Bubba and the Wacky Wedding Wickedness (The Bubba Mysteries Book 7) Read online

  A groan ensued from the depths of the barn.

  “Lawyer Petrie?” Bubba asked.

  “Bubba?” came the bewildered reply.

  “Where are your clothes, Lawyer Petrie?” The truth was that Lawyer Petrie was the kind of man who preferred a three piece suit and a black derby. (Bubba thought the attorney might sleep in a three piece suit.) He had a gold fob watch and had been party to several of Bubba’s most memorable antics of the last few years. An additional truth was that Lawyer Petrie practiced family law, but was acquiring quite a bit of criminal legal experience by association with the Snoddy family.

  “I think I was mugged,” Lawyer Petrie said. “They took my clothes, and my head hurts.”

  Bubba took a step inside the barn. Yellow beams of light filtered in from the planked walls and revealed the myriad of dust motes floating there. Lawyer Petrie lay on top of the pile of hay clad only in pink boxer shorts. A cartoon moose perkily pranced across the front while the words “Gluteus MaxiMOOSE” trailed across the right leg.

  Bubba looked up. “You got drunk, Lawyer Petrie. Dint you take the cab home?”

  “There was a party at the Red Door Inn,” Lawyer Petrie said. “And I’m not sure how I got here.”

  Bubba looked around the barn. It wasn’t a very big barn, so there weren’t many places to hide. Unless he had suddenly gone blind in one eye, there were only three bodies in the whole place. His, Cookie’s, and Lawyer Petrie’s. Not a single dead one anywhere to be found. Bubba was dejected.

  “Did Bert bring you out here?”

  “I think I stole a mail truck,” Lawyer Petrie said. “Also I might be sick.” He rolled to his side, awkwardly climbed to his feet, and ran outside where he threw up in nearby bushes.

  Bubba’s stomach roiled in response. Having the family lawyer blowing chunks in a nearby bush didn’t make for a sunny disposition.

  Cookie woke up and said, “Blah boo.”

  Precious wandered up and whined pitifully.

  “Did you see anyone with a dead body wander by?” Bubba asked his dog.

  Precious sniffed the ground and inspected the inner wall of the barn.

  When Lawyer Petrie was done reviewing the previous contents of his stomach, Bubba called, “Did you happen to see a dead body around?”

  “Er,” Lawyer Petrie said. “I saw a woman all in her nakedness bent over looking at me.”

  “That’s the portrait of Miss Annalee Hyatt at the Red Door Inn,” Bubba said. Miss Annalee was an infamous prostitute who had reputedly saved Pegramville from certain destruction when the Union Army had come calling during the Civil War. (Truthfully the Union Army hadn’t really been bent on the certain destruction of Pegramville, but it made for a nice legend.) A well-regarded portrait of the disreputable lady bore testament to the town’s regard for her notorious immorality and also her other notorious bits.

  “Oh,” Lawyer Petrie said. “I seem to recall sharing a jug with Newt Durley.”

  Newt Durley was the town’s drunk. One of the town’s drunks, Bubba corrected himself because there were more than one. Newt was a man who had access to some of the stills in the forest beside Sturgis Creek. Some of the stills that used all kinds of metals for the distillation of alcohol that weren’t meant to be used in that manner. “You might need to go to the hospital, Lawyer Petrie. It’s not a good idea to drink anything that you didn’t crack the seal upon with Newt Durley.”

  “There was also a pink elephant and a Cheshire cat saying, ‘We’re all mad here.’” Lawyer Petrie straightened up. “I think that’s when a man in a purple wig mugged me for my suit. He got my grandfather’s fob watch. I’m not happy.”

  Bubba sighed heavily. “I’ll just git you inside my house. You can put on one of my t-shirts, and we’ll roll up the bottom of the pants for you. We’ll git some water down you and Miz Adelia has a hangover cure that’s supposed to strip the paint off a door.”

  “Bubba?” Lawyer Petrie asked plaintively.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not certain but I have to ask if that’s a baby on your chest or a delusion? It has horns and speaks in tongues.”

  “It’s a baby,” Bubba said patiently. “No horns. No tongues.” He gestured toward the caretaker’s house with his hand. He didn’t really want to touch Lawyer Petrie. It wasn’t because the lawyer had tossed a sidewalk pizza but because the man smelled like he’d been rolling in fresh cow manure. “You dint go through the neighbor’s pasture, did you, Petrie?”

  “There might have been a cow about,” Lawyer Petrie admitted sheepishly. “Someone said we should try to tip one. I can’t seem to recall if that was before or after I lost my clothing. Did you know you can’t really tip a cow over while they’re sleeping?”

  “Yep, I did happen to know that, Lawyer Petrie,” Bubba said while wafting a hand over his face. If he could just keep upwind of the attorney, all would be well.

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to drink alcohol again,” Lawyer Petrie said mournfully.

  “That’s prolly for the best,” Bubba said agreeably. Cookie said, “Boo bah!” Precious scuttled out of their way and said nothing at all.

  Bubba ushered the lawyer into his house and got the man upstairs and in the big bathroom. He found a plain t-shirt and the smallest pair of jeans he owned, and left them by the bathroom door. “Clothes are outside the door, Lawyer Petrie,” he said, and the attorney grunted with a muttered, “My God, my head hurts. Never, ever again, I swear.”

  Then Bubba went downstairs. He planned on walking over to the mansion and getting Miz Adelia to make up a batch of hangover remedy, if she hadn’t already done so. As he walked past the living room he came to an abrupt halt, as he processed what he had just seen.

  Bubba said, “Cookie.”

  Cookie said, “Mrpp.”

  “Do you see that dead body?”

  “Lotbuh,” the baby replied.

  “In the exact same place it was before or am I really insane?”

  “Thfpt,” said Cookie noncommittedly.

  Chapter 7

  Bubba and the Dead Guy Again

  And Guess What Also Happens Again?

  Saturday, April 27th around 10:30 AM and So On

  David Beathard burst into the front door, waving his hands and also a handheld steampunk style ray gun. There was a plastic ball of whirling neon lights on the end of the futuristic weapon, and hiccoughing blasting sounds accompanied it as he waved it. He said, “I’m about to perfect my tidal wave weapon, Bubba! Sixty-three charges strategically placed next to a water source will cause a massive tsunami and will take out a target of my choosing! Oh the joy of being a steampunk super villain. Bwahaha!”

  Bubba realized that the front door must have been open, although he clearly remembered locking it again.

  The questions that immediately bloomed in Bubba’s head were the following: Was there a lake in the vicinity that was large enough to host a tsunami type weapon? If there was such a lake, was there enough room in the lake for the water to crest more than a few inches? If that was the case, which person in a nearby marina or lakeside town would have to step back a foot or two in order to avoid getting their toes wet? Did Baron David Von Blackcap the Revenger have some particular issue with a local marina or lakeside town? Did David have access to sixty-three explosive type charges? The most important question was: Could Bubba get David inside to personally witness the dead body and would anyone believe Bubba if David was the witness?

  Shame instantly besieged Bubba. There was a dead guy in his living room who was moving around more than most living folks and all Bubba could think of was how he could prove that the dead person had been there. But then there was another question that occurred to Bubba. If the dead guy had been in Bubba’s living room previously, then someone had moved him, and now he had returned to the living room, then who was doing all the heavy lifting? The shame returned to him. The dead guy was someone’s son, someone’s father, someone’s brother, someone’s husband, and whate
ver he’d done or hadn’t done in his life, he didn’t deserve to be dumped like a pile of garbage in Bubba’s living room…twice.

  Bubba needed law enforcement, a camera, and possibly some aspirin, not necessarily in that order.

  “This is our moment, Fleet Commander Bickerstaff,” David urged Bubba. “We shall subdue the world one soggy inch of soil at a time. Furthermore, we shall purchase all the empty sandbags so that they shall not be prepared for our treachery! Away with us to the aerostat dirigible! Get a wiggle on!” David twirled in the doorway and immediately dashed away. The blasting sounds of his plastic gun could be heard as he went.

  Bubba looked at Cookie who seemed to shrug. Then he looked at the body. He had to make a decision. He sighed heartily. Then he left his house, making certain to lock the front door again. There was nothing to be done about the broken window in the back and he certainly couldn’t stop to put a board on it at the moment.

  Bubba strode quickly to the mansion and went inside the kitchen. Precious kept smartly at his heels, undoubtedly aware that something was up. He looked about and saw that most of the temporary staff were out making rounds with trays of canapés. Miz Adelia’s niece, Jasmine Cedarbloom, was working on making more. She had an eight-inch knife in her right hand and was using it cannily on asparagus that had apparently angered her in some fashion. Despite the knife, Bubba said, “Miss Jasmine.”

  Jasmine jumped and glanced over her shoulder at Bubba. “Oh, hey, Bubba. Congratulations. Thanks for the donation to my GoFundMe account. That got me to the college to do a tour. Did my aunt mention I was accepted at A&M? I’ll finish a bachelor’s degree in biomedical sciences before I skip to the DVM part. It’s all wicked cool. I can’t wait to leave.”

  Jasmine was just about to graduate from high school and sometimes helped her aunt around the Snoddy Mansion for extra money. A no nonsense kind of girl, she had her career path entirely mapped out. She would be a full-fledged veterinarian by the time she was twenty-five, or she would die trying. The last time Bubba had spoken with Jasmine she was thinking about trying for one of those reality programs about real-life vets in the field like The Incredible Dr. Pol or Yukon Vet. Bubba hadn’t watched either show so he had nodded in agreement. “That’s great,” he said. “Only a 150 miles or so from home. Time to come home on the weekend to do the laundry. Bring your car by so I kin keep it running right, hear?”

  “I already have a job at a vet clinic,” Jasmine said, waving the knife happily. “I’m down with all of this. Who said being a grownup was hard?” She stopped smiling and looked over Bubba’s shoulder. “Your purple friend isn’t around, is he? I thought I saw him earlier, but he didn’t exactly look like himself.”

  “David ain’t purple today,” Bubba said. “He’s, uh, I think he’s an evil supervillain or some such today, but—” he added hastily when he saw the straightaway dismayed expression on Jasmine’s face—“he promised not to do any perfidy today, on account of the wedding and all.” Bubba thought of the tsunami weapon; David wasn’t exactly keeping to the word of his promise. (Had David, in fact, promised? Furthermore, could a fella count on the promise of an alleged supervillain?)

  Jasmine skewered an asparagus in response. “I try to have an open mind, Bubba,” she said, “but he’s a little hard to take. One week he’s a purple singing something or other. The next week he’s a pirate. Then he’s, I don’t know what he is, today. What is that? An evil supervillain with a brass eyepiece that zooms in on you. I heard my auntie talking about him.”

  “Just keep with the open mind, Miss Jasmine,” Bubba said gently. “People come in all sizes, shapes, and varieties. The truth of the matter is that David ain’t a bad sort.” Having said it, Bubba knew that it was true. As odd as David Beathard could be, he had never been cruel or vicious. That counted for a lot to Bubba, as well as the fact that David had helped Bubba many times in the recent past.

  Jasmine’s face softened. “You’re right, of course.” She unskewered the asparagus.

  “I need your phone,” Bubba said, ready to carpe diem his tushy off. Jasmine wasn’t in the seizing kind of mood.

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Man,” she said. “Miz Demetrice and my aunt said you’re not to go near a phone. Or a television. Or a radio for that matter. And computers are completely off limits.”

  “Why?”

  “Um. You should ask your mother,” Jasmine said primly. She raised up the eight-inch knife and pointed it at him. “Isn’t that right?”

  “I reckon so,” Bubba said. Jasmine Cedarbloom was just like her aunt.

  “Cute baby,” she added.

  “You want her cheap?” Bubba asked as he walked out of the kitchen. “I done already fed her and changed her twice. She won’t blow again for a few more hours.”

  Jasmine’s laughter followed Bubba down the hallway. He passed two people he didn’t recognize and hoped they were from Willodean’s side of the family. While doing what resembled the mating dance of a highly irate Tasmanian sea turtle, one asked of Bubba, “Bathroom?”

  Bubba jerked a thumb at a doorway. “Powder room.”

  “Too many mimosas,” the other one said as the first one rushed into the small room. “Say, do you know the wedding couple?”

  “I may have met them,” Bubba said. “Do you have a cellphone I kin borrow?”

  “Of course I have a cellphone,” the woman said. She put down the mimosa she was holding on a nearby circular pietra dura table. She reached into a jacket pocket and produced a Samsung. She deftly unlocked it for Bubba and handed it over. “Who doesn’t have a cellphone? Seriously. My five year old niece has a cellphone.”

  “I think mine went missing yesterday,” Bubba said as he punched numbers, making his oversized fingers work properly. Cookie reached for the phone and Bubba expertly moved it out of baby range. She cooed in a distinctly dissatisfied manner. “It’s right mysterious.”

  The woman shrugged as she looked around. “I always wanted to see the inside of a plantation house. I hear this one is haunted. And there’s buried Civil War gold someplace.”

  “Ain’t seen a ghost about these parts for years,” Bubba said, waiting for the phone to ring on the other end. “And there definitely ain’t any gold, Civil War or otherwise. Do you think three of the columns in the front would be listing badly if there was gold to be had around here?”

  The woman shrugged again. “You live here?”

  “Not exactly,” Bubba said as he listened to the phone on the other end ring. Finally there was a click and an aggrieved, “Hello?”

  Bubba sighed with heartfelt relief. Willodean didn’t sound hurt or injured or kidnapped or threatened. What she sounded like was a woman who had been up for hours because she was having makeup and hair done. Of course the fact that she was already the most beautiful woman on the face of the planet and certainly didn’t need the help, didn’t need to be stated, but Bubba thought it anyway.

  “Do you know why people won’t give me their cellphones, Willodean?” Bubba asked, turning away from the stranger in the hallway.

  Willodean didn’t say anything for a moment. “Someone gave you one,” she commented mildly. “Caller ID said some woman’s name.” Her tone was something he couldn’t exactly identify.

  Bubba had an instinctive need to protect Willodean from all things that the given woman would need to be protected from. The facts that she was a sheriff’s deputy, carried a multitude of weapons, and she could shoot the wart off of a witch’s nose, all attested to her independence and ability to take care of herself. He knew that but he almost couldn’t help himself. He wanted to make certain that she was okay. However, her wily talent to pull the rug out from under his feet often came into play and stirred everything up.

  It abruptly came to Bubba. They were all trying to protect Bubba from something they thought he shouldn’t know.

  “What is it?” he asked politely.

  “Oh, just some news about something,” Willodean said evasively. She did it in a cute
way that nearly made Bubba smile. She was being evasive. It was so adorable.

  “You think I’ll let it go?” he asked.

  “Could you, until after the wedding?”

  “I love you,” he said instead of promising anything. He wasn’t Miz Demetrice’s son for nothing.

  “And I love you,” she said. “We’re just thinking about having a nice day.”

  Bubba thought that was nice, too. What wasn’t nice was the body lying on his living room floor. Someone had taken it away. Someone had brought it back. The whole thing was a nerve wracking conundrum. He didn’t want to give Willodean a nerve wracking conundrum. He decided abruptly that he wouldn’t tell her until after the wedding, because, well, why not?

  “You’re having an okay day?” Bubba asked.

  “I think I felt the baby kick, but it’s a little early,” she said.

  “I’ll get to feel your tummy later today,” he promised. “Get a cup of that green tea you like. It makes you feel better.”

  “I’ll do that,” Willodean said. “Maybe you should get a cup, too.”

  “I’ve heard tell that chamomile tea would be settlin’,” he said. “I’ll rub your feet, too.”

  “My sister said that Janie and Brownie were recording all the guests,” Willodean said. “Something about appropriating equipment from the police department. Can you believe they left a set of keys around Janie and/or Brownie?”

  “That wasn’t smart.”

  “Remember about the surveillance equipment just in case you have a mind to pick your nose.”

  “I would never,” he said outraged, but a thought occurred to him. Recordings meant a record of everyone coming or going to include a possible murder victim AND possible murder suspects.

  “The makeup artist is making faces at me, Bubba,” Willodean said. “She says I’m not supposed to smile or move or even speak.”

  “That’s not convenient for making your vows,” Bubba said. “Breathe, Willodean. Relax. It will be all right. Don’t go worryin’ ‘bout what they think on account that they don’t think.”