“I don’t know exactly what occurred,” Mary Lou said tentatively. “I heard that Bubba’s all right though,” she added quickly when she correctly read Miz Demetrice’s expression. “Fine and dandy, and he ain’t even under arrest.” She considered it for a moment. “Well, he was under arrest, but then someone said Big Joe changed his mind.”
“And the Christmas Killer?” Miz Demetrice snapped.
“Well, they said they caught someone,” Mary Lou trailed off. “Actually, there was some debate about that. One officer said the little boy caught the Christmas Killer.”
“Brownie?” Miz Demetrice said doubtfully. “Brownie caught the Christmas Killer?” Quite probably Brownie found the Loch Ness Monster, as well and was keeping it in a goldfish bowl.
“Who’s Brownie?” Gigi asked confused. “Who would name their kid after a dessert?”
“It’s all real confusing,” Mary Lou said with a glance at Gigi. “And is Brownie named after a brownie?”
“It’s a family name,” Miz Demetrice said shortly. “The Snoddys have a long history of…eccentric family names.”
Gigi laughed. “And I thought my family wasn’t able to catch catfish in a coffee cup.”
“You’ve no idea,” Miz Demetrice muttered.
Silence ensued for a moment. In the distance they could hear someone clanging the bars, and a siren briefly came to life.
“So who was the killer?” Gigi asked, as if she would know the person.
Mary Lou said excitedly, “It’s either Jesus Christ or Nancy Musgrave. Those silly oss-i-fers cain’t make up their minds.”
“Jesus Christ kilt someone?” Gigi asked incredulously.
“It’s one of the mental patients who thinks he’s Jesus Christ,” Miz Demetrice interjected impatiently. Jesus isn’t really a killer. He’s just a poor misunderstood soul with an attraction for stealing hemorrhoid cream and underarm deodorant.
She had to stop and think about the other one. It made more sense if one disregarded the fact that Miz Demetrice didn’t yet understand the motivation. Nancy Musgrave, the social worker, is a serial killer with an odd affinity for murdering people with Christmas related implementations?
Sighing heavily, she didn’t know why it had happened or what Nancy’s reasons might have been. Nancy had obviously been connected to the man from the Pegramville Historical Society Board who had been incarcerated years before.
His daughter? A deranged relative? But a social worker? Doesn’t that paint a wretched picture about our societal outreach programs? How is a pitiable misbegotten individual going to receive any kind of help when his social worker is Charles Manson’s understudy? Really.
Chapter Three
Bubba and the Gut-Wrenching Feeling of Frustration
Friday, December 30th
Bubba was tired of standing around.
The sun had set. A passel of law enforcement congregated around Deputy Willodean Gray’s wrecked county car. Sheriff John had obtained a map of the area and tried to institute a grid search. Someone had brought out bottled water and sandwiches from a Pegramville hoagie shop and passed them out. The food had tasted like ashes in Bubba’s mouth, but he had forced it down his throat because he knew he was going to need the energy it would supply.
Word had trickled back that Nancy Musgrave was locked in the county jail and the county prosecutor was having her transferred to a woman’s prison because of the infamy of the case. The local jail wasn’t set up for women ordinarily, and the state offered to house Nancy for the interim.
Furthermore, the news was out about the missing sheriff’s deputy. The media had descended in droves on the site. Bubba could see no fewer than five separate vans parked beyond an unofficial line two deputies patrolled. Individuals had shoulder-held cameras pointed in the sheriff’s direction and were following as if they had fixed onto him with laser sights. Sheriff John had called in for reinforcements. A Texas State Trooper’s car had pulled up earlier. Also, there was, and Bubba wasn’t certain because he couldn’t recall if he’d ever met one before, an FBI agent in a dark suit with a sanctioned high-and-tight haircut. The Fed wandered around, attempting to appear official.
A group of local officers had come to speak with Bubba again. Sheriff John had led the charge questioning Bubba, but the older man already knew what Bubba knew, and the questions were lackluster and repetitive.
Mildly surprised that his mother hadn’t appeared, Bubba realized there was every chance that Big Joe hadn’t gotten around to releasing Miz Demetrice from the city jail. The jerk.
There was also every chance that Miz Demetrice had taken control of the facility and was lying in siege until she could force the government to bend to her will. Free ice cream and socialized medicine was only the tip of her particular iceberg.
Bubba was getting tired of being tired. No one was doing anything. For some reason, Sheriff John was certain Willodean had been snatched by a mysterious individual. The magic word “kidnapping” and the extra-special addition of “sheriff’s deputy” seemed to have thrown an extra Jamaican hot pepper into the gumbo. The city was involved. The county was involved. The state was involved. The Feds were involved. The media was involved. The Girl Scouts might have been involved, but Bubba hadn’t yet seen them.
Bubba didn’t feel involved. He felt as if he was standing around, mired in mud, while Willodean was somewhere hurting, possibly bleeding, and needing help.
Oh, things were being accomplished. In the back of Bubba’s mind he had to acknowledge the effort being made. Officers of all sorts were spread out asking residents along this road if they had seen anything. They had been tasked to fan out and knock at every door within a mile. Then they would reconnoiter and take on the next few miles.
Bubba had heard Sheriff John put out a bulletin about the Dodge tow truck which would promptly appear in every police station in Texas. There was a photograph of a non-smiling Willodean peering out of the same bulletin. Sheriff John had taken a few precious minutes to personally call Willodean’s family in Dallas. In a few more minutes, Bubba knew that Sheriff John would be talking to the news. The older man adjusted his shirt and brushed the dirt off of it in preparation of being on camera. Gravelly voiced, with a bandage still on his neck from an attack from the Christmas Killer, he was prepping for the ritualized sacrifice of speaking to reporters. He was going to get the word out about the missing sheriff’s deputy. People would know she needed help, and if a soul did see her, then they needed to do their duty.
Bubba couldn’t fault Sheriff John for being held back by technicality and legal procedures. It was the same as being stuck in a field of the thickest goo without a branch or a rope in sight.
Bubba spared a moment for Willodean’s family. Previously, he hadn’t thought about them, and it made his stomach knot up. It had to be a thousand times more hellish for them. They had next to little knowledge about what had occurred. Had they known about Willodean’s stalker? Had they supported her move to the boonies in order to protect her? Protected her just about as well as I did.
Bubba said a dirty word, and a nearby officer flinched. Bubba turned to the man, who was someone he didn’t recognize, as well as a Texas State Trooper. “You got a cell phone I kin borrow?”
The trooper stared at Bubba. Bubba noticeably wasn’t law enforcement, so the man plainly didn’t know what to make of him. Clearly, he wasn’t exactly a suspect either, but neither was he being included in the planning session occurring not thirty feet away. Consequently, the trooper shrugged and pulled out a Droid.
Bubba stared at the phone that appeared tiny in his hand. The trooper sighed and showed him how to turn it on. Then he showed Bubba how to unlock it by running the tip of his index finger over the little lock icon and moving it sideways. Finally, he showed Bubba how to dial a number.
“These things get more complicated every time I pick one up,” Bubba muttered, thinking longingly of Sheriff John’s wife’s unsophisticated model. The phone rang on the other end, and
after a few minutes, Miz Adelia picked up. “It’s me, Miz Adelia,” he said curtly.
“Oh, thank the Lord,” Miz Adelia said. “Bubba, these folks won’t say a lick about nothing, and your mama ain’t home yet.”
“Mama will get out as soon as Big Joe gets around to it,” he said quickly. “Ain’t gonna harm her overly.”
“But what about the other poor souls in the jail?” Miz Adelia said, only half joking. Bubba could hear Precious, his dog, bark in the background to be let outside and knew that he didn’t have to ask about her.
“Look in Ma’s rolodex and call Lewis Robson,” Bubba instructed. “Tell him to meet me out where all the circus is occurring on Shorely’s farm road. Cain’t miss all the happenings.”
“But that’s rightly close where my cousin goes to-”
“Yes, I know about your cousin, and I’ll try my best to avoid that area,” Bubba said before Miz Adelia could say anything about her cousin Ralph’s illegal pot patch set in the middle of Sturgis Woods.
The Cedarblooms weren’t terribly criminal, but Miz Adelia’s mother was dealing with a late-stage cancer. Ralph had kindly hopped into the affair by volunteering to supply medicinal marijuana to Charlene Cedarbloom. The fact that marijuana was not legally medicinal in the state of Texas, was not properly addressed by any of the Cedarblooms. Nor was the matter that Ralph made a tidy profit selling the remainder of his crop to third parties.
Bubba could have called Lew Robson directly about his hounds, but he knew that Charlene Cedarbloom was in rapid decline. He didn’t want to see Ralph arrested any more than Newt Durley’s relatives, who had an active still further back in the Sturgis Woods. The fact that their booze was only illegal because they didn’t care to apply for a license to sell it, was beside the point. Durleys had grown up with alcohol and illegality, and Newt and his brothers were proudly carrying on the tradition. Newt frequently celebrated the tradition in the jail while sobering up from the potent mix made in the forest.
“What’s wrong?” Miz Adelia snapped. “It ain’t Ralph’s little bit of maryjane, that’s certain.”
“Willodean Gray is missing,” Bubba said solemnly. Saying the words didn’t make anything better. In fact, it made it worse. Saying the words aloud made it seem as though it was acceptable. “We need to search the…Sturgis Woods for her.”
Hint. Hint. Wink. Hint.
Miz Adelia was silent for a moment. She was taking in information. She didn’t waste time with asking what had happened to the beauteous deputy.
“You’ll need something of hers for the hounds to scent,” she said instead. “I’ll need to make some phone calls.”
The silent message was, if Ralph Cedarbloom needed to haul his sit-upon out to the woods and clean up, then he best do so in a hasty manner and thank you very much for the information, Bubba.
Bubba brought his head up and saw the state officer watching him.
“Something that belongs to her?”
He could have hit himself. Perhaps there was something inside the wrecked SUV that the hounds could scent, but the crime scene technologists were still working on it. The fact that their presence had been called for made Bubba’s heart descend into the pit of his stomach like the fancy ball dropping in Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
No one was saying, “It’ll be all right, Bubba.” As a matter of fact, the message was the opposite. “It ain’t gonna be all right, Bubba,” was the dispatch he was getting, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do right now. Futhermore, it was becoming, “And things are rapidly getting so grave that you’re going to have to lick a cat’s behind to get the god-awful taste of fear and distress out of your mouth.”
The night was full and dark beyond the lights of the police car. No one could see anything to do a search. The moon hid behind clouds, and even the few stars that were visible seemed gloomy and disinclined to be of assistance.
Willodean wasn’t a runaway, and someone had likely stolen a Dodge tow truck to bring her to a stop. Sheriff John wasn’t going to like Bubba’s interference, but he was so damned tired of waiting. It was a case of do-something-or-he-would-go-insane.
“Bubba?” Miz Adelia said gently. “Ain’t your fault, boy. You wouldn’t do nothing to hurt that gal.”
But I didn’t do anything to help her.
Bubba heard the plastic of the phone crack in his hand and the trooper said, “Cra-ap,” under his breath.
I stole her car. She had to take another one to get out to the Snoddy Mansion. She might have been with me…instead of-
“Bubba Nathanial Snoddy!” Miz Adelia yelled, and the noise from the Droid sounded a little off. Bubba pulled the phone away from his ear and comprehended that pieces of the phone were falling away. “Don’t you dare blame yourself!” Miz Adelia finished.
Perhaps she had pulled out her handy book of things to say to a person who is feeling things he doesn’t care to admit. God knew there had to be such a book out there about Bubba. Miz Adelia and his mother probably shared it upon occasion.
Bubba cautiously brought the phone back to his ear. He was actually holding it together with his oversized ham hocks. Amazingly, it was still working for the moment. “Tell Lew to meet us out here at first light. Before that if he can. I’ll cover his fees.”
“Bubba, you sound awfully strange,” Miz Adelia croaked. She might not have been croaking; the phone was not working very well.
“I’ll get something that belonged to Willodean for the hounds,” Bubba gritted out. He would have to get it from her home. Even though he had never been inside, he knew where she lived. Sheriff John would have access or know a way to get in. Bubba knew how to gain access if the sheriff didn’t. “Tell Ralph I said hey.”
“Um,” Miz Adelia croaked. “Sure, I reckon.”
“Tell Lew first light, hear?”
Bubba pulled the phone away from his ear again. He looked down at it as he pressed the “end call” button on the little screen. “Fancy phone,” he said regretfully to the trooper. It was a fancy phone. Not so much anymore.
The trooper looked down at the phone with dismay. “It gets the Internet and it’s 4G,” he said slowly. “I can Tweet and Facebook whenever I feel like it.”
He can do what? Tweet? Facebook? What the frick are those? Bubba glowered and tried to give the Droid back to the officer while more bits fell off. It made an abnormal whistling noise, and smoke started pouring from one side.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to do that,” the trooper said dismally.
“Sorry,” Bubba offered. “Ifin you’ll give me your information I’ll send you a check for it.” He sighed. “It hasn’t been the best of weeks for me. I’ve also got to pay back someone for the damage I did to a car I borrowed.”
The trooper stared. “You damaged the sheriff’s county car you borrowed?” He whistled. “You’re Bubba Snoddy, and I heard all about that.”
“No, it was another car that I borrowed,” Bubba said slowly. “I asked permission first. But there was a herd of fainting goats and the sheriff was hanging from the Christ Tree, so I couldn’t very well take it slowly.”
“Of course not,” the trooper said strangely. He cautiously put the Droid on the ground, and several people paused to watch it catch fire. Finally, one of the Pegramville City Police Officers took a fire extinguisher from his vehicle and put the fire out with two strong puffs of chemical spray.
The fire reminded Bubba that he hadn’t asked about anyone else. There was Lou Lou Vandygriff who had been in a fire the previous day. Along with her was Mattie Longbow, who was Miz Lou Lou’s caregiver. Both women had been drugged by Nancy Musgrave. He hadn’t spared either of them a thought after he had seen Willodean’s empty vehicle.
Miz Beatrice Smothermon’s funeral had been set for the previous day, as well. It must have been a truly empty church with a quarter of the population locked up, being threatened by a murderer, or missing. And Bubba’s mother, Miz Demetrice, was still in jail.
Ma will
be fine.
Sheriff John stepped up beside Bubba and stared down at the remnants of the Droid that had just been annihilated. “What did that phone do to you, Bubba?”
“I said I was sorry,” Bubba muttered. The trooper had meandered off into a group of other troopers and was casting frequent, odd looks over his shoulder at Bubba. “Hell, I’ll do car repairs on his personal vehicle for six months if that’s what it takes.” After they found Willodean.
“Statie said you called in someone about their hounds,” Sheriff John said.
Bubba looked down at Sheriff John’s toes. “They look protected enough under those heavy boots you wear,” Bubba said.
“What?”
“Ifin I stepped on them big toes of yours.”
“Ifin…”
“You got a key to Willodean’s home?” Bubba said.
“Boy, you change subjects faster than a fart blowing in a windstorm.” Sheriff John grimaced and pulled at the bandage on his neck.
“You hear anything about Miz Lou Lou and Miz Mattie?” Bubba asked, eying the bandage.
“Doc Goodjoint kept them in for smoke inhalation. But I heard the old lady gave the hospital staff hell on a pogo stick. And Mattie’s family already picked the gal up.” Sheriff John sighed. “They’re fine and Miz Lou Lou’s family is already planning a good place for her to recuperate.”
“Good,” Bubba said. “I ain’t goin’ to apologize for calling in Lew Robson. You would have done it, just a little later.”
“Yeah, it was on my short list.” Sheriff John looked down at the decimated phone again. “I need to round up about a hundred folks to do a search of the area and the forest here. I’m calling in the police academy students from Dallas, Houston, and Shreveport. We cain’t do it before the 2nd of January.”
Dread coalesced through Bubba’s soul. The 2nd was three days away. A person could die of dehydration in three to five days. Without liquid, an injured woman could…
“Christ,” Bubba swore. It was half a curse and half a prayer.
Bubba and the Missing Woman Page 3