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Authors: Lexi George

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BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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Addy looked around. It was past noon on a blistering Alabama summer day. The heat index was one hundred and ten in the shade and the humidity was so thick the air was breathed in chunks. Everybody was sweating buckets except her and Brand. Score another one for Dalvahni DNA. She looked back at Shep and frowned. It was one thing to adopt a funereal demeanor as part of his job as funeral director, but Shep didn't look solemn. He looked like nobody was home.
She made a mental note to check on her big brother as yet another preacher mumbled something over the body. At last, Shirley and the rest of the Farrises got up to leave. Someone pushed past Addy. It was Bessie Mae Brown. She'd gone all out for the funeral, pouring herself into a hot pink bustier that displayed an acre of tanned, wrinkled cleavage, a clingy midrifflength short-sleeve sweater in bright lemon yellow, a tight, short black skirt, and open-toed pink pumps. The pleather on the four-inch plastic heels had started to peel. Her signature barrette roosted at the back of her nest of black hair.
Bessie Mae tottered onto the white gravel walkway and right into Shirley's path.
“Uh oh,” Addy muttered. “It's fixing to hit the fan.”
Dinky and his brothers took one look at the two women and darted off like startled rabbits. Clumps of sweating funeralgoers hesitated, their fascination with the imminent outbreak of hostilities clearly at odds with their desire to escape the brutal heat.
Shirley's china doll eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Delilah?”
“Between the two of us, you're the one who's scissor happy, not me. What else did you cut off the poor man before you buried him? Serve you right if he haunts your ass.”
Shirley's grip tightened on the blue purse. “I got the only part you were interested in, you trollop. That's all you need to know.”
“That right?” Bessie Mae gave Shirley an evil smile. “Checked that deep freeze in your garage lately?”
Shirley stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don't know, thought you might have missed
this.
” Bessie Mae plucked a neatly wrapped brown paper package out of her pink and yellow purse. “It says, ‘Dwight's weenie. Do not microwave,' on it. That's real thoughtful, Shirley. Wouldn't want anyone to mistake poor Dwight's manhood for a leftover hotdog or an old pork chop, would you?”
“Give me that weenie.”
“I don't think so.”
Shirley swung her purse at Bessie Mae's head. “You give me that weenie, Bessie Mae Brown.”
Bessie Mae waved the package at Shirley. “Wiener, wiener, who's got the wiener? Ooh, whadda yah know? Looks like
I
do!”
It was like waving a red cape in front of a bull. Shirley lowered her gray, sausage-curled head and charged. Bessie Mae took off at a wobbly run with Shirley hard on her heels. Shep gave them a bland smile and stepped smoothly to one side. Bessie Mae darted past him and under the tent. She made a lap around the casket with Shirley in hot pursuit.
“Tramp!” Shirley screeched as they made a second loop. Her pink bow mouth was drawn back in a snarl. “White trash bimbo!”
“Call me all the names you want, you crazy old heifer,” Bessie Mae panted. “I got my Sugar Scrotum's lollipop, and I ain't giving it back!”
“Stop this, both of you. Stop this unseemly behavior at once.” Deacon Forrest Hewlett pointed his finger at Bessie Mae as she rounded the bend. “Mend your wanton ways, Jezebel. Lest the dogs lap at thy flesh.”
“Oh, blow it out your ass, you old fart,” Bessie Mae said.
She pancaked him as she went by with a hard thrust of her elbow. He plowed into Deacon Samford, who fell into the man behind him.
Boom, boom, boom.
Eight deacons toppled like dominoes. Shirley caught up with Bessie Mae, grabbed the back of her bright yellow sweater, and yanked. Bessie Mae pitched backward into Shirley. Shirley made a grab for the package.
Bessie Mae held the package out of Shirley's reach. “Oh, hell no you don't.”
Shirley squealed in frustration and wrapped her arms around Bessie Mae's neck. Bessie Mae grabbed hold of Shirley's ample waist. The two women careened drunkenly around the tent, clinging to one another like a couple of winded boxers in the tenth round. Shirley slammed Bessie Mae into a support pole. Bessie Mae grabbed Shirley by the hair. They staggered back, snapping and snarling. Bessie Mae caught her heel on the rumpled carpet and crashed on top of the casket, taking Shirley with her. Dwight's casket tilted sideways and slid to the ground. The weakened support pole buckled, and the tent collapsed.
Muffled squeaks and grunts and more than one un-deaconlike swear word were heard from those trapped under the tent.
Smiling sweetly, Shep threw back his head back and sang.
We are one in the Spirit,
We are one in the Lord.
And we pray that all unity may one day be restored.
His rich baritone floated down the hill, swelling as he reached the chorus.
And they'll know we are Christians
By our love, by our love,
Yes, they'll know we are Christians by our love.
“Tart,” Shirley wheezed from beneath the folds of the fallen tent.
“Fat ass,” Bessie Mae said.
Chapter Twenty-seven
A
ddy and Brand made their way down the graveled path behind the flow of mourners streaming back to their cars. She'd parked the delivery van, a Pepto-Bismol pink monstrosity that came with the shop, under a tree so the vehicle wouldn't overheat. A blistering steering wheel and a car seat like molten lava were not her idea of comfort.
Herbert Duffey and Jefferson Davis Willis trailed at the back of the departing crowd. Addy and Brand soon caught up with them. Addy slowed her pace. The last time she'd seen Mr. Duffey, Brand had announced to anyone within earshot that she and Brand were going to have sex. Like that, twenty-seven years of staying on the down low gone faster than a green bean casserole at a Methodist covered-dish dinner.
She and Brand did have sex, but that was beside the point. The point was she was crazy about Brand. She didn't regret having sex with him one minute, but she couldn't face Mr. Duffey without her face catching on fire. Muddy was right. She was a hopeless fuddy duddy, so small town it was pathetic. What hope did a girl like her have of maintaining the interest of a man like Brand? The guy was ten thousand years old, for Pete's sake. He probably had so many notches on his bed post the damn thing was a toothpick.
Mr. Duffey, thank God, hadn't seen them yet. The path was uneven, and he kept his eyes and his cane on the ground. Mr. Willis did likewise. With any luck, maybe they wouldn't notice her. Maybe they—
Brand stepped forward and took the two old men by the elbow. “The path is rough, gentlemen. Allow me to assist you down the hill.”
Mr. Duffey peered up at Brand. “Thank you, young man. Jefferson, this is Addy's beau, the one I told you about.”
Translation: This is the guy Addy's humping. Oh, God, maybe she would move to New Zealand. Maybe she'd join the Peace Corps, become a missionary in the Congo, or join the circus. She'd become a rodeo clown. Yeah. Nobody would recognize her under all that makeup. Too bad there really wasn't a cow pie mushroom drug cartel in Hannah. She could turn government snitch and join the witness protection program. Move to North Dakota and never have to look at Herbert Duffey again. Uff da.
“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Willis said.
Mr. Duffey peered over his shoulder. “That you, Addy?”
Busted. Oh, well, might as well get it over with.
She hurried to Mr. Duffey's side. “Yes, sir. It's me.” She took him by the arm. “How you holding up in this heat?”
“I'm making it. That was some funeral, wasn't it?”
“Yes, sir, it sure was.”
“When I die, I want them same three preachers at my funeral,” Mr. Willis announced.
Mr. Duffey gave him a startled sideways look. “Why in tarnation would you want to do that, Jefferson?”
“ 'Cause if I ain't dead, I'll climb right out of that coffin and kick them Sunday jawers in the ass.” Mr. Willis slammed his cane on the ground for emphasis. “Never seen such a windy bunch of fellers. And if the sermonizing wasn't bad enough, every one of 'em prayed at the end. I counted thirty-seven ‘Jesus-We-Justs. ' ”
Mr. Duffey shook his head. “Remind me not to outlive you. I ain't sitting through another one like that, not without the Shirley and Bessie Mae show. Funniest damn thing I've seen since Beau Shackleford's wife caught him with another woman. You remember that, Jefferson?”
Mr. Willis snorted. “Reckon I do. She knocked him out with a frying pan, painted him red, and rode him naked through town on the back of a mule.”
“Nekked,” Mr. Duffey corrected. He blinked at Brand through his thick glasses. “You know the difference between ‘naked' and ‘nekked,' young man?”
“No.”
“When you're naked you ain't got no clothes on,” Mr. Duffey said. “When you're ‘nekked' you ain't got no clothes on and you up to something.”
“I see,” Brand said, although it was obvious he did
not.
“Dude, it's a Southern-ism,” Addy said.
Brand's expression grew distant, like he was cross-referencing Mr. Willis's comment against his Dalvahni translator.
And maybe he was, because a moment later he nodded. “I see. ‘Up to something,' as in ‘unclad and engaged in lascivious and/or questionable behavior.' It is quite humorous, is it not?”
“A real stitch,” Addy said. “Especially when you put it that way.”
Mr. Willis eyed Brand. “How 'bout you? You up to something with our Addy?”
“If he ain't, I sure would like to be.” Darryl Wilson sauntered up with his brothers Dean and Del. Darryl nudged Del. “Told you she was fine, didn't I? Uh uh uh, I'd like to get me some of that.”
“Hint for the future, Darryl,” Addy said dryly. “ ‘I'd like to get me some of that' almost never works with women. Neither does, ‘Yo, sweet thang, wanna ride my baloney pony?' ”
“Ooh, she knows all your lines, baby brother,” Dean said. “You got burned.”
Darryl scowled. “Shut up, D.”
All the Wilson brothers called each other “D,” maybe because they had as hard a time keeping their names straight as everybody else. The Wilson brothers were long on beef and short on brains.
Del made a rude noise. “You're a dumbass, D. Raeleene catches you with another woman she'll have your ass for lunch. She's meaner than a snake in heat.”
Darryl scowled. “Who you calling dumbass, dumbass?”
Addy heard a low rumbling sound in the distance. She glanced at Brand. Uh oh. He had that pissed-off predator look. The Wilson brothers had stepped in it for sure.
“Go away,” Brand said.
The Wilsons forgot their differences and turned their attention to him.
Dean, the biggest of the three brothers, frowned at Brand. “Biggest” being a relative term, of course. All the Wilson boys were built like bulldozers.
“What did you say, pretty boy?” Dean said, hiking his britches up over his belly.
“Go away,” Brand said again.
Dean advanced on Brand. “Why don't you try and make me, Hollywood.”
“Very well.”
Brand released Mr. Willis's arm and took Dean down hard and fast. One moment Dean stood in front of Brand, three hundred fifty pounds of hulking testosterone and bubba menace, and the next he was out like a light. Afterward, Addy could hardly say how it happened. The same could be said of Dean. He never saw it coming. Even with her new and improved vision, all Addy saw was a blur of movement followed by the solid, meaty sound of flesh on flesh, and Dean hit the ground.
Darryl and Del stared at their brother in shock, then threw themselves at Brand. Brand stepped in front of Mr. Willis. Grabbing Darryl and Del by the hair, he slammed their heads together and tossed them to the ground like a couple of rag dolls.
Darryl and Del groaned and rolled to a sitting position.
Brand towered over them. “Apologize to Adara and the old ones for your behavior.” Brand gave the unconscious Dean a scathing glance. “Your brother, I will excuse this once.”
Darryl and Del mumbled something that sounded like “sorry.”
Addy hurried over to the fallen brothers. “You boys all right?”
She checked Dean and was relieved to find him breathing.
Darryl held his head in his hands. “No, I think I got me a concussion. Shit, my head hurts. Jesus H. Christ, who is this guy, Addy?”
“You watch your language, Darryl Wilson, or I'll tell your mama,” Mr. Duffey said.
“Sorry,” Darryl muttered a little clearer.
Brand picked Addy up and set her down away from Darryl. “Do not touch the cur, Adara. I saw his thoughts. He wants to fornicate with you.” He pointed to Del. “This one also.”
Del squinted painfully at Brand. “Hate to break it to you, Mister, but anybody with a dick that don't bat for the other team will want to do her. She's a real hottie.” He dropped his head in his hands again. “No offense, Addy.”
“None taken, Del.”
“It offends me.” Brand gave Darryl and Del a death glare. “Adara is under my protection. Stay away from her, or the consequences will be most unpleasant. Do I make myself plain?”
Darryl and Del gaped at him.
“Answer me, louts,” Brand said. “Do you understand?”
They nodded.
“Good. Adara, we are leaving.”
Addy glared at him. “Way to mark your territory, dude. Next time, why don't you pee on me and be done with it?”
Brand ignored her and helped the two old men to Mr. Duffey's land yacht, an emerald-green 1976 Cadillac Fleetwood in mint condition.
Mr. Duffey gingerly lowered himself into the driver's seat and waited as Mr. Willis climbed in on the other side. The engine rumbled to life. He rolled down his window. “I like the way you handled yourself back there, young man,” he said to Brand. “All in all, this has been one peach of a funeral. Ain't had this much fun since the pigs ate my little brother.”
Mr. Willis stuck a bony arm out the passenger-side window and waved. “Me, neither.”
Mr. Duffey made a wide circle in the grass and motored off. Brand watched them leave with a puzzled expression.
Taking him by the hand, Addy led him over to the van. “The pigs didn't really eat his brother, Brand. He was being funny. Mr. Duffey has four sisters.”
“Yes,
now
that the swine has eaten—”
“
Ever
, Brand. He was an only son.”
“Humans are most strange. They rarely say what they mean, or mean what they say.”
“You can say that again.”
“Very well, although I do not see the point. Humans are most—”
She pushed him against the van and shushed him with her mouth. “That whole ‘I am warrior, hear me roar' thing you did back there got me going. You ever had sex in the back of a van, big guy?”
“No.”
“Ooh, a virgin. What say we pop your van cherry? I know a place down by the river that's cool and quiet. I can have my wicked way with you before we go back to the shop.”
He tugged her closer and nuzzled her neck. “I like your wicked way. Is popping a van cherry anything like hot monkey sex?”
“If you want to know, get in the van.”
By the time they got back to the shop it was close to one thirty. Evie was writing something down on an order pad while Ansgar slouched lazily on a nearby stool. He watched Evie as if she was the most fascinating creature in the world. Wow, poor Blondy had it bad. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Evie looked up. “ 'Bout time you two got back. I was getting worried. That must have been some funeral.”
Addy flashed her a smile. “Oh, you know how it is. These things always take longer than you expect.”
“You look flushed. You get overheated?”
“Noooo . . . Well, maybe a little.”
“Uh huh.”
Oh, God, Evie knew. Probably the multiorgasm glow on her face gave her away. She might as well have a neon sign on her forehead that blinked: A
TTENTION
. A
DDY GOT LAID
. She'd never look at that old van the same way again. She and Brand almost broke the back axel. It was the Van of the Sacred Hump, the Scream Machine, the Pink Passion Pit, a palace of love on four wheels.
Might as well brazen it out.
“Anything exciting happen at the shop while we were gone?” she asked.
A tell-tale blush crept up Evie's neck and spread to her cheeks. “Oh, you know, the usual.”
“The usual” her hind foot. Girlfriend and Blondy had been having sex, too.
“So, Brand,” Evie said brightly. “What did you think of your first Southern funeral?”
“Most enlightening. I found the sepulchral speeches a bit tedious, but the part at the end where the two females chased one another around the burial ground was quite interesting.”
Evie's eyes widened. “Who—”
“But, my favorite part was when Adara took me down to the river and popped my van cherry.”
Note to self: Explain the meaning of TMI to new boyfriend. If Evie had any doubts about what she and Brand had been doing, the Dalvahni blabber mouth dispelled them. Thank goodness it was only Blondy and Evie. Evie was her BFF and Blondy merely looked confused. Now, if Brand had said it in front of Mama that would be a different story. She'd get lecture number 238 from the Mama Handbook about the cow and the milk and giving it away for free, and how all things come to those who wait but she hadn't waited, so she'd get bupkis.
BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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