The Trials and Tribulations of Deputy Bessie Buemiller E-Book

J.R. Martin

• Herausgeber: BooxAi
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Deputy Bessie Buemiller is no ordinary deputy and her K-9 companion Max is no ordinary police dog. The Trials and Tribulations of Deputy Bessie Buemiller Volumes I&II take you on their many adventures. From chasing gang members, chasing moonshiners, chasing bank robbers, transporting prisoners and even dealing with the ghost of a VooDoo Queen, Bessie and Max are always into something. When they aren't busy keeping the residents of Hawksaw County, Texas, safe, the adventures don't stop. Frog farms, advice columns, flying planes to repossessing cars, there's no telling what they'll be up to, next.

Leseprobe

Jimmy Martin

The Trials and Tribulations

of Deputy Bessie Buemiller

All rights reserved

Copyright ©️ 2022 by J. R. Martin

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Published by BooxAi

ISBN: 978-965-577-934-9

THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF DEPUTY BESSIE BUEMILLER

VOL I&II

J.R. MARTIN

With tongue in cheek, we dedicate this book

To all lawmen with much

Appreciation for the work you do.

We Hope you get a good laugh from

Deputy Bessie Buemiller.

CONTENTS

Volume 1

Prologue

1. The Long Arm of the Law

2. There’s a Storm Brewing

3. Frog Farming

4. When life turns you upside down

5. I love Jesus, but I cuss a little

6. Back to School

7. The Car Repossession

8. The Birthday Bordello

9. The Wild Blue Yonder

10. Two dollars on Black

11. Bessie attends a funeral

12. Bessie acts as Choir Director

13. Dancing in the Streets

14. To Stun or not to Stun, that is the question

15. Bessie writes a column for the Newspaper

16. Bessie’s Encounter

17. Old Tyme Remedies

18. The Phone Conversation

19. Under Cover

20. Jingle Bells

21. The Rooster

22. Baby, it’s Cold Outside, 10-4

23. A Special Pair of Leggings

24. Zip Lining

25. Bessie does Paris

26. A Bird’s Eye View

27. Speed Dating

28. Bessie Makes the Headlines

29. Not all Nuts are in the Nut House

30. Let the Dead Bury the Dead

31. If You lie down with Dogs

32. Voodoo in a Louisiana Swamp

33. Disturbance at the Nursing Home

34. A Love Affair

Epilogue

Volume 2

Prologue

1. That’s no Bull

2. Bessie Encounters a Ghost

3. Bessie Rides the Rails

4. Bessie takes a Dip

5. Bessie sees the Light

6. Bessie meets Cryogenics

7. Bessie’s Drugstore Encounter

8. And then there was one

9. 10-10 and 10-16 in Progress

10. Man’s best friend

11. Christmas Night Duty

12. A Beard and a Trim, please

13. Kidnapping

14. An Under Cover Guy

15. “Bessie Attends a Wedding”

16. “Bessie gets a new assignment”

17. “Mother for a Day”

18. “It’s an Election Year”

19. “Alcohol and Bicycles”

20. “Sheriff Bessie for a day”

21. “The Governors Visit”

22. “Bessie and the Drone”

23. “Bessie goes duck hunting”

24. “A Ride with the Vigilantes”

25. “The Letter”

26. “The Will”

27. “Bessie Establishes a Shelter”

28. “Bessie Goes to Austin”

29. “Bessie meets Aal Habean”

30. “A letter from Paris”

31. “Bessie Throws a Party”

32. “Shaking Hands and Kissing Babies”

33. “Election Day”

VOLUMEONE

PROLOGUE

Before you begin reading ‘Bessie Buemiller’s ‘Trials and Tribulations,’ you must meet Bessie. Bessie is a deputy Sheriff for Hawkshaw County, Texas. She’s never been married and has had only a few boyfriends in her life. However, that doesn’t stop Bessie from liking men. As she says, “Hate men? Lordy no, I don’t hate men. They just somehow are intimidated by me. I don’t know why. Just because I could whip every deputy in this county if I wanted to, doesn’t mean I’m not sweet and loveable.”

Bessie was right about one thing, there wasn’t a man in the county who knew Bessie that didn’t know she was one tough broad, or at least that was the rumor.

Bessie likes to dress up with her bedazzled hat and dresses when she goes out for the night; She always has her Glock with her, but usually it’s strapped to her leg, or holstered away safely in her new leotards.

When told by the sheriff that when she was at work she had to be in Hawkshaw County Sheriff Department’s uniform, Bessie was very, very disappointed. As she told the sheriff, “Every old barn looks better with a little paint on it.”

So, she bedazzles her uniform any time she gets the chance, often telling the sheriff that some glitter spilled out and she accidentally sat down in it. If the sheriff doesn’t believe Bessie, he is gentleman enough not to tell her.

This is just a snippet about Bessie’s life. She’s a very good woman, which she often laments if that is really such a ‘good’ thing. She feels she misses a lot of good times by having such a glowing reputation. But all in all, Bessie lives a very exciting life. A life she’d love to share with a man, but she is reconciled to the fact that that will never happen, so she goes about living her life as only Bessie Buemiller can.

Thanks for dropping in and we hope you enjoy your journey as you ride along with Deputy Sheriff, Bessie Buemiller as she endures her many ‘Trials and Tribulations’.

CHAPTERONE

THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW

“Hello, my name is Bessie Buemiller. I’m so glad to meet you. Come right on in and have a seat over there on that lovely couch of mine. Don’t worry about the plastic, I just put it on to keep those neighbor kids' feet from dirtying it up. Works good too, if you happen to spill something, but never mind that, just relax. I understand you want to know a little about me? I can’t imagine anyone working for Channel 21 cares enough about my boring life to want to know more, but I’m happy to share it with you. What were some of the questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Have you ever been married, Ms. Buemiller?”

“Well, no, I haven’t. I’ve been shopping for a long time, but so far no one special has come along. I really don’t know why. I mean, I look as good as the next old barn does, but somehow I just guess men don’t like my forwardness.”

“Your forwardness, Ms. Buemiller?”

“Yeah, you know, if their feet stink, I tell them they do. If they have nose hairs, I point that out. That sort of thing.”

“Oh, I see. So you are plain spoken?”

“Well, I guess you could say that. But I feel honesty is always the best policy, don’t you? Well, let me rephrase that, honesty is the best policy unless you are a politician, in which case lying seems to be the norm.”

“Sometimes tact is appropriate, don’t you think, Ms. Buemiller? Maybe temper the truth with just a little sugar?”

“Too much sugar gives tooth decay, and tack is something you put on a horse. So, no, I don’t much believe in tack or sugar coating.”

“No, I mean perhaps not be so blunt. You know, temper your words just a little.”

“Oh, you mean be a little two faced. Well, yes, I can certainly do that, although it definitely goes against the grain.”

“I feel I’m not asking you the right questions, Ms. Buemiller. So, let’s skip all the small talk and get right to the question everyone really wants to know about you, and that’s how you solved the biggest mystery this county has ever seen?”

“Well, Ms. Sanders, that is right, your name is Sanders?”

“Yes, Ms. Buemiller, that is correct.”

“Well, Ms. Sanders, I’m just lucky at poking around in places and things that most people just ignore. Some call it being noisy; I call it just being a very good detective. I went down to the river where that young girl’s body was found and searched the river banks, and underneath a brush pile way back in the shallow water I saw a red bandanna. Now to many that would have appeared as having blown off someone’s head while fishing or boating, but my natural curiosity just wouldn’t let me assume any such thing. I waded out in the water and retrieved the bandana. I brought it in to the forensic lab and ran a DNA on it. Even though it had been in the water, they were able to identify the missing girl’s boyfriend as having had the bandana on at some point in time. From there I secured his home address and I paid him a call. Seems he did indeed know the young woman that went missing. However, they had broken up and she had moved to Atlantic City. Apparently, she’s a shrewd card player. That’s when I decided to make a trip to Atlantic City.”

“Did you inform the police, Ms. Buemiller?”

“What’s to inform? I told them where the boyfriend lived, but I had no proof of where the girl was until I made that trip. So, no, I didn’t tell them about her.”

“But, if she was in Atlantic City, then how did she get back here and someone kill her and dump her body in the river?”

“That’s why I’m the detective, Ms. Sanders, and you are the reporter.”

“Point taken, Ms. Buemiller.”

“Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I was talking about making that trip to Atlantic City. Atlantic City offers many temptations to a lesser person. I mean, there’s gambling and night calling, and almost anything a sinful person can conjure up, but, for me, it was just a minor distraction. I got off the plane and made straightway to my hotel. Once inside, the bright lights made it look like it was daylight and the place was packed. I looked around and decided to go on to my room for the rest of the night. I was tired and tomorrow I would start the search for Caroline Benedict. That was her name, you know.”

“I only know because the police reported her name when they found her body. Please continue, Ms. Buemiller.”

“Early the next morning I went downstairs and began my search for Caroline Benedict at the obvious place. I went to the Human Resource department and enquired as to whether she had ever worked here at this hotel. They told me that one of her friends still worked here. His name was Evert Hemmings. And he was the cook in one of the restaurants. I got the times of his shift and proceeded down to the kitchen of the “Arms Regency” Restaurant. Evert Hemmings was supposed to be there working this day. When I told the cashier I needed to speak to Mr. Hemmings, she asked me to have a seat and she would go and get him. I was a little taken back when this big burly man came out to the front and introduced himself as Evert Hemmings. I don’t know what I expected, maybe a teenager or someone else, certainly not this big, handsome hunk of a man that was standing in front of me. I told him who I was and that I was looking for Caroline Benedict and asked him if he knew her. He said he did and we sat talking for almost an hour. During the conversation he said he felt sorry for Caroline because she was so young and so far from home. He even said he’d suggested she return home just the day before and she said she would consider it. I got her address from him, and to my surprise, he told me he would take me to her place. Saying I didn’t want to take him away from his work, he told me he had some time off coming and he would love to help me try and get Caroline home. To my shock, when we walked out into the alley behind the hotel, Evert pointed to a big Harley chained to a dumpster and said, ‘I’m sorry, Ms. Buemiller, but this is my mode of transportation. If you’d rather, I’ll call you a cab.’”

I smiled my most demure smile and said, “Crank her up, honey, and let’s blow this joint.”

He replied with the roar that is unique to a Harley Davidson motor, and quicker than you could slap a fly, I hauled my fat butt on behind him. I counted it pure joy to wrap my arm around this handsome hunk as we blasted down the alley and onto the street.

Now, I know I did look a sight riding that big hog with my skirt pulled up to my thighs and my hose rolled down below my knees, holding on to my hat with one hand. I’ll give you a moment to get that visual. But Evert didn’t seem to mind and I was smiling so broadly I had to scrap the bugs off my teeth once we stopped.

Stepping ahead of me, Evert knocked on the door of Caroline Benedict’s flat. He knocked again, but this time much harder.

An elderly man poked his head around the corner of the house and said, “If you’re looking for Ms. Benedict, she’s gone back home. She left late yesterday afternoon.”

It was hard to tell which one of us, Evert or myself, was the most surprised. However, we were glad she had gone home. Evert asked, “Did she leave alone?”

The old man looked warily at him and said, “I wouldn’t know that, sonny.”

I butted into their conversation and asked the man, “Do you know any of her friends that we might be able to talk to?”

“Look, lady, I’m not the Gestapo, Ms. Benedict’s friends is her business not mine,” the old man said with his one good eye looking at me and his other eye staring off in the opposite direction. That gave a whole new definition to seeing things from two different points of view. The snuff he had in his mouth was oozing out the corners, making it look as if he had no teeth.

“Well, of course you wouldn’t,” I said. What I thought I won’t repeat.

“So you see, Ms. Sanders, I can keep my mouth shut on occasion. I do admit, it’s seldom, but I can when I choose to. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, we were going to see if we could find someone that had seen Caroline leave. Her neighbor across the hall had been eaves dropping to the entire conversation we had with the old man. When he left, she stepped forward and said, ‘Last night there was a man with her. He helped her carry her bags outside and called a cab for her.’”

“Had you seen him here before?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, he hung around all the time. I guess it was her boyfriend,” the neighbor volunteered. “Do you mean he lived here with Caroline?” I asked.

“Might as well have,” the neighbor said, “he seldom was not here. Even when she went off to work, he would hang around.”

“Do you think drugs were involved?” I pushed for an answer.

“I wouldn’t know about that. I just know a lot of people came and went,” the nosey neighbor said.

I reached for the door knob on the apartment’s door, and to my surprise, it was unlocked. Without asking permission from anyone, I went inside, followed by Evert and the neighbor.

Lordy, what a mess, dirty dishes in the sink, beds unmade, cigarettes butts strewn all over the place. This place was in serious need of a cleaning. Turning to Evert, I asked, “Who lived here, a bunch of pigs?”

To which he replied, “It’s always dirty.”

“No kidding Sherlock, guess they’ve never heard of ‘cleanliness is next to Godliness.’”

“Aw, she’s just a kid Ms. Buemiller.”

“A kid who needs her butt kicked, obviously. This place shows signs of more than one person having lived here.”

“Yeah, I’d say they were doing and selling drugs,” Evert said. “I’d say you’re right, ‘King o Sabee’.”

I opened the closet door just to see if maybe she left something in there that might tell us how she got home, whether by bus, train or thumb. But nothing offered any suggestions, just more dirt and filth.

Looking around the dilapidated room overcome with dirt and debris, I made my decision. I looked at Evert and said, “If you’ll be so kind as to get me back to my hotel, I’ll be making reservations to get home to Texas just as soon as I can. If she’s indeed gone home, that’s where I’ll find her.”

Evert nodded his agreement and we left the snooping neighbor staring after us as we roared away on the Harley. I’m sure she was overcome with jealousy when she saw me put my arm around handsome Evert and grab my hat with the other hand as I waved farewell.

“If she thought that was a sight, she should have seen me when I had on my red boost-tee-aye, which I normally wear when I go bike riding. Too bad, she missed that beautiful sight, as well as you, Ms. Sanders.”

“Oh, me too, Ms. Buemiller, but I can just see it in my mind’s eye,” the reporter replied.

* * *

“I was so glad to be back home in Texas. I announced to anyone that might remotely care. When you live alone and make all of your decisions, good or bad, you learn not to really care what anyone else thinks. Truth, nobody really cares, but me anyway. Everyone else is running around trying to cover up their own poop piles of mistakes.”

“I poured a cup of coffee, added the milk and sat down at the table, and stared out the window. What became of Caroline Benedict after she got back home, here in Texas? Had one of her drug cronies followed her back and then killed her? Why had she suddenly decided to come back home? I thought. All these things went through my mind as I tried to logically, methodically go through the evidence.”

“Please continue, Ms. Buemiller.”

“You can imagine my shock when I heard a body was found in the river and it was that of Caroline Benedict. Stunned, I was stunned. This sweet child had lived through the perils of Atlantic City only to come home and be murdered. Oh, they were suggesting it could have been other things, like suicide, etc. But I knew it was murder. I decided then and there I would talk to her old boyfriend again. The one I had found through the DNA evidence on the bandanna I’d found. Once again I knocked on Mitch Fallon’s door. That was his name, Mitch Fallon. He answered the door and couldn’t hide the look of surprise on his face to see me again.”

I said, “Hello, Mr. Fallon. It’s good to see you again.”

“Indeed, Ms. Buemiller,” he replied as I pushed my way in the door, as he was saying, “won’t you come in?”

* * *

Our conversation went as follows:

Me: “Mr. Fallon, did you know that Caroline Benedict came home?” Him: “Not until I heard of her murder.”

Me: “Now, you want me to believe you not only didn’t know she had returned home, but you didn’t know she was dead?”

Him: “Not until you told me and I saw it on T. V. I didn’t know. I co-operated with you and even told you where she had gone and where she worked. If I’d have killed her, do you think I would have co-operated with you in trying to find out what happened?”

Me: “I think when I confronted you with the bandanna, you knew that I knew it belonged to you. And because I knew you knew you told me what you hoped would throw me off the trail of what really went on between you and Caroline Benedict.”

Him: “Huhhhh?”

Me: “Don’t play dumb with me, young man.”

Him: “But, Ms. Buemiller, it seems as if you are double talking trying to confuse me.” Me: “Who?”

Him: “You.”

Me: “You who, young man, that sounds like yodeling to me.”

Him: “Please, Ms. Buemiller, I loved Caroline. There’s no way I wanted her dead. Yes, we broke up before she went up to Atlantic City. I told you that, but I promise I didn’t kill her.”

Me: “O.k., let’s say I believe you. Did Caroline have enemies here that might have done such a terrible thing?”

Him: “None that I knew about.”

Me: “Now, Mitch, you mean to tell me you didn’t know Caroline was into drugs? Don’t insult me that way.”

Him: “Yeah, I knew she would run a line every now and again and smoke a little pot, but I didn’t ever know or think she was a druggy.”

Me: “So what you’re telling me is ‘she ran a line every now and then and smoked a little pot, but you saw no problem with that. Is that REALLY what you are telling me?”

Him: “Yes, Ma’am.”

Me: “I should just slap the living sh-- out of you and your lying mouth, Mitch Fallon. You are the one that supplied her with the drugs and you are the one that is the dope dealer.”

Him: “Oh, no. Not true, Ms. Buemiller. Not true.”

Me: I grabbed him in his collar and got right in his face with my garlic breath and said, “How’d you like a ride with a ticket to nowhere, you dumb idiot? I knew the answer before I ever asked you a question.”

“Let me tell you how it went down. When she was in Atlantic City, you found out she was whoring around with any man that wanted to party. You made up a sob story to tell her to come home. I don’t know what it was, but I’ll find out soon enough. She fell for your sob, sob and told you she was coming home that very night.”

“You went to the airport to pick her up and soon the two of you were right back doing what you were doing when she left. Snorting cocaine and smoking joints and chasing all that down with booze. How am I doing so far, Romeo?”

Him: “I swear, Ms. Buemiller. I didn’t kill Caroline.”

Me: “Oh, Ms. Buemiller, poor, poor me. I am the victim here. It was the girl’s fault. She made me do it. Sob, sob, sob. Save it for the police looser.”

“He made no response instead went gladly with the police when they got there. I think he’d said anything to have gotten rid of me.”

“But, Ms. Buemiller, how’d you really know he was her murderer?”

“It’s very simple, Ms. Sanders, I’ve been around a long time and human nature never changes, it just puts on a new dress or pair of pants. When Mitch Fallon saw that Caroline was making it on her own, jealousy took over. He’d rather see her dead than with another man. So he lured her back home and killed her. “If he couldn’t have her, neither could anyone else. It’s a motive as old as the hills themselves.”

“Thank you, Ms. Buemiller, for your taking the time to inform Channel 21 and this city what really happened in the case of ‘The Missing Girl’.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, Ms. Sanders. You are most welcome. Just be sure your camera man gets my picture from the left side. That’s my best side, not that I really have a bad side, but you know what I mean— ”

CHAPTERTWO

THERE’S A STORM BREWING

Bessie Buemiller turned her back on the chicken coop and shook her head in disbelief. She said aloud to all the chickens that cared to listen, “I don’t know why you all are so tall and skinny. I feed you every day the grain the cows eat. You should be plump and well endowed. Instead, you’re skinny and as tough as an old boot to try and eat. What’s wrong with ya’ll? I actually think I could enter you in a race and you’d outrun anything, including the horses. You are not the fastest gun in the west, but you certainly are the fastest chickens.”

Bessie concluded her chicken tirade and walked back in the house. Her old friend and buddy Bill was finishing up his coffee. Bessie turned to him, hands on hips, and said, “I’d like to know what in tarn nations is wrong with those chickens, Bill. They are fast as greased lightning, but so tough you can’t eat them. They are tall and skinny, not plump and filled out.”

Bill slowly set his cup down and looked at Bessie across the table.

“Bessie,” he said, “I’ve told you over and over. Get the chickens some chicken feed. Stay the hell out of the cow feed. That cow feed is high in protein for dairy cows so they give more milk. The last I heard, chickens laid eggs. You’re giving them too much protein, they are all muscle.”

“Oh,” was all Bessie said as she watched Bill get up from the table and walk out the front door.

The cow feed is cheaper since it’s already here. She thought, but guess I’d better see about getting real chicken feed if I’m going to have laying chickens instead of fast chickens. If I’m not careful, they are going the way of my honey bees.

Bessie sighed and began thinking about her honey bees. She had so wanted to be a bee keeper. She remembered well, the day the post office called and asked her to come right away and pick up her shipment of bees. Seemed the entire postal staff was a little uneasy to have all those buzzing bees cooped up in the Post Master’s office. He could have been a little kinder when he called her the second time and said, “Bessie Buemiller, if you don’t come get these damn bees, I’m going to kill them all and then you’ll be next.”

She even entertained filing charges on him for threatening her life. But she chose instead simply to go get the bees.

When she got home with them, she went inside and donned her bee keeping gear, hat, gloves, everything, and put the bees quickly and safely into the bee hives she had purchased for them.

It was music to her ears to hear them buzzing and beauty to her eyes to see them coming and going, working hard to do as the Queen Bee instructed. Bessie could almost taste that delicious honey on some hot biscuits with butter.

One can only imagine her surprise when she went out about a week later and not a bee was in sight. No buzzing, no flying, no bees.

She went in the house and called the company she had bought the bees from and explained her plight. Total shock came over her when they told her what probably had happened.

“Sometimes,” the voice on the other end of the telephone said, “a Queen Bee will leave the hive, and when that happens, all the worker bees will follow her. There might be another bee hive across the way and maybe she ran off to that hive.”

When Bernice, Bessie’s best friend, stopped in that afternoon for a cup of tea, you can imagine her surprise to find Bessie bawling her eyes out. Rushing to Bessie’s side she pleaded, “What’s wrong, Bessie, has someone died?”

“No one’s dead, Bernice, but my Queen Bee’s a whore. She’s run off to another bee hive.”

If Bessie could have seen Bernice’s belly shaking from laughter, she’d never spoken to her again. Instead, Bernice simply said, “There, there, Bessie. You still have your frog farm.”

CHAPTERFOUR

WHEN LIFE TURNS YOU UPSIDE DOWN

Bessie slowly unwrapped the big box. Then she peeped inside and pulled out the directions. They said in big, bold letters, ‘DO NOT USE INVERSION TABLE TILL YOU HAVE READ ALL DIRECTIONS’.

“Well duh,” Bessie thought. “Why would anyone not read directions about a contraption they have never had dealings with before?”

But Bessie understood that some people just think they knew all there was to know about any given subject, so she, model like, sat and read all the directions, cover to back.

Bessie’s good friend Dustin stopped in to just say hello. He was a fellow Deputy Sheriff and a member of SWAT. Bessie always enjoyed his visits.

When Dustin saw Bessie had a new toy, he asked her if she’d like for him to put it together for her. Thinking that was probably a very good idea, she said “yes”.

Dustin spread all the parts out on the living room floor and methodically started matching up the parts, what went where and how to assemble them. In about thirty minutes Bessie had an inversion table that worked.

Dustin looked at Bessie and asked, “Where do you want me to put this so it will be easy for you to get on and off?”

Bessie thought for a moment and then said, “Let’s put it in my big closet. I’ve got room for it in there and I sort of like just setting in that chandeliered closet and thinking.”

Dustin picked up the light machine and walked to Bessie’s beautiful closet. He laughed out loud and said, “This closet is bigger than my apartment.”

“It’s pretty big alright,” Bessie agreed.

“Now, Bessie, I want to tell you something about this inversion table. It will work great and help your spine and the alignment of your entire body. But you have to be careful. You see this body balancing bar that supposed to be set to your proper height?” He looked at Bessie and waited for her answer.

“Yes, I see it,” Bessie said. She was a little irritated that he thought she was so dense she didn’t understand the instructions.

Dustin continued his lesson, “Bessie, do not change any of these settings. I have them all exactly where they need to be for you. This machine is safe for you to use now. But you call me if they need changing, any of them. I’ll be glad to do it for you and Bessie...”

Bessie nodded ‘yes’.

“Put your telephone right here on this Chaise Lounge so you can reach it to call someone if you ever get hung and can’t get back up.”

Bessie burst out laughing. That was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Of course, she wasn’t going to get hung upside down. The instructions plainly told you how to get upright by using the arms properly. Shhhssshhhshsh, she wasn’t going to get hung. She informed Dustin of that.

“I know, Bessie, but I’m telling you a lot of people do because they don’t follow instructions. I just want you to be sure you understand.”

“Of course I understand, you forget, I’m a lawman too. I understand the importance of reading instructions.”

“Alright then, you’re all set. Let me know how you do, will you? Call me up occasionally,” Dustin said as he turned to leave.

“Oh, sure will, Dusty. Thanks for all your help,” Bessie said as she climbed on the machine.

She buckled in her feet so she couldn’t fall. Locked them in place and slowly raised her arms above her head. Down, down she went until she was at about 60 degrees angle. Dustin had put a shackle on the machine so that it couldn’t go back any further. That was fine with Bessie. A 60 degree angle seemed just right to her.

The directions had said to stay inverted 3-4 minutes and then to bring your arms upright to your waist and the table would stand you back up. Bessie did as instructed and soon she was unbuckling her shoes thinking, “I do believe that’s helped my neck.”

* * *

The phone rang and it was another friend and Bessie could hardly wait to tell her about the inversion table. The friend thought that was a great idea but proceeded to warn Bessie about getting hung upside down and cautioned her to always have her phone near.

Bessie just smiled when she hung up and thought, gees, they all must think I’m a dumbass not to remember to have my phone near just in case I get stuck upside down. Then she laughed a hearty laugh and set about to do her laundry.

* * *

A week had passed since the first inversion on her newly acquired step toward a more healthy life. Bessie felt the twinge in her lower back and thought, time for me to get on my table and work this kink out.

She walked to the closet and over to the inversion table. Remembering everything that Dustin had told her except one thing. He had said, “Bessie, do not make any changes to this table. Call me and I will come and make them for you.”

Bessie thought, I think I have shrunk, I used to be 5’6” tall, but as you age you get shorter, in fact, I think I’m a lot shorter. I’m going to set this at 5’3”. She pulled out the pin and made the change.

She climbed onto the machine, locked her ankles securely in place, realizing that’s what held her firmly and kept her body in a straight line. The inversion stop Dustin had placed on the machineworked just fine last time, so she saw no reason to change that. Sixty degrees worked great the first time.

Slowly she lifted her arms above her head and slowly her head descended toward the floor. When it angled at 60 degrees, the table stopped. Bessie could feel her spine as it straightened out. There was no doubt this table had been a positive investment into her health and well-being.

As she lay there, she looked up at the beautiful chandelier that hung in the middle of the room and thought that needs a tad of dusting. I’ll do that as soon as I get up. Then she noticed the dust on the floor and thought, I’ll sweep too. I didn’t realize this floor was so dusty. It’s amazing what being upside down brings to attention.

She continued to look around the room and then she decided it had been at least four minutes and it was time to get up.

Bessie first raised her right arm upward to lay it down on her tummy and then slowly raised the left arm doing the very same thing. Nothing happened. She was still inverted. In fact, the table didn’t budge.

“What the hell,” Bessie said aloud. Then she put her arms above her head, brought them to her waist and waited. Nothing.

Then she caught the bar in the middle of the machine, one hand on either side, and pulled with all her might while willing her legs to go down. Nothing happened. She could raise her head but didn’t have the strength to pull all her bodyweight upward.

“Oh shit, this is what everyone warned me about,” Bessie thought. Then she picked up that wonderful phone and called her good friend, Sherri. Sherri was always there, she owned a beauty salon and she would send help. No answer, the phone rang and rang.

She must be with a client, shit. I’ll try my other friend, Lainey. Lainey has babies, she’ll be at home. The phone rang and rang, and then in desperation Bessie tried to type out a text to Lainey. But, unfortunately, you can’t wear your readers when you’re upside down because they will fall off.

Now what to do? Panic had started to raise its ugly head. Calm down, Bessie warned her brain.

Then she thought, my ankles are starting to hurt, I wonder if I could get out of these shoes and somehow straddle this machine and get up.

Fortunately, common sense took over and said, “Of course not you idiot, you are upside down. You will fall on your stupid head.”

Well, I can call Dustin because he works nights, but he will tell all the other SWAT members and they will laugh their asses off at me. No, I’m calling my friend John. By this time of day he’s usually 100 miles away from home, but maybe he will think of someone to send to help me.

Hopefully, someone who won’t tell.

Surprisingly, John answered the phone. Bessie said, “Oh, John, I’m stuck upside down on this damn inversion table, can you send someone to come help me? Be sure whoever it is, is not a blabber mouth.”

John replied, “I’m home today, Bessie, I’ll be right down.”

When John walked in, he asked, “What do you want me to do, Bessie?”

Bessie answered, “Push down on my feet so I will come upright.”

He did and soon Bessie was standing upright on the floor, out of that machine. John said, “What did you do different this time, Bessie.”

“Well, I adjusted the body bar to a different height. I thought I had shrunk.”

“That’s what happened, Bessie, you unbalanced the machine. You got to read the directions.”

“Did you try to call someone?”

“Call someone? I tried to call EVERYONE. I called your wife first because I thought she’d be home at this time of day. Then I called Sherri and she didn’t answer.”

“Let me see your phone, Bessie. Well, first of all, you didn’t call Sherri, you called Shawn the name right in under hers.”

“Well, what did you expect? I didn’t have my readers on. But he didn’t answer either.”

“I’d suggest you never get on this machine unless someone is here with you are someone knows you are getting on it,” John said.

Bessie could tell he was just trying to be helpful, but she saw his belly shaking from laughter.

Bessie replied, “Don’t worry; I’m not getting back on that devil possessed machine anytime soon.”

CHAPTERFIVE

I LOVE JESUS, BUT I CUSS A LITTLE

The day was bright and sunny, and Bessie was excited that she had invited a few friends over and they were going to have a ‘forties’ party. Lots of Glen Miller songs and the big band sound. Songs that were popular during World War II and all the wonderful sounds that memory of that time in the past would afford.

She wanted the party to resemble a Supper Club. Bessie wanted the old time forties supper club, where the Jitterbug and the Charleston intermingled with the sounds of ‘In the Mood.’ She only had to decide what beverage she wanted to serve.

The invitation had said cocktails at 6:30. The only thing wrong with that was Bessie didn’t know what she was going to make for the cocktails. As strange as it may seem, Bessie didn’t partake very much of the hard liquor. I believe it was because she didn’t trust herself. She had enough difficulties staying out of trouble when everything was running smooth and sober.

This party, however, was going to be one to remember, so she was going to go to the liquor store and decide, with professional help from the liquor store owner, what she should serve.

She got dressed and headed out to the nearest establishment that sold liquor. She liked the old man that ran the store, he was always helpful and he always had time to talk to Bessie. This day was no different.

Bessie went in and told the owner what kind of party she was having, and then she told him she had heard a lot about the cinnamon bourbon.

“Fireball,” the owner said, “Fireball is a very good drink.”

“Really, well I’ve never tasted it, so I wouldn’t know. I guess I’ll take your word for it. What do I mix with it to make a cocktail?” Bessie asked, eager to learn.

“You can drink it straight and chase it with beer, or you can mix in some cherry juice and finish it off with ginger ale. What sounds good?” the owner asked Bessie.

“I told you, I don’t know. I’m going to have to leave that decision up to you.”

“No, no, come, come less have some samples,” the owner said as he pulled out a bottle of Fireball and poured some in two glasses. Then he added a little cherry juice and finished filling the small glasses with ginger ale. As he handed a glass to Bessie, he smiled and said, “Bottoms up.”

“Bottoms up,” Bessie replied.

The morning went by pretty fast, what with all the sampling the two of them did. And by the time Bessie decided what she was going to serve, she was feeling no pain, and the more seasoned owner just smiled as he called his son from the back and suggested he drive Ms. Buemiller home.

Bessie looked down at the t-shirt she had on and giggled with the realization. It said, ‘I love Jesus, but I cuss a little’.

I bet all those patrons that went through that liquor store that morning had one heck of a laugh about the old woman and her shirt and the owner providing the liquor as they sampled what was going to be served at the Supper Club Saturday night when they had that forties party.

To herself Bessie said the shirt should have read, “I love Jesus, but I drink a little.”

What should have happened is Bessie Buemiller should have paid a little more attention to what attire she had on when she went to sample some cocktail recipes that morning.

Well, Saturday night came, and everyone invited attended and they danced and ate and enjoyed the Fireball cocktails Bessie so generously served.

The owner of the liquor store was most happy to assist Ms. Buemiller in the selection of a beverage for her party and he was very cordial when he asked her to please come back anytime, he would be happy to let her sample the whiskeys or the liqueurs, or whatever that last mixture was.

Bessie assured him she would do that very thing. He could bet on it.

CHAPTERSIX

BACK TO SCHOOL

Bessie’s brother, Bud Buemiller, had a dairy farm. Now Bessie really never had liked farming of any kind and to have to milk twice a day, three hundred and sixty five days a year sounded like a little much to Bessie.

But Bessie loved her brother, so when he suggested Bessie learn how to artificially inseminated cattle so she could breed his dairy cows to exotic breeds and have wonderful calves, Bessie listened. Especially since he offered her half the money the calves sold for.

So, Bessie went to AI school and learned to breed cows. The twenty five mile journey to the school was no big deal, but Bessie doubted her decision when she walked in the classroom with twenty five all male students.

She thought it wonderful to be surrounded with that many males that couldn’t get away from her, but she found the lessons a little embarrassing for mixed company. After all, Bessie was ‘Old School’, at least to some small degree.

At the end of the classes Bessie got her certificate just like all the others and she was officially an Artificial Inseminator of cattle. She went right to her brother’s dairy and hung the certificate on the wall.

During the next nine months Bessie Artificial inseminated several breeds of cattle, Simmental, Marchigina, Chianina, Romagnola, Maine –Anjou and several other exotic breeds. Now, you have to keep in mind, on Bessie’s brother’s dairy she was the only one that knew what the dairy cows were bred to. Her brother had no idea because he had Bessie to do that, so he left all the paper work up to her.

A bank in a nearby town had loaned Bessie’s brother the money to buy the herd of dairy cows along with the equipment needed. It was backed by a government subsidy of sorts and was on a demand note. Bud Buemiller thought he was fine with everyone since he had never missed a payment. But, as Bessie told him in a raised voice, “You don’t ever trust anyone when it comes to money, Bud. Never.”

Somehow, the bank foreclosed on Bud. They rolled in one day and shut him down and confiscated all the paper work as well. They told Bud they’d be back the next day to collect the rest of the collateral.

All the wet backs working for Bud vanished. It was like a vapor of smoke when they saw the sheriff’s cars; they just whooooof and they were gone. But that’s not what made Bessie mad. What made her angry was that she knew there was a crook in the wood pile. Someone had seen the opportunity to call the note, seize the assets and make money from the sale of the cattle, equipment, and oh yes, those exotic calves.

After things calmed down later that night, Bessie went to Bud and told him, “Bud, I’m sorry this has happened to you, but this is what I want you to do, when they come to you for the breeding dates, you send them right on to me. You don’t know what the dates are, only I know, so let’s see how that hand plays out.”

Well, sure enough, the next day the bank’s henchmen came back. The first thing they asked Bud was, “Buemiller, we need the breeding dates and information on those dairy cows.” To which Bud replied, “I don’t know where they are or what they are. Bessie, my sister, did all the breeding, she’s the only one that knows.”

“Well, we will go ask her then,” they replied.

Bud smiled to himself and thought, yeah, you go do that. But he said, “That’s what you will have to do cause I don’t know.”

Bessie’s doorbell rang and she answered. Standing at her door was the sheriff and one of the banker’s flunkeys who said, “Ms. Buemiller, your brother says you’re the only one that knows the breeding dates and records of those dairy cows, is that correct?”

Bessie nodded her head and said, “Yep.”

“Ms. Buemiller, we need you to turn those over to us.” Bessie looked him square in the eye and answered, “Nope.”

“What do you mean, Ms. Buemiller? Do you know you can get in all kinds of trouble for not releasing them?”

“Doesn’t matter. You are not getting those records. I don’t even know where they are.”

“Of course, you know. We will be back tomorrow with a subpoena.”

“For who? The cows?” Bessie laughed and slammed the door shut in their faces.

After things quieted down and night shades started to fall, Bessie made her way to the bottom. That’s what her brother called the lower pasture located about a ¼ of a mile from the dairy.

It was a moonlit night and Bessie could see pretty good without a flashlight, but she turned it on anyway just to be sure she didn’t step in any cow piles or stumble over something. She got a shovel out of the back of the truck and took a box from the front seat.