Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

He was embarrassing her. She couldn't hold his gaze. She gave him a wry smile, shook her head, and kept walking.

  “All right. I’ll quit teasing you. You’re just so much fun to tease.” His voice got serious and he said quietly, “I worried about you last night. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “You worried about me? Aw, Jack, it was only a break-in. And I told you—I’m fine. Do you visit all of the home invasion victims in town?”

  He laughed. “The easy answer is no, because we rarely have home invasions in Goose Pimple Junction. The totally honest answer is no, because you’re a special case, Tess Tremaine.”

  When she blushed, he added kiddingly, “You’re new in town. I just want you to feel welcome.”

  “Of course. That’s very nice of you, Jack.” She tried to suppress a wide smile.

  “I noticed some photographs in your house yesterday but never got a chance to ask—you have a son?”

  “Yes, he’s twenty-five.”

  “You're not old enough to have a grown kid.”

  “Unfortunately, I am.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Alabama. How about you? Kids?”

  “I have a daughter. She's twenty-five.”

  “Isn't that coincidental. Should we introduce them?”

  “Maybe,” Jack said, with the accent on be.

  “And how’s your book comin’ along?”

  “Oh, it’s coming I guess.”

  “And you still have my e-mail address, right?”

  “That I do.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll use it and won’t let it languish in the bottom of that purse.”

  When they reached the bookstore several minutes later, Tess thanked him again for the flowers, and Jack walked off down the sidewalk, as she went into the store.

  Pickle was just inside the entryway, wearing a T-shirt with a bowl of cereal and spoon on the front. The shirt said, “Cereal Killer.”

  “Morning, Pickle,” she said, very aware she was going to have to get used to dropping her ‘g’s’ at the end of words. She was beginning to feel like a foreigner. “I see you’re hard at work again putting books on the shelf. Is Lou around?” Walking over to the register desk, she put the vase of hydrangeas down.

  “Oh, she’s over to the diner, but she’ll be right back . . . oap . . . here she is now.”

  Lou came in bustling with energy, in a bright, hot pink dress and big hair perfectly in place. “I’m so mad I could chew up nails and spit out a barbed wire fence.”

  Pickle stooped down and picked up several books out of a box. “Im'a workin’, Miss Lou, I ain’t a lolligaggin’,” he said in an apologetic tone.

  “Oh, Peekal, I ain’t mad at you, honey.” She made a face to Tess and said in a whisper, “If brains were leather, he wouldn’t have enough to saddle a June bug, bless his heart.” Louder, so Pickle could hear, she said, “You go on about yer work and keep an eye out for customers at the reg’ster. Tessie and I have some jawin’ to do.”

  She led Tess back to the office by the arm and immediately started throwing questions at her. “Are you awright honey? I was just up to the diner and heard about yesterday, but John Ed wouldn’t tell me a goll-dern thing. That man’s as full of wind as a corn-eatin’ horse. I don’t give two hoots and a holler if it’s ‘Official bidness,’ I wanna know what happened. You had an intruder last night?” Her voice rose to a fever pitch. “I’ll bet you were just about frightened out a your skivvies. And you bein’ alone and all . . . that’s no way to treat somebody, let alone our town’s newbie.”

  “Lou, I’m fine . . . “ when Lou’s eyebrows went up in question, Tess added, “ . . . really. I was a little shook up last night, I’ll admit. But Jack helped me put everything back together reasonably well, and I don’t think anything was taken.”

  “Oh Jack did, did he?” Lou leaned forward, eager to hear some gossip.

  “It’s nothing like that, Lou.”

  “Well, shoot.” She went back to the subject at hand. “I just can’t believe it happened. Some people’s got grits for brains. I’m so glad you’re awright. John Ed wouldn’t tell me much, the old coot, but it didn’t sound like there was gonna be much of an investigation. Makes me embarrassed on account a the whole town.”

  “Why don’t we put it behind us and get to work?” Tess opened the door to find Pickle stepping back quickly, then busying himself straightening some books nearby.

  Lou saw him, too. “Peekal, get your straw out of my Kool-Aid.”

  Tess turned with a puzzled expression, and Lou whispered, “It means mind your own bidness.” She punctuated the sentence with a firm nod of her head.

  “Peekal, I’m gonna be on you like white on rice if I ever see your ear up to my door again,” she hollered.

  Pickle turned scarlet all the way to the tips of his ears and mumbled, “Yes ma’am,” before loping off across the store, obviously trying to put as much distance between Lou and himself as he could.

  The rest of the morning was quiet with not many customers. Around mid-day the mayor came into the store. His short, dark hair was just beginning to grey at the edge of his face, making him distinguished looking. Every time Tess saw him he was in a coat and tie. He stood about five feet ten, and was extremely thin. He wore tortoise shell preppy glasses, and when he smiled, his bright, white teeth were prominent on his face.

  “Hello, Mayor, nice to see you again. How are you?” Tess asked.

  “Well, I’m fine as frog hair, but twice as jumpy. Although comin' in here always has a calmin' effect on me. But how ‘bout you? I heard what transpired over’t your house yesterday. I came by to see if you’re all right.” He oozed southern charm.

  “That’s really not necessary. I’m just fine.”

  “Oh, honey, you’re better ‘n fine, you’re lookin’ purty as a speckled pup.” He leaned a little too close to Tess, leering slightly at her.

  Lou came to the rescue. “Mare! What in the Sam Hill are you doin’?” She rounded the counter and came at him like a mama bear protecting her cub.

  “What do you mean, Lou? I’m just jawin’ with Ms. Tremaine,” Buck said innocently, taking a few steps back.

  “Yeah, well, with all due respect, take yer jaw somewhere else. I’ll not have you makin’ inappropriate comments to my employees.” She folded her arms in front of her and glared at him.

  “Whoa, Nelly. Keep yer big hair on.” He turned to Tess with his hand over his heart. “Ms. Tremaine, I most sincerely apologize if I’ve offended you in any way. I just think if a man sees a beautiful woman, he has an obligation to tell her. Would you allow me to tell you over dinner, maybe?” His smile filled his face.

  He looks respectable, and besides the leer he seems like a nice man. But his charm is a little over the top. And he’s still of the male persuasion, and I have sworn off getting mixed up with any more of his kind.

  “Thank you, Mayor . . . but I can’t. I appreciate the offer, though.”

  He looked at his watch. “It’s comin’ up on lunchtime. Lou, you do give your employees time off for lunch, dontcha?”

  “A course I do, but I brought lunch for us all, and we’re gonna eat in the office today.” She gave Tess a quick wink. “Now Tess, would you mind startin’ on that new display over in the cookin’ section? Tell ya what, I’ll go with ya and getcha started. You have a good day, Mare.”

  “And you as well, ladies,” he chuckled.

  The day went by quickly. Tess met more of the townspeople and continued her lesson on Southern speak. She was beginning to think if she just shoved her fingers in her mouth while she talked, she'd be halfway there.

  When she got home shortly after three o’clock, she changed into her work clothes, grabbed her iPod, and started removing the rest of the wallpaper in her bedroom. Working until late into the evening, she only stopped once for a quick sandwich. Finally she came to a stopping point, cleaned up the mess, and got ready for bed, exhausted.

  As she crawled into bed,
she heard a dog barking outside, and a faint creak that sounded like her back door when it opened and closed. Her hand reacted on its own, reaching under the bed for the Louisville Slugger she’d stashed underneath for protection. She sat straight up and listened hard. Nothing.

  She swung her feet to the floor and stopped to listen again. Still nothing. Gripping the bat until her knuckles were white, she walked out her bedroom door and stood at the top of the steps for several minutes, straining to hear the slightest sound. The house was silent.

  She went back to bed but kept the bat in her hand. She lay there, looking at the shadows in the room, worrying and wondering.

  The house was too quiet. She grabbed the remote to the small television that was housed in the top part of her armoire. With one click David Letterman came on. She turned over on her stomach, bat still in hand, and listened to Dave while she drifted off.

  She was sound asleep within minutes, and her hand relaxed, dropping the bat with a clunk to the floor. She never heard the clunk or the creaking of the floorboards.

  A Hissy Fit With A Tail On It

  preshade: verb pree-sheyt appreciate

  I don’t ‘preshade your innuendoes!

  [ 1932 ]

  The kitchen smelled like bacon and coffee.

  “I can’t believe my eyes,” John Hobb said to his wife, as he read the morning newspaper. “You won’t believe this. I can’t believe this! What’s wrong with that baboon?” John slapped his hand down hard on the table.

  “What’s wrong, John?” Maye frowned at him while pouring two cups of coffee.

  “They really are getting out. I thought it was only talk. Even though they were sentenced to twenty years, after only serving three months, they’re getting out,” he said in disbelief. “Says here they were granted full and free pardons by Governor Shelby who, quote, ‘concluded they were the victims of mistaken identity’ end of quote.”

  “I can't believe they never gave up the name of the third man. He's out there, scot-free,” Maye said, as she whipped together eggs and milk, preparing to make scrambled eggs.

  “Nope. Never did. Now there's three of them who are out free and clear. I didn’t tell you yet, but I hear tell there may even be a fourth man involved.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Maye asked, propping her hands on her hips.

  “Because it may only be the rumor mill workin’ overtime.”

  “But you only saw three men in the bank that day.” Steam billowed and the skillet sizzled as she poured the egg mixture in.

  “Yes, but some people are saying maybe there was a fourth man waiting in the getaway car, or maybe someone helped them get the guns, or . . . well, you know how people talk. Probably nothing to it. But it doesn’t matter. They’re all getting off scot-free! It just isn’t right.”

  * * *

  When Brick Lynch got home from his three-month stint in prison he was bitter and full of resentment. His wife, Maisey, was sympathetic.

  “That John Hobb’s the kind a man who thinks the sun come up just ta hear ‘im crow,” Maisey grumbled.

  “Maisey, if it weren’t for that do-gooder, I wouldna had to miss outta three months a my life,” he whined. “Not to mention having to live in that rat hole.”

  “I know, Brick darlin’, but you’re home now, try to put all that unpleasantness behind you.”

  “I cain’t. He shoulda kept his cotton-pickin’ blabbermouth shut. Me and Roddy are gonna have ta teach him a lesson in civility.” He stared coldly out at the trees rustling in the slight breeze.

  * * *

  The next day Rod Pierce and Brick Lynch met with a third man at Humdinger’s, a hole-in-the-wall bar on the outskirts of town. The man was wearing a fine suit, a silk tie, and wingtip shoes. He stuck out like a sore thumb. They sat down at a dark table at the back of the room, out of earshot of others.

  “Thanks for takin’ care 'a the governor for us. Three months in that joint seemed like twenty years,” Lynch said.

  “Keep it down! You want somebody to hear?” Sore Thumb asked.

  Lynch snorted. “Ain’t nobody in here conscious enough ta hear.” He scanned the room. “Look at ol’ Slew Foot over thar. He’s three sheets to the wind.”

  “What’s Hobb know ‘bout the robbery?” Pierce asked the man, taking out a pack of cigarettes.

  “Not sure yet. I think he suspects there was a fourth party involved, but he’s keepin’ things purty close to the vest.”

  “He ain’t said nuthin’ yet. What makes you think he will?” Pierce lit his cigarette and offered the pack to each man.

  “Cause he’s Danny Do-gooder, that’s why. The world oughtta give him a medal for bein’ so dad-burned good.” Lynch struck a match with his thumbnail and lit his cigarette. “Nominate him for sainthood or somethin’.”

  “Whatta ya wontta do about ‘im, Brick?” Pierce took a deep drag on his cigarette.

  “Pardon or no pardon, he’s still a rat. I wontta give ‘im my own brand a medal,” Brick said, eyes dark with hatred.

  “Just simmer down,” Sore Thumb said. “We can’t go off half-cocked. We have to bide our time. If we do anything now, it’ll be obvious who did it. The man doesn’t have enemies. Except for you, Brick. Let some time go by. See what develops. He ain’t got nuthin’. Chances are, he’ll let it drop.”

  “Ain’t gonna change the fact that he squealed on me. You give ‘im more time, and he may squeal on you, too,” Lynch said, pointing his finger at Sore Thumb.

  [ June 2010 ]

  Tess got out of bed, stepped on the Louisville Slugger that had slipped out of her hand the night before, kicked it back under her bed, and limped to the shower. When she finished dressing, she headed to the kitchen but stopped dead in her tracks two steps out in the hall.

  Footprints.

  She looked closer at the hardwood floor. The prints weren’t muddy, but looked as if whoever they belonged to had walked through something wet, making their shoes just damp enough to leave a faint imprint on the floor. Tess was sure they had not been there when she went to bed.

  She remembered leaving her own shoes by the back door the night before. And the footprints were obviously much bigger than her size seven feet. Heart pounding, she ran back to her bedroom where she pulled the bat from underneath her bed. Then she started back down the hall, ready to hit a homer if someone stepped into her strike zone. She tracked the shoes to the kitchen and back up the steps in the middle of the house. The prints led down the upstairs hall and into each bedroom.

  Tess peeked into each room but saw nothing out of place. In her mind she could hear Jack asking her to promise to call him or Chief Price if anything else ever happened. She grabbed her cell phone and took it outside, calling the police department and sitting down on the porch to wait for them.

  Ten minutes later, John Ed was standing in her den. “You mean that’s all the ev’dence you have? Shoe prints? Wudda you want me ta do? Put out an APB for ever’body in town who wears a size ten?”

  “Chief, someone’s been in my house! I can assure you I’m not making this up.”

  “That ain’t somethin’ I can hang my hat on, missy.”

  “Why don’t you quit patronizin’ the lady and start tryin’ to figure out why somebody keeps breakin’ into her house, John Ed?” Jack’s voice came through the front screen door. He opened it and let himself in.

  “You ain’t got no dawg in this fight,” John Ed said, glaring at Jack. “Or do you?” He turned to Tess and then back to Jack with a suggestive expression.

  “One . . . “ Jack ticked off points on his fingers, “ . . . it’s my business because this lady’s a friend of mine. And two . . . “ Jack said exaggerating his southern accent, “I don’t ‘preshade your innuendoes!”

  “Aw, Jack, don’t go gittin’ yer knickers all in a bunch. She had a hissy fit with a tail on it. I was only tryin’ to calm her down, that’s all.”

  “Well wouldn’t you have a hissy fit if someone kept breakin’ into your
house?”

  “And just how did you know that’s what the call was for this mornin’?” Chief Price asked, looking suspiciously at Jack.

  “You know you can’t keep anything quiet in this town, John Ed. Now quit arguin’ and take the woman seriously. What are you gonna do about this?”

  Too nervous to just stand around, and wanting something to do, Tess went into the kitchen to make some tea while the men continued to argue. The thought that someone had been in her house while she was sleeping sent shivers down her spine, made her sick to her stomach, and she could feel the hair on her arms standing on end. The men continued to argue in low voices, but she couldn’t hear what was said. She no longer cared. It was obvious the chief thought she was just a hysterical female.

  She filled the teakettle with water and put it on the stove. She wasn’t hungry but thought maybe eating something would calm her roiling stomach. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she absent-mindedly grabbed a box of Banana Nut Cheerios out of the cabinet and stood over the sink, eating from the box.

  “Are you okay?” Jack stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, his legs crossed and one foot propped on a toe.

  Tess jumped and whirled around at the sound of his voice, spraying Cheerios across the room.

  “No thanks, I’ve had breakfast,” he laughed. “You a little bit on edge?”

  She let out a heavy sigh and sat the box on the counter with a thud. He bent down to help her pick up the cereal.

  “Tess, I think it’s safe to say that for whatever reason they keep comin’ back, they’re not gonna hurt you. If they’d wanted to do that, they would have done it last night.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought.” Tess was on her hands and knees, sweeping the Cheerios with her hands, and scooping them up to throw in the garbage. “But you’re probably right.” She wondered if he noticed her hands shaking.

  He stood, putting his hands on his hips. “Tess, don’t be offended by this question, but . . . do you . . . have any drugs in the house?”