by C. L. Bevill
“Ifin what you supposed is right,” Dan said, “then he might have. Mebe he was tryin’ to tell you the real murderer before he done died.”
“Who’s Mary?” Big Joe demanded harshly. “Where’s her body?”
Bubba nodded. “That is the question, ain’t it? But why would Justin trying to tell me then? That was before Ma announced to the world and sundry that I had found that note. Justin dint know I had the note. No one but Sheriff John knew, and Sheriff John wouldn’t have told Justin.”
“God and Buddha,” Dan said solemnly. “Mysterious ways. You were meant to find that body and that note, too. They had plans for you. That poor woman needed some he’p. Someone from above,” he gestured upward with his handcuffed wrists, “had they’s eye on you.”
Big Joe stopped what he was doing and stared first at Bubba and then at Dan. “None of that falderal is goin’ to get you out of it this time, Bubba Snoddy.”
Bubba wasn’t thinking about that. Instead, he was thinking about the person who wanted him out of the way. Dan had heard a car earlier. They had been about when the murderer had been there. The murderer had called the police, making sure to call Big Joe instead of Sheriff John. Everyone knew about the animosity between Big Joe and Bubba. Big Joe really didn’t want to give Bubba the benefit of the doubt if he didn’t have to do so.
Maybe the murderer had followed Bubba to do him in but had been dissuaded by Dan’s presence. After all, Dan was a big, mean fella when he wasn’t a Buddhist. What would be next best to killing off Bubba, than to frame him for murder?
It was pretty much what most people tried to do to Bubba. In fact, there was probably a detailed how-to article on the Internet about how to frame and/or kill Bubba.
What about Ma and Willodean? Bubba’s silent question troubled him. Bubba could talk all he wanted about threats and bombs and notes, but there wasn’t any proof of anything. If Kiki didn’t have a name that started with Mary, then there wasn’t a crime of anything. The police wouldn’t be inclined to follow up on what-ifs and maybe-thens. The murderer didn’t have a reason for hurting Miz Demetrice and Willodean, because if the person did that, then they would stand a higher chance of getting caught, and Bubba wouldn’t have a reason to keep quiet.
No, if the murderer wanted this to go away, then Bubba had to go away. Permanently.
Bubba frowned as Big Joe conferred with Smithson and Haynes. All three men wanted to make sure their best sides looked appropriate when they came walking out of the abandoned factory with Bubba Snoddy and Daniel Lewis Gollihugh in tow.
Being in jail wasn’t going to do what the murderer needed. The murderer would have to wait until Bubba got out of jail in order to kill him.
Bubba had a big old target on his back.
•
“The city jail has got a plumbing problem,” Big Joe said as he led them to the Pegram County building. Bubba kept an eye peeled for Willodean Gray in case the beauteous deputy happened to be about.
“Newt Durley been in one of your cells again?” Bubba asked.
“How did you— never mind,” Big Joe growled. “We’ll just put ya’ll in the county jail until the judge can see you in the morning.”
“Don’t forget about Holey Mole’s,” Dan said. “A big fella’s got to et.”
They walked through the county jail’s doors, and Tee Gearheart looked up with a startled expression from where he sat at the front desk.
“Say, Tee,” Bubba said to the Pegram County Jail’s jailor. “How’s Junior?”
Tee was a large, genial man who ran the jail. Most folks who were apt to be incarcerated there spoke fondly of the 350 pound man. He was fair, kind, and did not take any guff from his inmates. “Bubba,” he said cheerfully. “Junior’s just fine. Started walking, he did. Well, not walking, running. Head down. Dashing for it as if it’ll go away ifin he doesn’t get to it. I got him one of them ‘Get Your Bubba On!’ t-shirts.” Then he looked at Dan. “And Daniel Lewis Gollihugh. Dan, there will be no ripping the toilets from the floors. It’s plumb difficult to get a plumber this time of the evening. Am I understood?”
“Shore,” Dan said agreeably. “I’m a Buddhist now. I don’t hold truck with violence no more. ‘Give a man a fish…’ and yada-yada-yada. I have been given a fish.”
Tee appeared somewhat skeptical and confused. “You cain’t have fish in here.”
Big Joe said a nasty word.
“That ain’t called for neither,” Dan chided Big Joe.
“Just let me fill out the paperwork,” Big Joe said. “Murder one in Bubba’s case and accessory in Dan’s case.”
“I dint accessorize nothing,” Dan protested.
“Tee,” Bubba said, “will you call Ma and Willodean and ask them to be careful? Really, really careful?”
Tee grimaced and looked down at the desk. Bubba heard a sudden shift in the air from behind him and knew the door had just opened again. Based on Tee’s expression of dismay and sudden interest in the paperwork in front of him, it was Miz Demetrice and/or Willodean Gray standing behind him. It could be both of them, and they would both be irritated. Again based on Tee’s expression, it might very well be the hooded, skeletal figure of death, complete with scythe.
Bubba slowly turned his head to look. It was Willodean. She appeared angry, and she didn’t have a scythe. He tried to judge whether she was angry at him or the situation. Shore, it’s great having such a wonderful girlfriend, but all these damned nuances can kill a fella. Please God, don’t ever let Willodean ask me, “Does this dress make me look fat?”
“I heard murder one,” Willodean said to Big Joe who was looking interestedly at her.
“I got a tip,” Big Joe said. His shoulders went back, and he sucked in his gut.
“A tip,” she repeated. “From whom? Nancy Musgrave in prison? Maybe from Donna Hyatt?” Willodean looked Bubba over. “He doesn’t have any blood on him, and hey, you forgot to kick him in the head with a steel-toed boot. He doesn’t look quite right if he isn’t in a hospital bed.”
“I dint have manacles,” Big Joe chortled. He took a step to the side as he reached for some paperwork, and one of Bubba’s booted feet shot out. The police chief tripped over the foot, tottered, and then fell down. He immediately jumped up and waved a fist in front of Bubba’s nose.
Willodean stepped in between them and Bubba froze. “Don’t touch him,” she said carefully. “We might have to wait for the judge to make sense of your charges, but you don’t touch him.”
“He tripped me!” Big Joe howled.
“I dint see that,” Dan said. “Looked like you tripped over your own shoes. Must be gettin’ old.”
“Willodean, honey,” Bubba said, “please get out from in between us.”
Willodean took a deep breath. “Big Joe, you need to back down.”
Big Joe scowled. “I got to get paperwork done, anyhow. And I need to call the press about my big capture. I should be on the morning news.”
Once Big Joe left, Willodean turned to Bubba. “What are you into now?”
“I had a thought about things,” Bubba said. “I don’t care for it when you put yourself into a position of danger.”
“Yeah,” she snapped. “Me neither.” She looked at Haynes, who had remained to make sure Bubba and Dan got into respective jail cells. “Who was murdered?”
“Justin Thyme,” Haynes said. “Looks like he’s bin dead a few days.”
“Since Saturday,” Bubba interjected. “Saturday, you know, when I said he was dead.”
“Shut up, Bubba,” Willodean said.
“They got an anonymous phone call,” Bubba said dryly.
“How’d he know that?” Haynes asked.
“You got an anonymous phone call,” Willodean repeated skeptically. “Oh for the love of macaroni and cheese with little sliced weenies.”
“The judge will clear it up,” Bubba said.
Dan said, “Say, Bubba.” His voice was full of animated question as if he had just thought o
f something important, and it was a doozy.
“Did he have a knife on him?” Willodean demanded of Haynes.
“A buck knife, two lead sinkers, a note in a baggie, and a list of names. Female names,” Haynes added the last bit maliciously. “There was also a bloody apron in the room with Justin. Undoubtedly we can tie it to Bubba. We’ll get a team down to do DNA analysis. We’ll check the buck knife for blood residue.”
“Kiki narrowed down the names of possibles for M,” Bubba explained quickly to Willodean.
“Did Bubba have blood on him?” Willodean asked.
“No, he obviously dint kill Justin today,” Haynes said magnanimously. “Mebe that list was his future victims.”
Willodean groaned.
Dan said again, “Say, Bubba.”
“What is it, Dan?” Bubba asked.
“The judge,” Dan said in a conspiratorial manner.
“You’ve got squat on Bubba and less on Dan, I suspect,” Willodean said vehemently. “The judge is going to throw it out so fast it’ll leave skid marks on the courthouse steps.”
“Mebe not,” Dan said.
“What?” Willodean snapped.
“The judge,” Dan said again.
“What about the judge?” Bubba asked.
“Do you remember that I read something about the judge yesterday?” Dan asked. “We was at that hotel waiting for rescuin’ and all. I was so hungry my stomach was eting a hole in my pancreas.”
“You are so going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about,” Willodean commanded.
“Dang,” Dan said and stepped back as far as he could to get away from Willodean. The wall stopped him. “Bubba,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth, “tell her not to use the mace on me. It makes me cry like a little girl who done dropped her ice cream in a cow patty.”
“Don’t use the mace, Willodean,” Bubba said. “I was goin’ to tell you, but you dint seem like you were in a real receptive mood. We sort of got, uh, kidnapped. By Irish gypsies. But it was all a misunderstanding. They sent a witch to tell me all about it. In fact, they gave me the name of the man who sold them the auto parts.”
“This is better than a soap opera,” Haynes said to Tee. Tee nodded avidly.
“What about the judge?” Bubba asked.
“It said in that article that his family owned a factory,” Dan said. “Then today you asked, ‘Who’s got money and something to lose?’”
Willodean looked at Dan and then looked at Bubba. “What is he talking about?”
Who just started a large political campaign? Who dint need their dirty laundry aired? Who had once owned a certain factory? Who had a factory that had once employed Justin Thyme? Had Justin bin murdered because he suddenly wanted more money once the campaign started? If all of that was true, then who was Mary, and why had she needed to be murdered?
Tee sighed loudly. “As entertaining as this all is, I got to get them boys in their cells. So ya’ll can call their lawyers, ifin you’ve a mind.”
“I’ll call Lawyer Petrie,” Willodean said, and added unkindly, “and your mother. Dan, you want me to call anyone?”
“Buddha?” Dan asked hopefully. “The Dalai Lama?”
•
An hour later and Dan was pounding fiercely on the bars of his cell. “Big Joe promised me the number four platter from Holey Mole’s! A man my size needs food and mebe a glass of milk, I kin drink milk, right, Bubba? This place smells worse than any cell I ever bin in before! I WANT TACOS!”
Bubba didn’t want tacos. He wanted to go talk to Kiki and figure out who Mary had been and why she hadn’t been on that list. He wanted to know why Mary had been locked in that little room. He wanted to know why she had been so frightened that she had left a note saying if someone was reading it, then she had been murdered.
Bubba couldn’t talk Tee into letting him go again, as the jailor had once done. Tee had simply flipped open his wallet and started showing Bubba photographs of his son who was coming up on being a year old. Bubba also couldn’t talk Tee into letting him make some extra phone calls.
After a while, Tee got tired of listening to Dan bellow and promised to get him something to eat. One of the deputies from the sheriff’s department reluctantly brought a bag full of tacos from Taco Bell. Tee gave the lion’s share to Dan, who stared at the bag as if it had snakes in it.
“Taco Bell?” Dan said. “Taco Bell don’t make tacos like Holey Mole’s.” He continued to complain until his mouth was full of one taco.
An hour after that, and Dan was still grumbling but not as loudly. Tee banged the doors loudly and announced, “Hey, boys. You’re in luck. The judge decided to have a late session and take care of business. So wash your faces, tuck in your shirts, and get ready to go.”
Bubba smiled grimly. He wasn’t really surprised. But someone else was going to be.
Chapter Twenty-three
Bubba Goes to Court and Stuff Happens
Wednesday, August 22nd
Miz Demetrice was waiting outside the Pegram County Jail’s doors when Tee Gearheart and Officers Smithson and Haynes escorted Bubba and Dan to the courthouse. She immediately threw herself into Bubba’s arms, although Bubba did not have any arms free. The lack of available manly limbs did not deter the Snoddy matriarch in the least. Perhaps it was because she was used to embracing her only son whilst he was in handcuffs. Smithson and Haynes had insisted on wrist, waist, and ankle cuffs for both men. Bubba suspected the sheer magnitude of the shackles was for Daniel Lewis Gollihugh and specifically, his temperamental reputation.
Ma rested her face against Bubba’s chest and said, “Not again. Not again. I don’t know how many times I kin take this. This is worse than when I killed your father by putting him into a pen with angry hogs. Your father loved bacon.”
Bubba looked around. It was full dark, but the area between the courthouse and the sheriff’s department was lit with streetlights. People meandered about the area, many of which were dressed in Pegramville Murder Mystery Festival t-shirts, clearly intent on solving murders late into the night. Some canny vendor had been selling alcoholic drinks in large containers that could be hung around their necks with an attached cord. The containers had the festival skull and bones on the front. Folks are drunk and looking for murders.
“There, there,” he said, wishing he could pat his mother’s head.
“Oh, Bubba dearest,” she said, “what a wretched day. Folks don’t show up for their assignments. The judge’s speech with NBC went poorly. You getting arrested for murdering a man you said was already murdered. It’s just agony. I think we should get one of those wise women to make your luck go good again. Perhaps I can get a voodoo doctor to come see you.”
“There, there,” he said again.
“Psst. Miz Demetrice,” Dan whispered, but it was hardly a whisper, “we think we know who done it.”
Miz Demetrice pulled back, and Officers Smithson and Haynes both sighed melodramatically.
“Who?” she asked.
“Now ain’t the time,” Bubba told Dan. Telling his mother that his primary suspect was the judge who was about to arraign them wasn’t a good idea. His mother might take exception to the status quo, and she was known to carry weapons on her person.
“Bubba!” someone else said loudly. Bubba looked up and saw Jesus Christ, also known as one of the loonies from the Dogley Institute for Mental Well-Being. The Mayor of Pegramville had instituted a program to use them as cheap labor in the town, and the town seemed to have kept them permanently. Jesus was wearing a white sheet wrapped around him toga style and was beaming beatifically. “It iiiis I, the son of God,” he announced.
“Hey, Jesus,” Bubba said. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Ma. It means a lot to me.”
“Well, sheeee does haaaave issssues but I aaaam the son of God,” Jesus said benevolently. “Bless my faaaather.”
“And we’re going to have a little chat about that later, Bubba dearest,” Miz Demetrice proclaimed darkl
y. Then, she chewed her lower lip and absently soothed her white hair back from her face. “Never you mind. Lawyer Petrie’s waiting for us in the courthouse, and he’ll make mincemeat out of whatever crackpottedness Big Joe has come up with. We’ll subpoena his secretary about what he ets for lunch, which is sardines over peanut butter on saltine crackers, and that’s just disgusting.”
“Did someone pick up my truck?” Bubba asked politely in an attempt to derail his mother’s uneven flow of thought. “How’s Precious?”
“Yes, yes, Willodean had Culpepper’s tow it to the mansion and the hound is just fine. She ate half of a ham, don’t know where that animal puts it, and was snoring on the veranda when I last saw her,” Miz Demetrice said impatiently. “You ain’t taking this in all the seriousness it should be taken with.”
“I expect they’ll figure it all out. It done worked out all the other times.”
Haynes said, “Let’s move along now.”
They made it across Main Street and deftly avoided a murder committed by one Forrest Ranger upon the hapless Dee Booty. Dee Booty had been shot with an ice bullet from a .44 Magnum Dirty Harry Special. H.H. Holmes and his female counterpart, Edwina Kemper, were arguing with someone about the finality of who got to do the investigation. H.H. looked up and waved at Bubba. “Did you get to murder someone, Bubba?” he called.
Bubba didn’t answer. He couldn’t think of anything to say that would be appropriate under the circumstances. “No, it’s a real murder, but I dint do it,” just don’t seem fitting.
Most of the festival participants stopped to watch Bubba and Dan being led in full chainedness across the street to the county courthouse. Bubba kept looking around because he kept expecting something untoward to happen. “Ma,” he said, “mebe you should go hang out at the Murder Points Committee tent.”
This wasn’t the best thing to say to his mother. She was as stubborn as a forty dollar mule. What Bubba should have said was, “Ma, I want you to stick by my side on account that I need you right here. I insist.” Then she promptly would have gone away because she was so contrary. He would have to remember that tactic for the next time this happened. The next time. Hahaha. Bubba would have laughed, but it really wasn’t funny. Well, mebe a little funny.