Bubba and the Dead Woman (11 page)

Dearman lost his hat in his launch at Bubba, whom he had finally recognized. Willodean stepped in between them, and Bubba reached out one large hand and shoved her out of the way. The Connors watched the spectacle as if they suspected that their son-in-law had just lost his mind.

One of Dearman’s arms pulled back, his hand clenched in a fist, and let go at Bubba’s head. It connected solidly and the Stetson went off his head, flying away to parts unknown. But Bubba merely rocked back a little on his heels. Inside his mouth he could feel with his tongue that one of his teeth was loose. Dearman had quite expected Bubba to go down like the giant from the story about the beanstalk and a nondescript fella named Jack. When Bubba didn’t, Dearman hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

Willodean gave Bubba a look of intense dislike, which dismayed Bubba more than being hit in the face with a fist had. She reached out, and spun Dearman around expertly, throwing him against Bubba’s truck with a solid clanking noise. Dearman had forgotten about her, and went to strike her without thinking about who he would be hitting, but Bubba caught his arm. Coincidently, it was the same arm he had broken three years earlier.

Dearman glanced back at the large man holding his right arm. He trembled just a bit before regaining his righteous anger. “Go ahead, you lowlife hick. Go ahead, do it again,” he snarled, baring his teeth in a rictus grin that held no humor. “Just what I’d expect from a murderer.”

Bubba’s lips flattened in a grim line. “I understand why you want to hit me. And I have only one thing to say to you. I didn’t kill Melissa. But you won’t hit Deputy Gray. She ain’t done nothing to you.”

Willodean rolled her eyes.
Just what I need, a big macho protector
, she thought, incensed. “I can handle this, Bubba,” she gritted through her teeth.

Bubba let go of Dearman’s arm. The other man yanked it back to his side and began to rub his fist, where bone had met bone. Then he stared at Bubba as if hate itself could kill the other man.

Bubba wondered how much Dearman and the Connors had been told about who was a suspect in the case, who was the
only
suspect in the case. He wondered if he had already been arrested, tried, and convicted in their minds. He turned on his heel, and went to the door of his truck. Precious bayed once more at the major, and retreated to the passenger side of the truck. “Deputy, I think the major is a little...overwrought, and maybe he deserves a break on this.” He paused, wincing at his own words. “No pun intended, Sir.”

Then Bubba got into his old truck, started it up, and drove away, his dog peering venomously out the back window at the lot of them.

Bubba didn’t see Willodean pick up his brown Stetson, and look at it thoughtfully. But then Willodean didn’t see Bubba crumple up his list of suspects and throw it out the window in a fit of pique.

He drove to Bufford’s Gas and Grocery, where he picked up some of his belongings from the garage. The day mechanic was named Melvin Wetmore and he was already back from being employed at Wal-Mart. Bubba supposed that George Bufford had made Melvin a better offer.

Melvin had lately been speaking of the newest deputy in the sheriff’s department. He was stuck under Mr. Smith’s Mercury, yanking on something that Bubba suspected was the transmission. Melvin was a man in his fifties, as bald as a cue ball, and cross eyed to boot. He wore glasses with lens so thick they could cause a fire if one were to leave them in the wrong place with the sun shining. But Melvin did have an eye for females of any size, shape, texture, and persuasion, and never tired of them. Much to the surprise of most of Pegram County, the females never seemed to tire of him, either.

“Hey, Melvin,” said Bubba preemptively.

Melvin stuck his head out the side of the Mercury. “Hey, Bubba. I don’t think George Bufford’s going to be real happy about you being here.”

Bubba picked up an empty box that once contained 10W - 40W oil. He put his calendar of the Women of Texas in it. After all, it still had seven naturally southern women from Texas on it, of whom Bubba had not cast his male gaze upon, and God knew that Bubba could use something to divert his attention. Melvin protested, “Hey, I ain’t looked at the rest of that.”

“I’ll say the same thing I’d say to George Bufford ifin he was here instead of boinking Miss Rosa Granado in the Bahamas: Ain’t that a fucking shame?” Bubba’s jaw was starting to ache, and he suspected he was going to have a black eye as well, since the major’s fist had kind of slid up Bubba’s face, bouncing off his eye socket, leaving a half swollen eye. In other words, Bubba wasn’t in the kind of mood to put up with any crap. He wasn’t in a mood to be polite and he didn’t really care if he didn’t use proper English and did use very improper swear words.

Bubba put in his set of metric wrenches. Then he put in a mallet, a set of Craftsman screwdrivers, and two shirts he had left here to change into if he had spilled various automotive components on himself and needed to be presentable to Lurlene.

Melvin commented, “You know someone played a right fine joke on me.” He waited a moment and went on. “Someone called me up and pretended to be a human resources manager. Said they heard about my reputation and all. Wanted me to show up Thursday night for work.” He paused for effect and swiftly changed the subject. “So they say you had a fit of rage and done shot yer old fee-on-say.”

Bubba paused in his search for old items to glare briefly at the mechanic sticking his head half out from under Mr. Smith’s Mercury. He put a few other things in the box, filling it to capacity, and then added a handful of Bufford stamped pencils and pens for good measure. Melvin added hastily, “I wouldn’t believe that.”

“Melvin,” Bubba said at last. “Tell George that he owes me for two weeks’ pay, and if he don’t pay me P.D.Q. I’m gonna sue him, whether I’m in jail or not.”

Melvin adjusted his thick-lensed glasses, and said, “You know George ain’t gonna pay no criminal back pay.”

“Melvin.” Bubba glowered down at the mechanic, watching as Melvin winced and scooted halfway back under the Mercury. Bubba set his jaw in place, even though it hurt like a sonuvabitch. “You putting that transmission back in?”

“Yeah, damned sucker is heavy, too.”

“You forgot the seal.” It was a part that Melvin would need to undo all of the work he had probably done for the last hour, in order to repair. Bubba couldn’t help but notice that particular part sitting all by its lonesome on one of the benches.

“Oh, Christ on a sidecar!” Melvin cried, clearly dejected.

Bubba smiled to himself. The only thing he was sorry about was that he couldn’t have told Melvin about the missing part until after Melvin had
completely
finished the transmission. He went out to his truck, put the box in the back, and went inside Bufford’s to get himself some ice.

Leelah Wagonner was at the counter, and Bubba supposed that the place looked a bit more presentable than the last time he had been in here. The floor was clean, and not one hot dog was blocking the mechanism of the hot-dog machine. Nothing was exploding, beeping, or buzzing. It was peaceful. He sat a bag of ice down before her, along with a dollar bill, having decided that staying close-mouthed was infinitely preferable than talking to most of the townsfolk about these days.

Leelah gave him some change, and smiled tentatively, “You know, Bubba. There are some folks who think you didn’t do it.”

Bubba wasn’t in the best frame of mind, but he looked at Leelah to see if she were in earnest. She was. “I appreciate that, Miz Wagonner,” he replied at last.

“But the way some talk about it, you were rightful in killing off that woman, considering what she done to you. If you had killed her, that is.” Leelah looked befuddled, having confused herself. She considered what she had said, and added, “Not that I think you did. Oh, heck, I’m sorry. I don’t think you did it, but that Sheriff John. Well, when he’s of a mind, he’s like a bulldog, and he ain’t apt to let go.”

Bubba put the bag of ice across his head. It was big enough to cover not only his eye, but his jaw as well.
What it really sounded like
, he thought,
was that people were going to wait until I’m convicted before saying, ‘I told you he was a murderer, even if she did deserve it.’

Leelah waved to him as he drove off, leaving him in a slightly better mood. At the rate he was going, half the people in Pegramville weren’t going to talk to him, based on the fact that he might be a murderer. But if he were acquitted, then that was okay-dokey. On the other hand, if he were found guilty, then they could still feel a little righteous. Luckily for Bubba, he knew that there were people who would speak to him, people who would wait for all of the facts to come in before convicting him mentally in their minds.

A person like that was one Doctor George Goodjoint. Doc Goodjoint was a local practitioner around Pegramville, who would still do a house call, when it was necessary. What he also did, was to act as a Pegram County Coroner, when it was also necessary. And that was what Bubba was really interested in at the moment.

Chapter Eight - Bubba Finds a Clue –

Tuesday Through Wednesday

“I need to see Dr. Goodjoint,” Bubba Snoddy announced at the Pegramville Family Medical Clinic and Chiropractic Care Center. Licensed Practical Nurse Dee Dee Lacour looked at Bubba as though he had sprouted horns and a tail. Bubba craned his neck around to check if indeed he had germinated a red appendage on his gluteus maximus. He had not. What a relief. Then he realized that must mean that he had a booger hanging from his nose. That wasn’t a relief. He wiped his nose quickly with the hand which was not holding the sack of ice in place.

Although he needed the ice to reduce the swelling on his face, Bubba thought it also made a nice cover story for going in to see the doctor. Then the doctor wouldn’t have to listen to any of Sheriff John Headrick’s blather about talking too much to suspects in an ongoing murder case. As if diabolical murders happened around Pegramville on a regular basis.

There were three other people in the waiting room of the family clinic. One was Doris Cambliss, and if there
was
a soul in town who didn’t know who
she
was, then Bubba thought that person surely must be deaf, dumb, and blind. Simply put and it could not be simpler, Doris ran the brothel. The Red Door Inn, to be precise, was a thinly veiled disguise for the brothel. The brothel had been in existence since the 1850s, originally opened by some of Doris’s forebears. It was widely accepted that the brothel had kept the Yankees from burning Pegramville down to the foundations by Union soldiers in 1864. A troop of brothel girls had hastily scuttled out to entertain some of the Union officers. Then the colonel in charge of the company of Union troops had become infatuated with Miss Annalee Hyatt, one of the Red Door’s most popular prostitutes. Miss Annalee had been raised in Pegramville, had family still there, and kind of liked the place. She pleaded with the colonel not to destroy it and did her utmost to convince the officer of her sincerity. The colonel, whose name had been lost in the annals of history, apparently thought highly of Miss Annalee’s charms, and thus was persuaded. Consequently, when brothels of the west became immoral and then illegal, in that order, it was with a blind eye that the law enforcement of the area overlooked the Red Door’s activities. A full length portrait of Miss Annalee, displayed with all of her charms apparent, was hanging in the living room, a testament to her influence, her ingenuity, and her breasts, not necessarily in that order.

“Miz Cambliss,” said Bubba, reaching up to tip his hat, and realizing that he no longer wore one.

Doris was in her fifties, but looked thirty-five. She wore make-up with stunning success, knowing how to compliment her features with mastery. She wore her hair dyed jet black, no one had an inkling as to her true hair color, except her hair dresser, and that person wasn’t talking. She wore clothing made of silk bearing designer labels that the local women looked on in disdain, but were secretly jealous of her style and flair. Her brown eyes often twinkled with humor when she saw someone eyeing her up and down with apprising stares. She didn’t care what folks thought of her. Enough of the residents of Pegramville supported her behind closed doors and that was enough to make her giggle all the way to the bank.

Bubba knew from talk that she didn’t run as many girls as her forebears did; the business wasn’t a cash cow anymore. So she had gradually turned the Red Door into a bed and breakfast, full of antiques and history. Half the time, people who stayed there didn’t even know the real nature of the business, despite the portrait of Miss Annalee in all of her naked and pink glory.

The other customers in the clinic were a mother with her small child. The pair stayed well to one side, avoiding both Doris and Bubba as if they both had the plague.

Doris patted the seat next to her. “Say, Bubba Snoddy, welcome to my world. My blood pressure is up again.” She added cheerfully, sotto voice, “I
cain’t
imagine why.”

Bubba laughed. Nurse Dee Dee scowled. The mother on the other side of the waiting room scowled. The small child stared with big eyes. He sat next to the madam in one of the waiting room’s nondescript plastic chairs.

“That’s a fine looking piece of work, you got done to you, there,” Doris commented, referring to the growing bruise and black eye.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he smiled. “How’s the bed and breakfast business?”

She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Well, I ain’t seen you there since you was eighteen years old, but I have to say that the B&B is doing much better than the brothel.”

Bubba spent about twenty minutes speaking to Doris about antiques, and bed and breakfasts. Doris was of the opinion that the Snoddy Mansion would make a fine bed and breakfast. Then the older woman was called into see the doctor. “Smalls towns with colorful histories are big business these days,” she said on her way in. “And we both know just how
colorful
Pegramville can be.”