Authors: James Henderson
Robert Earl collapsed into the chair. “It was a long time ago, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Bledsoe scratched the top of his head, also starting to bald. “I’m not a man who easily resorts to profanity. I’d sure like to know what the hell you’re talking about?”
“When I was in the Marines, over in Okinawa, this girl, you know, a bad girl--see what I’m saying?”
“A prostitute?”
Robert Earl nodded. “It was a long time ago, Sheriff. I wasn’t married at the time. I…”
Sheriff Bledsoe waited for him to continue. He didn’t. “Keep talking.”
“I’d been drinking, too. I…” Another pause. Sheriff Bledsoe nodded for him to continue. “I’d drunk six or seven beers and a couple of Mai Tais. You ever drink a Mai Tai, Sheriff?”
Sheriff Bledsoe shook his head.
Robert Earl started to speak, but didn’t.
Irritated, Sheriff Bledsoe said, “At this rate, Social Security will dry up. Robert Earl, why don’t you get to the heart of the matter, okay?”
“We made a deal and I gave her the money upfront. Before she made good on her end she snuck off with my pants and wallet. I couldn’t get back on base without my ID card.”
“So you caught up with her?”
“Yeah, though it wasn’t as easy as it sounds.”
“And you killed her?”
Robert Earl started coughing and patted his own back. “I’m not sure I did or didn’t. I was drunk and very whizzed off. I mighta punched her a couple times. Her eyes weren’t open, but that don’t mean nothing. She mighta been faking.”
“Was there blood?”
Robert Earl nodded.
“You can’t fake blood, Robert Earl. The Marines never said anything to you about this?”
“Uh-uh. I got an Honorable Discharge, too.”
“I can’t believe you did something like that,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, for lack of anything else to say. “I’m shocked. I just can’t believe you did something like that.”
Robert Earl crossed his arms and rested his chin on his chest. Talking to the floor: “You think I’ll get the electric chair?”
Sheriff Bledsoe studied the top of Robert Earl’s head, in search of a lobotomy scar. Nothing except a receding hairline and a bald spot in the middle. Robert Earl didn’t have enough lights on in his head to plot and execute his father’s murder.
“Robert Earl, I’m going to do something I shouldn’t do. I’m going to give you a pass on this one. If I ever hear your name in trouble again, a misdemeanor or anything, you’re going to pay for old and new. Do you understand?”
A tear dropped from Robert Earl’s face and landed in the top pocket of his overalls. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 22
For the first time in months, perhaps years, Shirley felt light on her feet. A good thing, too, because the walk from her house to the jail was almost three miles. The sun, a white orb against a blue-and-white canvas, magnified heat on the back of her neck.
A swarm of gnats hovered a few feet above her head, one occasionally breaking off to perform reconnaissance missions on her face and neck. Shirley waved them away and maintained her brisk pace, her open-toe sandals click-clocking on the hot asphalt.
Cars and eighteen-wheelers zipped by in both directions; several drivers tapped their horn, yet no one stopped and offered her a ride. The sandals were a bad choice for a stroll to town.
Shirley didn’t mind, her thoughts were elsewhere. She was in love, and the man whom she loved had gotten on his knees and asked her to marry him. She smiled to herself as she veered around an offal, a possum or a coon, buzzing with flies.
Yes, Mr. Eric Barnes had asked her, Miss Shirley Harris, to marry him.
She swatted a gnat on her neck and picked up her pace. Her life was moving forward.
Finally, thank
God.
And if Sheriff Bledsoe would get off his butt and find out who murdered her father, she could start scratching off items on her wish list with the inheritance money.
Eric and she would have a grand wedding, a spectacular wedding, with a band. She would buy Eric a
new truck, maybe one
that could be switched to a SUV. She would buy Paul a computer and new clothes. A new car for Mrs. Avery and an anonymous deposit in her savings account.
She would treat her mother and Ruth Ann to a mall trip in Little Rock, buy them each new shoes and purses, or whatever they desired, then take them to the Loony Bin, a comedy club.
Up ahead, a van was parked on the shoulder. A prison crew, eight men wearing striped orange-and-white jumpsuits, sat on the ground in the van’s shade. Shirley crossed over to the opposite side of the street.
Passing the van she saw the officer sitting in the front seat, all the windows rolled up. She then realized that her navy blue culottes, decorated with red and white daisies, were drenched with sweat. She kept walking, her thoughts traveling to Red Lobster. She hadn’t been there in years.
She’d order a Caesar salad with all the trimmings: American cheese, cottage cheese, cucumbers, tomato slices, bacon bits, fresh peaches, raisins, all under a pool of Ranch dressing.
The town proper came into view. Three blocks of non-descript, flat roof brick buildings, circa Civil War, a few vacant, all in need of major restoration. Most were clothing and antique stores struggling to see financial daylight inside the far-reaching shadow of the Wal-Mart Super Center on the other side of town.
Recent additions were a Subway restaurant, a Quik-Print and not one but three pay-day loan businesses.
After the salad she would have a platter of shrimp scampi and a Maine lobster. For dessert she would have a cherry cheesecake. Man, did she love cherry cheesecake. Of course she wouldn’t eat the entire cheesecake in public, just half of it. The other half she’d take home for later.
Nearing the jail she saw Robert Earl getting into his truck. She waved at him. “Hey, Robert Earl.”
He responded by wriggling two fingers.
“Robert Earl,” walking closer, “is something wrong?”
Robert Earl shook his head and backed out of the parking space.
“See ya,” Shirley said. “I guess it’s my turn for the third degree.”
Robert Earl stopped the truck in the middle of the road and drove back into the parking space. “Shirley…”
“Yes.”
“Don’t try to fool it, Shirley.”
“Fool what?”
“The lie-detector machine. The best thing to do, start off with the truth and stick to it. If you don’t you’ll regret it.” He backed up and squealed off.
Shirley was confused when she stepped inside the jail, but the cool air quickly erased her thoughts.
Sheriff Bledsoe was sitting behind a desk. He wasn’t what Shirley called handsome, though he wasn’t nauseous to look at. Though well past the overweight mark, he kept his afro, moustache, and beard neat and trimmed, his uniform clean and starched.
“Kinda hot out there, ain’t it?” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “You can stand in front of the air conditioner if you like.”
Shirley felt a pang of guilt for threatening him the other day. “No, thank you, Sheriff. I’d prefer to get this over as soon as possible.”
“Well, let’s get started, Miss Harris.” He indicated a chair in front of his desk. Shirley sat down and peered around a funny-looking box at him. “Miss Harris, have you ever taken a polygraph test before?”
“No, I sure haven’t.”
“No problem. Let me explain how this works. The machine detects abnormalities in a person’s body when he or she responds falsely to a question. In laymen terms, it can detect when someone is telling a lie. Any questions?”
“Where’s the machine?” Shirley said, looking around the room.
Sheriff Bledsoe got up and tapped on the funny-looking box. “Right here. Now if you’d allow me to wrap this cord around your chest.” He picked up a Velcro-covered cord and approached her.
She pushed his hands away. “What the hell is this?”
“A polygraph machine…the old model.”
“Like hell it is! This looks like something you made in your garage. What you trying to pull here, Ennis?”
Sheriff Bledsoe opened his mouth and quickly closed it.
Shirley squinted at him. “You hooked Robert Earl up to this crap, didn’t you?”
“Well, uh, I, uh…”
“The reason he left in such a huff. You hooked him up to this junk and he spilled his guts, didn’t he? Did he confess to a crime?”
“Yes, he did.”
“He’s not in jail, so it was something he did a long time ago. Right?”
Sheriff Bledsoe nodded.
“You know what anusitis is, Ennis?”
He shook his head.
“It’s a thought disorder, delusions of intellectual superiority. Non-athletic white men with beer bellies are most susceptible to it. They can have a GED and still believe they’re ten times smarter than Obama.” Staring at the box: “How often you listen to Rush?”
“I played football in high school. Offensive end.”
“Practice. You’re talking about practice? Not once I saw you in a game.”
Sheriff Bledsoe put a fist to his mouth and burped.
Shirley lifted the box and looked underneath. “I don’t believe this shit here,” and let it drop to the desk with a resounding thud. “This is the wildest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Sheriff Bledsoe patted his chest.
“Ennis, you think my family are a bunch of imbeciles, don’t you? Does the mayor know you made this?”
Sheriff Bledsoe flinched, but didn’t speak.
“Maybe I should go talk to him. Is he in his office? Maybe I should go talk to those civil rights people over in Greenville. Or maybe I should tell my family to stop cooperating with you and hire a lawyer. I wonder what a lawyer would say about this.”
“Shirley…Miss Harris, I apologize.”
“Wow, golly gee whiz! How big of you!”
“Look, I made a mistake. I apologize. The polygraph machine I needed to use is broke, so I tried this. I see now it was a terrible and silly mistake on my part. I wasn’t trying to outsmart anyone.”
“Uh-huh,” Shirley snorted.
“Honest. This is a heckuva case, Shirley, a heckuva case. To be honest with you, I’m getting nowhere with it.”
“Who’s your main suspect?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Do you even have a main suspect?”
“Yes, I do. In fact, I have more than one. The problem in a nutshell--too many main suspects.”
“You can eliminate Momma and me.” He gave her a wary look. “Don’t look upside my head--I didn’t do it. The sooner you find out who did, the sooner I can collect my share of the money and get married. I’ve got a good idea who did it. I’d like to know who you think did it. Maybe you and I are on the same page.”