Bubba and the Wacky Wedding Wickedness (The Bubba Mysteries Book 7)

by C. L. Bevill

  Most of the people had scurried away after Sheriff John had broken out the bullhorn. He said he needed names, addresses, driver’s licenses, and proof of citizenship in two forms before they could re-open the open bar, which was motivation enough to line up in droves. Also Sheriff John announced there were white bean and sage canapés over Wheat Thins and pissaladières. Sheriff John had to stop to explain to Cella Montague LaPierre Mitchell Blankenship and Gideon Culpepper that pissaladières were an onion tart, which surprisingly didn’t seem to dissuade anyone. Cella was heard to loudly mutter, “No damn pigs in a blanket. No damn jumbo shrimp. What kind of lame ass wedding is this?”

  Bubba came around from the forest, peeking through the heavy brush and making certain to avoid patches of poison ivy. Brownie crept at his side with Janie and Willodean at his back. Precious kept to Bubba’s heels and kept silent, knowing when a good hunt was occurring.

  “Haven’t we done this before?” Willodean whispered. “In fact, weren’t we in the exact same spot? This can’t possibly work.”

  “That was fifty paces from the southwestern corner of the mansion,” Bubba said helpfully, “where that 1946 Chevy truck is buried. I should dig that up sometime. Might be parts I kin use.”

  “Hush,” Brownie said. “You’ll scare the sucker away.”

  Janie snuck around Bubba’s arm and pointed the camera in the direction of the downed keg. “How long do we have to wait?” she whispered.

  “It depends on how stupid the guy is,” Bubba said. He’d had to make a quick stop in the mansion to return Cookie with all of her makeshift armor to her mother. Neither Cookie nor her mother were happy with the state of affairs. If one listened carefully, one could still hear Cookie shrieking, “Boo BAH! Boo BAH! Boo BAH!”

  In the distance they could hear Sheriff John using the bullhorn and directing human traffic. “If you have two forms of identification, then line up here, and the nice state po-lice will he’p you. If you don’t have identification, get in this line so we kin fingerprint you.”

  “I don’t have identification!” someone yelled and Bubba recognized the voice as Herbert Longboom, owner of the local five and dime store.

  “I know who you are, Herbert!” Sheriff John boomed back, using the bullhorn.

  “Jesus, you don’t have to use that thing!” Herbert yelled back. “I ain’t deaf, or at least I wasn’t deaf before that!”

  “LINE UP!” Sheriff John responded, and it was Bubba’s opinion that the steely gray individual was a little too happy with the state of affairs.

  “I don’t see any of the other po-lice,” Brownie said, peering around. “They’re supposed to be looking out the windows and one is over in that knoll with another recording device.”

  “Why didn’t we leave them in the house?” Willodean asked, pointing at Janie and Brownie.

  “Because Janie wouldn’t show me how to use the camera unlessin’ we took her with us,” Bubba said quietly. “Look, someone’s coming.”

  Most everyone had obediently cleared out, but a few diehards had remained, notably the two individuals still sleeping in camp chairs. Someone stopped at the edge of the forest nearest to them and looked around. Bubba pulled back into a deeper shadow, and tugged Janie with him, who kept quiet.

  “Seriously, no one could be that dumb,” Willodean whispered, adjusting her Kevlar helmet.

  “That’s the perp,” Janie murmured. “Quiet.”

  The figure crept closest to the figure in the Dallas Cowboys hat and hesitated for a moment. The figure, here forth known as Perp Guy, looked all the way around himself, conspicuously scanning for possible witnesses who would later on squeal.

  Bubba thought Perp Guy bore a passing resemblance to Lloyd Goshorn. The prison system wasn’t looking for fake people, but fake identifications, so the one he used to get in would pass muster. If Bubba were to talk to Steve Simms at this moment, and Steve had gotten his call back from the sheriff of Smith County, Bubba was sure that Steve would tell him that Lloyd Goshorn was listed as one of Morgan Newbrough’s visitors. The police could verify that after the fact.

  Perp Guy poked the sleeping man in the chest, and there wasn’t a reaction. Perp Guy nodded his head, glanced around again, seeing that everyone in the area was otherwise involved or headed for where Sheriff John was bellowing through the bullhorn, “Come on people! The sooner we do this, the sooner we get back to that open bar! There are nine different types of tequila, and sixteen kinds of microbrews here! SIXTEEN! Them Snoddys done cleaned out three breweries in Dallas last week! There was a special po-lice escort for the trucks!”

  Cheers resulted. Bubba wondered what would happen when the boisterous crowd discovered that Sheriff John was adlibbing.

  Perp Guy bent to the sleeping figure, hefted him up, and awkwardly hoisted him over his shoulder. It was at that moment that the formerly sleeping figure began to kick and whale on the man. Muffled groans and complaints originated from the struggling shape. Perp Guy, the would-be suspect and counterpart to Nancy Musgrave, shrieked loudly in surprise, and dropped the figure on the ground.

  “You’re supposed to be dead!” Perp Guy yelled at the figure with the Dallas Cowboy hat. The hat fell on the ground as the figure continued to writhe there.

  David Beathard appeared from stage left as Bubba goggled at the scene before him. This wasn’t in the plan. This wasn’t even a mile away from the plan. This was so far away from the plan that it was the anti-plan. The would-be super villain dashed close to Perp Guy, pointed his glowing plastic death ray at him, and proclaimed, “That is my wedding present to Fleet Commander Bickerstaff and Lady Bronwyn Octavia Fogg. A newly wedding couple should always have an arch nemesis confined in their dungeon! You shall not touch it! Again, I mean!”

  “That wasn’t the right one,” Brownie murmured, clearly dejected.

  “Who’s Fleet Commander Bickerstaff and Lady Bronwyn Octavia Fogg?” Willodean muttered.

  “I reckon we are,” Bubba whispered.

  “So if the dead guy isn’t dead, what the heck?” Janie whispered over her shoulder.

  “Keep that camera on them,” Bubba said.

  “Well, duh,” Janie said.

  “That’s supposed to be a dead guy!” Perp Guy said, pointing. He leaned down and pulled the hat off the figure. The jacket was dislodged at the same time.

  “Who is that?” Brownie asked, craning his neck.

  “He’s got white makeup on with black lipstick,” Janie said. “Look, his hands and feet are duct taped. Is that a leather corset? How did someone glue brass gears to his forehead? And is he muzzled with a brass bit gag?”

  “Janie!” Willodean said. “How do you know what that is?”

  Janie shrugged. “I have the keys to the precinct. They have all kinds of stuff in the evidence locker. The loo will explain almost anything to me, and if he doesn’t there’s people in the lockup who will. Very informative folks.”

  “This is the infamous Lady Whiteshade!” David shrieked, and even Sheriff John’s bullhorn ceased for a moment. “My arch-nemesis! She came to destroy the festivities because I once slept with her maiden aunt! Bwahahaha!”

  Willodean peered closer at Lady Whiteshade. “That isn’t a lady. David’s in big trouble,” she uttered.

  “Who is that?”

  “That’s Peter Pitcock,” Willodean said.

  “Peter Pitcock,” Bubba repeated.

  “He’s Dogley’s new social worker,” Willodean said. “He came to drop off the patients for the wedding and he vanished. Apparently he was captured by David acting in his Baron Von Blackcap the Revenger shtick. Kidnapping is not going to look very well on David’s record.”

  “He is a steampunk super villain,” Bubba allowed.

  “You’re nuts!” Perp Guy yelled at David.

  “Well, duh,” Janie said again.

  “No one will believe you, so—” Perp Guy twisted and efficiently kicked the jacket over Peter’s face— “go away.”

  Perp Guy looke
d around frantically and his gaze settled on the other figure who was sleeping in a camp chair. Bubba had previously noticed the individual wrapped up in the burnt orange University of Texas throw with a prominent Bevo on it. Perp Guy didn’t waste time with lifting the body before he checked to make sure it was correct package. He simply tipped the hat away from the person’s face, grunted in approval, and started to yank the body up.

  “That’s the dead body,” Bubba said with no little amount of satisfaction.

  “Yep, that’s the dead body,” Brownie agreed, and then glanced quickly at Bubba and Willodean who both turned their heads toward him. “Looks dead, right? I mean, there’s always dead bodies around here. Who would put a dead body in a camp chair in the middle of a tailgater’s party?”

  As soon as Perp Guy began to jerk the body upward, fireworks began to pop all around the base of the camp chair. The explosions ruptured upwards in a spectacle of flames, sparks, and glory. Perp Guy screamed like a little girl and promptly dumped the body, which fell onto the ground.

  “I didn’t think the booby trap would really work,” Janie said in an awed tone.

  David shrieked, “BWA!” and fled for lesser exciting climes.

  Dancing butterflies erupted in prominent display. “Ooo,” Brownie said. “I like that one.”

  The silver sonic warheads burst forth in a luminescent exhibition of intensity and power.

  “Not bad,” Janie said.

  Precious began to bay in earnest. She didn’t like the noise.

  The rain of fires detonated with earsplitting bangs and multicolored arcs of light and sparks.

  Willodean said, “I hope the water hoses are operational.”

  The flaming spears shot out in three different directions. They were brilliant white shapes that powered forward and issued forth a whopping bang of noise that would make the most stalwart person jump.

  Brownie rubbed the tips of his fingers together and said, “Excellent.”

  Perp Guy fell back in palpable fear for his life, covering his head with his arms. As soon as the fireworks came to a slow conclusion, Agent Monday jumped on him.

  “Jeffrey Carnicon,” Bubba said, identifying Perp Guy.

  * * *

  Bubba and the Wedding and

  Some Monologing, Too

  Saturday, April 27th around 2 PM

  The preacher was brought in by the National Guard’s tank, which remained parked on the front lawn near the remains of the keg. Brother Jacob of the First United Methodist Church of Pegramville was somewhat taken aback by his special escort, but he seemed to take it with aplomb, climbing off the tank without mussing his trousers.

  Bubba hurriedly managed to get dressed in his wedding suit although he forgot his shoes in his rush to get ready. That was okay because the last time Bubba had seen Willodean, she was still wearing the Kevlar vest across her chest, and so bare feet wouldn’t stand out overly in comparison.

  Peyton the wedding planner had given up and sat in the front row with an open bottle of champagne in one hand, tiredly waving them all on with the other.

  David Beathard stood next to Bubba as they waited for Willodean to appear so that she could walk down the makeshift aisle. David’s hat was askew and his wrists were encased in plain steel cuffs that clashed with all of his brass. He’d lost his monocular in the struggle when he was arrested for the assault on Peter Pitcock.

  Precious sat next to Bubba’s feet, keeping a paw next to one, as if she thought he might get away if she didn’t.

  Bubba nervously shifted his bare feet, dislodging his dog who whined in response. The wedding party at the front of the pergola waited with bated breath. He had to admit that Peyton had done an outstanding job transforming the area. The formerly disintegrating structure had been rebuilt and repainted. White flowers and vines flowed over it with little twinkling lights that were almost lost in the bright sunshine of a beautiful April afternoon. A quartet played lovely classical music and all of the chairs were occupied with friends, family, acquaintances, and a few others.

  There were a few who stood out. Peter Pitcock couldn’t get the makeup or the gears off his face, so he sat in the back row on the groom’s side rubbing at his skin with wet wipes provided by Miz Adelia. Mayor Leroy sat in the middle still holding a large piece of Keg Kong and occasionally sobbing. Kiki Rutkowski sat just behind Brownie and Janie, and smiled wistfully as she contemplated the large bag of broken cellphones at her feet. Nearby, Agent Hornbuckle sat covered with dirt and cradling the entrenching tool to her chest and muttered to herself.

  “How did you know it was Jeffrey Carnicon?” David whispered. The state trooper who stood at attention at David’s side glowered. Hattie and Anora were on the other side of the preacher and both leaned in to listen. (The plan had been for three groomsmen and three bridesmaids, but Bubba didn’t have a clue where the others were currently located.)

  “You remember the greenhouse at Dogley?” Bubba asked.

  “Of course, the patients cultivate flowers and such for extra money,” David said. “You know I still live there.”

  “And why you’re at a wedding is a mystery,” the state trooper said. Brother Jacob shushed him.

  “Well, Jeffrey said something about horticulture. I never knew he was a horticulturist before. I guess I never thought to ask him,” Bubba said. “Also there was a piece of Christmas holly near Morgan’s body, so I guess they were all feeling somewhat sentimental.”

  “And Jeffrey helped with Dogley’s greenhouse,” David said. “I could have told you that, Fleet Commander Bickerstaff. Bwaha.”

  “That must have bin where he initially came in contact with Nancy,” Bubba said.

  “I was her boyfriend!” Jeffrey called from the third row where he was sitting in-between Sheriff John and Agent Monday. The boyfriend part made sense to Bubba because Jeffrey had also said something about a long-distance relationship and that he was about to get married, so he had been speaking the truth, although a limited one.

  “Jeffrey,” Sheriff John admonished him, “ifin you cain’t be quiet during the wedding, then you’ll have to go into the back of a prowler. And you definitely won’t get none of those ham-wrapped prawns that Miz Adelia just finished.”

  “I’ll be quiet,” Jeffrey said, “but I did it for love.”

  “You kilt Morgan for love?” Bubba asked.

  “That was an accident,” Jeffrey said. “The hemlock juice was for you, and Morgan drank it by mistake. I can’t be held responsible for that.”

  Oh, yes you can, Bubba thought. Nancy was going to be very upset with Jeffrey; in fact, she probably already was upset with him. Jeffrey could thank Bubba for filling Nancy in on that news.

  “So first off,” Sheriff John, “you helped Morgan escape with a little planning from Nancy?”

  “Nancy is so smart and beautiful,” Jeffrey lamented. “She’s going to hate me.”

  “You he’ped Morgan go to Mexico and get plastic surgery,” Bubba said.

  “It wasn’t hard. Mother left all that money from when she invested in Home Depot in the 1980s,” Jeffrey said.

  “So when Morgan was ready, he came back over the border, and you helped him to steal a mail truck,” Agent Monday said. “Then you knocked the mailman unconscious in order to get Morgan in a uniform and to get access to the property.”

  “Objection,” Lawyer Petrie called from two rows back. “That’s leading the witness, your honor.” Then he hiccoughed drunkenly. “Where’d the judge go?”

  “Those two inebriated idiots were in the back with the mailbags,” Jeffrey said, “but they were too wasted to worry about although they did make us crash the truck. Really not my fault.”

  “And you got Morgan into the uniform and tied Fred Funkhouse up,” Sheriff John said. “Then Morgan changed in the house and laid in wait for Bubba in the house.”

  “We had to break the glass in the back door,” Jeffrey admitted. “We also fed your dog a whole steak because she was growling at us. Angus
beef, too. She eats a lot. Then, I went to socialize and to call the police about the body.”

  “Did you join Morgan later?” Monday asked.

  “I did, but he had already drunk the thermos I prepared,” Jeffrey said. “The dumb dork. The blue one was meant for Bubba, and the red one was Morgan’s cappuccino. I was going to give the blue one to Bubba, and only Bubba.”

  “So Morgan by accident,” Sheriff John said, “and you put him in Bubba’s living room.”

  “I thought Bubba would be blamed for his death,” Jeffrey said, “and he was already in Bubba’s house.”

  Some folks don’t know the meaning of the Fifth Amendment, Bubba thought.

  “Then what happened?” Agent prompted. He handed Jeffrey a flute of mimosa. Jeffrey took the flute and downed the concoction in one gulp.

  “Those kids moved the body,” Jeffrey said. He pointedly looked at Janie and Brownie who were sitting directly ahead of him in the front row.

  “Janie!” Celestine said from where she sat next to her granddaughter.

  “It was going to ruin the wedding,” Janie said defensively.

  “I did it,” Brownie interjected quickly. “Janie dint really want to do it. I twisted her arm. I’m a bad influence.”

  “My hero,” Janie said. Brownie turned beet red.

  “So I moved it back,” Jeffrey said. “Got it just like I wanted. I put the thermos in Bubba’s refrigerator. I even wiped my prints off it.” He stopped to consider. “But it does have Carnicon Horticulturist, LLC on it, which might be a problem for me.”