Authors: Simon Okill,Simon Okill
Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe
Copyright Â© 2013 by Christopher Matthews Publishing
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Editor: Jeremy Soldevilla
Cover design: Armen Kojoyian
Â CHRISTOPHER MATTHEWS PUBLISHING
Printed in the United States of America
Without my lovely wife, Shirlee Anne, this novel would not have been written. She has been the driving force that has pushed me to new limits.
I would like to add a big thank you to my editor and publisher, Jeremy Soldevilla, for believing in our novel. I would also like to thank Stephen King's
for inspiring me to write.
THE SMALL NORTHERN CALIFORNIA town of Big Beaver in the Shasta Cascade Region has for a long time been a thriving tourist trap for those searching for Bigfoot
And for some Beaverites there seemed to be endless opportunities to create havoc during the tourist season with imaginative practical jokes.
On the northern edge of the township nestled the Whittleberry's small ranch-style house made of rough cut timber and river stones. The house was silent and as dark as the night. Two furry figures emerged from the forest, edging the property. They paused and listened for danger signs. The moon emerged from a dark cloud briefly illuminating both Bigfoot as they skipped across the lawn and entered the house by the unlocked back door.
The smaller of the Bigfoot opened a fridge with large, hairy hands and rifled through it, tossing food all over the kitchen floor. The Bigfoot grinned as it removed a doughnut like a ring on its finger.
The larger Bigfoot grinned back, licking its mouth.
In the time it took for both Bigfoot to find the downstairs bathroom, the Whittleberrys had staggered, somewhat worse the wear from the locally brewed beer up at Abe's Bar and Grill, to the front door and entered their home.
Barbie Whittleberry heard a splashing sound as if someone was using the shower. She rushed across the living area to the rear of the house and out of sight of Lance, without any thought to her safety.
An overly-excited Barbie returned and grabbed Lance's hand. She placed a finger to his lips to be quiet.
Lance Whittleberry frowned as he was dragged across the living area to the bathroom.
Lance and Barbie stood in the open doorway of their bathroom staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the weird scene before them. They were so amazed neither Whittleberry had the foresight to switch on the light. Enough moonlight cascaded through the window to show one Bigfoot scrubbing the lower regions of another in the double shower cubicle. Clumps of fur clung to the shower cubicle side and the floor was a disgusting, gooey dark mess.
Barbie also noticed the toilet seat was left up. She was about to berate her husband for this foul deed when she saw an uneaten doughnut on the rim. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of eating while using the facilities. She then gagged on the awful stink that invaded her nostrils. The smell reminded her of skunk spray and the gut-churning farts her father's dog would always leave hanging in the air during dinner.
One of the Bigfoot reached for something. An intense flash of light blinded both Whittleberrys. When their eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness once more the bathroom was empty of Bigfoot and the stink was now contaminated with bleach. In the Whittleberrys' drunken state it was decided aliens had abducted both Bigfoot. Cool!
* * *
SHERIFF LOUISE JESSOP'S office was neat and tidy. Nothing looked out of place, not even the fine old oak desk amongst the shining metal filing cabinets. A gun rack displayed various pump-action shotguns and massive revolvers. A board displayed lurid crime scene photos courtesy of the Bigfoot Bather. A flat screen monitor lay squarely in the middle of the desk, concealing the woman scrutinizing it.
There was not a single item of clutter on the highly polished desk. Lou's personal life was also clutter-free-free from a man who would appreciate her womanly charms. She had a fling or two, but none could rekindle the love she felt for
, nor the hurt.
Lou knew she was one hot cop. She had just turned thirty and still maintained her firm body and smooth skin from her teen years. Her blond hair was cut boyishly short. She wore very little make-up-didn't have to as she was a natural beauty. Her athletically slim, long legs accentuated her firm rear end and her ample breasts would often cause her shirt to pull a little too snugly across her chest, testing the buttons to the extreme.
And her uniform sure suited Lou-it really did. She was, however, a paradox, for there were occasions when she'd slip on a sexy, low-cut, black dress and actually put on some minimal make-up, the kind that glosses her lips. This she would do to raise the temperatures of the men at the local bar in town.
But getting all slutty didn't mean she was ready to "put out." It was in her nature to do a little cock-teasing now and again.
Sheriff Lou sat at her desk reading the local newspaper. The Busy Beaverite's report on the Phantom Bigfoot Bather Case-aptly named by ace reporter, Mocking Bird-was causing her hangover to go into overdrive.
"The Phantom Bigfoot Bather Strikes Again.
This is the third such incident to embarrass the sheriff's department. Local Beaverites, including Lance and Barbie Whittleberry, the Bigfoot's latest victims, are coming to the conclusion that real Bigfoot are responsible for the home invasions. The Whittleberrys were also witness to both Bigfoot being abducted by aliens. Many Beaverites have also seen strange lights above Little Beaver Picnic Area and are convinced Big Beaver is becoming the new Roswell. After thorough investigations into this heinous crime by Herb Herbert, our local medical examiner and yours truly, MB, local crypto-zoologist and expert on Bigfoot, Sheriff Louise Jessop is no nearer to discovering the identity of the perps."
Lou blew out her cheeks, sighed irritably and dropped the newspaper in a trash bin. She saw her worst nightmare on the computer screen. It was the DNA result for the Phantom Bigfoot Bather Case, a somewhat lengthy document by the irritated sounds coming from her lips-the irritation was more due to the annoying fact of the Bigfoot prank itself causing the entire department to become laughing stocks. Lou clicked the mouse with impatience. A printer sitting on a filing cabinet whirred into action, spewing forth the report.
As Lou sipped her black, extra sweet coffee to lift the pervading tequila fog, she thought of her best friend and number one suspect.
Damn you, Duane Dexter, why did you have to be such a lame brain,
she mused. She also pondered the fact that Duane knew full well she loved him like a brother and wouldn't arrest him. She blew out her cheeks in exasperation. She rubbed her throbbing right temple. The fog was gradually lifting. She moaned as last night's casual fling filtered through her brain mist. Why did she do it, she wondered?
Because of him
Yet again, it had been Brad who had plucked up enough courage to shower her with the usual compliments and had poured enough tequila down her throat to drown a million worms. He had done the gentlemanly thing and walked her home. Did he kiss her goodnight? Lou vaguely remembered with regret Brad giving her tonsils a taste of his tongue. To her shame she had reciprocated quite eagerly. But she had stopped Brad as his fumbling hand slid under her satin blouse and managed to fondle her breasts. That was as far as Brad got . . . she hoped. Yes, she was certain Brad had not gone to third base.
The phone rang on Lou's desk, breaking the monotony. She looked away from the screen and picked up the receiver.
Lou listened for a moment, sighing irritably and muttering, "Damn it . . . what is it now? Yeah . . . okay, thanks for telling me. Bye."
Lou replaced the receiver and blew out her cheeks with exasperation. A shadow suddenly engulfed the sheriff and her desk. She glanced towards the open door to see an overweight deputy briefly pausing.
The deputy gave her a sweet smile before flitting past her office carrying a tray crammed with doughnuts and a steaming hot mug of coffee.
Lou called out, "Dwight, get in here. We've got another one!"
The instant the words were out of her mouth her head began to throb. Shouldn't have raised her voice like that, not while that helluva mother of a hangover had shrunk her brains to the size of a peanut.
The outer office of the sheriff's department was almost empty of employees, except for Deputy Dwight, the most dieteticallyâchallenged deputy in town. He was in his mid-twenties, not too tall which made him all the more fat, clean-shaven with a rosy-cheeked, round face that told everyone he was stupid.
The only other occupant was Noreen, the department secretary and general gopher. She sat at her dispatcher's desk casually reading a magazine while chewing gum. She was young, quite attractive, a little on the plump side with a profusion of blond hair. Her desk was not neat and tidy-clutter was the order of every day for Noreen, who loved cute, cuddly things. These cute, cuddly things were scattered all over her desk. There wasn't much space to actually do any work, which was perfectly fine with Noreen.
Hearing the sheriff's voice caused Deputy Dwight to halt in mid-stride. He looked wide-eyed across the office at Noreen, who looked up from her magazine. There was a look of horror on their faces; a look that said-we might have to do some work.
Dwight glanced down at the tray of doughnuts and coffee. He blew out his cheeks and gave a loud moan. He placed the beautifully laden tray down on his desk, picked up a doughnut and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, washing it down with a mouthful of hot coffee. He dropped the mug, fanning his scalded mouth as bits of doughnut dropped all over the office floor.
Noreen shook her head with dismay and resumed reading her magazine.
"You better not be doing what I think you're doing, Deputy Dwight," Sheriff Lou called out.
Dwight gulped down the confection as he walked slowly into the sheriff's office.
Lou gave her deputy an annoyed look with raised eyebrows as he frantically wiped sugar dusting from his tunic, all the while swallowing down the doughnut in her presence. "How you can eat at a time like this beats the hell out of me, Dwight."
Dwight paused in mid-gulp and looked at the sugary coating on his chubby fingers. He quickly wiped them on his trousers.
"I'd rather eat before I visit the crime scene, if you don't mind," he grimaced. "'Cause afterwards I never seem to have any appetite at all."
And was it her imagination, or had he gained some weight? Lou noticed an extra wobble to the underneath of Dwight's chin and perhaps the smallest of rubber tires developing amongst the others. Yeah, it sure looked like Dwight had been feasting instead of fasting.
Lou's hangover kicked into another gear. She wanted to haul his ass over the coals, but decided not to as Dwight was apt to burst into tears if she berated him. But still, the sugar dumpling of a deputy had his uses. What they were, she could not remember at that exact moment.
And Dwight wasn't the only one of her deputies who could do with losing a few pounds. There was just one problem-Annie's Diner, which happened to be next door. Annie gave the sheriff's department staff-including the sheriff, an ample supply of all-they-could-eat-breakfasts. But unlike her chubby deputies, Lou worked off the ample intake of food with regular exercise.
"No throwing up . . . got that, chubby?"
Dwight didn't reply as he was busy using his tongue to fish out the last of the doughnut that had become wedged in his teeth before swallowing it down.