snapped. “Bubba just admitted he was in the Headrick residence.”
“Of course, I was in there,” Bubba said. “I went there to see if Sheriff John was okay, and the door was open. There were marks across the lawn where someone had drug Sheriff John off. Was I supposed to assume that Miz Darla was all right? Any proper Texan would have looked in on her.” He glared at Haynes. “She is all right?”
“Still unconscious. Just like Sheriff John,” Tee said politely. “You got anything else in your pockets, Bubba?”
“Pocketknife,” Bubba said. Then he added for Haynes and Smithson’s benefit, “And you’ll recollect that I told you all about that before I got jumped on.”
“No funny movements,” Haynes warned darkly.
Bubba crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out and waggled. He plunked the pocketknife down. Then he followed up with a container of Tic Tacs, a box of matches, and a fishing lure shaped like a mermaid.
Tee maintained a calm façade, but his lips twitched. “That all, Bubba?”
Bubba slapped the pockets on the front of his shirt. Then he slapped the pockets of his jeans. “Yep. I’m cleaned out. And I’m wearing boots so I cain’t hang myself with my shoe laces.”
“Sign here, Bubba,” Tee sa
id as he passed a form across the counter.
“How’s the baby?” Bubba asked amicably.
“Oh, fine. Not sleeping worth a good gosh darn,” Tee laughed. “But he’s got a grip like a wrestler. And did I tell you about the size of his wee-wee? He could pee true north in a southern-blowing hurricane, let me tell you. Boy could be a porn star. Not that the wife and I would allow that,” he added hastily.
“You all get the gift Miz Demetrice sent?” Bubba asked while Haynes shifted impatiently behind him.
“Sure ‘nough,” Tee said. He looked at Haynes and Smithson. “They sent little Tee a Cowboys track suit. It’s the cutest thing you ever did see. You all want to see a photo?”
Haynes choked like something had gone down the wrong pipe. “Can you just lock the prisoner up already, Tee? I got things to do.”
Tee made a face. “Okay,” he said peacefully. He came around the corner and took Bubba’s arm. Even though Tee was shorter than Bubba, Bubba thought that Tee could take him down easily in a given fight. He’d seen Tee do it to other less-friendly prisoners. One effortless movement, and the affected individual would be making kissy face time with the concrete floor and Tee would be kneeling on his back. “You boys can go now.”
“Can I get the cell with the window on the north side?” Bubba asked politely.
“Sorry, Newt Durley came in yesterday on a drunk and disorderly,” Tee answered. “But he’s going into rehab tomorrow, and you can have it then.”
Tee locked Bubba into cell number 5, one he’d been in previously. “Ifin they clean it first,” Bubba said. “I remember real well what Newt does to a defenseless toilet.”
Tee laughed. “Newt says he was just teaching the toilet some respect.”
Bubba stepped back while Tee checked the locks on the cell. Then he looked both ways and saw that Newt was dead asleep in his bunk. “Sheriff John’s condition?” he asked simply.
“Stable,” Tee said. “They say Miz Darla’s okay, too, just been drugged with something.”
“Officers Stomp and Tickle asked me what I gave her,” Bubba said bitterly. “Yelled at me anyway.”
“Come on, Bubba,” Tee said. “You know the drill. Once they figure out it ain’t you, they’ll let you out.”
Bubba looked at Tee in surprise. “And how are you so sure?”
Tee cast him an incredulous look. “I ain’t stupid.”
*
Bubba slept fitfully. His single phone call went unanswered at the Snoddy Mansion, and when he begged a second one, his mother hadn’t picked up her cell phone. Tee wouldn’t let him have a third one. He only said, “Deputy Gray will take care of your mama, Bubba. Don’t you fret.”
But Bubba did fret. Aunt Caressa and Miz Adelia were out at the mansion along with Precious, and he wasn’t around to make certain no one harmed them. He even fretted about Fudge, Virtna, and Brownie out at the mansion as well. Any one of them could get into the crossfire of a murderer intent on getting some unknowable revenge on Miz Demetrice. Bubba couldn’t even call to warn them.
The sun was coming over the horizon when Bubba sat up on his bunk and rubbed his face tiredly. Almost if by magic Tee brought a cup of coffee to Bubba’s cell and said, “Your mama’s out front with a picket sign, so you can know she’s all right.” He laughed. “She’s dragging a set of manacles around that look like they’re about as old as your house. She’s screaming something about alibis and lies. Woman’s got a mouth.”
Bubba took the coffee through the bars and thanked the other man. “Don’t suppose you can call Roscoe Stinedurf and tell him where his car is located?”
“Sure. That the Saturn you used yesterday?”
“Yep. Tell Roscoe I’ll fix every last bit of it, or I’ll replace the car,” Bubba said before he drained half the coffee.
Newt moaned from the cell down the corridor. “There’s pink spiders on the wall,” he yelled. “They’re making smoochy noises at me! They want to have my babies! Little pink spider boy babies!”
“The delirium tremens,” Tee said. “He ain’t had a drink since yesterday, and he’s feeling the pain. He’ll feel better when the doc comes by to give him an injection to calm him down.” He paused and took a drink of his mug of coffee. “So you were using Roscoe’s car.” It wasn’t really a question, but the tone alerted Bubba.
“Yeah,” Bubba said cautiously. “I couldn’t follow Ma in my truck, and she was up to something last night.”
“Well, Lloyd Goshorn went into the po-lice station this morning and said a Saturn tried to run over him,” Tee said and watched as Bubba choked on coffee.
“I did not,” Bubba said after wiping coffee away from his mouth. “I tried real hard like not to hit him. Didn’t even touch a hair on his loudmouth head. Do you know what he’s telling anyone who buys him a drink?”
“Then Deputy Gray came by and asked how you were doing,” Tee said with a faint smile.
Bubba froze. “Willodean was here this morning?”
“She peeked in while you were sleeping.”
Smoothing his hair back with one hand, Bubba groaned. He looked like he’d been rode hard in a hurricane and put up wet.
“Boy,” Tee grinned, “you look like you was pulled through a knothole backwards.” He sighed. “Bubba, why didn’t you ask her out before someone else was murdered?”
Bubba leaned over and banged his head on the bars. “It wasn’t like I was trying to time it that way,” he said sardonically after a long moment. “I was wearing her down.”
“I kin tell,” Tee said skeptically. “Ain’t no point in waiting, Bubba. Ifin she will go out with you, then you’ll know. I don’t believe Deputy Gray is the kind of girl who would leave you hanging on the line. She’ll let you know if she ain’t interested.”
Bubba sighed and bumped his head against the bars again. “Cain’t ask her now. Not with me being a suspect.”
“Well, they’ll clear it up,” Tee said. “Miz Darla woke up an hour ago. Says she cain’t remember nothing about you. Just that they had a cup of coffee as what they usually do, her and Sheriff John. Said it tasted a mite bitter. Then she was real sleepy.”
“She’s okay,” Bubba breathed with relief. He hadn’t liked leaving Sheriff John’s wife all alone. “And Sheriff John?”
“Still unconscious,” Tee said regretfully. “The docs don’t know how long he was without oxygen in that tree. They reckon you either saved his life proper or just got caught before you were doing him in.”
“And just why did I want to kill Sheriff John?” Bubba asked tiredly.
“All that mess with Lurlene Grady, um, I mean Donna Hyatt,” Tee said honestly. “Helt it against Sheriff John and all.”
“He cleared me,” Bubba stated flatly. “Why in holy hell would I want to kill him for it?”
“I ain’t saying it!” Tee protested. “Anyway, Deputy Gray spent an hour with Big Joe this morning working out the timeline about where you were and why. Big Joe took away Miz Demetrice’s lock picks, but I think he’s about convinced that you didn’t try to do Sheriff John in.”
“How do you hear all this?” Bubba demanded.
“I got my sources,” Tee affirmed proudly.
“Anything else I’m missing out on?” Bubba asked sourly.
“Roy Chance came in,” Tee said. Roy Chance was the co-owner and co-editor of the local paper, the Pegram Herald. “Wanted to interview the suspect.” Tee chuckled. “Yelling about freedom of the press and 1st Amendment rights. Think he’s just sore because he missed out on all the stuff about Lurlene Grady and all.”
Bubba hit his head on the bars again with a dull clunk.
“You know, Bubba,” Tee said conversationally. “That ain’t really good for the bars.”
*
It was an hour later that Willodean came back. She stood there on the other side of the bars and looked in expectantly. Bubba got to his feet and brushed the hair away from his forehead. His hands ran over the bump on his head and realized the swelli
ng had gone down. Not that it mattered. He had dirt all over him and what he suspected was goat saliva had matted his hair into spikes. His shirt was dirty, and one sleeve was ripped from where the Pegramville police officers had taken him down. “Ma’am,” he said.
“What happened to Willodean?” she asked. His eyes ran over her eagerly. Bubba realized that she had to have had less sleep than he had. She’d been fighting for his release and arguing half the night away. Despite that, she looked like a million dollars with her bright green eyes and her black hair all tied back into a tidy chignon at the base of her neck. Her uniform was neatly pressed, and even a sleepless night hadn’t taken the shine out of her.
“It doesn’t seem right,” he said slowly.
“You can call me Willodean any time you want, Bubba,” she said.
Bubba tried to smile but couldn’t summon the energy. “You hear anything about Sheriff John?”
“Woke up about a half-hour ago,” Willodean smiled, and it lit up the jail cell. “Said to let you go. He said he was doped up something fierce, but it wasn’t you. It was someone short with blonde hair. Or it might have been gray hair. Someone that had help from someone else. Two or three of them dragged him out of the house and then out of a van. He said it was a van, but he can’t remember much else. The sheriff had to write it down because he can’t speak on account of the tracheotomy, and he about had a fit when he found out you were in lockdown.” She smiled again. “That’s a change.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Bubba said, digesting the news. Someone short to Sheriff John could be just about anyone. Sheriff John was an inch taller than Bubba. But two someones could explain why they were so adept at not being seen with their victims. “There weren’t any flowers out at the Christ Tree last night. Was it because I scared ‘em off?”
Willodean’s smile faded. “That was Big Joe’s argument about why you might have been killing Sheriff John just to blame it on the Christmas Killer. Matter of opportunity. I told him that was a pile of crap.”