“Yeah, hell yeah!” Eric pressed his face to the metal grate. “I didn’t do it, Sheriff. The shit was there when I got there.”
Sheriff Bledsoe patted his front pocket for the Pepsid AC package. He needed something to soothe the pain in his chest in a bad way. Not finding it, he remembered the Pepto Bismol bottle, unscrewed it with one hand and took a long drink.
Eric rattled on, emphatically claiming his innocence. Though Sheriff Bledsoe tuned him out, he realized Eric’s denial had a ring of truth to it. Eric’s brain was in his shorts, but he wasn’t dumb enough to run around with neck bones and poison underneath his shirt.
It didn’t make sense.
If Eric didn’t plant the stuff, who did? Lester? Ruth Ann?
Sheriff Bledsoe burped and felt a burning sensation rise from his chest to his throat to his nasal cavities. Geez, that hurt. Eric rattled on.
He wondered if DNA testing could determine if the neck bones on the porch were from the same batch in Larry’s stomach.
“Sheriff?” Eric shouted.
He couldn’t charge Chatterbox with such flimsy evidence. Nor could he charge Ruth Ann or Lester because he’d caught Chatterbox with the box in hand. The pain in his chest moved to his lower back. He leaned forward, but it didn’t lessen the agony.
Eric pounded on the grate with his head. “Sheriff! Sheriff, are you listening to me?”
Sheriff Bledsoe parked the cruiser and killed the engine. “Yes, Eric, I hear you.”
“You know what I’m saying is true, don’t you?”
He got out, opened Eric’s door and helped him out. “What is true, Eric?”
“I’m being framed. Big time! You know I’m not a killer. I’m a lover. I might steal a woman’s heart—I’m no killer!”
He led Eric inside the jail and directed him to a chair. “Why would someone want to frame you?”
Eric shook his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. A lotta people don’t like me, especially Shirley’s people.”
“Why don’t they like you?”
“’Cause I mind my own business and I don’t stick my nose where it don’t belong.”
Sheriff Bledsoe considered telling him adultery was a capital case of sticking a nose where it didn’t belong.
Instead: “Okay, Eric, let’s say you were framed. Somebody says, ‘Hey, why not frame Eric Barnes with Larry Harris’ murder? Gee, great idea. How? Easy. Put poison and neck bones on the Hawkins’ patio. When Eric sneaks over to rendezvous with Ruth Ann, Sheriff Bledsoe will catch him red-handed with the goods.’”
“Naw, Sheriff. I don’t think it happened quite like that. But I now know who’s trying to frame me.”
“Who?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Yes, I do. Enlighten me further of the conspiracy to frame Eric Barnes.”
Ignoring the sarcasm: “Lester. He did it, or he had one of his friends do it for him.”
“Why? Why would Lester frame you?”
“He’s jealous.”
“I was under the impression Lester didn’t know about you and Ruth Ann.”
“I was, too. He wanted us to think he didn’t know. You see, then he could do his dirt and nobody would suspect him.”
Sheriff Bledsoe sighed. “Lester framed you by throwing gopher bait and neck bones on his patio?”
“He sure did. You know he’s crazy, Sheriff. You know what he did to himself when his first wife left him? He drank poison or something and scorched his mouth. Only a crazy person would try to kill hisself, you know what I’m saying?”
“That was a long time ago, and I don’t see how his burning himself years ago is related to current events.”
“Related! Hell, the two are fucking. Don’t you see the connection?”
“No, I don’t. And watch your mouth.” Why was he even entertaining Eric’s cockamamie suppositions?
“It’s simple, Sheriff. Lester has firsthand experience with poison, or first-mouth experience, if you wanna be specific. After he burned hisself—you know the man ain’t stupid—he read up on the subject so he wouldn’t burn up something else. Then he concocted his grand scheme to frame me and kill Shirley’s daddy.”
“You think he poisoned Larry Harris?”
“Hell yeah! I know damn well he did.”
“A gaping hole in your theory, Eric. Lester was not present at the barbecue. You were. And, according to Ruth Ann, you were bending over backward catering to Larry.”
“Aw hell. I admit greasing the old man’s ego. I was just sucking up. You know I don’t know poison and chemical stuff. If I were going to kill somebody, I’d do it face-to-face, man-to-man. I ain’t no punk!”
Headlights beamed through the venetian blinds. “Should be Lester and Ruth Ann,” Sheriff Bledsoe said.
“Watch him, Sheriff,” Eric warned. “Don’t let the burn mark fool you. How he tricks people—the sympathy play, you know?”
“Thanks for the advice, Eric.”
A few minutes ticked away.
“Your truck is still in the impound lot,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “When are you going to get it?”
“Aw, Sheriff! I didn’t know you impound it. Otis charges fifteen dollars a day, not to mention the tow charge. I can’t afford all that.”
Sheriff Bledsoe didn’t respond, and a few more minutes ticked away.
Eric said, “They sure taking a long time to come in. You don’t think they’re polishing up their alibi, do you?”
Sheriff Bledsoe went to check.
Ruth Ann and Shirley were talking inside the SUV. He assumed Lester was in the backseat, obscured by the tinted back windows.
He tapped on the window and Ruth Ann jumped. “I didn’t mean to give you a start. Y’all can join us anytime.” He went back inside.
“What are they doing out there?” Eric asked. “Getting their lies together, I bet you.”
“Ruth Ann and Shirley are talking. They’ll be in soon.”
“Who?”
“Ruth Ann, Shirley and Lester.”
“My Shirley?”
“Yes.”
Eric jumped to his feet and turned his back to Sheriff Bledsoe. “Take these cuffs off, Sheriff! Take em off!”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“If Shirley catch me with these cuffs on I’m sawdust. C’mon now, take em off so I can at least have a running chance.”
“There’s not going to be any theatrics here. This’ll be conducted in a civil manner.”
“You don’t know her, Sheriff. When she gets mad she turns into a Transylvania devil.”
“You mean Tasmanian devil, don’t you?”
“Whatever, Sheriff, just take these damn cuffs off. Please! Take em off!”
Sheriff Bledsoe took the key from his pocket. Eric’s wrists were wet with sweat.
When the cuffs clicked free, Eric said, “Maybe you should lock me up, too. You know, just to be on the safe side.”
Just then Shirley barged in, pushing the door open wider than necessary to accommodate her large frame. “What the hell is going on now?”
“Oh-oh!” Eric said, and moved behind Sheriff Bledsoe.
“Calm down, Miss Harris,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “Don’t forget you’re at a police station.”
“I know where I am, Sheriff. Eric, what the hell have you done now?”
“I-I-I…”
“I-I-I—my ass! What have you done?”
The door opened again and Ruth Ann poked her head in and back out and in again, then, slowly, one limb at a time, she entered.
Sheriff Bledsoe couldn’t decide who looked the most terrified, Eric or Ruth Ann.
“Where’s Lester?” he asked Ruth Ann.
“He,” a squeaky whisper, “couldn’t make it.”
Sheriff Bledsoe pointed to the phone on his desk. “Call him and tell him to get over here.”
Ruth Ann shook her head. “He’s gone.”
“Where?”