by C. L. Bevill
“I wouldn’t want to do it,” Willodean said, “but if I felt like I didn’t have a choice because my husband didn’t come home and is not answering his cellphone either, then I would.”
“He ain’t?” There was evident surprise in Bam Bam’s tone.
“He ain’t,” Willodean agreed. “Can you tell me why?”
“Bubba said he was goin’ to talk to Ralph Cedarbloom,” Bam Bam said slowly.
“Why?”
“I ain’t exactly for certain.”
“I notice that you’re talking like what, gangsta redneck? Would you agree, John?”
“I would,” Sheriff John said, inching closer to Bam Bam.
“But before you were speaking kind of like me,” Willodean said.
“Bubba does that all the time,” Bam Bam suddenly yelled. “Go git mad at him!”
“Love to, if I knew where he was,” Willodean said.
“WenttotheCedarblooms,” Bam Bam said quickly, and it all blurred together. It occurred to Willodean that Bam Bam Jones was genuinely afraid of something that they would find on the premises.
“Can we look around?” she asked politely. They didn’t have any kind of warrant or even reasonable suspicion of a crime having been committed, but they could ask. Willodean had asked people the very same question or a close variation of it many times.
“Yes,” Bam Bam said quickly. “Look anywhere you want!”
The room went silent, and it occurred to Willodean that the entire room had heard Bam Bam.
Willodean sensed movement from the group of women surrounding the man extolling gainful job employment at a dry cleaners. She turned her head to see three of them hauling butt for the back door to where the dancers changed and got ready for their shows. They were putting a wiggle on as if it would save their lives. “Crap cakes,” she muttered. “John, do we go after them or what?”
“Prolly just pot or something,” Sheriff John said. “Don’t look like Mr. Jones is hiding Bubba in the back, but I’ll take a quick peek. I’m rightly shore the girls’ toilets will be flushing up a storm in about thirty seconds.”
The remainder of the women and the lone bartender had gone silent. The dishwasher was still recording and Willodean recognized as Mark Evans. He was a sometime college student/sometime process server who had once made the mistake of attempting to serve Daniel Lewis Gollihugh before the big man had attained inner peace with the onset of Buddhism.
Abruptly, the doors to the kitchen slammed open and a man in a chef’s hat announced, “Yep, buffet is done. Leftovers are on Bam Bam, girls!” Then he slammed back into the kitchen.
Leftovers? said Willodean’s stomach before she forced it back on the subject at hand.
Sheriff John walked through the back doors and left Bam Bam with Willodean. Bam Bam looked at the floor.
“I know that Bubba was helping you,” she said in a neutral tone, “and that he didn’t want to tell me much more. I get that sometimes a married person can’t know everything about their spouse, right up until the point where he doesn’t come home. Then I have to guess it had something to do with you and Bazooka Bob’s.”
“Bubba went to ask Ralph some questions about what he might have seen last night, er, Monday night,” Bam Bam said and clearly his throat contorted in pain from having to say those words.
“In relation to what?”
“Ah, I think my long lost brother came to see me,” Bam Bam said. “Mebe even an identical twin brother.”
That sounded like a big story except that Bam Bam’s eyes were big and round and liquid with emotion. “Identical twin brother,” she repeated. That was the usual story when some dumb criminal wanted to blame his crime on someone else. It was the some-other-dude-did-it defense except with the creative addition of some-other-identical-twin-dude-did-it in case of security cameras with recorded feed. (The problem was that generally speaking those types of criminals didn’t have a twin, much less an identical one who was criminally inclined.)
“Only got to talk to him for a minute and then he was gone,” Bam Bam went on. “Then I dint know what to do. I thought about Bubba. Bubba’s found out a thing or two. He found you, dint he? When that fella kidnapped you and locked you in an old storm cellar before you cleaned his clock with a set of manacles?”
“Yes, I remember that, and yes, Bubba did find me. He’s also helped a lot of other people.”
“That’s right, and Bubba is my friend. He invited me to your wedding, even though I be an entrepreneur of questionable means.”
“And don’t forget a movie maker of horror films,” Willodean added.
“I dint make that movie, I just helped them find Pegram County as a spot where they could film in an economical fashion.” Bam Bam looked momentarily pleased with himself and then his face fell. “I’d just hate myself if something happened to Bubba.”
“I’d hate you, too,” Willodean said agreeably.
“I’m sorry I dragged Bubba into it,” Bam Bam said. “Ifin I thought something like this would happen, I would have never sent Cayenne Pepper to—” His mouth slapped shut.
Willodean studied Bam Bam. He was looking at the floor again.
“Cayenne Pepper would be one of the dancers, right?” Willodean asked but didn’t expect Bam Bam to answer. She wasn’t going to show him her hand by telling him that she already knew Miss Pepper and that she already knew Bubba had given the woman a lift to the club, but Bam Bam should have been able to figure that already. “And you sent her to do what? Pretend that her car was broken down by the side of the road so that when Bubba drove by he would stop and help her?”
Bam Bam looked at the floor harder.
“So if I talked to Cayenne what would she tell me?”
“Okay,” Bam Bam said rapidly, looking up. “I lured Bubba here. I thought if he found it, then all would come out in the end.”
“Found what?”
Bam Bam winced. “The dead guy.”
“There was a dead guy here?”
“My identical twin brother.”
Willodean didn’t know what to say for a long moment. “I’m going to need to sit down. Also, I’ll need a plate of those wings.”
* * *
“There ain’t a dead guy here,” Sheriff John said.
“Said the plumbers came and took him,” Bam Bam said. “Ask Leslie, he’s the chef. Also Diamond and Destiny both saw the body. I tole them it was me playing a joke on Bubba, but they figured out that I couldn’t change from this—” he indicated his jersey, leggings, and high boots with his hands— “to a suit and then back again that quickly.”
Willodean looked at her boss. “Can we shoot him?”
Bam Bam made a squawking noise.
Sheriff John appeared to consider it. “No,” he said finally, “I reckon not.”
“I could be looking for Bubba,” Willodean said, “instead of this.”
“Mebe you should go home,” Sheriff John said, “and wait for him there.”
“Miz Demetrice will call me,” Willodean said. “He isn’t there. Something’s happened. I don’t know what, and I hope that it isn’t the worst thing, but it is something.”
Bam Bam made another noise. “I swear I wouldn’t have done nothing ifin I’d known. I just thought Bubba could figure it all out. Bubba always figures stuff out.”
As if Bubba didn’t find enough dead bodies on his own, he had friends helping him find all new bodies, too. Willodean sighed. She was sitting down with her feet propped up on another chair. She saw ankles were only a little swollen. If she could stay still for a half-hour she’d be good.
They’d taken about forty-five minutes to get most of the story out of Bam Bam, although it was obvious that the “entrepreneur” was holding out on them.
Finally, Willodean pulled her cellphone out of her robe pocket while adjusting the Sam Browne belt. She checked for messages and found none. She went to her contact list and found Adelia Cedarbloom. She pressed the phone icon, only slightly abashed t
o be calling at this time of the morning.
Miz Adelia answered just as Willodean thought it would roll over to voicemail. “Willodean?” she asked sleepily. “Everything okay?”
“Sorry, Miz Adelia,” Willodean said. “Miz D is fine, but Bubba didn’t come home last night. I understand he came to your mama’s place twice yesterday.”
“Yes. Once to drop off a casserole and once to ask about Ralph.”
“Would you tell me what you all talked about?”
“Certainly, Willodean.” Miz Adelia yawned. “Just give me a moment to get up to snuff. I was having a dream about Ryan Gosling, and well, it was an interestin’ dream. Um, Bubba asked about the casserole, he asked about my mother, said he was sorry about my mother, and then he wanted to know where Ralph was. I asked why he needed to talk to that boy, but he prevaricated, so I dint press the issue.”
“So where’s Ralph?”
“Oh,” Miz Adelia said. “You know he’s got a new…um…place for his favorite activity.” Willodean knew all about Ralph Cedarbloom’s pot patch. He’d started it to provide cannabis for his cancer-ridden aunt. Plainly, Miz Adelia didn’t want to spill the beans officially to Willodean although it was a very unsecret secret about what he did. Willodean didn’t have a problem with the supplying to Charlene part, but when Ralph sold to other people it was a trickier issue.
“Is that where Bubba went?”
“Yes,” Miz Adelia said carefully.
“Which is where?”
“Lake Plooey,” Miz Adelia said. “You won’t tell Ralph I tole?”
“I won’t, but if I come across blatant evidence, then I won’t be able to refrain from arresting him, you know.”
“I know, dear. I’ll just let you go. Should take you about thirty minutes to get there, right?”
Willodean heard the call drop, and she looked at the cellphone in alarm. “Dang,” she said. “John,” she called. She thought frantically. If Bubba had spoken to Ralph and Ralph had gotten all paranoid about his pot, would he have harmed Bubba? Willodean didn’t think so, but she wasn’t in a mood to dawdle, either.
Sheriff John looked at her from where he was talking to a gray-haired stripper who was complaining about illegal search and seizure and how strippers were assumed to be guilty because they were strippers. He shushed the woman and nodded at Willodean.
Willodean said, “We need to run before Ralph destroys all the evidence.”
Chapter 17
Willodean and
Certain Circumstances
Wednesday, August 23rd
Willodean and Sheriff John didn’t even make it all the way outside to the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department official vehicle before Sheriff John’s shoulder radio started sputtering. It was a flurry of attention-getting announcements from the 9-1-1 dispatcher, who sounded particularly upset. The strident proclamations didn’t stop the pair, nor did it stop the occupants of Bazooka Bob’s from trailing out after them.
“That ain’t about Bubba, is it?” Bam Bam called. “Kin I come? I could he’p!”
“No!” both Willodean and Sheriff John said at exactly the same time. Willodean wanted to drag Bam Bam by one of his ears to get him to spit out anything he’d left out, but she didn’t have time because the announcements from Arlette Formica, the dispatcher, were about Lake Plooey. It was an obvious case of coincidence that couldn’t really be coincidence at all.
“You ain’t goin’ to arrest Bam Bam?” one of the dancers asked loudly. Willodean only spared her a brief glance to identify her. It wasn’t Cayenne Pepper but one Bam Bam had brought with him from Dallas. (Willodean did come to Bazooka Bob’s on business on a very regular basis. It was so often that there had been tips about stretch marks and a pregnancy yoga class offered one town over.) Her name escaped Willodean for the moment. She started to ask the woman a question, but Sheriff John’s shoulder radio cackled again with impending urgency.
Instead of answering, Willodean clambered into the Bronco and cursed when she had trouble making the seat belt work. Sheriff John helped her with that and off they went.
They made the journey to the lake in record time. It turned out that the only people on the roads at that time of the night were bakers and people who wanted to make certain that the police did not notice them. They raced through the blackness with the dome lights lit and red and blue lights clearing the way before them.
“Arlette says more calls are coming in about Lake Plooey,” Willodean said mostly to herself. What does it mean? asked her little mean inner voice.
“Doesn’t have to be something about Bubba,” Sheriff John said. “She hasn’t said anything about Bubba in particular. Best to keep your head. Bubba’s a big cornbread-eating soul with brains underneath that brawn. Ifin a soul could think his way out, it would be him.”
It was ironic that Sheriff John would think highly of Bubba, given that it was not always the case, but then, Bubba had saved John once upon a time and saved him in a way that put himself in danger.
“I know,” Willodean said. “It’s just that…well, can’t we go more than six months without something happening? Six months. It’s all I’m asking.”
Sheriff John deftly avoided a dark blue car and asked, “Was that a Pontiac?”
“1966 GTO,” Willodean said and chewed on one of her fingernails. She was also fingering the mace in her Sam Browne belt like it was a security blanket. Sheriff John glanced at her pointedly. “What?” she asked. “Bubba rubs off. That was Mabel Jean’s Goat. She has insomnia five nights a week. Seriously. Drives around looking at all the places she used to park with her husband when they were in high school fifty-odd years earlier. Then she goes to his grave and tells him all the reasons she’s angry with him. I believe there’s an ongoing argument about what color to paint the bedroom that has lasted ten years after his death.”
“Mabel Jean? Is that one of Miz Demetrice’s crew?”
“Sometimes. Mostly she’s friends with Mary Jean Holmgreen. I think they play whist together and go antiquing. Not sure how she feels about cheap wine, Cheetos, and ice cream.”
“Nice car,” Sheriff John rumbled. It was clear to Willodean that he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I hate to ask this,” he started after a minute, “but are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay.”
Sheriff John made a noise. “I mean, is the baby okay?”
“He/she’s kicking a lot.” Willodean’s hand left the mace and went to her stomach to rub it absently. “I know you’re worried, John, but I’ll let you know if something’s about to pop out.”
“I don’t care how many times I bin through this,” Sheriff John said, “it always seems like something out of Alien.”
“Good Lord!” Willodean exclaimed. “You never told your wife that, did you?”
Sheriff John shrugged. “While she was in labor. It wasn’t my best decision.”
“And she still talks to you?”
“It might have been while they had her under drugs,” Sheriff John admitted. “It was a C-section. Hopefully, she’ll never remember that part.”
Willodean stifled a laugh. “Darla’ll toss you out of the house so fast that your grandmother’s ass will spin. Didn’t you read the unofficial rule book? Never ever compare your wife to a parasitic alien. It’s a given.”
“And you won’t mention it to her, right?” Sheriff John asked.
Willodean crossed her chest with her right hand. “As long as you don’t mention that analogy to Bubba. He’s worried about it enough as it is.”
“Not me.”
As they turned into the entrance of Lake Plooey, Willodean put her hands on the dash and leaned forward slightly.
Sheriff John said, “Try to breathe, Willodean. Don’t want you passing out.”
Willodean nodded shortly. They passed through the parking lot and got closer to the marina. Sheriff John briefly let up on the gas as they passed Bubba’s 1954 Chevy 3100 truck, but it was clear that no one was inside the vehic
le. Instead, he saw that there was activity around the marina and pulled the Bronco around to where the people were gathering.
Surprisingly, there was a small crowd of people at the end of the marina looking out into the lake and mumbling. They all glanced at the Sheriff’s Department vehicle but immediately looked back at the lake.
Sheriff John cruised to a stop and Willodean stumbled out. Sheriff John reached out to steady her, but she quickly recovered and stomped over to the mass of curious onlookers.
The crowd parted before her, and she realized she couldn’t see what was happening in the lake because of the darkness. No one was saying anything, but she could hear animated banging and thudding and someone cursing up a blue streak from the direction of the deeper water. Everyone looked waterward as if it was a television show.
Sheriff John stepped up beside Willodean and turned on the spotlight he’d brought from the county car. The strong light swung through the night and focused on the event about a hundred feet away from the edge of the dock.
It was then that they saw Ralph Cedarbloom trying to cut through the deck of the In Decent Seas with a large axe. Apparently he’d cut the houseboat loose from the dock and attempted to move it out into the deeper waters so that he could do what it was that he wanted to do. Neither the boat nor Ralph had gotten very far.
“Is he trying to sink it?” Sheriff John asked. The unsaid part that should have been added was, “Dumbass.”
Willodean nodded numbly.
“That’s the kind of houseboat that’s made out of Styrofoam in the middle,” Sheriff John remarked. “The wife and I were looking at those before we decided on a speedboat. Them babies don’t really sink, and I mean the houseboat. I mean you’d have to burn it and then mebe it would sink. Come to think of it, I don’t think that would work, neither.”
“I don’t think Ralph knows that,” Willodean said.
A park ranger stepped up to them and asked, “Are you going to do something about that?”