Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  “Well, I’d love to,” she said, clapping her hands together. “It looks like everybody’s clearin’ out of here. Jest let me get my purse and close up. I’ll meet you two kids outside in two shakes of a rat's tail.”

  “I think I love that woman. Nobody’s called me a kid in ages,” Tess said, as they walked outside.

  “Lou’s a honey. Salt of the earth. Just be careful of what you tell her. Her tongue’s tied in the middle and loose at both ends.”

  “Is there a thesaurus for Southern speak I could buy? A dictionary for colloquialisms?”

  Jack laughed. “I mean if you don’t want anyone to know it, don’t tell Lou.”

  Tess and Jack stepped out onto the sidewalk and stood under the bookstore’s big green awning. It was dark out, but the street lamps lit up the sidewalk. The trees lining the sidewalk were strung with little white lights year-round, and they gave a magical look to the town square.

  “Jack —”

  “You really—”

  They both stopped, and he said, “Ladies first.”

  “I was just going to say I want to thank you for vouching for me. You don’t even know me—I could end up making you look bad.”

  “Or you could end up cursing me for getting you involved with Lou.” She looked at him funny and he said, “I’m only kidding, she’s a dear, sweet, old woman, and I can tell you are, too.”

  Tess’s expression changed from questioning to a hard stare, and he quickly corrected himself.

  “I mean the sweet part. Not the old lady part. Seriously, you two will hit it off. Just don't tell her I said she was old. I'm happy to help, but I wanted to warn you not to let her bulldoze you into working more than you want. She has a way of talking people into things before they know what they’re doing.”

  Just what has she talked you into, Jack? No, that’s ridiculous. Lou must be close to eighty years old. I’m getting ridiculously paranoid. Maybe that’s a side effect of being married to an unfaithful man.

  “She has a way of talking, period, if you know what I mean,” he added.

  “Oh, I see.” She was looking everywhere but at him.

  “What’ll it be tonight? A drink or a cup of coffee? I’m buyin’.”

  “Make it a sweet tea and you’re on,” Tess said, hoping Lou would hurry up.

  * * *

  Tess couldn’t sleep. It was two in the morning when she finally gave in and looked at the clock. After reading another of Jack's books until well after midnight, she tossed and turned for more than an hour. Maybe it was the sweet tea that was keeping her up. Or maybe it was thoughts of Jack. He'd done some pretty heavy flirting, and she was glad Lou had been along as a buffer. Jack was good-looking, intelligent, charming, and interesting. He made her laugh—the one trait that she found sexiest in a man. But she didn’t want to get involved with Jackson Wright. She needed a break from men. And she wasn't going to fall for a cheating man again. Jack was off limits. He had to be.

  Not wanting to think any more about Jack, she put a light sweater on over her camisole, grabbed her laptop and headed out to the covered porch—one of her favorite things about the house.

  She settled into the overstuffed cushions of the big wicker chair. It was a beautiful summer night; quiet except for the crickets' song. She took a deep breath to catch the faint scent of honeysuckle in the air. Opening the laptop, she brought up the page where she’d stopped writing.

  She drew a blank. Relaxing into the chair, she tried to get her writer’s head back on, wracking her brain for what she wanted to say. Nothing. For over thirty minutes she couldn’t think of a thing to write.

  I can’t sleep, I can’t write, I might as well tackle the bedroom.

  Tess headed back inside and turned on a light in her bedroom. The wallpaper in the room was a big, gaudy print that hurt Tess’s eyes to look at. It had big purple and red flowers on a deep burgundy background that made her feel like it was screaming at her.

  “It’s either you or me, wallpaper. And I like this house, so guess what?”

  She took off her sweater, changed into her old grubby jeans, and gathered up all of the necessary tools. With a scraper in her back pocket, a spray bottle filled with water, and her iPod set to shuffle, Tess began spraying, scraping, and peeling off the offensive wallpaper layer after layer off the top half of one section of the wall, all the while singing along with the music.

  Tess sat down on the floor to work on the bottom half of the wall, tossing the paper onto the floor, intending to scrape continuously and clean up later. Some of it came off in long strips, but most of it came off in small, thin pieces.

  After working for an hour, she began to feel the effects of lack of sleep. She started cleaning up the scraps littering the floor and noticed some of the smaller pieces had fallen into the floor register under where she’d been working. Retrieving a screwdriver, Tess opened it up.

  Sticking her hand in, she not only grabbed a handful of paper scraps, but also a whole warren of dust bunnies. “Ew. Yuck!” she said aloud.

  Kneeling down to get better access to the register and squeezing her eyes closed in repulsion, she swept her hand along the bottom of the vent to grab as much as possible. Her fingers grazed something hard and cold, and she heard it slide across the bottom—definitely not a dust bunny. She scooped up the foreign object, a couple of crayons, and a handful of scraps, and dropped it all on the floor.

  Klunk.

  Brushing the dust balls away, she saw a little copper key with a small label attached by a string of yarn. It didn’t look like an ordinary house key. She picked it up and turned the label over. In faded pencil it said simply, “trunk.”

  “That’s odd,” she said aloud.

  Her thoughts immediately flew to Lou at the bookstore. This was her family's old house. Maybe she would know what the key belonged to. It did look very old. She’d have to remember to ask her about it tomorrow.

  Tess put the key on her bedside table and finished cleaning up her mess. Back in bed, as she drifted off, she lay there thinking about how working at Stafford’s would be a good way to get out of the house and meet people, while also allowing her to pick up some extra cash.

  Just before she fell asleep completely, her thoughts turned to her discovery. She wondered who the trunk belonged to, how long the key had been lost in the register, and whether anyone had missed it.

  You Keep Drinkin’ And I’ll Keep Thinkin’

  hireyew: salutation hahyr-yoo how are you

  Good morning, hireyew?

  [ 1932 ]

  Police Chief Bug Preston took three witnesses, John Hobb, Nate Hunter, and Tallulah Maggard, to the big city of Helechawa eleven days after the bank robbery, to identify Rod Pierce as one of the bandits.

  The chief and the witnesses arrived at the jail and were led to Pierce’s cell. Rod Pierce was disheveled, wearing clothes that looked like he’d slept in them for a week. It had been even longer since he’d shaved, and he didn’t have his false teeth in. Red-rimmed grey eyes sat under dirty, matted brown hair. Staring at them blankly through the bars, he decided he needed a drink. The others thought he needed a bath.

  “Well?” asked the sheriff. “The man’s a drunk and a bum. Question is, is this yer man?”

  John Hobb said, “That’s the man I saw pointing a gun at our teller and demanding money.”

  Tallulah agreed. “Yessir. That’s the man who done stole our money and nearly scared the fire outta me.”

  Nate Hunter studied Pierce for several minutes before saying, “I s’pose he could be one of the men I saw in the bank that day.”

  “What do you mean ‘you s’pose’? Is he or id’n he?” Bug Preston asked. Hunter nodded his head.

  “We’ll need one a you boys to transport him to Goose Pimple if ya don’t mind,” Preston drawled to the sheriff.

  “Chief, do you know how our town got its name?” Sheriff Bone asked, out of the blue.

  Everyone looked at him blankly.

  “Hele
chawa. It’s short for 'It’s hell each way’,” he laughed. “But the town itself ain’t no bed a roses neither. Old Coots here’ll be glad to oblige, just ta git outta town.”

  [ June 2010 ]

  Tess slept for only six hours before she got up, got dressed, and made a batch of muffins to take to Lou. She walked into the bookstore shortly after it opened. There were already several customers in the store plus one who followed her in. She noticed his cowboy boots right before she noticed the red Chuck Taylor sneakers on a pair of skinny, hairy legs inside the store.

  The tennis shoes belonged to the skinniest teenager Tess had ever seen. She thought, He's so skinny he probably has to run around in the shower just to get wet.

  When they’d gone out for tea after the book reading, Lou had told her there was another part-time employee who mostly kept the shelves stocked and in order and carted around the heavy boxes for her.

  He was dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a t-shirt imprinted with the words, “I put ketchup on my ketchup.” Tess tried to suppress her smile at his t-shirt but failed. She wasn’t sure which was funnier: his name, the way he looked, or his t-shirt.

  “You must be . . . Pickle.” She’d never forget his name, that was for sure, but she’d have a hard time calling someone “Pickle,” even though Lou assured her everyone called him by his nickname.

  “Yes’m. Can I hep you?” He had a thick southern accent and a friendly smile.

  “I’m Tess Tremaine, I think we’re co-workers now. Lou hired me yesterday.”

  Comprehension rose on his face. He wiped his hands on the side of his shorts and stuck out a hand in greeting. Pickle looked to be fifteen or sixteen-years-old with blond, almost white, hair and a cowlick at the top of his head. He had big brown eyes and freckles across his nose. Tess shook his hand, thinking he was polite but shy. After an awkward silence she asked, “Is the boss around?”

  Just then, Lou came out of the office. “Tessie!” She had on the brightest yellow blouse Tess had ever seen and lime green pants. Her hair was particularly bouffant, and her rouge and lipstick were bright and freshly applied, highlighting, instead of disguising, her many wrinkles.

  She took one look at the pineapple muffins and said, “Well I’ll be. You are definitely hired, honey. What a sweet thing for you to do. Now come on back and we’ll have us a chat. Peekal, mind the register,” she called over her shoulder.

  “What’s Pickle’s real name?” Tess whispered, walking alongside of Lou.

  “His given name is Dylan.”

  “How did he get the name Pickle?”

  Lou looked up at the ceiling like she was pulling an answer from the air and finally said, “I think it was his daddy who first called him that on account a the name Dylan remindin’ him of dill pickles. I think his mama liked the name Dylan, his daddy didn’t, they had a coin toss, and he lost. He never took to it, though, and started callin’ him ‘Peekal.’ I guess it just sorta stuck. He’s a hard worker, but dumber ‘n a bag of hammers, so I’d rather not leave him out there by himself for long. Let’s go over some things right quick.”

  They sat in Lou’s office discussing what Tess’s duties would be, how much time she wanted to put in at the store, and filling out paperwork. After everything was ironed out, Lou sat back. “I didn’t get a chance to ask ya last night—how’re you takin’ to the house?”

  “Oh, I love it, Lou. I absolutely love it. I love the character of the house—the arched doors, the exposed brick walls, and the hardwood floors. And I love the covered wraparound porch. The house just needs a little redecorating, which I’ll do mostly myself.”

  “Lands sake, child, tell me about it. Like I told you the other day, the people had it before you didn’t have a lick a sense. It broke my heart to see what they did to it.”

  The front bell jingled, signaling that someone had come into the store. Lou leaned back in her chair so she could peer around the corner of the office door and see out into the store.

  “Looks like the place is fillin’ up. We best rescue Peekal. Come on, I’ll give ya a crash course on the register, and then I’m puttin’ you to work.”

  They started for the front desk. As they walked, Tess said, “I wanted to ask you about something, Lou. I’ve been stripping wallpaper off the master bedroom walls, and it's a real job. But last night I . . . “ She turned and stopped abruptly, just in time to keep from running into a customer.

  “Mornin’ Buck, hireyew?” Lou asked the man. He was a tall, nice-looking man, wearing a suit and tie and a forced smile. Tess remembered seeing him around town a few times in the weeks she had been here.

  “Oh, I’m fair to middlin’.” He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties and was studying Tess. “Mornin’, ma’am.”

  “Have you two met?” Lou looked from Tess to the mayor.

  “We’ve howdied, but we ain’t shook yet,” Buck drawled. Tess smiled, remembering Jack introducing himself that way. It must be the Goose Pimple equivalent of “Nice to meet you.”

  “Buck, this is Tess Tremaine, she bought the house on Walnut, and I scooped her up to hep me around this old place. Tessie, this here is Buck Lyle, our esteemed may'r.”

  “Mare?” Tess asked.

  “Ma-ar,” Lou said, trying to enunciate.

  “I’m the may-or,” Buck explained. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. How’re you takin’ to our fair town so far?”

  “I’m glad to meet you, too. I love it here. The people, the town, and the house.”

  “The house on Walnut . . . You mean she bought your old family place, Lou?”

  “Yessiree.”

  “That old York fella that you bought it from, Miss Tess, he was two bricks shy of a full load . . . “ He looked around to see if anyone else was listening and then he added, “…and his woman was purty as a punkin, but half as smart.”

  “Oh, Buck, now hush. They ain’t around here ta defend themselves. You mind yer p’s and q’s.”

  “I know it, I know it.” He mimed zipping his lips.

  “What brings you in this mornin’, Buck?” Lou asked. “I mean, May'r.”

  “I’m on my way over to John Ed’s for a meetin’, but I thought I’d shoot in here real quick and get a birthday present for Aunt Olivia. She likes that purty stationery you carry, and Lord knows she goes through it faster ‘n all get out. That woman writes thank you notes for her thank you notes.” He shook his head in disbelief as he headed toward the stationery section. “Nice meetin’ ya, Ms. Tess,” he called over his shoulder, giving her a wink.

  Lou turned to Tess. “I thought he’d never quit bumpin’ his gums. Now what was it you were sayin'?”

  “Oh. Yes. Well, last night I was peeling the wallpaper off of the master bedroom walls, and I found a key that had fallen into the floor register. It had a label attached that said, 'trunk,' and I wondered if it might belong to your family. It's a thin, copper key, and looks pretty old.”

  Lou’s face went white underneath her bright rouge. “Ya don’t say,” she mumbled, pulling Tess behind the counter. Tess noticed she suddenly wouldn’t look her in the eye and began to shuffle papers around on the desk.

  “Seeing that it was your family's house, I thought maybe you'd have an idea of what it belonged to . . . “ Tess let her sentence taper off when she saw the strained look on Lou's face.

  “Lou, is everything all right?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, honey, everythin’s just fine and dandy. There was actually an old trunk in our attic that we could never find the key to. But we were able to get another one. I 'preshade you tellin' me 'bout it, but why don't you keep it? Make it yer good luck charm or sumpthin'. I’d just as soon not think about that trunk.”

  * * *

  Lou finished Tess’s orientation of the bookstore, and Tess worked for the rest of the day. She was so tired at five-thirty when she left the store she didn’t see Jack standing across the street.

  “Howdy, Tess Tremaine. Lou didn’t work ya too hard tod
ay, did she?” Jack broke into stride with Tess.

  “Not at all, Jack. I told you I’m not afraid of a little work. I’m just a little tired.”

  “And did you have a good first day at the bookstore?”

  “I did. Besides getting my bearings, I got quite a lesson in Southern speak. People in this town sure do use a lot of words and a lot of syllables to describe an otherwise simple notion.”

  “I think you’ll find Lou as colorful as she is kind-hearted. She’s a fixture around here. I don’t know what we’d do without her. Who else did you meet?”

  “Well, I met the mayor. He seemed nice.” Tess gave Jack a sideways glance.

  “Ah. The mayor.” Jack sounded annoyed.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, just ‘tween you and me… he's got the personality of a dishrag. And he’s highfalutin, on account of comin’ from a long line of Goose Pimple residents. Thinks he owns the town.”

  “Ah,” Tess mimicked.

  Her exhaustion caused them to walk at a slow pace. When they were a block away from her house she wondered why Jack was still walking with her.

  “Um . . . Jack . . . do you mind if I ask where you’re going?”

  “You mean you forgot you invited me to dinner?” he said with a straight face.

  Tess looked up at him, surprised, but Jack couldn’t hold his smile. His face gave him away. “I’m just kiddin'.” He shrugged his shoulder. “I need some exercise. You don’t mind if I walk with you, do you? I promise I won’t impose myself on you for dinner.”

  “I don’t think you could call the pace we’re walking ‘exercise’.”

  “Okay, I’m out for a nice early evenin’ stroll…” Jack amended, “ . . . an amble . . . a mosey . . . a saunter. Any of those meet with your approval?” he teased.

  As they reached 117 Walnut Avenue, a puzzled look came over her face when she looked at the front of her house.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, when they stopped on the sidewalk.