this god-awful gurgling noise and threw up… just exploded.”
“Projectile vomiting,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “A symptom of arsenic poisoning.”
“The idiot kept shaking and squeezing Daddy and whirling him this way and that, and Daddy started spraying people and they started hollering and knocking things over trying to get out of the way, as if being puked on by a dying man was the worst thing in the world to have happen to you.”
“What Leonard doing during all of this?”
“I don’t remember. Such a commotion going on. People panicking and running down the street. Shirley fainted and fell on her face. Momma running in circles calling Jesus. Kenny G howling like a coyote, and this nut whirling Daddy around like a human water hose. I was just worried about my daddy, that’s all, nobody else. I couldn’t tell you what someone else was…”
She stopped abruptly, buried her face in her hands and started crying.
Sheriff Bledsoe took this moment to appraise his small jail. The gray paint on the walls was peeling, large flakes exposing white paint underneath. Cold air blew from the air conditioner, though it rattled noisily and had to be turned on with pliers.
Duct tape held the cushion together in his chair. The other chairs were in poorer condition. Rust coated every bar on the one-man jail cell. Solve this case, he thought, and maybe, just maybe, the mayor would allocate the funds to refurbish.
“I want to know!” Ruth Ann snapped. “I want to know who did this to my daddy, Sheriff Bledsoe. My daddy had his faults—he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t!”
Sheriff Bledsoe nodded. “I’m going to nail whoever poisoned your father.” He puffed up his chest: “I guarantee you!”
Later, a very short time later, he would regret making this statement, and regret even more the first time he laid eyes on Ruth Ann Hawkins and her family.
Chapter 3
Leonard stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Victor, in bed with the sheet around his waist, shook his head. “No, I’d rather not.”
Leonard stepped back from the mirror and pirouetted. “How do I look?”
“Great. Just great, Leonard. You…” He stopped short.
Leonard sat on the edge of the bed. “What?” Victor looked away. “What?”
“You blame me for what happened? If you do I understand.”
“No, Victor.” Leonard stroked his face. “I don’t blame you one bit. I blame myself for thinking my family, especially my father, would understand.”
“I thought one of your sisters, Shirley, understood what you were going through.”
“On a certain level she does. My other sister and brother—forget it!”
“How can the police think you… you know?”
“I killed my father? You know I didn’t do that.” Pause. “I can’t believe he’s dead. He was too mean to die easily.” Shaking his head: “I should have gone to the funeral. They say you’ll never have closure if you don’t attend the funeral.”
“Leonard, this is so bizarre… so strange.”
“I told you events might not go as expected.”
“You didn’t mention neck bone poisoning and a murder investigation, nor a motel room with cockroaches the size of crabs.”
Leonard gave Victor’s knee a playful squeeze. “I’ll settle this today. When I get back you and I will check out of this flea-bitten room and go back to our wonderful apartment and enjoy our wonderful life.”
“Is it really wonderful, Leonard?”
Leonard leaned in and kissed him on the chin. “Yes, it most certainly is. You sound as if you’re having second thoughts.”
Victor shook his head and smiled.
Leonard stood up. “I better go now and get this over.”
Victor, wearing only a pair of red Hanes, rose from the bed and embraced Leonard. “I love you!”
“I love you, too,” staring into the dirty mirror above the dresser.
Leonard, thin, dark-skinned, early thirties, mini afro; Victor, portly, pale white, late forties, bald.
“Victor, I should go before I get excited. Imagine the Sheriff’s reaction if I appeared with an erection.”
Victor followed Leonard to the door. Stepping outside felt like stepping into a furnace. Leonard waved at Victor, hoping he would close the door and go back inside the room. Victor blew a kiss.
Leonard surveyed the parking lot. No one in sight. Thank God. He would remind Victor where they were, Dawson, Arkansas, not Chicago, Illinois. Here, public displays of affection by same-sex couples could result in an arrest or a busted head or both.
Inside the rental, a gray Chevrolet Lumina, Leonard looked into the rearview and saw Victor stepping out onto the balcony. A man and woman stepped out of the room next door and the man stared long and hard at Victor. Leonard started the car and drove away. He needed to hurry. The sooner he got Victor back to Chicago, the better.
Arriving at the Dawson County jail twenty minutes later, Leonard composed himself before going in.
Just as he neared the door a cruiser pulled up and Sheriff Bledsoe got out carrying a box of Shipley Do-Nuts with two large Styrofoam cups balanced on top.
Leonard held the door open and followed him inside.
“Leonard Harris, I presume?”
“Yes.”
Sheriff Bledsoe put the box down on a desk and extended a hand. “Sheriff Bledsoe, nice to meet you.”
Leonard shook his hand. “Same here.”
“Have a seat. You’ll have to overlook the mess.”
Leonard noticed every chair looked an accident waiting to happen. A large air conditioner, held in a window by cut-off bars, clanged noisily. A familiar scent of cologne hovered in the air. Old Spice, he thought at first.
“Yes, they’re rickety,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, “but they’re sturdy. Have a seat.”
Leonard considered sitting atop one of the desks.
He sat down in a chair with a sawed-off baseball bat for a leg.
Sheriff Bledsoe busied himself about the room, transferring paper from one cluttered desk to another, and then disappeared inside a bathroom.
He’s acting rather nervous, Leonard thought. He heard running water. The noise continued… and continued. Either Sheriff Bledsoe was taking a shower or washing his hands. The noise wasn’t loud enough for a shower faucet.
Presently, Sheriff Bledsoe came out, drying his hands thoroughly with a paper towel. He nodded at the doughnuts and coffee. “Help yourself. The coffee machine is on the blink, I picked up an extra cup.”
“Thanks,” getting up and retrieving a glazed doughnut. “I’ve already tried the coffee, not my particular brand.” He bit into the doughnut and looked up.
Sheriff Bledsoe was frowning, staring at the two cups. “You took a sip?”
“Yes, I sure did.” Leonard could tell by the Sheriff’s expression he was dying to ask which one.
“So you’re from Chicago,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, sitting behind a desk.
