Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  “Yeah, you’re right. Food’ll be out in a New York minute.” Junebug walked back toward the kitchen.

  “All right. Back to the subject at hand,” Buck said. “Your house.”

  “What about it?”

  “I used to love to play down in the basement. And the backyard. Man alive, you’ve got a great backyard. Of course, I never could bring myself to play on the back porch. In the eighties they glassed it in and made it the pretty sun room that it is today, but back when I was a boy, there were so many wild stories floatin’ ‘round, I was convinced there were ghosts back there.”

  “Ghosts?”

  “Oh yeah, if those walls could talk. Mmm, mmm. That house has seen some tragedy.”

  “Oh. I had no idea.”

  “Well, I reckon you should know, it bein’ part of the history of your house, and you bein’ Lou’s employee and all. She dudn’t like ta talk ‘bout her family much, but . . . her grandmama was murdered on that back porch, only two short years after her daddy had been murdered . . . “

  All Hat And No Cattle

  mill: noun mil meal

  Enjoy your mill.

  [ 1935 ]

  Maye Hobb called up the stairs, “Samuel! Johnny! Y’all stay out of that bedroom and away from the wallpaper mess. I don’t want that wallpaper glue traipsed all through the house or in your hair or on your clothes!”

  Hearing her husband John’s low, patient voice upstairs talking to their sons, she felt confident he would keep the boys away from their bedroom. She went back to fixing dinner.

  John came downstairs a short while later looking worried and preoccupied. He’d been busy up there for a while, first in the bedroom, then up in the attic. Maye asked him what he’d been doing, and he said, “Maye, I need to tell you somethin’. You know the big trunk up in the attic . . . “

  She put her hand up to momentarily silence John, listening toward the stairs. “I mean it boys!” she hollered. “You stay away from that wallpaper mess!”

  She stirred the spaghetti sauce and said, “You look worried, John. What's the matter?”

  John took a deep breath. “Maye . . . “

  She glanced at the wall clock. “Oh, will you look at the time. We’ve got to eat supper and get to church.” Going to the bottom of the steps, she called up, “C’mon boys! Ima Jean! Louetta! Supper’s ready!”

  * * *

  The wallpaper stuff was tempting. Johnny and Sam had been playing around it almost all day. Their fingers were itching to get at that paste. They were playing in the hallway outside their parents’ bedroom door, tantalizingly close to wet, gooey fun.

  Sam “accidentally’ sent a toy car flying into the room their mother had just warned them away from. Johnny chased after it. The car bounced off the bottom of the Victorian dresser, and rolled backward, striking his shoe before careening into white mopboard. It bounced back and forth from the wall to the door until it finally stopped behind the pine door.

  Johnny picked it up and said, “We need something to weigh it down a little.” He looked around his parents’ room and then walked over to their dresser. He saw a thin copper key, with a tag attached by yarn. “This’ll be perfect!”

  Johnny got down on his hands and knees to put the key on top of his car.

  “Sam! Lookit this!”

  Sam watched as the car shot across the room, straight as an arrow, the tag trailing along in the air, mimicking the exhaust in a car’s wake.

  “Nifty!” Sam readied his car. “On the count of three, we’ll race ‘em, okay?”

  They barely heard their mother yell up the stairs, “I mean it boys! You stay away from that wallpaper mess!”

  They both sat at one end of the room, cars side by side.

  “One . . . Two . . . Three!”

  The cars shot all the way across the room, only stopping when they reached the finish line—the wall. Johnny’s car got there first and bounced backward, hitting Sam’s car as it careened toward the woodwork. Sam’s car skidded sideways, bounced off the wall, and back into Johnny’s car, knocking the key off, and sending it into the floor register.

  Clink. Clink. Clink.

  “Uh-oh—the key!” The boys went over to the register, knelt down, and peered in. It was deep and dark, and they couldn’t see anything. “Holy cannoli! What’ll we do now? How are we gonna get the key back?”

  “C’mon, boys! Ima Jean! Louetta! Supper’s ready!” their mother called up the steps.

  “We’ll get it later. Come on, we gotta get downstairs for supper,” Sam said.

  They grabbed their cars and ran from the room.

  * * *

  John helped Louetta, his youngest child, up into her chair and sat her on top of some books that boosted her high enough for the table. The family ate quickly and noisily.

  Several times John started to say, “Upstairs in the attic—” but each time he was interrupted by one of the kids. Maye finally excused everyone, instructing them to get ready to leave for church.

  He sat quietly at the dinner table while Maye and Ima Jean cleaned up the dishes, talking and laughing together. He was deep in thought, with a serious expression on his face, until Louetta tugged on his arm. Then his face lit up with love. She climbed up onto her daddy’s lap, nuzzling her nose into his neck. He wrapped his big bear arms around her and squeezed her tight, closing his eyes and breathing in her sweet smell.

  “I wish you could go ta church with us too, Daddy.”

  “Me too, Butterbean. But I have to go to a meetin’.” He gave her another big squeeze and kissed her forehead. “Now go get yer shoes, and I’ll help you put ‘em on.”

  “Why’d he say ya had to go all the way up there tonight?” Maye asked her husband, as she dried her hands on the dishtowel.

  “I don't know why. The message only said he needed to see me and it couldn’t wait,” John explained for the second time. He wanted to spend time with his family as much as they wanted him to, but he’d gotten an urgent message that he couldn’t put off. “But Maye . . . “

  Louetta came back into the room and climbed back onto his lap, handing him her shoes. He didn’t finish his sentence.

  “I’ll drive you and the kids up to church. You can attend the service and fellowship time, and I’ll be back to pick you up with time to come in, visit a spell, eat some of that mouth waterin’ chocolate cake you’re takin’, and drink some bad coffee.”

  Maye let out a long sigh, but there really was no use in arguing about it. She walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Come on kids, time to go!”

  “Maye, I need to tell you about the attic trunk . . . “ John began but was again interrupted when the three other Hobb children came lumbering down the steps and began pulling out coats, scarves, and gloves, all talking over each other.

  “Daddy, can we play in the snow when we get home?”

  “Dad, have you seen my Bible?”

  “Daddy, tie this shoe, please.”

  “Mama! Daddy! Look at my loose tooth!”

  Maye handed out hats and mittens, insisting they all wear them.

  Ima Jean, the oldest, whined, “Do I have to wear a hat? It messes up my hair.”

  Her brother, Sam, piped up, “She wants to look her best for Walter!”

  She swatted him on the arm, and he jumped back out of her reach, laughing.

  “That’s enough, you two,” their father warned from the kitchen chair where he was scrawling something on a piece of paper and stuffing it into his pocket. “And yes, you have to wear a hat.” He helped Louetta put on her hat and mittens, then held Maye’s coat open, while she slipped her arms inside. He gently tugged on the bill of Johnny’s hat in a gesture of affection.

  “Come on crew, off we go.”

  It was an unusually cold December night with a light snow flitting through the air. Outside, the children breathed heavily to see their breath in the air. They loaded up and headed over to the First Methodist Church where they had been members for twelve years. John was
a deacon and Maye was the secretary of her ladies circle. They were there every Sunday morning and evening and every Wednesday night.

  John pulled up to the side door of the church. Imitating a train conductor’s voice he said, “All out! First Methodist Church, stop one!”

  They piled out of the car, with a quick “Bye, Dad” or “See ya!”

  Maye said, “No, keep that hat on until we get inside . . . “ as John tried to say, “Maye, the trunk in the attic…”

  Louetta pulled on her arm. “Come on, Mommy!”

  Maye turned back to look at John, leaning down, peering back into the car. Deciding he couldn’t say what he wanted to in only a few seconds, and not wanting to worry her needlessly, he simply gave a weak smile and said, “Save a piece of cake for me.”

  She stood up to close the door and said, “Okay, darlin’. Hurry back.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it,” he called after them. They waved, and he watched them disappear through the church door.

  [ June 2010 ]

  Tess listened in horror as Buck told her about Lou’s father being murdered two years before her grandmother was murdered. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my goodness. I had no idea.”

  “Yep, Lou doesn't like to talk about it at all. It was a horrible tragedy. Seems like Lou’s mama had one tragedy befall her after another. And she was left with four youngins to raise. Mizz Maye did a good job with ‘em youngins though, as you can witness through Louetta.”

  “Mercy goodness. That would make a good novel, wouldn’t it? Was either murderer ever caught?”

  “Nellie’s was. There whadn’t ever any doubt about who killed her. Poor Maye witnessed it herself, God love her. But, Lou’s daddy? Naw, some said her father’s death was suicide, some said murder. It wasn’t ever solved. Matter fact, I guess it’s still on the books. What they call a cold case. Hey, I heard you’re a writer. You write true crime?”

  “Oh no.” Tess shook her head. “I was thinking it would be something Jack could sink his teeth into.”

  “Hey—you know what would make a good story?”

  “What’s that?” Tess asked, just as Junebug appeared at the table with their food.

  She served the meals and then asked, “Can I gitch y’all anything else?”

  “That’ll do it, Junie,” Buck said.

  “Alrighty, enjoy your mill.”

  Tess's confused expression as she watched Junebug walk away prompted Buck to say, “Your meal. Enjoy your meal.”

  “Ah! Thank you for the translation.”

  After taking a bite, Buck continued. “Okay, I think you’ll like this one. Goose Pimple Junction used to have some real scoundrels. Around World War II, I hear tell there was a fight on Main Street just about every Saturday afternoon . . . “

  Tess listened to Buck's story of Goose Pimple Junction lore. He was nearing the end of his story when she saw Jack walking toward the diner. She immediately felt guilty because she’d told him she had plans for the evening. Starting to wave as he entered the diner, she quickly dropped her hand when he sat down at the counter and didn’t look her way.

  “But ole’ P.D. had his thinkin’ cap on that day. He blew the whistle, but he blew it in a different manner than was the usual signal, see. The sheriff heard it, and figured somethin’ waddent right. So he hoofed it on over to the station, but he went the back way. He and his deputies snuck in through the back door, and they subdued the louts and hauled ‘em off to the pokey.”

  “That’s some tale. And that was some fast thinking.”

  “True story,” Buck said proudly, finishing off his dinner. He glanced over his shoulder, following Tess’s eyes, and saw Jack sitting at the counter. “Well thar’s Jack, now. Hey Jack! We was just talkin’ ‘bout you!”

  Jack looked over his shoulder indifferently, but didn’t get off the stool. “Zat right?”

  “Yep. Tess said you might could use some ‘a Goose Pimple Junction’s true crime to write about. But she’ll hafta tell ya all ‘bout it some other time. We gotta git goin’.” He looked out the window. “Tess, it’s pourin’ down bullfrogs out there. You have t’allow me to deliver you home. You walked to work, didn’t ya?”

  “Oh, well . . . yes, I did walk, but I was going to stay and have a piece of that lemon pie. Thank you for the offer though.”

  “Now what kind a gentleman would I be if I let you walk home in this weather? I insist. How ‘bout you get that pie to take home?”

  “Yeah, Tess, how ‘bout gettin’ take away? You must have other plans,” Jack said sarcastically.

  Tess didn’t like being told what to do. She was not about to go anywhere until she was darn good and ready. She’d rather get soaked to the bone than be manipulated. She signaled Junebug. “One piece of your lemon pie for here, please.” Then she pasted on her most charming smile and said firmly to Buck, “Thank you anyway for the offer, but I’ll be fine.”

  Buck shot an annoyed look Jack’s way, but quickly recovered. “Well, thank ya for the favor of your kumpny tonight, Tess. I will be seein’ you around.” With that, he gave Junebug some dollar bills, said, “Keep the change,” and disappeared out the door and into the rain.

  Jack got off of his stool and walked over to Tess’s table.

  “You were ignoring me,” she accused, smiling up at him.

  “Looked like you didn’t want to be disturbed. Didn’t know your plans included dinner with Buck.”

  “Please sit down, Jack. I have two interesting things to tell you about,” she took a deep breath, “plus an apology.”

  “Are you sure your dance card isn’t full? Sure you don’t have plans?”

  “What is your major malfunction?” Tess said in an exaggerated southern drawl.

  “Woohoo! Tessie’s been takin’ lessons in Southern speak! Well done, lady, I’m impressed.” He gave a show of tipping his imaginary hat. He was teasing her, but the chill of a moment ago seemed to have thawed a bit.

  “I got that one from Lou. Now I did say I have an apology to make. Are you going to sit down?”

  Jack smiled, his eyes softening, and dimple showing. “Since you asked so nicely.”

  “Not that I should have to explain to you, but Buck joined me unexpectedly tonight.”

  “It wadn’t a date?” Jack shot back. “Then what were your plans?”

  “No, it was not a date.” She took another deep breath and let it out. “Okay, I’m sorry. I may have exaggerated when I said I had plans. I apologize . . . “ She was groping for words and feeling embarrassed at the discovery of her little white lie. She didn’t feel like she had to explain anyway. It wasn’t like he had a claim on her. Finally, she said, “Can we move on now? Do you want to hear what I found out, or not?”

  “Not. I want to hear why you made up an excuse to decline my dinner invitation.”

  Tess looked out the window, searching for the right words. How do you tell someone you don't want to get involved with him because you heard he cheated on his wife? She really didn't want to discuss it with him, and she didn't want his excuses or lies, either. She'd had enough of that with her ex-husband. Finally she looked right at him and quietly said, “I just divorced a ladies' man. I don’t want to go down that road again.”

  “And you think I’m a ladies' man?” His voice was almost a screech. In a more normal tone he said, “I guess I’ll just have to prove to you I’m not.”

  She smiled shyly at him. “I guess you will.”

  Jack’s grin was lopsided. “Okay, apology accepted. Discussion to be continued at a later time. Now lay it on me. What did Buck have to say?”

  Just then, Willy the would-be handyman entered the diner and shook off the rain like a wet dog. “Shewee! It’s rainin’ so hard the animals are startin' ta pair up.” He was loud enough for everyone in the diner to hear. He saw Tess and Jack and walked over to their table.

  “Hey, y’all. How’s the renovatin’ comin’ along, sweet cheeks? Need me yet?” Willy’s cree
py grin spread across his face.

  “It’s . . . uh . . . coming along just fine, uh . . . Willy, right?”

  “I knew you’d remember me.” He stood there smiling down at her, his hands in his denim jean pockets. “How ‘bout you and me go for a drink some time?” He winked at her.

  The bluntness of his invitation caught Tess by total surprise. She sputtered and stammered and was trying to think of a polite way to say ‘no’ when Jack answered for her.

  “No,” he said bluntly.

  “Well, mister, you’re kind a cute, but I ain’t no homo sapien. I was askin’ the lady.”

  “I'll agree with you there, but I believe you mean homosexual, and I'm not either. I’m answerin’ for the lady, and I said, no,” Jack said more forcefully this time.

  Junebug came bustling up to the table with Tess’s pie and a sweet tea for Jack. “Willy? What’s the matta with you? I know your mama taught you better manners than that.”

  Slick sidled up to the table too, and joined in. “Willy, I’ll give you a shiny new quarter if you’ll park yer ornery butt over yonder on one a them stools.”

  “Shoot,” Willy muttered. “I feel like a banjo. Everybody's pickin’ on me. Okay, okay, I’ll go. But I will see you later, darlin’.” Enunciating his words, he nodded his head, pointed his finger, and winked at Tess, before starting toward the stools at the counter.

  Jack started to get up, but Tess reached across the table to grab his arm. Fortunately, he was partially standing, because unfortunately, she knocked over his tea, spilling it all over the table and onto the spot where he’d just been sitting. The accident lightened the mood, and everybody laughed, making her face blush red with embarrassment.

  Slick started off after Willy. “Nemmine him, Jack. I’ll give him a tutorial on politeness.”

  After Junebug had cleaned up the mess and brought a new glass of tea for Jack, Tess took a bite of her pie and watched a rain drop slowly make its way down the outside of the window.