Bubba and the Dead Guy

By C.L. Bevill

Bubba is on a beach vacation with Willodean and baby Gray when what happens? A dead body, of course. Then things really get chaotic. Bubba won the vacation in a radio giveaway but it’s not exactly free. The town wants a piece of Bubba. The locals want a piece of Bubba. The local police force wants a piece of Bubba. What’s a Bubba to do? Book 11 of the Bubba Mystery series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.L. Bevill
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215080108

C.L. Bevill

C.L. Bevill is the author of several books including Bubba and the Dead Woman, Bubba and the 12 Deadly Days of Christmas, Bubba and the Missing Woman, Bayou Moon, The Flight of the Scarlet Tanager, Veiled Eyes, Disembodied Bones, and Shadow People. She is currently at work on her latest literary masterpiece.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Saturday

Bubba and the Bountiful

Beach Happening

What a glorious day at the beach, Bubba Snoddy thought because that was the kind of thing one was apt to think when they were having a glorious day at the beach. Sun , sand, blue waters, and the cherry on top is Willodean in a bikini and baby Gray gurgling happily in her arms. Life is good. He looked fondly over his shoulder at his wife and child.

It was like the sun suddenly came out to shine specifically upon his beauteous spouse. (In fact, a meager cloud had blocked her until that very moment and then parted resplendently and serendipitously to reveal his lovely significant other.) The giant orb of nearly perfect hot plasma heated to incandescence by nuclear fusion, ignited its core and radiated visible light out into all directions but chiefly in the direction of one Willodean Snoddy née Gray. That helpful star that was the principal in powering the solar system and was, in fact, the solar part of the solar system, shone on her black hair, revealing that it was inky perfection and the color of the 1966 Chrysler Imperial Crown from The Green Hornet. Her lips were the luscious red of the 1975 Ford Gran Torino from Starsky and Hutch. (Not the white striped parts, obviously.) Her eyes were the green section of the 1963 Ford Econoline Custom Van from Scooby Doo, Where are You! (Also, the light shone brightly on Gray’s white hat-covered, much-smaller head which matched the color of the 1959 Cadillac Miller-Meteor Sentinel ambulance in Ghostbusters.) (Does it really need to be said that it was the 1984 Ghostbusters and not the 2016 one?) (Bubba would have likened Gray’s pink skin to a movie or television vehicle, but nothing in that color was springing into his head.)

Not only was Willodean a vision of feminine perfection, but she was also a Pegram County Sheriff’s Deputy and could effortlessly shoot the wart off a witch’s nose at a hundred yards, quite possibly leaving the witch in a bad mood or possibly a good mood if she had been searching for a good dermatologist. And did he need to mention that Willodean was the sweetest, most wonderful woman that a fella could ask for? (Although it was true that she was mildly irritable without coffee first thing in the morning, and it was also true that she could burn boiling water, but those trifling details were hardly worth mentioning.) Most importantly, Bubba was married to that astonishing revelation of womanly excellence. The very idea made him sigh with pleasure. He was a lucky, lucky man, and life was good.

But that wasn’t all. Nosireebob! There was also the fact that they were the proud parents of one Gray Nathanial Snoddy. At eight months old, eighteen pounds in weight, and thirty inches of length, he was the epitome of Snoddy perfection. Clever, crawling, and ready for action were Gray’s mantras. His grandmother, the inimitable Miz Demetrice Snoddy, the matriarch of the Snoddy family and fortunes (hahaha, fortunes, what fortunes?) doted on her only grandchild in the way that only a demented grandmother could. In actuality Gray had both of his grannies wrapped around his pinkie finger, but that went without saying. (Oh heck, Bubba could say it. Gray had both Miz Demetrice and Celestine Gray, Willodean’s police sergeant mother, whupped like an old hound dog laying in a patch of the warmest sunlight.)

Finally, there was the beach vacation. Not just any old beach vacay, but an honest to gosh real, fancy-dancy BEACH VACATION! It was just off season, but it had been a highlight in Bubba’s recent days that not only had he won a free vacation, but a free vacation from a contest he couldn’t even remember entering. When he’d been called initially by the radio-station proprietor to tell him of his win, Bubba had thought it was a hoax. However, airplane vouchers and a hotel voucher had been overnighted to his address, and he’d called both businesses to ensure it wasn’t some type of complicated phishing scam. It was not, but the vacation had to be taken straightaway. The dates were not flexible, but Bubba was flexible. So was Willodean courtesy of her boss, the unrivalled Sheriff John Headrick who was the sheriff of Pegram County, Texas. Needless to say, Baby Gray was definitely easy to please and extraordinarily flexible as long as he had his favorite binkie in his immediate possession.

Willodean was overjoyed because neither of them had been on an official vacation for years. Furthermore, the vacation was located in Sunny Sands, Texas, the Redneck Riviera of the Gulf Coast. The resort was the Hotel Madera Flotante, a beautifully renovated antique mansion dating from the 1930s. The business had overwhelmingly glowing Yelp reviews. (Willodean had to explain what Yelp was to Bubba because he initially thought it was the noise his beloved Basset Hound, Precious, made when he accidentally stepped on her tail. Turns out that wasn’t quite true; Bubba was admittedly a bit of a luddite and was unfamiliar with the online directory for finding businesses and services. Computers and he had never seen eye to eye. There was even a nearby swamp that was the recipient of two of Bubba’s laptops that had gone belly to Jesus in rare moments of displeasure.)

Precious unfortunately had to stay home because the Hotel Madera Flotante didn’t allow pets, and that was probably the worst part about all of this because Bubba loved his hound. (Willodean, too, was extraordinarily fond of Precious, and Gray would drool on that hound on an hourly basis, if so given the opportunity.) Furthermore, Precious loved her humans, and being separated from them because of a silly hotel rule was likely vexing the canine something fierce. However, Miz Demetrice and Miz Adelia Cedarbloom, the Snoddy family’s housekeeper slash good family friend, were on top of keeping Precious full of Milk-Bones and occupied with tennis-ball tossing. The hound might miss her main humans, but she certainly wasn’t being neglected.

Sun, sand, water, Willodean, and Gray. Bubba nearly tittered. The flight had included first class tickets, albeit on a puddle jumper, so first class wasn’t as first class as some might have thought. (One flight attendant for the whole plane of about twenty travelers, but there were hot towels in first class and free liquor.) The Hotel Madera Flotante had a van pick them up at the tiny airport, and the trip hadn’t been unbearable. (Gray had slept through 99% of the ride while Bubba and Willodean got to sip on Piña Coladas.)

He adjusted his chair slightly. The beach chair was comfortable, and the umbrella shaded his head. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot or too cold. He looked out over the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. A few brave souls were paddling about in the moderately temperate waters. One intrepid individual was attempting to surf on breakers that looked too understated to achieve the Zenlike state of surfing mastery. Most beachgoers were splashing in knee-deep surf or lying upon beach towels while gloriously sunbathing. Further down the beach was a boardwalk, part of which was expanded for the purpose of various beach events. Bubba wasn’t certain, but it looked like there was an elaborate jump-rope contest occurring. It was the kind where two or more jump ropes were involved.

Double-Dutch, Willodean said as if she was reading his mind. Sometimes Bubba thought she was literally reading his mind. He didn’t mind.

On Bubba’s other side was a section of sand dunes blocked off with assorted colors of tapes where a sandcastle-building contest was taking place. Some of the sandcastles weren’t castles but sand sculptures of lions, tigers, and bears, oh my, and the sculptors were intensely protective of their works before the contest judging was to begin. Bubba had gotten too close to a VW bus-sized dragon with wings spread out ready to fly not an hour before, and a young woman in shorts and a bikini top had hissed at him. As evidenced by the sculpting tools in her hands and the sand covering most of her body, it was her creation.

Evidently, there were contests aplenty in the coastal town of Sunny Sands.

Gray announced, Buh.

Willodean chuckled and said, Sunblock, my boy. We’re going to smear it all over you, especially on your little arms and your little nose and your little pookie face. Bubba reached for the sunblock in the nearby baby bag. Hawaiian Tropic, he said, producing said product with alacrity. 50 SPF for sensitive skin.

Willodean sat on the blanket next to Bubba’s chair and plopped their son down there. Gray looked around interestedly and reached for the bottle of sunblock that Bubba was holding out. Bubba was quick and switched the sunblock for a wooden activity cube that had a bead maze, an abacus, spinning gears, a practice clock, and a few other things Gray’s father couldn’t quite figure out. (Gray had it figured out because he was clearly a genius.)

Gray gurgled happily until he abruptly comprehended he’d been out snookered. He frowned at his father and said, Buh! He wanted the sunblock.

Bubba reached out an arm and tickled Gray right on his little Buddha belly. He fell for the bait-and-switch immediately. Thus, tranquility was achieved.

That hotel guy said you have to judge the sand sculptures, Willodean said as she smeared mightily.

Bubba vaguely remembered a hotel guy who’d welcomed them. He might have even said something about sand sculptures, but Bubba had had two Piña Coladas on the short plane ride and the rum was plentiful. After all, the single flight attendant had been friendly and willing to make sure the passengers were happy. He looked over his shoulder at the sculptures. (Not sandcastles, he corrected himself.) Then he saw the young woman who’d hissed at him standing next to the large sand dragon, carving bits of his snout while simultaneously spritzing the sand with a water bottle. A man who looked like a security guard because he had a t-shirt that said Security on it shooed her out of the taped area, saying loudly that she wasn’t allowed to work on the pieces after the previous night’s deadline. She hissed at the security guard and ducked under the tape.

Ain’t no cars over there, Bubba commented.

All part of winning a contest, Willodean mused. You’ll go over. Look at them. Pick which one you like the best, and Bob’s your uncle.

I don’t have an uncle named Bob, Bubba said. I had an uncle Beauregard. Died in prison. That would be Brownie’s grandfather. My father’s side of the family. Nothing else needed to be said about that. Bubba’s father, Elgin, had been a womanizer and drunkard of the highest order, and Bubba was certain that no one missed him when he’d died of a heart attack many years before.

Figures, Willodean said sagely.

Evens out with all the law enforcement types I married into, Bubba said with a grin. Cain’t cross the law now, even ifin I felt like it.

Maybe a little, Willodean said. Coochie coochie coo, she said to Gray, who chuckled. He’d clearly forgotten about the sunblock.

Do I have to do that now? Bubba asked.

I see the hotel manager coming for you, she said and tickled their son some more.

Bubba squinted over his shoulder toward the splendiferous Hotel Madera Flotante. It was true that the short to middling man who’d welcomed them previously was striding down the short boardwalk in their direction. He was in his fifties, balding, wore black-rimmed glasses and a gray suit with a red bowtie. He appeared very purposeful, and Bubba couldn’t recall his name.

Bubba looked down at himself. He wore beach shorts with a pattern of exotic birds. His legs were white, and his feet had on a pair of blue flip flops that hurt the section of skin between his big toe and second toe. (He couldn’t think of the last time he’d worn flip flops.) After a day or so, the white skin would begin to tan or possibly burn and then the skin would peel a little, but the sunshine and beachyness of it all was fantastic. It was totally worth a little peeling skin. That being said, he wasn’t really dressed for judging a beach contest. He reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, wincing when he remembered what it said. I pooped today! was proudly proclaimed. (Miz Demetrice had brought it with her from her first colonoscopy. They’d even given her a XXXL so she could give it to Bubba. His mother did not wear t-shirts.) It wasn’t the best choice for competition appraising, but it was what it was.

You look great, Willodean said, and he looked back at her to see a sly smile. The little vixen was enjoying teasing him.

"Why do I have to do it? Bubba asked. He stood up and brushed sand off his legs. Why can’t you do it? You’re a lot cuter than I am, and smarter besides. You have a college degree."

"You won the contest, Willodean said, and you have a college degree, too. Come on, just pick the coolest one. I see one over there that’s a machine thingy."

Bubba looked in the direction at which she’d nodded. It was some kind of steampunk device wrought elegantly in strands of multicolored sand. It reminded him of the time one of the loonies, David Beathard, took on a steampunk persona. Baron Von Blackcap the Revenger had pretty much taken over the wedding and kidnapped one of the social workers from the Dogley Institute for Mental Well-Being. He had glued a metric ton of gears and steampunky items over just about everything he owned. David was probably still removing gears with Gojo. (The last time Bubba had visited the former postman with the many personas he’d been recovering from his brief time as an astronaut. A spaceship had been involved. Also, there had been a significantly faulty trajectory and a midair ejection which had resulted in broken limbs. And did Bubba need to mention that David had very recently believed he was metamorphizing into a butterfly under his many casts? No, he did not.)

Bubba looked closer at the steampunkish sculpture and the person closest to it, who was obviously standing guard until the judging was completed. Most importantly, the individual working on the sculpture didn’t look like David Beathard or any of the other loonies that happened to hang out with him. Although the man was wearing a stovepipe top hat trimmed with brass gears and a peacock feather, he wasn’t someone Bubba was familiar with. Not loonies, no.

That ain’t nice, Bubba told himself. The loonies might be loonies but most of them were good people. David had only kidnapped the social worker as a wedding gift for Bubba and Willodean; good intentions had been present. (Besides which, social workers from the Dogley Institute for Mental Well-Being had a very high statistical rate of being bad people as evidenced by past history. That one wasn’t, but David hadn’t known that.)

Ah, Mr. Snoddy, the hotel manager said brightly as he came closer to Bubba, Willodean, and baby Gray. Bubba nodded, and pretended not to notice when the man glanced at Bubba’s t-shirt, read the line, and then briefly scowled.

Uh, Bubba said because he was trying to remember the manager’s name.

Mr. Dimly, Willodean said helpfully.

Buh, said Gray because he didn’t like to be left out of any conversation. He was also clearly tired of his toy. The wooden activity block was passé.

Eleven of the clock, Mr. Dimly said cheerily. The mayor of Sunny Sands is arriving even as we speak. Little Miss Sunny Sands, our ten-year-old beauty queen, is coming from the hotel with her attendants. All we need is our final judge. Three is a fine number, and we love to include our contest winner.

Which goes to prove the adage that nothing in life is free, Bubba thought sourly. Of course, it could have been worse. We could have sat through a sales pitch for time-shares with overcooked chicken for lunch.

Bubba’s been looking forward to it, Willodean said as she lifted Gray up to her side and expertly propped him on her hip. Gray gurgled happily. Bubba would have gurgled happily too, if it wouldn’t have looked weird, but then he focused on what she’d said.

No, I haven’t, Bubba thought. Willodean nudged his foot. Shore, shore, he said. Dear Lord, is that a bad lie? I mean, I don’t like to hurt folks’ feelings and all. How long could it take to judge a sandcastle, er, sculpture contest? I didn’t agree to judge the jump-rope contest, did I?

I dint agree to judge the jump-rope thing, did I? he whispered to his wife.

No, Willodean said. Go on, now. Lunch is coming up soon. The hotel restaurant has ten different kinds of shrimp dishes. I counted them.

Yes sir, Mr. Snoddy, Mr. Dimly said enthusiastically. We’ve got everything all set up. Each judge’s section is lined with a different color of tape. Green for the mayor. Pink for Little Miss Sunny Sands. Blue for you. The mayor was so thrilled he worked on it himself until well after dark. Bless his heart. He waved at Bubba to follow.

Bubba leaned down to kiss his wife and then he kissed baby Gray’s head for good measure. I’ll be back in time for shrimp, he muttered. Don’t start without me.

Bubba trailed after Mr. Dimly, and Mr. Dimly continued his informational speech. Each judge will select a sand sculpture on their merits. Creativity, originality, expertise, for example. All part and parcel of the big sand-sculpting picture. Last year the grand prize went to a replication of Mount Rushmore. Flags bracketing the mountain were included. Very inspirational.

Mount Rushmore, check, Bubba repeated. He glanced over his shoulder at his wife and child. Why did he get the feeling that he was being thrown under the bus?

So, each of the three sections will have a finalist. Yours is the blue-taped section, as I’ve said. The three finalists get judged tomorrow by the Lieutenant Governor of Texas. He’s simply ecstatic to participate. Very exciting.

I wonder if Ma knows the Lieutenant Governor of Texas, Bubba pondered. And if so, does Ma play poker with his wife? Miz Demetrice ran an illegal game of poker on Thursday nights. Sometimes highfaluting folks threw down on the game. Supposedly, Barbara Streisand once played Texas Hold ‘Em with the group, but nobody knew if that really was true or not. (Miz Demetrice had once said she’d murdered her dead husband by training poodles to chew on his ankles, so what she said had to be taken with a grain of salt. He briefly considered. Mebe more like a ton of salt.)

Mr. Dimly stopped at the entrance to the sand-sculpting area and spread his hands out wide. Here we go!

CHAPTER TWO

Saturday

Bubba and the Sand-Sculpting Nonsense of Doom

The mayor appeared as if by magic. Bubba could tell he was the mayor because he was the only one wearing a dapper gray suit with a blue tie. He also had hair implants at the top of his forehead. Finally , his teeth were whiter than a ghost’s butt on the night of a full moon in Alaska in late winter, and he used his wide grin to its best effect. Bubba wasn’t certain, but his dentist had once mentioned that that kind of white came at the cost of full coverage veneers at $1000 a tooth. ( It was like slapping a coat of Twilight Turquoise paint on that 1964 ½ Mustang which was the first run of the 1965s but introduced in 1964, and if one had to put a coat on it, then Twilight Turquoise was the way to go, but probably not for one’s teeth.) The point was that the mayor, who was introduced by the obvious nickname of Louie F ., was fancified to a fastidious point and smelled better than Willodean . The latter made Bubba shudder just a little that he’d thought of it.

Likewise, Little Miss Sunny Sands, one Primrose Humphrey, was meticulously accomplished. Her polka-dotted dress was silk and unwrinkled. Her heels looked like the kind that Miz Demetrice saved for Sunday services. Her full face of sophisticated makeup would have made a drag queen envious. Under a sparkling rhinestone tiara, she had perfectly coifed hair, or at least Bubba thought it was perfectly coifed. The beachly winds were blowing, and her coif was not moving in the least, which testified to copious layers of Aqua Net or possibly to a deal with the devil for her soul in exchange for perfect hair. Miss Humphrey was the spitting image of her mother, the Missus Allegra Humphrey, who wore a matching polka-dotted dress and pumps, with makeup that doubtless came out of the same bottles and tubes as her ten-year-old daughter. Miss Humphrey’s attendants, three of her sisters, were dressed in color-coordinated dresses and heels, (a quintet of polka-dotted estrogen on heels) and their ages varied from six to twelve, if Bubba had to guess. (Bubba assumed Little Miss Sunny Sands was the beauty queen only because she was the one wearing the tiara and the sash that proclaimed her to be Little Miss Sunny Sands!) Finally, the combined group of females gazed upon at Bubba as if he was something they had to scrape off their shoes.

Bubba’s right hand itched to cover up the message on his t-shirt, but he set his mouth and told himself, Fifteen minutes tops. Then back to Willodean, Gray, and the beach. I kin get another Piña Colada. And what did my lovely missus say about types of shrimp at the restaurant? So many types of shrimp that are included in our stay, by the way.

After a single news station showed up and the lone cameraman/newsperson set up his shot, there was a brief ceremony. The mayor talked. The hotel manager talked. Little Miss Sunny Sands said a single sentence about how world peace related to sand-sculpting contests. The hotel manager introduced Bubba as the KBCH winner of the Hotel Madera Flotante getaway. (For golden oldies listen to KBCH, the wicked smooth sound of the 70s on 97.1 FM.) Bubba did not speak. He held one of his oversized hands over the word pooped so the camera wouldn’t record it. He felt like he was smiling, but he thought he probably looked like an escaped serial killer who happened upon a university sorority on a picnic in the fog-covered swamp near the old cemetery. (He was just a normal guy with a creepy smile. We should have known. However, he did like to buy duct tape and tarps at the Walmart. No one had any idea.)

Behind the cameraman/newsperson, Bubba could see Willodean grinning while she held Gray. (Her grin was definitely not creepy.) She also held her cellphone in her other hand and was busily texting. (Single hand texting was a new skill acquired by eight months of experience. Bubba hadn’t acquired that skill, and not because he didn’t hold Gray as much as his wife, but because texting on a phone with one hand was something his sausage-sized fingers were simply incapable of doing.)

The three judges were handed official City of Sunny Sands notebooks with coordinated pens to record their chosen finalist. Then with a gesture at the security guard, who promptly parted the tape for them, Mr. Dimly gently shooed them into the maze that was the contest.

Bubba hesitated to get in front of the politician or the beauty queen. Both looked as if they might turn into velociraptors at any moment if he got between them and the single news camera. Mayor Louie F. cast a sky-blue eye at Bubba and said, Yours is the blue-taped section, Mr. Snoddy. I helped put the tape up myself at the crack of dawn. You know, there are over a hundred entries, and we had to figure out the best way to divide it up. He smiled at Bubba, and Bubba almost stepped backward. Lot of teeth in that smile.

Bubba looked toward the blue section and hoped the dismay wasn’t evident on his face. One hundred divided three ways was at least thirty-three and one to grow on. He would have to look at least thirty-three sculptures. The odd one out was probably in his section. Furthermore, there were probably some super cool sculptures involved, and he wouldn’t be able to decide between several of them. He was going to have to flip a coin, and he didn’t have a coin.

As long as he doesn’t go into the pink section, Little Miss Sunny Sands announced imperiously. I have standards to maintain.

Standards to maintain, echoed Little Miss Sunny Sands’ mother. Two of Little Miss Sunny Sands’ sisters also echoed that sentiment.

What a lovely family, Bubba thought. I wonder if they’d like to meet my cousin’s son, Brownie. Brownie Snoddy had his own infamy. He’d once tasered Matt Lauer on NBC’s Today show. Look how that worked out for Matt. Brownie wouldn’t mind using a stun gun on folks like that… He bit off the thought. Sorry, Lord, that was awful. That chile doesn’t really need to be tased by Brownie. Later, I’ll do something extra nice for someone to make up for it.

And he smells like farts, Little Miss Sunny Sands said, but not so loud that the camera would have picked it up.

Lord, Little Miss Sunny Sands does deserve to be tased by Brownie. Mebe I kin call him. Brownie would come on the run.

Hush, Primrose, her mother said. That isn’t nice.

I don’t smell like farts, Bubba thought surreptitiously smelling his underarm. Nope. Just Old Spice deodorant, Pure Sport, clean citrus smelling. Just ignore the kid, he told himself. Fifteen minutes of this, maybe thirty tops. I don’t need to talk to her, and if she trips in her teensy-weensy high heels I won’t even laugh.

Let it begin, Mr. Dimly said and waved at the three judges.

Bubba didn’t wait for further ado, and when Little Miss Sunny Sands tripped over the first little sand hill he didn’t laugh out loud, although he did guffaw on the inside.

After Little Miss Sunny Sands had been helped to her feet by her mother, there was a brief discussion about who was allowed to accompany the beauty queen into the judging area. The mayor thought it should just be Little Miss Sunny Sands, who now wore her tiara crookedly on her almost perfectly coifed head. The Missus Allegra Humphrey thought that she and all of her daughters should accompany the prestigious winner of the only Salmon County Beauty Contest and who was also the first runner up in the equally prestigious Little Miss Southeastern Texas competition. Once Little Miss Sunny Sands had started to cry large copious tears, the mayor capitulated and allowed Primrose’s mother to accompany the beauty queen while her sisters remained outside the taped area. Interestingly, Little Miss Sunny Snotnose stopped crying immediately.

We have appearances to maintain, the mayor said, while shooting a smile at the news/cameraman who appeared to be filming them.

Little Miss Sunny Sands grimly adjusted her tiara and marched into the judging area with her mother trailing after her. Come on, Mama, she snarled. We have to cut the ribbon at the dog-food-factory opening in Holly Beach at 2 p.m.

Bubba blinked and began his run. There apparently wasn’t a theme to sand sculpturing. There were animals, buildings, rainbows, and mythical beasts. (The dragon’s sculptor stood at the edge of the blue tape and looked at Bubba with dismayed eyes as she recognized the person at whom she’d earlier hissed.) There was one sculpture of Neptune with mermaids on either side of him and a sign that said Save our oceans!

Bubba was a little lost. He would have gone for the steampunk one, but that particular sculpture was located in Little Miss Sunny Sands’ section. Prolly won’t appreciate it like I would, he thought. And she might cut me ifin I went over there.

Bubba shook himself. There hadn’t been a time limit mentioned, but he didn’t want to dither. His wife and son were waiting. Shrimp was waiting. Ten kinds of shrimp were waiting. Additionally, the hotel manager likely wouldn’t be happy to have Bubba taking his time. Conversely, he didn’t want to seem like he powered through his section and just arbitrarily selected a random sculpture with not so much as a whoop-di-doo-dah.

I don’t like being a judge. Ifin I’d known, I don’t think I would have come. I could have bribed Gray to be the judge. I could have thrown a binkie at him. Bubba glowered at a sandcastle. It was an actual sandcastle with twenty turrets, and when he looked closer, he saw a little sandy princess waving from