Reverend Walker shrieked and threw the dog to the floor. Shane got to his feet, snatched up Kenny G, jumped down, ran down the center aisle and out the glass doors. Robert Earl jumped down and gave chase, one hand covering the rip in his pants. Halfway to the doors he stopped. “I’ll never catch him.”
A pregnant woman jumped up, shouted, “This is insane!” and ran the way Shane had fled.
“You’ll never catch him,” Robert Earl called after her.
“Look, Ruth Ann,” Shirley said. “Reverend Walker just lost his lunch.”
“I’m not looking,” Ruth Ann said, eyes closed. “I paid Emma Stewart to videotape the service. I can watch it later.”
Shirley poked Ruth Ann until she opened her eyes. “Look,” pointing. In front of the adjacent row of pews, Emma Stewart lay supine on the floor, a video camcorder beside her. Two ushers fanned her with paper fans.
“Ruth Ann, you lost money on that deal.”
Robert Earl returned to his seat. “I tried.”
“Can we have order?” A new voice on the microphone: Reverend Jones. “Please! Can we have--”
A loud shriek from the rear of the church and then a woman dressed head to toe in white ran up front, arms flailing as though she were in the throes of electric shock.
“Is that Estafay?” Shirley asked Ruth Ann, who had closed her eyes again.
“I don’t know! And I don’t want to know!”
When Estafay hopped onto the dais, Reverend Jones, horrified, immediately stepped away from the pulpit. Estafay snatched the microphone out of his hand.
Reverend Walker, on all fours, gagging, looked up and saw Estafay, her face contorted, said, “Dear God!” and threw up again.
“Jeeeeeessssuusss!” Estafay screamed into the microphone, her head tilted back, thick tendons in her neck. “Jeeeeeeeeesssuusss!” she screamed again and stomped her feet, whirled in circles, wrapping the microphone cord around herself, and started bouncing on her toes.
“Robert Earl,” Shirley said, “isn’t she with you?”
“No, she isn’t. I rode in the family car with you, remember?”
“She’s your wife, remember?”
“Don’t you think I know that!”
“God has looked down on this church,” Estafay told the handful of people who had remained in their seats, “and He has wrought vengeance on an evil and hypocritical congregation. Hallelujah! He told me to tell y’all the time is near. Rebuke your abominable, wicked ways and join the Holy Professors of Truth…my church, the church where God lives and breathes.”
“Is that here in Dawson, Arkansas?” Shirley asked.
“Yes,” Ruth Ann said. “It’s on Highway Six. You can easily spot it by the nuts writhing in the front lawn.”
“Gummba…yabbaaa….akkkkkaaaa…” Estafay shouted.
“What’s wrong with her?” Shirley asked.
“She’s speaking in tongues,” Ruth Ann said.
“For Pete’s sake, Robert Earl,” Shirley said. “Go up there and get your wife. She’s making a spectacle of Daddy’s funeral. Think about Momma.”
They looked at their mother sitting at the far end of the pew. She wore a black blouse and black skirt and black-and-white hat with a white veil on the brim. She looked catatonic, her eyes fixed on her deceased husband.
“Look,” Ruth Ann said. “She’s upsetting Momma.”
On the dais, Reverend Walker had regained his composure and was trying to wrest the microphone away from Estafay.
“Get away from me, you heathen!” Estafay screeched.
Reverend Walker had one hand around her neck and the other on the microphone. “Give it to me!”
“Now you see why I don’t attend this church,” Shirley said.
Ruth Ann shook her head. “Shirley, after this I’ll be too embarrassed to watch TBN.”
“Let it go!” Reverend Walker shouted. Estafay held on. They struggled, one moment Reverend Walker taking the advantage, Estafay the next.
Reverend Walker grabbed Estafay in a headlock and she squealed.
“Ruth Ann, that’s what I call speaking in tongues.”
“Don’t talk about my wife!” Robert Earl said. “She’s a sanctified woman.”
Ruth Ann said, “Go up there and get your sanctified woman, Robert Earl! Please do! This is ridiculous!”
Estafay lifted Reverend Walker, who still held her in a headlock, up like a baby and carried him to the edge.
“This fixn’ to get ugly,” Shirley said.
“I hope she’s not going to do what I think she’s going do.”
“Robert Earl,” Shirley whispered, “is she this spry around the house?”
Robert Earl sprung to his feet. Estafay dropped Reverend Walker and, praise the Lord, Robert Earl caught him.
Chapter 2
Sheriff Ennis Bledsoe shifted uncomfortably in the swivel chair. He didn’t like delivering bad news.
“Your father was poisoned.”
“Poisoned!” Ruth Ann said. “Daddy was poisoned. That can’t be!”
“I’m afraid so, Ruth Ann. I’m sorry.”
“No…uh-uh…Who would--are you sure?”
“I’m sure. The coroner’s report came in two days ago. I decided to wait after the funeral to break the news. A toxicology screen revealed a large amount of arsenic in your father’s system. Your father’s dog suffered the same fate.”
The state lab in Little Rock had pinpointed the arsenic to a specific pesticide; info he thought best withheld.
“Kenny G! My goodness! Kenny G was poisoned, too?”
“The dog’s name?”
“Yes. Daddy named him, said he barked like a white boy. He loved Kenny G.”
“If not for the dog’s death I would not have suspected foul play.”
“Why? Why would someone poison him? Why?”
Sheriff Bledsoe stared at her. “Your father?”
“Of course. I couldn’t care less about the dog.”
“Well, that’s what I intend to find out. It appears your father and his dog came into contact with the poison at or about the same time. Neck bones, barbecued neck bones to be exact, were found in both their stomachs.” Ruth Ann grimaced. “I’m sorry, Ruth Ann. I know this is difficult for you.” He cleared his throat. “Who cooked the neck bones?”
Ruth Ann buried her face in her hands, sighed and then ran her fingers through her long black hair. “I don’t remember. We were having a barbecue. Daddy likes barbecued neck bones. No one else would touch them.”
Sheriff Bledsoe picked up a pen. “Who all were at the barbecue?”
“Let’s see…Robert Earl and his wife, Shirley and her son, Momma, a few neighbors and their kids…and…I’m sorry, I can’t remember who else.”
“What about your other brother, the one from Chicago?”
“Sheriff, if you know Leonard was there, you know about the barbecue. Why play twenty questions with me?”
Sheriff Bledsoe interlaced his fingers, rested them on his expansive paunch and leaned back in his chair.
“Ruth Ann, this is my job. Don’t take this personally. I know a bit of what happened, not enough to form a complete picture.”
“Yes, Leonard was there. He came late and he didn’t stay long.”
“Didn’t he and your father exchange words? An altercation of some sort?”
“I wouldn’t call it an altercation. Daddy and Leonard had a minor disagreement. Leonard left and the fun continued until Daddy took sick.”
“A minor disagreement?”
Ruth Ann squinted at Sheriff Bledsoe. “Hello? Leonard didn’t poison Daddy, Sheriff. I know what you’re inferring. Leonard didn’t do it!”
“I didn’t say he did. Ruth Ann, don’t get defensive. I understand this is your family we’re discussing, but we are also talking murder. Everyone at the barbecue is a suspect.” Pause. “Including you.”
Ruth Ann snorted. “You can wipe my name off your list. I didn’t poison my daddy, and I don’t do neck
bones.” She opened her purse and retrieved a handkerchief.
Dabbing the corners of her eyes, she said, “Daddy and I were close, real close. In fact, to be honest with you, I was his favorite child.”
“Ruth Ann, what exactly was said between your father and Leonard?”
“It wasn’t much of anything. Daddy called Leonard a name and told him never set foot in his house again.”
“A name?”
“He insulted Leonard’s manhood.”
“Uh…uh…your brother is--”
“Gay. He’s not a flamboyant fairy. You wouldn’t even know he’s gay unless someone told you.”
“Your father didn’t know he was gay until the barbecue?”
“He knew. Everybody knew. One of those family thangs no one talks about, you know what I mean?” Sheriff Bledsoe nodded. “I guess Leonard couldn’t breathe without it being official. He brought this white boy with him, as if he needed tangible proof of his being gay. You can’t blame Daddy. His son standing up in front of everybody and proclaiming, ‘I’m gay.’ Don’t get me wrong, I’m not homophobic. I just think there’s a right time and place for everything.”
“Didn’t you say there were children present at the barbecue?”
“Yes, they were. Leonard and Shirley ushered all the kids inside the house before Leonard made his announcement. Shirley, bless her misguided soul, cosigned Leonard’s foolish idea to out at a family get-together. If he’d asked me I would have told him to pick another date. April Fool’s Day would have been perfect.”
“His friend, the white boy, what’s his name?”
“I don’t remember. He’s not hard to spot. Pale, baldheaded, chubby, a weak wrist.”
“How long after Leonard’s departure before your father took sick?”
“Leonard came back.”
“He came back?”
“He left something--keys, wallet, something.”
“Another exchange?”
“No. Leonard did all the talking.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing, really. He told Daddy to go to hell with his eyes open.”
“Your father didn’t respond?”
“He didn’t get a chance. Shirley blocked Daddy from Leonard, and she was yelling at Leonard to leave.”
“Shirley, she’s your younger sister?”
“Yes. Robert Earl is the oldest. Then me, Shirley and Leonard.”
“At any point whatsoever did you see Leonard come into contact with the neck bones?”
“No. The food was cooking on the grill when Leonard and his friend arrived. When Leonard came back the second time everyone was eating.”
“Tell me if I’m wrong here. Leonard angrily tells your father, ‘Go to hell with your eyes open,’ and then your father takes sick?”
“A bizarre coincidence. Daddy started coughing, choking, and fell out of his seat clutching his throat. I thought he’d choked on a piece of meat.”
Shaking her head: “It was horrible…horrible!…Momma started screaming and her screaming started other people overreacting. Shirley whopped Daddy on the back really hard, sounded like a door slamming. This guy, Harold, I believe his name. Claims he’s our cousin--I doubt it, just an excuse for free food.
“He pushed Shirley out the way, picked Daddy up and started shaking and squeezing him…Daddy’s flapping and flopping and his face all tore up, eyes bucked, tongue hanging out, and Harold steady shaking him. Daddy made this god-awful gurgling noise and threw up…just exploded.”
“Projectile vomiting,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “A symptom of arsenic poisoning.”
“The idiot kept shaking and squeezing Daddy and whirling him this way and that, and Daddy started spraying people and they started hollering and knocking things over trying to get out of the way, as if being puked on by a dying man was the worst thing in the world to have happen to you.”
“What Leonard doing during all of this?”
“I don’t remember. Such a commotion going on. People panicking and running down the street. Shirley fainted and fell on her face. Momma running in circles calling Jesus. Kenny G howling like a coyote, and this nut whirling Daddy around like a human water hose. I was just worried about my daddy, that’s all, nobody else. I couldn’t tell you what someone else was…”
She stopped abruptly, buried her face in her hands and started crying.
Sheriff Bledsoe took this moment to appraise his small jail. The gray paint on the walls was peeling, large flakes exposing white paint underneath. Cold air blew from the air conditioner, though it rattled noisily and had to be turned on with pliers.
Duct tape held the cushion together in his chair. The other chairs were in poorer condition. Rust coated every bar on the one-man jail cell. Solve this case, he thought, and maybe, just maybe, the mayor would allocate the funds to refurbish.
“I want to know!” Ruth Ann snapped. “I want to know who did this to my daddy, Sheriff Bledsoe. My daddy had his faults--he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t!”
Sheriff Bledsoe nodded. “I’m going to nail whoever poisoned your father.” He puffed up his chest: “I guarantee you!”
Later, a very short time later, he would regret making this statement, and regret even more the first time he laid eyes on Ruth Ann Hawkins and her family.
Chapter 3
Leonard stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Victor, in bed with the sheet around his waist, shook his head. “No, I’d rather not.”
Leonard stepped back from the mirror and pirouetted. “How do I look?”
“Great. Just great, Leonard. You…” He stopped short.
Leonard sat on the edge of the bed. “What?” Victor looked away. “What?”
“You blame me for what happened? If you do I understand.”
“No, Victor.” Leonard stroked his face. “I don’t blame you one bit. I blame myself for thinking my family, especially my father, would understand.”
“I thought one of your sisters, Shirley, understood what you were going through.”
“On a certain level she does. My other sister and brother--forget it!”
“How can the police think you…you know?”
“I killed my father? You know I didn’t do that.” Pause. “I can’t believe he’s dead. He was too mean to die easily.” Shaking his head: “I should have gone to the funeral. They say you’ll never have closure if you don’t attend the funeral.”
“Leonard, this is so bizarre…so strange.”
“I told you events might not go as expected.”
“You didn’t mention neck bone poisoning and a murder investigation, nor a motel room with cockroaches the size of crabs.”
Leonard gave Victor’s knee a playful squeeze. “I’ll settle this today. When I get back you and I will check out of this flea-bitten room and go back to our wonderful apartment and enjoy our wonderful life.”
“Is it really wonderful, Leonard?”
Leonard leaned in and kissed him on the chin. “Yes, it most certainly is. You sound as if you’re having second thoughts.”
Victor shook his head and smiled.
Leonard stood up. “I better go now and get this over.”
Victor, wearing only a pair of red Hanes, rose from the bed and embraced Leonard. “I love you!”
“I love you, too,” staring into the dirty mirror above the dresser.
Leonard, thin, dark-skinned, early thirties, mini afro; Victor, portly, pale white, late forties, bald.
“Victor, I should go before I get excited. Imagine the Sheriff’s reaction if I appeared with an erection.”
Victor followed Leonard to the door. Stepping outside felt like stepping into a furnace. Leonard waved at Victor, hoping he would close the door and go back inside the room. Victor blew a kiss.
Leonard surveyed the parking lot. No one in sight. Thank God. He would remind Victor where they were, Dawson, Arkansas, not Chicago, Illinois. Here, public
displays of affection by same-sex couples could result in an arrest or a busted head or both.
Inside the rental, a gray Chevrolet Lumina, Leonard looked into the rearview and saw Victor stepping out onto the balcony. A man and woman stepped out of the room next door and the man stared long and hard at Victor. Leonard started the car and drove away. He needed to hurry. The sooner he got Victor back to Chicago, the better.
Arriving at the Dawson County jail twenty minutes later, Leonard composed himself before going in. Stay calm and don’t reveal any unsolicited information.
Just as he neared the door a cruiser pulled up and Sheriff Bledsoe got out carrying a box of Shipley Do-Nuts with two large Styrofoam cups balanced on top.
Leonard held the door open and followed him inside.
“Leonard Harris, I presume?”
“Yes.”
Sheriff Bledsoe put the box down on a desk and extended a hand. “Sheriff Bledsoe, nice to meet you.”
Leonard shook his hand. “Same here.”
“Have a seat. You’ll have to overlook the mess.”
Leonard noticed every chair looked an accident waiting to happen. A large air conditioner, held in a window by cut-off bars, clanged noisily. A familiar scent of cologne hovered in the air. Old Spice, he thought at first. No, too cloy.
“Yes, they’re rickety,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, “but they’re sturdy. Have a seat.”
Leonard considered sitting atop one of the desks. Not the time for practical jokes. Now was the time to tell this adipose hayseed the skinny, exonerate himself, and get Victor and himself the hell out of Dawson, never to return again.
He sat down in a chair with a sawed-off baseball bat for a leg.
Sheriff Bledsoe busied himself about the room, transferring paper from one cluttered desk to another, and then disappeared inside a bathroom.
He’s acting rather nervous, Leonard thought. He heard running water. The noise continued…and continued. Either Sheriff Bledsoe was taking a shower or washing his hands. The noise wasn’t loud enough for a shower faucet.
He’s washing his hands bloody because he knows I’m gay and he touched my hand.
Family Thang Page 2