Authors: James Henderson
“Who? Who do you think did it?”
“First tell me who you think did it.”
“C’mon, Shirley, this isn’t a game. This is a police investigation. I’ve said too much already. This is totally against police procedure.”
Shirley pointed at the box. “Is this against police procedure?”
Sheriff Bledsoe frowned, held her gaze for a moment, then blurted, “Eric Barnes.”
“What about him?”
Sheriff Bledsoe gave her a look.
Shirley gasped. “What! Hell no! Why…why do you think Eric had something to do with it?”
“He served your father his last meal, didn’t he?”
“So what?” Shirley shouted. “So fucking what! Big damn deal! Just ’cause he--look here, Ennis, you got Eric dead wrong. Eric is not a killer!”
“You sure about that?”
“What kind of question is that? I tell you what, if you start harassing Eric, I’ll go to the mayor and tell him about you and your damn fake polygraph machine! I won’t sit by and watch you railroad Eric. He had nothing to gain from Daddy’s death. Nothing! You hear me? Nothing!”
“You and him live together. Isn’t it reasonable to assume when you obtain your daddy’s money he would benefit?”
“Yes, you’re right, but you’re damn wrong about Eric, Ennis. He has his problems, I can’t deny that. He’s not a murderer.”
“He would, more than likely, also benefit from Ruth Ann.”
“Ha! You kidding me? Ruth Ann won’t give her own flesh and blood a dime. What makes you think she’ll give Eric a slug nickel?”
Sheriff Bledsoe rubbed his moustache with both hands. Shirley noticed his fingers were trembling.
“Shirley, I shouldn’t be the one telling you this. Your sister and…” He drifted off.
“What?”
Sheriff Bledsoe shook his head.
“Ennis, you do know everything you see on TV isn’t necessarily true. Homemade polygraph machines, rub-away weight loss ointments, gadgets from the Acme Supply Company. You can’t set your watch by those things in the real world, Ennis. Well, you can, but if you’re an elected official…” She paused and smiled at him. “You see where I’m going with this?”
“Eric and Ruth Ann were having an affair.”
Shirley jumped up and backhanded the box. It skidded across the floor and crashed into the wall--Kablam!--sending five boards and bulb shards in every direction.
Sheriff Bledsoe stood up. “Hey, now!”
“A damn lie!” Shirley hissed through clenched teeth. “A damn lie! Take it back! Take it back! Take it back now, fat ass!”
Sheriff Bledsoe backed up a step, the wall at his back. “Shirley,” pointing a shaky finger at her, “you need to calm down and sit down. You just damaged government property, a felony offense!”
“I don’t give a damn! You take back what you said!” Sheriff Bledsoe looked past her, and Shirley followed his gaze to a holstered gun on a hat rack. “You gotta get through me to get it!”
“Yesterday I caught Eric sneaking behind Ruth Ann’s house. He
was
--”
“Don’t mean a damn thing! You take back the mess you said about Eric and my sister!” She grabbed the chair with one hand and lifted it up. “Take it back!”
“Check yourself,” raising his hands. “I’m trying to explain to you what--if you hit me with that chair, you’re going to jail!”
“I don’t give a damn!”
“Shirley, you’re bucking serious trouble here. You can’t threaten a sheriff.”
The chair was getting heavy, but Shirley raised it higher. “You still haven’t taken back what you said about my sister. It’s a blatant lie, and you know it!”
“They…they both admitted it, Shirley.”
Shirley shouted, “A damn lie!” whirled like a javelin thrower and hurled the chair. It smashed into the wall, a foot below the ceiling, a foot above Sheriff Bledsoe’s head.
He yelped and ran.
A second or two, Shirley stood there, her entire body shaking…then crumbled to the floor. “It’s not true!” she sobbed. “It’s not true…it’s not true…it’s not true…it’s not true…” She lay there a long time, sobbing.
“I’m sorry, Shirley,” Sheriff Bledsoe said.
She had to collect herself somehow; she didn’t want to give Fat Ass the satisfaction of seeing her like this. She tried to get up but couldn’t get her limbs to cooperate. Her entire body felt numb. She grabbed the edge of the desk with both hands and, with great effort, pulled herself up.
Unsteady on her feet--one wrong move in either direction she would topple--she combed back her hair with one hand and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her culottes with the other.
“Are we finished here, Sheriff?” she muttered, dimly aware he held a gun.
“Yes, Shirley. I’m sorry. You need me to give you a ride home?”
“No, I don’t need a ride.” Her voice low and slurred. “I’ll see you later, Sheriff Barnes.” She staggered toward the door, almost tripping on a board in her path.
An anguished moan escaped her lips, knees buckled but she maintained her balance. After opening the door she stood there a moment, leaning on the doorframe.
“Ruth Ann,” and stumbled out onto the sidewalk.
Chapter 23
“Remember what I told you?” Eric asked his son, playing in the front yard with his friend. This was Eric’s third time sticking his head outside and asking the boy.
“Yeah, Daddy,” Paul said. “I heard you the first time. When I see Momma, come tell you.”
“The second you see her,” Eric emphasized. “Not a minute later. You got that?”
Paul nodded. Eric looked down the dirt road that led to the highway. Shirley would have to walk down that road, unless someone gave her a ride. No matter how she returned home he needed to see her before she saw him.
Inside he checked the back door to ensure it was unlocked. It was. If drama commenced he couldn’t afford precious seconds fumbling with the deadbolt.
He then went into the bedroom and lay on the bed. Just the second he’d relaxed, a car horn blew out front. He jumped up and peeked out the bedroom window. Mr. Joyner across the street stepped out and got into a mini-bus.
Again Eric leaned his head out the front door and looked down the dirt road. He waited for the dust stirred up by the mini-bus to settle. The road was empty. “Don’t forget!” he yelled at Paul and closed the door.
Maybe I should move my ass now while the getting ghost is good.
If Sheriff Bledsoe hadn’t told Shirley about Ruth Ann and him, he could always come back later.
“Yeah,” he said. “Hell yeah!”
If Sheriff Bledsoe
had
told Shirley, he’d already be down the road, well out of harm’s way.
Since last night, after Shirley told him she was going in bright and early to take the polygraph test, he hadn’t had a moment’s rest.
He’d had a vision--he thought it was a vision because he was wide awake--of Shirley choking him unconscious and setting him afire with gasoline.
Immediately after, he got down on his knees and proposed to her. “Marry me, baby!” He then took her into the bedroom and gave her the premium package, which required two bottles of Karo syrup and three rolls of Saran Wrap, and had resulted in a very stiff neck and a numb jaw.
With any other woman the premium package would have been more than enough to forgive him any transgression. With Shirley, however…
the premium package might not mean shit!
He sat down on the couch and stared at the television. A daytime talk show: a diminutive white woman, though physically restrained by two muscular bodyguards, was beating the hell out of a large, pot-bellied white man.
“Damn this,” getting to his feet. “I’m getting the hell outta here!”
As he was starting for the bedroom, to get his overnight bag, Paul stepped inside.
“What?” Eric said.
Paul shrugged and plopped down on the couch.
“Boy, I really need you to stay outside, keep an eye out for your momma.”
“My bad, Daddy, I forgot. Momma’s coming.”
Eric’s bowels liquefied. He rushed to the door and looked out. Sure enough, about four blocks away, Shirley was walking down the road.
“Oh, shit! Paul, get on your bike, ride down to your momma, tell her I said I love her, then ride back and tell me what she said.”
“Do what?”
“Hurry up! What you waiting on? Go! Shit! Go!” He pushed Paul out onto the front porch. “Hurry up, you wasting time!”
Paul slowpoked into the yard and got onto his bike. “Tell her what?”
“Dammit, boy! Tell her I love her and come back and tell me what she said. Now go! Hurry the hell up!”
Paul rode off.
Shirley was three and a half blocks away now.
Is she pissed?
Gnawing on a knuckle, bouncing on his heels, Eric watched Paul ride past his mother and then turn around and ride alongside her. Paul pointed at him as he conferred with Shirley.
Too stupid to be genetically linked to me, Eric thought as he watched Paul ride back.
Shirley was only three blocks away now, but still he couldn’t see her face clearly enough to gauge her temperament.
Paul stopped his bike three houses short and started chatting with a girl. Eric waved frantically to get his attention.
“Get yo ADD-ass over here!” Whistled. Paul finally noticed and took his sweet time riding over. “What she say? What did she say?”
“She said she wanted to ride my bike.”
“What? Your momma wanted to ride your bike?”
“Naw, Daddy. Felicia wanted to ride my bike. I told her no. Last time she put it on a flat, didn’t fix it.”
“Dammit, boy! What did your momma say?”
“Oh, yeah. She said…uh…I forgot what she said.”
Eric looked down the road and gulped.
Shirley was running at full sprint. Something--
a shoe?--
no, a sandal tumbled behind her to the side of the road like a cup tossed out of a moving vehicle…Shirley didn’t break stride, her arms barely swinging but her legs moving at an incredible clip. The other sandal fell away.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing Shirley walk fast…and now she was literally running out of her shoes…
Running!
…all two hundred and thirty pounds of her. She looked like a…a bear…a grizzly bear…a well-fed grizzly bear with fat jiggling and bouncing with each step.
How in the world could something so big move so swiftly?…
How?
…She was less than a block away now. Eric saw her facial expression and he completely forgot about bears, grizzlies or otherwise…