Family Thang

by Henderson, James

  He looked her in the face in the rearview mirror, smiled without a tooth in his mouth and said, “Yes, dear.”

  Chapter 17

  Lysol burning her hand, Ruth Ann scrubbed the tub. It didn’t need cleaning. She needed an activity to occupy her mind. The yellow sponge disintegrated into bits and pieces and she kept scrubbing. The bits and pieces rubbed away to nothing and she had to stop.

  Ceasing activity for only a minute allowed a horrific thought to take center stage: Lester flipping his lid when Sheriff Bledsoe informed him of her affair with Eric. She sat on the commode and chewed on a thumbnail.

  Would Lester kill me?

  She bit a nice piece of skin off the tip of her thumb and spit it on the floor. Yes, he just might.

  When she’d stepped inside, Lester asked, “What did Sheriff Bledsoe want?” She’d shrugged and said, “Nothing.”

  She couldn’t tell him the truth; it sounded so crazy: Eric and I had an affair, I broke it off and Eric got mad and tried to frame me with Daddy’s murder by planting poison and neck bones on our back porch, and now Sheriff Bledsoe wants you and me at the station because he’s not sure we didn’t have anything to do with the poison and neck bones.

  There was a knock at the door. “Ruthie, you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  Tell him?

  She picked up a tube of Crest toothpaste and tossed it in the air…Tails, she would tell him a modified version of the truth…Heads, she wouldn’t tell him shit…The tube landed on the floor, the backside showing…Shit!

  She got up and opened the door. Lester stood in the hallway, brow furrowed.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I was just cleaning the bathroom.” Uh-uh! He would have to hear it from someone else, and still she would deny it.

  “Something’s wrong, Ruthie. I can feel it. Talk to me. It’s that no-good Eric Barnes, isn’t it? He’s done something to Shirley, hasn’t he?”

  Ruth Ann nodded. In a circuitous way he was right. “Yes, Lester, I guess you can say that.”

  “What has he done now?”

  She wondered if he could tell she was shaking like a cheap vibrator. “I’m not quite sure, honey. I better get over to Shirley’s and see if she’s all right.” She started past him and almost screamed when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  “What did you just call me?” Lester asked.

  Had she called him Eric? Lord, she hoped not.

  “You called me honey,” Lester said.

  “I-I did? I didn’t mean to. I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

  Lester embraced her and kissed her nose. “Ruthie, honey, there’s no need to apologize. You don’t know how long I’ve wished you call me something affectionate. I love you, Ruthie.” He hugged her tighter and kissed her again. “I love you so much.”

  “I know you do.” She cleared her throat and added, “Honey.”

  “Oh Ruthie, oh Ruthie!” smothering her with kisses.

  “Lester,” attempting to pull free. “Lester…honey…I’ve got to go. I’ll be back as soon as I check on Shirley.”

  Lester released her. As she started out the door she took a look over her shoulder…What the hell leaking down his face? Water? Oh, my goodness! Lester was crying. She hurried to her car.

  So caught up in her thoughts she drove right past the jail.

  Tears! Lester was actually crying!

  One of two tragedies might happen, she thought as she drove past the city limits: Lester would kill her or Lester would hurt himself again in another foolhardy suicide attempt. Either way she would lose. Another self-inflicted injury and that damn burn mark Lester would have even Judge Hatchett eating out of his hand.

  Another potential problem troubled her concentration, jangled her nerves. A problem far more terrifying than anything Lester might do. A problem twice as destructive and life-threatening as Irene and Katrina combined.

  Shirley!

  “Damn!” she shouted, realizing she’d driven past the jail and almost into the next county. She made a U-turn. All four Michelins squealed and the speedometer zipped from thirty- to sixty- to ninety-miles-per-hour.

  The clock on the dash read eight-thirty. Twenty minutes late. Right now Sheriff Bledsoe could be talking to Lester on the phone. At a hundred and twenty-miles-per-hour the Expedition began to rattle.

  About two miles before the Dawson city limits, she saw something up ahead, standing in the middle of the road. The descending sun, a gigantic fireball spilling across the horizon, distorted her view.

  What the hell is it? A cow? No, too tall for a cow. Whatever it was it stood on two legs. Bigfoot? Had to be. Just her damn luck, the day her life hung in the balance Bigfoot crossed her path. She maintained her speed. Bigfoot or Littlefoot, it was no match for the Expedition. Thirty feet from impact she floored the brakes.

  The Expedition went into a rubber-burning fishtail, almost tilting over, then spun around two times before stopping short of a two-foot ditch.

  Ruth Ann sat there, dazed, clutching the steering wheel. She wasn’t sure, but the thing she initially thought Bigfoot was her baby sister, Shirley.

  The passenger door opened and Shirley stuck her head inside. “Ruth Ann, you all right? What were you trying to do, run me over?”

  Ruth Ann simply stared at her.

  Shirley got in and closed the door. “Where’s the fire? Why you driving so fast? Didn’t you see me when you first flew by?”

  “Why…were…you…” She paused and took a deep breath. “Why were you standing in the middle of the road?”

  “I’m on my way to the jail. Eric’s in trouble again. Where you going like a bat out of hell?”

  Ruth Ann started to speak, then started choking. Shirley rapped her on the back with a flat hand. “You okay?” Whap! “You okay?” Whap! “Huh?”

  “Shirley…stop…Shit! I’m okay. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. You in a hurry? Could you drop me off at the jail?”

  Ruth Ann ignored her and steered the car back onto the road and drove much slower.

  “Pep it up, girl,” Shirley said. “You’re going fifteen-miles-per-hour. Somebody’s going to come along and knock your rear off. Can you drop me off?”

  “Hello, you wanna drive?”

  “What’s with the attitude? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, Shirley. Man trouble, you know?”

  “Same here. No telling what trouble Eric has gotten himself into now. I think he got caught up in some mess with some woman at the Blinky Motel. Ruth Ann, I swear, sometimes I curse the day I met him. Sometimes I could just…” She raised her hands and pantomimed squeezing. “I could just choke him, choke the shit out of him. I guess…well, I know I love him.”

  “What did Eric say when he called you?”

  “You know I don’t have a phone. Darlene, my neighbor, saw Sheriff Bledsoe escorting Eric in handcuffs and she came over and told me. I would’ve asked her to give me a ride, but she can’t stand Eric.”

  “Where? Where did she see Sheriff Bledsoe and Eric?”

  “Where do you think? At the jail. By the time we get there, Eric will be released for time served. Ruth Ann, we didn’t go this slow at Daddy’s funeral--speed it up.”

  Ruth Ann accelerated to seventeen-miles-per-hour. Thirty minutes later, just as a full moon was rising, Ruth Ann parked to the left of Sheriff Bledsoe’s cruiser.

  Shirley opened the door to get out and Ruth Ann put a hand on her shoulder. “Shirley, you remember what I said? I love you. I’ll always love you no matter what. It may come a time you think I didn’t mean it, that I was bullshitting. I truly meant it…every word…with all my heart. You gotta believe me, Shirley!”

  “Yeah. Sure,” eager to go inside. A moth flew in and fluttered against the interior light.

  “I double-double meant it. No matter what happens in the future, Shirley, I meant it. Even if you beat me down to a bloody pulp and gouge my eyes out and kick me in
the stomach, I’ll still love you, Shirley. It’s important to me you know that. Though I wish you wouldn’t kick me in the stomach ’cause you know my stomach is super sensitive. You remember the time I got hit in the stomach with a volley ball and--”

  “Ruth Ann, what in the hell are you talking about? Did you hit your head back there?”

  “I’m sorry, Shirley, all I’m trying to say. I really am.”

  “Is Lester fooling around? You can tell me. Is he?”

  There was a tap on the window, and Ruth Ann almost jumped out of her seat.

  Sheriff Bledsoe said, “Didn’t mean to give you a start. Y’all can join us anytime.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Ruth Ann muttered when Sheriff Bledsoe went back inside.

  “Stay here,” Shirley said. “Eric’s not your problem.” She stepped out. “Unfortunately he’s mine.”

  Ruth Ann sat there for a while, wondering what degree of physical injury she would suffer before Sheriff Bledsoe pulled Shirley off her. She got out, shuffled to the door, stopped and prayed.

  Lord, help me out here and I promise I’ll start doing the right thing. I’ll go to church regularly. I’ll tithe. Be faithful in my marriage…until I file for divorce. I’ll even bring Shane home to stay with me. Amen.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Chapter 18

  “Think about it, Sheriff,” Eric said from the backseat of the cruiser. “Only a fool would sneak up to somebody’s house with neck bones.”

  “Only a fool?” looking at him in the rearview mirror.

  “Yeah, hell yeah!” Eric pressed his face to the metal grate. “I didn’t do it, Sheriff. The shit was there when I got there.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe patted his front pocket for the Pepsid AC package. He needed something to soothe the pain in his chest in a bad way. Not finding it, he remembered the Pepto Bismol bottle, unscrewed it with one hand and took a long drink.

  Eric rattled on, emphatically claiming his innocence. Though Sheriff Bledsoe tuned him out, he realized Eric’s denial had a ring of truth to it. Eric’s brain was in his shorts, but he wasn’t dumb enough to run around with neck bones and poison underneath his shirt.

  It didn’t make sense.

  If Eric didn’t plant the stuff, who did? Lester? Ruth Ann?

  Sheriff Bledsoe burped and felt a burning sensation rise from his chest to his throat to his nasal cavities. Geez, that hurt. Eric rattled on.

  He wondered if DNA testing could determine if the neck bones on the porch were from the same batch in Larry’s stomach.

  “Sheriff?” Eric shouted.

  He couldn’t charge Chatterbox with such flimsy evidence. Nor could he charge Ruth Ann or Lester because he’d caught Chatterbox with the box in hand. The pain in his chest moved to his lower back. He leaned forward, but it didn’t lessen the agony.

  Eric pounded on the grate with his head. “Sheriff! Sheriff, are you listening to me?”

  Sheriff Bledsoe parked the cruiser and killed the engine. “Yes, Eric, I hear you.”

  “You know what I’m saying is true, don’t you?”

  He got out, opened Eric’s door and helped him out. “What is true, Eric?”

  “I’m being framed. Big time! You know I’m not a killer. I’m a lover. I might steal a woman’s heart--I’m no killer!”

  He led Eric inside the jail and directed him to a chair. “Why would someone want to frame you?”

  Eric shook his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. A lotta people don’t like me, especially Shirley’s people.”

  “Why don’t they like you?”

  “’Cause I mind my own business and I don’t stick my nose where it don’t belong.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe considered telling him adultery was a capital case of sticking a nose where it didn’t belong.

  Instead: “Okay, Eric, let’s say you were framed. Somebody says, ‘Hey, why not frame Eric Barnes with Larry Harris’ murder? Gee, great idea. How? Easy. Put poison and neck bones on the Hawkins’ patio. When Eric sneaks over to rendezvous with Ruth Ann, Sheriff Bledsoe will catch him red-handed with the goods.’”

  “Naw, Sheriff. I don’t think it happened quite like that. But I now know who’s trying to frame me.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t wanna know.”

  “Yes, I do. Enlighten me further of the conspiracy to frame Eric Barnes.”

  Ignoring the sarcasm: “Lester. He did it, or he had one of his friends do it for him.”

  “Why? Why would Lester frame you?”

  “He’s jealous.”

  “I was under the impression Lester didn’t know about you and Ruth Ann.”

  “I was, too. He wanted us to think he didn’t know. You see, then he could do his dirt and nobody would suspect him.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe sighed. “Lester framed you by throwing gopher bait and neck bones on his patio?”

  “He sure did. You know he’s crazy, Sheriff. You know what he did to himself when his first wife left him? He drank poison or something and scorched his mouth. Only a crazy person would try to kill hisself, you know what I’m saying?”

  “That was a long time ago, and I don’t see how his burning himself years ago is related to current events.”

  “Related! Hell, the two are fucking. Don’t you see the connection?”

  “No, I don’t. And watch your mouth.” Why was he even entertaining Eric’s cockamamie suppositions?

  “It’s simple, Sheriff. Lester has firsthand experience with poison, or first-mouth experience, if you wanna be specific. After he burned hisself--you know the man ain’t stupid--he read up on the subject so he wouldn’t burn up something else. Then he concocted his grand scheme to frame me and kill Shirley’s daddy.”

  “You think he poisoned Larry Harris?”

  “Hell yeah! I know damn well he did.”

  “A gaping hole in your theory, Eric. Lester was not present at the barbecue. You were. And, according to Ruth Ann, you were bending over backward catering to Larry.”

  “Aw hell. I admit greasing the old man’s ego. I was just sucking up. You know I don’t know poison and chemical stuff. If I were going to kill somebody, I’d do it face-to-face, man-to-man. I ain’t no punk!”

  Headlights beamed through the venetian blinds. “Should be Lester and Ruth Ann,” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

  “Watch him, Sheriff,” Eric warned. “Don’t let the burn mark fool you. How he tricks people--the sympathy play, you know?”

  “Thanks for the advice, Eric.”

  A few minutes ticked away.

  “Your truck is still in the impound lot,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “When are you going to get it?”

  “Aw, Sheriff! I didn’t know you impound it. Otis charges fifteen dollars a day, not to mention the tow charge. I can’t afford all that.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe didn’t respond, and a few more minutes ticked away.

  Eric said, “They sure taking a long time to come in. You don’t think they’re polishing up their alibi, do you?”

  Sheriff Bledsoe went to check.

  Ruth Ann and Shirley were talking inside the SUV. He assumed Lester was in the backseat, obscured by the tinted back windows.

  He tapped on the window and Ruth Ann jumped. “I didn’t mean to give you a start. Y’all can join us anytime.” He went back inside.

  “What are they doing out there?” Eric asked. “Getting their lies together, I bet you.”

  “Ruth Ann and Shirley are talking. They’ll be in soon.”

  “Who?”

  “Ruth Ann, Shirley and Lester.”

  “My Shirley?”

  “Yes.”

  Eric jumped to his feet and turned his back to Sheriff Bledsoe. “Take these cuffs off, Sheriff! Take em off!”

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “If Shirley catch me with these cuffs on I’m sawdust. C’mon now, take em off so I can at least have a running chance.”

  “There’s not going to be any
theatrics here. This’ll be conducted in a civil manner.”

  “You don’t know her, Sheriff. When she gets mad she turns into a Transylvania devil.”

  “You mean Tasmanian devil, don’t you?”

  “Whatever, Sheriff, just take these damn cuffs off. Please! Take em off!”

  Sheriff Bledsoe took the key from his pocket. Eric’s wrists were wet with sweat.

  When the cuffs clicked free, Eric said, “Maybe you should lock me up, too. You know, just to be on the safe side.”

  Just then Shirley barged in, pushing the door open wider than necessary to accommodate her large frame. “What the hell is going on now?”

  “Oh-oh!” Eric said, and moved behind Sheriff Bledsoe.

  “Calm down, Miss Harris,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “Don’t forget you’re at a police station.”

  “I know where I am, Sheriff. Eric, what the hell have you done now?”

  “I-I-I…”

  “I-I-I--my ass! What have you done?”

  The door opened again and Ruth Ann poked her head in and back out and in again, then, slowly, one limb at a time, she entered.

  Sheriff Bledsoe couldn’t decide who looked the most terrified, Eric or Ruth Ann.

  “Where’s Lester?” he asked Ruth Ann.

  “He,” a squeaky whisper, “couldn’t make it.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe pointed to the phone on his desk. “Call him and tell him to get over here.”

  Ruth Ann shook her head. “He’s gone.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. He left, said something about missionary work in Zimbabwe.”

  Shirley laughed. “Ruth Ann, what are you talking about? You know Lester ain’t in Zimbabwe.”

  “We have a time-share in Zimbabwe. I never talk about it because I don’t want people to think we think we’re all that.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Shirley said. “Why don’t you sit for a spell? I’ll drive you home. You might have a concussion.”

  Ruth Ann, a few feet away from the door, rubbing her hands together, didn’t look as if she could sit if she wanted to.

  “Mrs. Hawkins,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, “I want you to call your husband and tell him to get down here. If you don’t, I will.”