by Art Bourgeau
"Thanks," I said.
"I'm not ready to go in yet. Will you go for a walk with me'?" she said.
"Sure," I said.
"Truman, do you mind if Snake and I take this walk alone?"
"Go ahead. I'll be waiting in the truck," he said.
We walked for an hour, maybe more. Neither of us said anything for a long time. Flo held my hand.
There we were, the ex-marine and the cocktail waitress. Sweethearts of yesterday. This time the closeness was there. The same closeness we'd had as kids. The shoulder to lean on. Someone to turn to. It felt good.
Finally she spoke.
"I have to tell somebody. You're the only one around that I would trust with this," she said.
"Go ahead," I said. ‘
"Hulan and I were married," she said.
I don't know what I expected to hear, but that wasn't it.
"I don't believe it," I said.
Flo opened her purse and handed me a piece of paper. I looked at it. It was their marriage certificate. They were really married.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"It was because of his mother. He wanted to wait to break it to her. You know, me being a cocktail waitress and everything. She wouldn't approve."
"What are you doing here now?" I said.
"Keeping it a secret was his idea, not mine. I'm not going to let them bury my husband without anyone knowing we were married. I at least want his mother to know it. That's why I have the marriage certificate with me," she said.
"Why Hulan of all people?" I said.
"He was the kindest, gentlest, most considerate man that ever lived, and he thought I was something really special," she said.
"Why do you think he hung himself?" I said.
"That's the part I'm afraid to tell anyone else," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"Last night, when Buck Hill supposedly captured him, Hulan was coming to meet me. We were going to take a walk and be alone for a few minutes. Then I heard the racket, and I came to see what was happening. Buck Hill had knocked out Hulan, and there was that bag of snakes next to him. Hulan didn't have any bag of snakes. He hated snakes," she said.
"So you think Buck Hill hit Hulan and then planted the snakes next to him," I said.
"Yes, and then he killed him when he got to jail because he knew Hulan would never be convicted," she said.
"Did you see him plant the snakes next to Hulan?" Isaid.
"No, not really, but I know he did it," she said.
I believed her.
Chapter 31
I didn't tell Truman about my conversation with Flo. In fact, I didn't say much at all on the ride home. If Flo was right, and everything looked like she was, I had not only been wrong once about the murderer, I had been wrong twice. First, I had been sure that Flo was the killer. It had all fit so logically. Her affair with Cindy. Their stolen weekends together. Her hatred of Jessie. All the clues had pointed to her. Only, none of it was true. Then along came Hulan, the goat. When Buck Hill arrested him at the rally, I was happy to accept Hulan as the killer. It all fit so logically. A grown man who sang in a gospel group. A man who lived with his mother. A real woman hater. A psycho. It all lit. Only, none of it was true.
Buck Hill was the real killer. The town constable. One of the first suspects I eliminated. He did it, not once but twice. He killed Cindy, and then he killed Hulan.
We stopped by the goat shed. F.T. was not there, and the camp had been torn to pieces. Someone had dumped all our gear on the ground and had gone through it piece by piece. Truman helped me sort it out and get it back in the sea bags.
"Is anything missing?" he asked.
"No, I think everything's here," I lied. Something was missing. The pictures of Jessie and Cindy making love at the cabin were missing. I had expected that. Fortunately, I had also planned for it. Never put all your eggs in one basket. I checked my other hiding place. The rest of the pictures were there. I put them in my pocket.
I was sure Jessie was the thief. In fact, I even knew when she had done it. She had done it in the afternoon while we were at the polls. I had the feeling that Jessie was ready to end our little summer romance.
We headed for the First National Bar & Grill.
Virgil was doing a brisk business when we arrived. Election day is one of the busiest days of the year. Most people pay little attention to a bar as long as it's open, but let it close for election day, and immediately everyone gets edgy. It was the same type of feeling that killed prohibition.
F.T. was sitting at the bar, talking to Virgil. The jukebox was playing Jerry Lee Lewis's version of "What Made Milwaukee Famous Made a Loser Out of Me." Even with the crowd, the place looked empty without Flo. During this one short trip, I had had enough grieving and dying to last me a long time.
"What are you up to, partner?" I asked.
"Just celebrating the end of the case and the election," said F.T.
Truman went to the head. I leaned over to F.T. and quietly said, "Don't celebrate too much. Hulan didn't do it."
F.T. was stunned.
"How do you know?" he said.
"I can't go into it right now because Truman doesn't know," I said.
"Let's go," said F.T.
"Virgil, when Truman comes back in, tell him we had to go some place important, and we'll see him at his place later on," I said. It was a dirty trick, but we had to do it.
F.T. and I started walking toward Truman's house.
"All right, who did it?" said F.T.
"Buck Hill," I said.
"Buck Hill?" said F.T.
"Yeah," I said.
"How do you know?" he said.
I told him about my conversation with Flo. He waited until I finished.
"That sounds good, but Flo's marriage license doesn't make Buck Hill a murderer," he said.
"I know. we need more proof," I said.
"You're darn tooting we do. This is the law we're talking about. Before you go up against the law, you've got to make damn sure you're right, or else it'll all come right back at you. How are we going to prove it?" he said.
"I don't know," I said.
I heard a car approaching. I looked over my shoulder. It was Truman.
"What are we going to tell Truman?" I asked.
"Tell him we wanted a hot bath before Jessie's party," said F.T.
"I didn't know Jessie was having a party," I said.
"You do now," said F .T.
Truman stopped. "What the hell are y'all going to my place for?"
"We wanted to take a hot bath before the party," I said.
"What party?" he said.
"Jessie's," I said.
"I didn't know Jessie was having a party," he said.
"You do now," I said.
I showered first, then F.T., and then Truman. While we waited for him, we continued our conversation.
"Somebody searched the camp today. They took the pictures I had in my sea bag. Nothing else," I said.
"Who do you think did it'?" said F.T.
"Jessie," I said.
About eight o'clock we drove to Jessie's house. There were cars parked along both sides of the road. It looked like a big party. We walked across the lawn and rang the front doorbell. Dawn answered the door. Her hair was pulled back and tied. She was wearing a skirt, blouse, and penny loafers. Every inch the college girl.
"Don't just stand there. Come on in," she said.
We took her advice. The house was full of people, all talking and drinking. None of them were friends of mine, but Jessie and I never did move in the same circles.
The Reverend Teasdale was there. I looked around but didn't see his wife.
Jessie came out of the kitchen and saw us. She came over and shook hands. It was all very formal.
"I'm so glad you could come tonight. I can hardly believe the election is finally over. Now all we have to do is wait for the returns. But whichever way it goes, after tonight I'm going to take off a few days
and just lie around," she said.
The social la-de-da quality of her voice made me mad, so I said, "Yeah, I'm sure you'll remember this campaign for a long time. For once, I think you can safely say that you've been shot at and missed, and shit at and hit."
There was a little flash of anger in her eyes, and she said, "Y'all just make yourselves at home. The bar is in the corner, and the food is scattered everywhere. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get something in the kitchen. Dawn, would you help me, please," she said.
After they had gone, F .T. said, "What a grade-A phony. Where the fuck does she get off with that ‘I'm·a-big-shit-socialite' tone? ‘I'm so glad you could come tonight. I'm so glad it's over.' That's just peachy fucking keen that she's so glad."
"Partner, I get the feeling that something is bothering you. Now don't hold back. Just go
ahead and let it out. Say what is on your mind," I said.
F.T. laughed, and we went to the bar. Truman had already gotten himself a drink and was eating potato chips with some sort of sour-cream-and-chicken-shit dip. Dawn came out of the kitchen. I could tell she had been crying. I went over to her and said, "Hey, it ain't no big thing. We knew what the score was before we came."
"Just leave me alone," she said, and she stormed down the hall toward her bedroom. Goddam women. You can't live with them, and you can't live without them.
Jessie came out of the kitchen. She was all honeysuckle and smiles. The Reverend Raymond Fucking Teasdale went over and put his arm around her. Even though things weren't going well with Jessie and me, I didn't like that oily bastard touching her. My temper was starting to get the best of me. I made a mental note to get a grip on myself sometime in the future.
"Jessie, did I tell you what a truly magnificent speech I thought you gave last night?" he said.
"Why, thank you, Reverend. I take that as a real compliment, coming from such a powerful speaker as yourself," she said.
I wanted to throw up. I guess I'm too diabetic to be around so much sweetness at once. The Reverend didn't believe it either, but he was still in there pitching.
"No, I'm serious. It was a very moving speech," he said, pulling her more tightly to him.
"I'm really very flattered. You know I've always enjoyed your sermons. I'm just sorry your wife wasn't feeling well tonight," she said.
"Thank you very much. As you know, I have had some experience with public speaking. Getting up before a congregation every week gives you that kind of experience," he said.
"I'm sure that it does," said Jessie.
"What I'm getting at is that I work in my office at the church most afternoons. As mayor, I'm sure you'll be called on to make many speeches. If you would like my help, please feel free to stop by at any time," he said.
The Reverend was beginning to slur his words. I guess he wasnt used to wrestling with demon
whiskey.
"Thank you very much. I'll be sure to remember your kind offer, but first I have to be elected. Please excuse me. I have to see about something in the kitchen," she said.
That's when Buck Hill arrived. I was glad to see him. Even though he might be a murderer, he made a lot more sense than the rest of these people. He got a drink and came over to us.
"Boys, are y'all catching any fish lately?" he asked.
"Buck, what the hell are you doing here tonight?" I said.
"Jessie invited me," he said.
"But Jim Henry is your cousin. What about that?" I said.
"You mean the election?" he said.
"Yeah," I said.
"It's just an election. It's not a war. Somebody is going to win, and somebody is going to lose. But whichever way it goes, when it's over, it's over.
Both sides are still going to live in this town, and it doesn't pay to get too worked up over it, or you'll wind up crazy like Hulan. Soon as possible after the election, we have to bury the hatchet and get back to the business of looking out for the town. Besides Jim Henry wasn't having a party tonight."
"That's the real reason," said F.T.
"I guessed as much," I said.
"Y'all have seen through me. But tell me, boys, about the fishing. With this murder investigation, I haven't had much time to fish. What have y'all been catching?" he asked.
"Lately, the river fishing has been pretty good. We've been using minnows for bait and catching some nice-sized catfish," I said.
"How big were they?" asked Buck Hill.
"The biggest was about a pound and a half to two pounds," I said.
"That's the perfect size. Big enough to eat, and small enough to be tender. There's nothing like pan-fried catfish breaded in cornmeal. That's some real eating. Where have you been catching them?" he said.
"Around the shoal near the old bridge," I said.
"Well, first thing next week, I'm going over there and see if I can't catch me a mess," he said.
Buck Hill saw Jessie and left us. I told F.T. to come with me, and we went out through the kitchen. Outside, I stationed F.T. where he could watch the house and told him to whistle if Buck Hill came out.
The white police cruiser was parked on the shoulder of the road about a hundred yards from the house. I hurried over to it and got in on the passenger side. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I knew I would know it when I found it. I opened the glove compartment, and there it was Jessie's gun. It was just like she had described it, a nickel-plated, short-barreled, thirty-eight Colt with yellow ivory grips and the front sight filed away. Like her daddy had said, it was a pimp's gun.
The only other items in the glove compartment were a flashlight and a pad of paper. I took the second note out of my pocket and compared it with the pad. It matched perfectly. Even the edge at the top where it had been torn away from the pad matched perfectly. Buck Hill was our killer, but there wasn't enough here to convict him. I knew if we tried to go to court with the gun and the pad as evidence, he would just say that he had taken them from Hulan as evidence. It was frustrating, but there was still nothing we could do.
I went back to the house and told F.T. what I had found. He agreed that we didn't have enough evidence to do anything. We went back in by the kitchen door and poured ourselves another drink. The phone rang. It brought a hush to the crowd.
Dawn answered it. She spoke briefly and hung up.
"Mom that was the school. You won."
Everyone cheered, even Buck Hill. Someone called for a speech. When everyone quieted down, Jessie said, "I'd like to thank everyone for helping me. Without your help, I could never have done it. Now, for my first official act, even though I don't take office for a month, I want to ask Buck Hill to stay on as the town constable. Will you do it, Buck?"
"I'll be happy to," he said.
Everyone cheered again. The whole thing was a joke. Two people had died so Buck Hill could keep his precious speed trap, and all along, he was in no danger of losing it. Two people had died needlessly.
"Everyone please go back to celebrating. Now we really have something to celebrate," said Jessie. Several people congratulated Buck Hill, and he said, "Well, I'd better get going. I have to go over and console Jim Henry."
Buck Hill left. I cornered Jessie in the kitchen.
"Well, it's over and you won. Congratulations."
"Thanks," she said.
"It has been a good day. You won the race, and you got the pictures back," I said.
"What pictures? I don't know anything about any pictures," she said.
"I see," I said.
"Now, I would appreciate it if you would leave my house and leave my town. I don't want you around me or my daughter ever again. And take your white trash friend with you. If you're not gone by Monday morning, I'll press charges and have Buck Hill put you in jail," she said.
I kept my dignity. "That's fair enough. My friend and I will finish our drinks, say good night, and be out of your hair, but let me just say that you have made this a most interesting fishing trip."
I went back to the living
room. F.T. was talking to Dawn, and Truman was still eating those goddam potato chips.
"From the look on your face, it looks like tonight was your night in the barrel," said F.T.
"Something like that," I said.
"Snake, I'm sorry," said Dawn.
"There's nothing you can do," I said. "Truman, stop eating that shit, and let's hit the road."
We started for the door, and then I stopped.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I said. "As Jessie's unofficial campaign manager, she asked me to give you each a little souvenir of the campaign. F.T., would you help me pass these out," I said.
Jessie came in from the kitchen just as we finished passing out the last of the really juicy pictures of Cindy and Jessie making love at the cabin. We had nearly enough pictures to go around.
Sometimes revenge can be so sweet.
Chapter 32
Monday morning F.T. and I packed our sea bags and said goodby to the goat shed. She had been a great fishing camp and base of operations. Old Sherlock's digs at 221B Baker Street couldn't have offered us more. We walked through the park. It was quiet. No one was around. The only sign of life was the breeze raising the dust on the little league field. The air was cooler. Fall was coming.
Fifteen minutes of walking brought us to the center of town. It was still too early for the First National Bar & Grill to be open. There was a big shiny padlock on the front door. Lou Young was outside his store, sweeping the sidewalk. We stopped in and bought two six-packs of Old Blue to go. That's all we could carry comfortably. I wish we could have taken a carload with us. Lou Young had a fifth of Jack Daniels hidden in the back of the store—purely for medicinal purposes, of course. He gave it to us. Lou Young was always a sentimental old cuss. We shook hands and left. Our trip had come full circle. It had started here and ended here.
We walked past my old house, but now when I looked at it, it was nothing but another old house. Nothing special, except that now a murderer lived there. A man and a woman had died because of him, and there was no way to prove it in a court of law. But the law and justice are not always the same thing, and F.T. and I had a very strong feeling that justice would be served this time.
Another mile of hard walking put us at the city limits. We walked past the city limit sign. It was a rusty old sign that said, "Welcome to Cannibal Springs, Tennessee: a fine place to live." I put down my sea bag and hit that fucker right between the running lights with an empty beer can. It made a hell of a clang when it hit. That made me feel better. I just wish it could have bled when I hit it.