Bubba and the Dead Woman Page 3

  Chapter Three

  Bubba Goes to Jail -

  Friday through Monday

  Miz Demetrice was herself in the mood to end all moods. First of all, that cheating harridan of a woman, Wilma Rabsitt, had managed to fill an inside straight a mere three hands into the previous night’s game. Since Miz Demetrice and two other women went out and specially bought three separate new decks of cards of varying brands without telling the others what they were each buying, it was certain that Wilma couldn’t have had spare cards slipped up her brassiere or under her garter belt. But then Miz Demetrice wouldn’t put much past Wilma. Then old Mary Jean Holmgreen had intimated that Miz Demetrice’s own son, Bubba, had made a pass at the woman at Bufford’s, telling the story with much enthusiastic gusto. Around three in the morning Mary Jean and Wilma had begun winning hands like crazy, and there had been a half-hour break to discuss general perfidy in the ranks, as well a search of the premises for elicit mirrors or cameras. Alice Mercer had thought she had found one in an air vent, but it had turned out to be a petrified olive, stuck there by God knew what or who or even when. Finally, Ruby Mercer had called her sister, Alice, with the news that Bubba was about to be shot to death by a gang of roughshod, unpitying law enforcement officials, who had discovered no less than five dead bodies on the Snoddy properties and had consequently determined the Bubba was the perpetrator of such heinous acts of evilness.

  Only one law enforcement official and only one dead body, lamented Miz Demetrice sourly. In all of her years on this earth she had never seen such unrelenting gossip rampaging around a town whose population was barely three thousand people. As a matter of fact, Miz Demetrice would be reporting as such to Sheriff John, except that the poker game was highly illegal, and she was the number one evil genius. So logically, how could a slightly dishonest, Southern woman divulge such information without sacrificing her own right to have some entertainment in her old retirement age?

  “You cain’t arrest Bubba,” Miz Demetrice submitted uncategorically, hands akimbo.

  Sheriff John paused in reading Bubba his rights. “Why in the name of all that’s holy can I not?” His voice was gruff as he asked the question. Plain and simple, he didn’t care to explain his actions to the nosiest, pestering, malcontent, and interfering woman in the state of Texas. He couldn’t count the number of times that Miz Demetrice had gotten her back up over some alleged misdeed or misbehavior on the part of whomever. Now that it was her only son involved, only the almighty Lord above could protect them. Amen, he prayed earnestly.

  “He spent all night at Bufford’s Gas and Grocery, simpleton,” she proclaimed, waving a finger under Sheriff John’s nose. The unsaid part was, ‘Hah!’ “They have surveillance cameras!”

  “They’re dummies. George Bufford’s too cheap to buy real ones.” Sheriff John adjusted his Stetson carefully and turned back to Bubba, who was doing his best to ignore the ongoing proceedings. “You have the right to...”

  “And I did follow him most of the way home,” Neal offered from the other side of the police car. Perhaps a little bit of judicious sucking up would be beneficial to the cause of future Walmarts in the area of Pegramville and the area of monies going directly into the realtor’s pockets. Amen, he silently prayed as well.

  Miz Demetrice vigorously motioned with her hand, flashing every piece of good jewelry that she owned, which was not insignificant. “See?” Please don’t let them take Bubba to jail, Dear Lord. Amen.

  Sheriff John sighed. “Miz Demetrice. Who else would have killed the woman? You?”

  “Of course not,” she returned indignantly. “I never even met her. Of course, she did hurt Bubba terribly. Not that he was overly fond of the military service, but what an awful way to end one’s career.”

  “Mother,” Bubba uttered solemnly, “you’re not helping me here.”

  “Well, my Lord,” Miz Demetrice swore, “she was a-fornicating with that man in your own bed. You told me.”

  Sheriff John had a blank look on his face.

  “And I wish I hadn’t,” replied Bubba.

  “Furthermore, that other man was you all’s commanding officer. That’s called fraternizing with your chain of command. You did tell me.”

  “When I was drunker than ten sailors on a port call in Tokyo,” Bubba grumbled unhappily. But his mother still went on.

  “...I know that you didn’t mean to break that man’s arm, but she was your affianced one, and the good Lord above knows that a man has got to get angry when he a-finds another man poaching on his property. I suppose you were simply trying to pull him off the bed, but still you must have been mad enough to spit nails. If I had caught your father with another woman, I might not have poisoned him but bludgeoned him to death on the spot...”

  “Dad had a heart attack, Ma.” And we all know why he had a heart attack, don’t we?

  “...That’s what I wanted everyone to think...”

  “Take me to jail, Sheriff.” The faster the better, Lord, prayed Bubba. Amen.

  “Quick, get in the car, Bubba,” Sheriff John said vigorously.

  But before Bubba went to the Pegram County Jail, they had to wait for the coroner to arrive, as well as several other deputies to secure the crime scene. As well, Miz Demetrice had to be convinced to leave said authorities alone in the pursuit of their duties. Then, she realized that Neal Ledbetter was on her property...again, and had to be convinced not to fill the hind end of his Sears suit full of salt rock. Finally, Bubba’s dog, Precious, had to be convinced not to bite as many deputies as she could get her paws on, by being locked up in the big house by Miz Demetrice.

  Pegram County Jail had been built in 1993 with the expectations that the population was booming, and they would need more jail cells. However, the town didn’t exactly boom, and most of the time various prisoners were farmed out quickly or stayed at the Pegramville Police Department’s jail only a block away. Technically speaking, Bubba went here because the Snoddy place was just outside Pegramville’s city limits, about ten feet as the crow flies. It was a small affair with only eight cells. Two had occupants.

  Bubba was processed in by a jail official named Tee Gearheart, the largest law enforcement official for hundreds of miles around Pegramville. He was six foot even but weighed about three hundred and fifty pounds, if he had cared to weigh himself, which he did not. His genial manner and not insignificant muscles behind the weight, allowed him to run the jail in an amiable fashion. Across most of the eastern part of the state it was known widely that if one had to go to a jail, Pegram County Jail was the place to be. Tee was a friendly and fair fella. The food was good, and the cells were clean. Enough said.

  “Say, Tee,” greeted Bubba cheerfully.

  “Hey, Bubba,” replied Tee. He pointed to the top of the counter between them. “You want to empty your pockets there.”

  “Sure, Tee, how’s your wife?” A wallet went on the plain, white counter along with a Buck pocket knife, two packs of gum, and three lead fishing weights.

  “Poppiann’s just peachy. She’s almost six months along.” Tee’s voice lowered as he mentioned, “The sonogram says that it’s a boy.” He chuckled in admiration. He made a motion with his large hands indicating a space about a foot long. “You should see the size of his wee-wee.”

  Sheriff John was standing behind the two men, watching over Bubba’s shoulder which wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do considering Bubba’s height. His face was contorting in ways that Tee thought might have to do with a lack of fiber in the man’s diet. Meanwhile, Bubba said, “That’s just great, Tee. Say, can I have the cell with the window on the north side?”

  “Sorry, Bubba, but Newt Durley came in yesterday on a DWI, and well, I cain’t go ‘round changing cells. But Newt’s going out tomorrow if his mother can come up with bail, and then I’ll be as pleased as punch to move you over there. Can you sign this here form saying you came in with these items?”

  Bubba signed the form. “I don’t know if I care to b
e in the cell after Newt Durley, Tee. I remember what he did to the toilet last time.”

  Tee shrugged. Newt Durley probably had the same lack of fiber as the Sheriff. All those men needed was a good dose of prunes or the like. “I know. I know. Can you take off your belt, Bubba? We cain’t have you hanging yourself before we get a chance to. Also, your boot laces.”

  Bubba slipped his belt out of the loops with a sigh and then knelt to remove his boot laces. “I never had to do this before, Tee.”

  “Well, Bubba, it’s because you’re being held on suspicion of a higher crime. Statistically speaking, men who are held for capital crimes tend to attempt suicide more. Miz Demetrice would come down here and shoot each and every one of us ifin you were to end up dead, hanging by your boot laces or such.” Tee took the items with a sorry look on his large face. “Anyway, you’re just in time for lunch.” He smiled hugely. “Miss Lurlene Grady should be bringing down food for all the fellas in just about a half hour.” That was always a good part to the day, although there was a certain something about Lurlene that bothered Tee, and what was more bothersome was that he couldn’t say quite what it was.

  Bubba brightened. He had dated Lurlene upon occasion. She was a waitress from the Pegram Café in cosmopolitan, downtown Pegramville, not a half block away. She was a truly blue-ribbon kind of woman. Oh, not too short, not too tall, gently rounded in the hip, hair bobbed, and brownish-blonde, with large, luminous brown eyes. Perhaps she was a few years younger than he, maybe twenty-five, but Bubba didn’t think that was a problem. They were on their sixth date with a definite option on a seventh. Bubba also thought that taking it slow and easy, based on his own prior history, wasn’t a problem. Her only flaw as far as Bubba could tell, and he wasn’t sure it was much of one, was that she wasn’t from the South, although she tried to sound like she was. With a name like Lurlene Grady, she had to come from Southern stock, but her accent sometimes betrayed her as someone who came from norther climes. But Bubba wouldn’t hold that against such a good-looking woman.

  Tee locked Bubba in cell number five, two down from Newt Durley, and one across the way from Mike Holmgreen. As Tee locked the bars on Bubba, he muttered, “That little Mike, you know what he did?”

  Bubba knew. The eighteen-year-old had tried to burn down the high school. Actually, he had only accomplished scorching one wall because under all of the paint was cement block. But one of the sheriff’s deputies had caught him red-handed with gasoline and matches. Why? All because he was flunking algebra. Bubba had heard that Mike’s lawyer had worked out a plea in exchange for leniency, and the boy would be staying as a prisoner of the jail for the next month. The local police were supposed to have him over at their jail, but on account of his youth and small size, they thought he’d be less traumatized over at this place with Tee. Mike’s algebra teacher even came in to give him his homework and a little tutoring every night. “He got a ‘B’ on a test last week,” Tee reported proudly.

  “Thanks, Tee.” Bubba smiled at the other man.

  By the time lunch came around, Bubba was in a three way discussion about the advantages of calculus versus trigonometry with Mike Holmgreen and Newt Durley. The door rattled and in walked Lurlene with three sack lunches.

  “Hey, fellas,” she said cheerfully. Bubba thought she was a sight for sore eyes. Her brown-blonde hair, not dishwater blonde, was caught up in a little knot. Her doe eyes sparkled as she made contact with Bubba’s own blue ones. She was a comely woman even if she wasn’t originally from Texas. She handed a bag to Newt Durley with a sympathetic, “At least you didn’t hit nothing but a telephone pole, Mr. Durley.”

  Newt said, “It was Stella Lackey’s telephone pole, and she came out raising such a fuss that three neighbors called the po-lice. They shore didn’t believe it when I told them that telephone pole just jumped right out in front of my car.”

  Lurlene gave him a large and sparkling smile and moved on to Mike. “Tee says you got a ‘B’ on your algebra test, Mike. Good for you. You know he put it on the bulletin board with all of the wanted posters?”

  Mike took his lunch with a dreamy grin. Lurlene was a sweet thing, even if she was older than he was. And just think, his algebra test was side by side with the FBI’s ten most wanted felons. That was cool.

  “Now, Bubba, ” she came to stand in front of his cell and tilted her head in a charming fashion, “tell me all these rumors aren’t true.”

  Bubba took the lunch from her and tossed it on the single bed. She offered a smooth, creamy cheek to him, and he kissed it through the bars. “Tell me what you heard, and I’ll tell you if it’s true.”

  So Lurlene told him some things, and Bubba made various noises of disbelief, awe, and amazement as he rediscovered Pegramville’s unrelenting thirst for high confabulation. Even Mike and Newt were amazed at the potpourri of rumors circulating.

  By the time Lurlene had departed, Bubba was feeling better already. After all, he wasn’t really under arrest; he was just waiting for the sheriff’s department to get all their tape recorders going and such. After a fine lunch of a meatloaf sandwich, spicy home fries, an apple, and a large brownie, a man was just about ready for everything.

  In fact, not a half hour after Bubba had finished brushing brownie crumbs off his white t-shirt, Sheriff John returned with Tee and let him out. The next three hours were spent in a small room off of Sheriff John’s main office with a large mirror on one side. Bubba asked about the mirror in a congenial way, but the sheriff and his deputies weren’t up to answering questions of that nature from a ‘suspect.’ Bubba knew it was a one way mirror, and silently vowed not to pick his nose or scratch his balls, that is, if he could remember not to do so.

  Sheriff John did not participate in the questioning but remained curiously absent. Bubba thought it was patently obvious that the man was watching from behind the one-way mirror. In any case, it was a deputy named Steve Simms who did all of the talking. Deputy Simms wasn’t originally from Pegram County, and Bubba didn’t know much about him except that he liked to give speeding tickets to tourists a little too often using a diabolical speed trap on the far side of Pegram County. But, Bubba realized, the man must have been promoted because here he was asking Bubba all kinds of questions about dead women lying in tall grass.

  Bubba thought privately that Sheriff John should have done the questioning. First, Deputy Simms, a man of about the same age as Bubba and seventy pounds lighter, used a condescending manner that only succeeded in making Bubba clamp up like a fixture on a radiator hose. Second and most importantly, Simms gave away more information than he got. It was this information that made Bubba realize that he was in a serious world of hurt. It wasn’t just a ‘Hey, explain yourself, Bubba’ kind of situation but one that was far, far worse.

  Among the tidbits that Simms managed to let go was that Melissa Dearman had been shot between ten PM and one AM the night before. Bubba knew perfectly well that Bufford’s Gas and Grocery didn’t have an operational video camera surveillance system in order to alibi his whereabouts, and there were gaps that would have more than allowed Bubba to run off and shoot his ex-fiancée dead. Two, a forty-five caliber gun had been used in the killing of Melissa Dearman. Three, an M1911 Colt .45 handgun was registered to Miz Demetrice Snoddy, and it could not be produced by the same. It had belonged to Elgin, a gun he had brought back from his exploits in Southeast Asia whilst serving his country in a military fashion. Three, Simms knew that Lloyd Goshorn had wandered into Bufford’s at half-past ten the previous evening. Furthermore, Lloyd had told them about the blonde-haired woman to whom he had given directions. She had asked for the corner of Wilkins and Farmer’s Roads, not the Snoddy place but the corner closest to the Snoddy estate’s front gates. As well, it seemed likely that Simms had a good idea that Martha Lyles had been in just about twenty past twelve to buy lottery tickets. Perhaps Simms even knew that two drunks had been picked up by Smith’s Taxi service at fifteen after two in the AM.

  Simms was too surpri
sed to put a blank look on his face when Bubba volunteered for a lie detector test. He had to stop questioning Bubba for a while to go outside the interrogation room to confer with Sheriff John. Apparently they all concurred, and Bubba was escorted back to the jail by a deputy he hadn’t met before.

  Her name was Gray, and Bubba was instantly transfixed. She was about as short as a woman could be without someone calling her a midget. About the size of his own mother, a woman who came up about knee high to a grasshopper. But that was where the resemblance ended. Her lustrous black hair was done up in a tight bun that coiled on the base of her neck. Bottle green eyes regarded Bubba with the calm objectiveness of any law enforcement officer escorting a prisoner. She was slim, almost boyishly so, with her uniform fitting like a glove intelligibly showing that she was, in fact, no boy. Bubba couldn’t get enough of staring at her heart-shaped face with rich, pouting ruby lips. Any thought of blonde, curvy Lurlene Grady went straight out of his mind like it was cement dropped in a pond. He shook his head vigorously.

  “What is it?” she asked, holding the door open for them. Bubba was in handcuffs, and couldn’t do the courtesy. He was in heaven; her voice was that of an angel; soft, throaty, attractive. Furthermore, and most painfully to him, he only had the time it would take them to walk from the sheriff’s main office back to the jail, which was cattycorner to the main office, perhaps two minutes at the most.

  “I’m Bubba Snoddy,” he introduced himself, going through the door.

  “I know,” she replied, obviously not impressed, following him with a guiding hand on his shoulder.

  He regained his good humor momentarily. “It’s just that I thought I knew just about everyone from ‘round here.”

  “I’m new,” she responded, still obviously not impressed.

  Bubba had heard about the luscious Deputy Gray but having not seen her before hadn’t paid much attention to the talk. The day mechanic over at Bufford’s had raved about wanting to be arrested by her. His own mother, Miz Demetrice, had made a comment about the sheriff’s department being sued by someone over sex discrimination in their hiring practices and promptly hiring a woman in order to counter their lawsuit. “I’ve heard. What’s your name?”

  “Deputy Gray,” she said dryly and handed him over into the custody of Tee, who giggled like a little girl when Deputy Gray signed the form. That was okay with Bubba. He kind of felt like giggling like a little girl himself when she flashed those same green eyes at him.

  Bubba spent a quiet Friday night in the pokey, with Tee coming in about six PM to tell him that Miz Demetrice was picketing in front of the jail, screaming something about Attica. He let Bubba out so he could go convince his mother that he hadn’t been molested once or even tortured with rubber hoses by the law enforcement officials.

  “Not even a fingernail removed with pliers?” Miz Demetrice asked, disappointed.

  “Nope. I’ll take a lie detector test in the morning and they’ll probably let me out,” he told his mother. He kissed her on her forehead, encouraged her to drive home carefully, and scooted her off with a wave of his hands. He watched his mother slowly walk down the sidewalk, her picket sign dragging on the ground beside her and returned to the jail, where Tee was watching from the door. “Thanks, Tee.”

  Then Bubba slept one of the best nights he had for a long time. When morning came and he passed the lie detector test with flying colors, Sheriff John and Deputy Simms were so angry they refused to let him out of the jail until Monday.

  ~ ~ ~