by C. L. Bevill
On the back was a row of neatly written words; the ink had been blue and was now faded. They read “Christmas with the family.” Beneath those words, written in bright red marker that was still wet was “Newbrough.”
Bubba was processing the information when Willodean’s cell phone rang.
It was Miz Demetrice, and even Bubba couldn’t help but hear the anxiety in her voice when she loudly announced, “The city po-lice are here searching the mansion.” She sighed loudly. “Tell Bubba that Big Joe is arresting me for the murders of Steve Killebrew and Beatrice Smothermon. And for the attempted murder of Sheriff John.”
~ ~ ~
Chapter Twenty - Bubba’s Like a Hound Dog
Thursday, December 29th -
Big Joe Kimple had Miz Demetrice locked up in the Pegramville City Jail when Bubba and Willodean arrived. Bubba said calmly, “Well, she’ll be safe in there.”
Willodean was pushing the end button on her cell phone. She had just finished speaking with one of the other deputies about Big Joe’s case, and said, “But what about the other poor, helpless prisoners?”
Bubba cast an incredulous glance at Willodean and realized that the beautiful deputy was making a joke; furthermore, she was making a joke about his mother. Not only was she making a joke about his mother, but it was a good joke and one worthy of being repeated. “I reckon they’ll have to fend for themselves,” he replied dryly. “It’ll be tough, but Ma can be reasoned with.” He reconsidered. “Sometimes.”
They sat in the official car for a long moment. Willodean took a breath and said, “She’ll be cleared of Sheriff John’s attempted murder right away. The county D.A. can’t disregard my statement as to her whereabouts. Trust Big Joe to get into a dark corner with the alternate county judge on the day Judge Posey is off fishing at Toledo Bend. Big Joe’s evidence is scanty at best. It’s so circumstantial; it’ll be a tough sell.”
“That’s good,” Bubba said. That is good, right?
“But then Big Joe will announce plan B,” Willodean added. “He’ll push for indicting you as an accomplice. If Miz Demetrice didn’t do it, then you must have been assisting her. After all, he caught you with your hands on Sheriff John.”
“That’s bad,” Bubba said glumly.
“But Sheriff John already said it wasn’t you,” Willodean interjected. “He was very clear about it. I’ve got all his notes that he wrote in evidence. He said it was someone short, with yellow or gray hair. You were with us up until thirty minutes before we found you at the Christ Tree. It’s clear from the recorded conversation with the emergency operator that you didn’t know about where Sheriff John was located.”
“Ifin I wasn’t an Oscar-potential actor and was pretending not to know,” Bubba said with no little amount of sarcasm.
“That isn’t helping,” Willodean said. “No more statements like that until you’re cleared. Police officers don’t have a sense of humor when it sounds like you’re confessing to something.”
“You do,” Bubba smiled gently.
“Bubba,” Willodean said warningly and smiled at him. Then she frowned. “But Big Joe will try to spin that Sheriff John was half dead and can’t rightly remember what really happened. But the really bad news is that they found evidence at Snoddy Mansion.”
“What evidence?”
“A set of cheese knives hidden behind the secret door in the living room,” Willodean said.
Bubba’s stomach dropped. He should have gone back and introduced the cheese knife set to the swamp. “I hid them,” he said.
“You, ah, what?”
“I hid them,” he said. “I saw the Santa Claus knife in Miz Beatrice’s chest and knew that the murderer had taken the knife from the mansion.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I figured that someone had taken the knife to frame Ma or me and hid them until we could figure out whom.”
“You should have told me,” Willodean said tightly.
“I should have told you,” he said immediately. “My mind was on a million other things, and I forgot. I don’t say this much, but I’m sorry.”
“They haven’t found the fingerprints yet, but the cheese knives are just part of the package,” Willodean said. She ticked off items on her hand. “Miz D. was seen having an argument with Steve Killebrew the day before he was murdered, and she didn’t share that fact in the interview. And there’s telephone records of her calling Miz Beatrice the night before her murder. And one from Miz Beatrice to her as well.”
“They were talking about the stupid letters,” he said. “We did talk about this, you and me and Ma.”
“Okay.” Willodean made a gesture with one hand. “Then there’s the rope in the back shed.”
“Rope?”
“Same rope as was used on Sheriff John.” Willodean made a noise. “The fibers match up, and the end cuts are the same.”
“The back shed?” Bubba crossed his eyes trying to remember if there was any rope back there. There had been some orange string that he’d used to tie a tarp over some of his belongings. But he couldn’t remember a rope. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t there, or that the rope didn’t belong to the Snoddys, but it was suspicious. “I don’t believe we had any rope like what was hanging Sheriff John. That’s the kind of rope used on a farm or such. Ain’t much use for it around the Snoddy Estate.” He considered. “Of course, Ma once said she that killed Pa by hanging him, but she says things like that all the time.
“And the shed is wide open and not locked,” Willodean said sadly. “Just like the damned log pile where Donna Hyatt stuck that .45 revolver.”
“Yeah, well,” Bubba said slowly. “The cheese knife set was inside. So whoever it was has been in the house and not so long ago.” New people in the house. Am I wrong about Fudge and Virtna? Is there someone else I ain’t thought about?
“Where did Miz D. get the cheese knife set?” Willodean asked reflectively.
“Don’t remember. I’m thinking it was a wedding gift from someone,” Bubba said quietly. “So it’s been around a bit of time.” He cogitated and watched as people came and went from the Pegramville Police Department. Undecided on how to proceed, they had stopped here to have a quick systematic powwow. So far no one had noticed Willodean Gray, sheriff’s deputy, and Bubba Snoddy, occasional suspect; they were sitting in front inside a parked car, talking about how to catch a bad guy, and it was only a matter of time before someone put two and two together.
“Did Forrest Roquemore’s neighbors see anybody?” Bubba asked suddenly. His mind was desperately adrift. His mother might be safe in jail, but there were others who were in danger.
“Not really,” Willodean answered. “They saw a delivery van. Some people unloaded the TV. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That you’re incredibly beautiful and that if I don’t get to kiss you again, I might die,” Bubba abruptly blurted out.
“No, that wasn’t what I was thinking, but that’s not bad for a bubba,” Willodean flashed him a quick smile. “Forrest knows something. Someone gave him that stupid TV to keep his mouth shut.”
“Beloved Father”’ rocketed into Bubba’s mind. “The kids aren’t dead,” he stated. “The ex-wife isn’t dead. It was a newspaper article, and Ernie Chance wasn’t one to pay much attention to seconding his sources. Ifin someone wanted folks to think that all the Roquemores were dead and gone, ifin Lynnbeth didn’t want folks messing with her kids no more, then maybe she’d go further than changing their names, mightn’t she?”
“The name on the photograph is their names after she changed it,” Willodean postulated.
“You should look for folks named Newbrough,” Bubba said firmly. “Them two kids have to be in their thirties, early forties, maybe. Fits a lot of people around here, but I don’t recollect someone named Newbrough.”
“It’s a stretch,” Willodean admitted. She started the vehicle and backed out of the slot. She was going to the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department where she could do some research and be ass
ured that several Pegramville Police Department officers weren’t going to jump on Bubba’s head and testicles.
Her cell phone rang again while she was re-parking the vehicle next to the county building. Bubba was thinking. His brain was racing. If he was arrested, then he knew that he couldn’t do anything about anything at all. When the city police checked for fingerprints on the cheese knife set they were going to find at least one of his prints. He hadn’t even thought to use anything when he’d picked up the set and hidden it behind Cornelia Adams Snoddy’s portrait in the living room. Then Big Joe’s “plan B” was going to come into full effect. Willodean was going to have to turn him over to the police chief, and that was the end of any investigating.
Of course, Bubba lived in the Snoddy Mansion, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that his fingerprints were on the cheese knife set. It had been used several times since Thanksgiving, and Bubba was partial to cheese.
Willodean was speaking to someone on her cell phone, and Bubba took a moment to digest that they were talking about blood work.
The portrait of Cornelia Adams Snoddy suddenly sprang into Bubba’s brain. Why was he thinking about his ancestress? He didn’t know. The portrait had been an anniversary gift from Colonel Nathanial Snoddy, assumedly long before the long-term onslaught of syphilis had rotted his brain into decaying bits of stinky cabbage. Anniversary. Wedding. Portrait. Picture.
Bubba bit his lip and swore to himself.
Willodean paused in the words she was speaking and glanced at him.
He shook his head shortly.
Lou Lou Vandygriff had many photographs on her living room wall. She had gestured at the wall behind her. It was covered with a dozen or more framed photographs. All were clearly society events of some sort or another. There had been a wedding photograph of Elgin and Demetrice’s wedding. There had been many others, including several Christmas-related ones.
If Miz Lou Lou didn’t have a picture on the wall of the Pegramville Historical Society Board that had introduced Matthew Roquemore to the judicial system, then she probably had one in an album. She kept things like that. And because her memory was sharp of past events, then she might even know who each person was in the photograph.
Willodean shook her head although the person on the other end of the cell phone couldn’t see her movement. “Explain that to me again?” she said and got out of the vehicle.
Bubba looked over and saw that Willodean had left the keys in the Bronco with the engine still running. He looked out at her and wondered if she would forgive him. No, he hoped she would. He needed to go see Lou Lou Vandygriff and her wall of photographs and soonest. He wasn’t sure if Willodean would take him there right now, and his truck was sitting at home along with his dog, Miz Adelia, Aunt Caressa, and the visiting Louisianan Snoddys. Willodean was busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest, trying to keep Bubba’s hind end out of jail. She might not agree with his reasoning and there wasn’t time left to argue.
Sliding into the driver’s side, Bubba reached out and closed the door. Willodean glanced back at him, looked away, and then sharply glanced back when he depressed the door lock button. He mouthed, “Sorry,” to her, and put the vehicle into reverse.
Willodean’s eyes went as wide as a barnyard owl’s, and the hand with the cell phone dropped to her side. She started to form words with her mouth. Bubba couldn’t hear the words, but there were a few four-lettered ones included. She even looks perty saying naughty words at me. Better than perty.
Bubba felt his heart flutter. He’d make it right somehow.
She dropped the cell phone and gestured angrily at him, and even through the closed door and window, he heard her yell, “Goddammit, Bubba Nathanial Snoddy, when I catch you, I’m going to hit you so hard you’ll wake up in the fucking STONE AGE!”
*
It didn’t take Bubba long to find Lou Lou Vandygriff’s house again. It was the one from which acrid black smoke was billowing in great shadowy clouds. Bubba took a moment to figure how to work the police band radio and called for help.
As it turned out, Arlette Formica answered the other end. “Hey, Bubba, is that you? What are you doing on the police band? That’s illegal.”
“Find the address for Lou Lou Vandygriff’s house, and tell the fire department to get over here right now,” he blasted into the radio and forgot to depress the button. He listened to static for a moment. Then his eyes came back to the house. The entire street was pretty dead to the world. None of the neighbors had come out to see what was happening. No one was standing watching the action. And most importantly neither Miz Lou Lou nor her caregivers were watching safely from the front lawn.
Bubba yelled into the radio again. He repeated the information and hoped that Arlette was actively listening.
Then he let go of the button. “…Got the fire department on the way, Bubba, but Deputy Gray says for you to stay put.”
The two women could be lying unconscious inside. Bubba’s stomach sank. The last time he was in a fire, his mother had carted his not-inconsiderable bulk out and saved his life. It was time to spread the love. He heard Arlette say, “…Some gobbledygook about the drugs used on the victims.”
What? Bubba’s head was scattered. There wasn’t any time to talk to Willodean and ask for explanations.
Diving out of the vehicle, Bubba ran for the house. He prayed that Miz Lou Lou and Mattie were still alive. The thought of another individual suffering the way that Steve and Miz Beatrice made him sick inside.
The front door was locked. Bubba looked around. There wasn’t enough time to go around the sides and look for another way inside. He took a step backwards and pretended that the door was someone who had pissed him off in a particularly nasty manner. The door didn’t stand a chance. The solid oak crashed to the floor of the foyer and broke all the glass in the peep window. Smoke immediately enveloped him, and he choked.
Bubba took the bottom of his shirt and held it over his mouth. He dropped to his knees and high-crawled down the hallway, his eyes searching frantically as he did. The kitchen was empty except for a coffee pot that had been knocked to the floor. The first room was a small den, and that was devoid of human beings. Choking his way through the nearly opaque smoke, Bubba stopped and desperately thought about what he knew about fires.
Number 1: Don’t go into a burning building. Well, that damn rule is done-diddly broken.
Number 2: Always have a working fire alarm and remember to regularly change the batteries. On my new house, I’m gonna have FIVE fire alarms and I’m changing the batteries on St. Patrick’s Day, Thanksgiving, and Elvis’s birthday. And mebe I’ll change them on Ma’s birthday just for the hell of it.
Number 3: Be vigilant about portable heaters. Or in this case, be vigilant about mad-dog killers wandering about who aim to murder folks because of something that happened a whole mess of years before.
Number 4: Beware of holiday dangers. See number three. Hell, just put number three in neon lights and let it rip all year long so that no damn other body gets themselves kilt.
Number 5: Keep fire extinguishers handy. Not my house. I have no flippin’ idea if Miz Lou Lou has a fire extinguisher, and with all this smoke, I cain’t tell where the fire is much less where a fire extinguisher is. See number two and put not just five extinguishers but maybe six, or hell, one in every room of the house, including the bathrooms.
Number 6: Find the women who are probably inside and get them out in a speedy and expeditious manner. Well, I made that one up, but it works.
The living room. He could see the bottom of the couch legs and a hint of red velvet. Bubba had found the living room and immediately saw Homer Simpson. In actuality Homer Simpson was Miz Lou Lou’s large fuzzy slipper and the slipper was encasing a frail foot. The foot was connected to the actual woman. Bubba almost wept with relief when he recognized that the elderly woman was merely unconscious and didn’t have a Christmas-themed cheese knife inserted into her chest or any o
ther part of her body.
Bubba could see down the hallway and understood that the back of the house was rapidly burning to a crisp. He could smell the wretched overpowering scent of freshly spilled gasoline. A scenario even appeared in his head. The Christmas Killer had thought of the same thing that he had and had speedily moved to prevent the former secretary of the Pegramville Historical Society Board from letting other folks know who was on the short list of would-be victims. The person had drugged Miz Lou Lou and her caregiver and waited until they were unconscious, then they had poured gasoline over the back parts of the house where the neighbors wouldn’t be viable witnesses.
Bubba’s intervention had been pure serendipity. Blessed serendipity, he thought. Thank you, God.
Miz Lou Lou groaned and opened her eyes as Bubba was moving the older woman around. “Elgin?” she said querulously. “I have the worst headache. Did we finish that entire pitcher of margaritas? Let’s not do that again.”
Bubba sighed. “I reckon we did, Miz Lou Lou,” he said with a choking cough. “Now I’m gonna have to put you over my shoulder so we can get out of here.”
“Oh, Elgin,” Miz Lou Lou said. “You’re a terrible flirt, but you really need to get to that lovely wife of yours.”
Bubba carefully placed the elderly woman over his right shoulder. Then the smoke shifted, and he could see Mattie Longbow lying face down nearby. He quickly managed to get the other woman situated on his left shoulder. Mattie groaned loudly. Thank God they’re both alive.
And from outside he could hear the drone of a quickly approaching siren.
Managing to get to his feet, he wheezed and hacked, as he stumbled down the smoke-infested hallway. He staggered outside with his burden and managed to put them carefully down on the front lawn, well away from the house, the smoke, and the danger. Both women gasped fresh air into their tortured lungs.