Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  “Well he certainly looks like a fish out of water in this place. I mean, he looks nice enough with his bolo tie and all, but . . . skulls and roses?”

  “I’d venture a guess he’s trying to show his badass side with the skulls, and his softer, tender side with the roses. You know, with those two qualities, he could be quite the catch,” Jack said dryly.

  “If it weren’t for his lack of brains, his perpetual sneer, and his crude personality.”

  “I’m surprised he can sit. His pants are so tight, if he farted, he’d blow his boots off.”

  “Jack!” Tess covered a laugh with her hand over her mouth.

  The waiter reappeared with their drinks. After he took their dinner orders and left again, Jack decided to shift gears.

  “Are you planning on goin’ to the Fourth of July shindig?”

  “Yes, I thought I’d go for a while,” she answered, warily.

  “Good. How ‘bout I pick you up and we go together?” He didn’t wait for an answer but just bulldozed on. “Look, I’ve gone for the past few years, and I always get hit on by all the blue hairs. You’d be doing me a favor by going with me. It would help keep them at bay.”

  “Oh, so I’d be kind of like your bodyguard,” she said, more as a statement than a question.

  “You say taters, I say maters.” Jack grinned, dimple appearing.

  “I think that’s ‘you say tomatoes, I say tomahtoes.’”

  “Idn’t that what I said?” he asked facetiously. He sat back, and took a long drink of his beer. He finally returned the glass to the table and said, “I’ll be by to pick you up at one o’clock. We’ll make a day of it. Okay?”

  She eyed him guardedly. “I don’t know, Jack.”

  “Tess, let me prove to you I’m not a bad guy. I want to get to know you better. I want to spend time with you.” He pleaded with his eyes.

  Sixty-four times twenty-eight equals . . .

  “Well lookie hare!” Willy suddenly stood at their table, with a fake grin on his face. “Just the woh-man I was hopin’ ta see. I’ve purt’ near busted two sets of knee caps lookin’ for you.”

  “Well, now you’ve found her, and you can see she’s busy. So scram,” Jack growled.

  “Now, you ain't got no call ta act mean like that. I’us only bein’ friendly, is all.” Willy held his hat up to his chest, trying his best to look hurt. “I even happened by yer house, but ya weren’t thar.”

  “No shit, Sherlock . . . “ Jack began, but faltered under Tess's glare. “We were havin’ a nice civilized dinner until you came by.”

  “I wadn’t talkin’ ta you, ya old coot.”

  “Well, you know what they say about age . . . “

  “No, but I know what I say. And I say, you're old.”

  “Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill,” Jack said through slitted eyes.

  “Willy, is there something I can do for you?” Tess asked, putting her hand on Jack’s arm.

  “Why yes, as a matta fact there is. You can say you’ll go ta the Fourth a July town hoo-ha with me.” Willy shot a sneer at Jack.

  “Oh.” Tess sat back, surprised. “I’m sorry, Willy, but I just told Jack I’d go with him.”

  Jack gave a surprised look at Tess before folding his arms and shining a satisfied grin at Willy.

  “Well. Whatever blows your dress up,” Willy said coldly. He turned and disappeared as fast as he had appeared a few moments before.

  “So now who’s whose bodyguard?” He saw a worried expression on Tess’s face; he sighed and said, “You weren’t tellin’ Willy a tall tale, were ya? You did just agree to go with me to the town celebration—right?”

  “Hmmm?” Tess’s gaze moved from the door Willy had walked through to Jack. “Yes, I meant it. I just don't understand Willy's interest in me. I'm only five years younger than you are. He's got to see me as old, too.”

  “That man is trouble. He hasn’t done anything other than be a pest, has he?”

  “There’s just a certain edge to him, and there’s something that happened the other day that I haven’t told you about.”

  His face got serious and he said quietly, “Tell me, now.”

  “I think someone may be stalking me.” He raised his eyebrows and she continued. “I found two footprints and some cigarette butts beneath my office window the other day.”

  “You what?” he exploded. Tess shushed him and he lowered his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you call John Ed? Tell me you called John Ed.”

  “I didn’t call John Ed,” she said quietly, guiltily.

  “Mary Tess Tremaine . . . “

  “Jack, I wasn’t about to give that man another opportunity to say I was having a . . . a . . . a hissy fit with wings . . . “

  “A hissy fit with a tail,” he corrected her.

  “You know he would have just laughed at me. Actually, I did tell him later, when I saw him at the bookstore. He couldn’t have cared less.”

  “But that was solid evidence. Cigarette butts would have fingerprints on them.”

  “I didn’t think about that.”

  “You think Willy might be involved in this?” He leaned toward her.

  “I don’t know. I just find his behavior odd.”

  “You're a beautiful woman, Tess. It’s not that I’m threatened by old Willy, I just don’t like him around you.”

  “Okay, can we talk about something else now? How’s your book coming along?”

  Later that night, as Jack drove her home, Tess thought about what a nice evening she’d had, despite its beginnings. The martini, the food, the atmosphere at the restaurant, talking and laughing with Jack . . . she let out a sigh as she looked up at the sliver of the moon.

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “Nothing. It was a wonderful evening. Even if it started off rocky.” It had been a long time since she remembered feeling so good.

  He pulled into her driveway, and for the first time since she’d met Jack, Tess knew what she wanted. When he stopped the car and turned to her, she didn’t look away. When he leaned toward her, she moved to him. He took her face between his hands and brought their foreheads together. She pushed her hands into his hair. They both closed their eyes and reveled in the moment.

  Slowly, Jack pulled back and kissed his way down Tess’s face until he reached her mouth. She returned the kiss, soft and tentative at first. After a few minutes, the kisses were no longer soft, or tentative.

  Beauty's Only Skin Deep, But Ugly Goes All The Way To The Bone

  dreckly: conjunction drek-lee directly

  I’ll catch up dreckly.

  [ 1937 ]

  It was a hot summer day, and every window in the house was open.

  WUMP! A loud noise carried from the upstairs window of the Hobb house.

  “Ow! Johnny! Stop it!”

  WUMP! Came the noise again, the sound of something hard landing on something soft.

  “No Johnny! Stop! I won’t do it again! I promise!” a little girl’s voice cried out.

  WUMP! WUMP! “I’m gonna jerk a knot through your head!” Johnny yelled.

  “Stop beating me! Stop beating me! Help!” Louetta’s little voice screamed.

  Maye was in the side yard gardening and heard it all. She continued picking beans, as if nothing was wrong. She even started softly humming to herself.

  WUMP! “That’ll teach ya!” Johnny yelled. WUMP!

  “AHHHH! Johnny! Stop beating me!” Louetta yelled again.

  “I’ma knock you into next week!” he hollered.

  Maye finished picking her beans and went to stand underneath the window. “Okay, you two, that’s enough. Ain’t nobody out here ‘cept me and the beans, and they don’t cotton to yer hijinks. Now you two c’mon down and help me set the table for supper.”

  Louetta appeared at the window. “Aw, Mama, I thought Uncle Trevor was comin’ down the street . . . “

  Johnny’s head popped up. “Did we scare old Mrs. Happenay? Did sh
e hear us?”

  “No, she did not. I told you, nobody’s out here. Now quit all that foolishness and come down and make yourselves useful.”

  An hour later, Trevor arrived. He was becoming a regular at the house. “You sure are lookin’ fine, Maye,” he drawled, looking her up and down.

  Giggling, she briefly allowed him to kiss her cheek, and then she skittered on back to the kitchen. “Trevor, would you put the bread on the table, please?”

  “Sure, anything for you, sugar.”

  “Kids! Supper’s on!” Maye called, and the four Hobb children came running.

  “Uncle Trevor, Johnny’s been beating me,” Louetta baited her uncle.

  “Again?” Trevor said with a straight face.

  “Uncle Trevor, I got an A on my arithmetic test today. Wanna see?” Ima Jean asked.

  “After supper, sugarplum,” Trevor said, absentmindedly.

  “Uncle Trevor, can you take me up to town tomorrow,” a voice came from the end of the table. Trevor wasn’t sure to whom the voice belonged. It didn’t matter. He just wanted to eat Maye’s delicious chicken and feast on her beauty.

  “I ‘spect so,” he said, looking at Maye.

  “Trevor, you’re too good to us.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you, Mayepie.”

  After supper, Trevor was helping dry the dishes when there was a knock at the door. Maye went to answer it, and in a moment he heard a deep, male voice. Walking around the corner, he saw Louie Crane, the widower farmer down the road, standing in the doorway.

  “Whatta you doin’ here?” Trevor grunted.

  “Evenin’, Trevor. I just came by to bring Maye some ‘a my prize maters. I know how she likes them so.” The tall gentleman was looking lovingly at Maye, who was holding three huge bright red tomatoes.

  “Louie, that’s mighty nice ‘a you. C’mon in and let me send some cake home with you.”

  Louie stepped inside, while Maye disappeared into the kitchen. Trevor glared at him in silence. Louie returned the sentiment. Maye came bustling back out of the kitchen with a huge chunk of pound cake dripping with vanilla icing.

  “I hope you enjoy it, Louie.” She patted his arm.

  “Aw, I’m sure I will Mizz Maye. Ever since Julia died, I haven’t had homemade baked goods. Thank ye. I’d best be off now.” He waved. “Bye y’all.”

  Trevor didn’t utter a word until the man was well down the sidewalk.

  “You lead him on,” Trevor accused.

  “I do no such thing. I’m only bein’ neighborly.”

  “Well, why’ont you be neighborly with me?” He reached out to grab her around the waist.

  “Trevor, I done told you, I’m not gettin’ involved with a married man!” Maye maneuvered tantalizingly just out of his reach.

  [ July 2010 ]

  Tess and Jack walked the few blocks to town for the town’s Fourth of July celebration, commenting on all the homes’ patriotic decorations.

  “The town does the Fourth of July up right,” Jack commented.

  Every home leading in or out of town had a big American flag posted either on the house or lawn.

  “I’ve never seen so many decorations in all my life.” Tess looked first one way, then the other, trying to take it all in.

  “The women's club sponsors a contest, and people really get into it, decorating houses in any way imaginable, ranging from tasteful to downright tacky.”

  To prove his point, they passed a house where window boxes with red, white, and blue flowers spilled out over the sides, and mini American flags sprouted among the foliage. Several houses had red, white, and blue bunting hanging from covered porches. Small flags lined the sidewalks leading up to some of the houses. Streamers decorated trees in one yard; in another, mini versions of the stars and stripes were attached to tree limbs, making them look like leaves. Tess was so engrossed in a lawn’s solid sea of mini Old Glories, she wasn’t watching where she was going and almost tripped over a dog. Jack caught her arm. She glanced up at him with a look that said, ‘don’t say a word.’

  “Do the businesses have a contest, too?” Tess asked once they reached town.

  “Oh, yeah, each one has to outdo the other.”

  Every business was in full regalia, with streamers, bunting, flags, or balloons decorating their storefronts. Some had red, white, and blue lights surrounding the doors. Almost all had a sign in their window wishing America a happy birthday.

  Tess smelled the mingling scents of hot grease, barbecue, and popcorn. Looking around, she saw five men dressed as Abe Lincoln and two as George Washington. Jack pointed out two people dressed as the Statue of Liberty wandering around. Crazy, creative homemade patriotic hats and glasses were on more heads than not. How someone could wear glasses with little flashing light bulbs, and walk straight, Tess couldn’t understand. She had never seen so much red, white, and blue in such a condensed space. No one dared wear any other color that day. Even Pickle sported a red t-shirt, this one with words that said, “Lock Up Your Daughters!”

  Jack saw Pickle’s shirt and said, “I’m not even gonna touch that one.”

  At one-thirty, the annual bike parade began. Children of all ages paraded down Main Street on decorated bikes, strollers, and wagons with patriotic colors. Several dog owners had decorated their canine friends in Fourth of July style, and they followed the children down Main Street with the dogs soaking in the attention, oblivious to the embarrassment they should be feeling. The local high school’s marching band led the way for cars carrying Miss Goose Pimple Junction candidates and the mayor’s car. A bright red fire engine, with its lights flashing, brought up the rear.

  After waving to all of the parade participants, Tess and Jack meandered through the various booths, sampling barbecue, hot dogs, potato salad, and fried apple pies.

  “Tess, I’m full as a tick on a fat dog,” Jack said. “Let’s go find a seat. I think the winner of the Miss Goose Pimple Junction Contest is about to be announced.”

  Tess was too full to walk another step when they took seats next to Lou, who was dressed in red, white, and blue, and wore a headband with glittery red and blue stars on springs that looked like antennae.

  “Well hi, y’all!” Lou said, reaching out to pat each of them. “Hireyew?”

  “Lou, if I was any happier I’d be twins,” Jack said.

  “Well, set yourselves down and get ready to feast your eyes, Jack,” Lou said with a wink. Looking at Tess she added, “And you?”

  “I’m too pooped to pop,” Tess complained. “How are you?”

  “Aw, honey, I’m having a good face day!”

  “Yes, you are, Lou,” Tess laughed, “yes, you are!”

  “What are you talkin’ ‘bout woman? You always have a good face day!” Jack said.

  Lou took a break in the joking to lean toward Tess’s ear, whispering seriously, “You know what yer doin’, right?” Tess gave her a questioning look.

  Their conversation was interrupted when a thirty-something brunette and a young girl, who looked to be about nine years old, sat down on the other side of Lou. The woman had brown hair and eyes that were so brown they were almost black. She had a pretty face, but her body was shaped a little bit like a pear. The little girl looked just like her mother, minus the pear shape.

  “Aw, here are my babies now. Tessie, meet my new roommates. This is Martha Maye, my daughter, and this here is Buttabean, my granddaughter,” Lou proudly said. “Girls, this is Tess and Jack.”

  Martha Maye leaned over her mother to shake hands and said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t actually name my child ‘Butterbean!’ That’s just our special name for her. Feel free to call her Carrie!” She smoothed Butterbean’s hair back. “I’m so glad to meet you both! I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, too, Martha Maye . . . and . . . “ Lou looked expectantly at Tess, and Tess said, “ . . . Butterbean.” Lou gave a head nod and flashed a satisfied smile.

  “May I ask wh
y you call your beautiful granddaughter ‘Butterbean?’” asked Jack.

  Lou and her daughter looked at each other, exchanging a meaningful glance. Finally, Martha said, “It’s a special name because it’s what Mama was called as a child.”

  “And this little Buttabean is a special child.” Lou’s eyes suddenly glistened with tears.

  “Even though any grandmother would say that, I have to agree with her.” Martha Maye combed her fingers through the little girl’s long brown hair.

  “Lou are you gonna do your usual commentary on the contest?” asked Jack, changing the subject.

  “Well, honey, I don’t know if I should. Tessie here’ll think poorly of me if I go shootin’ my mouth off as usual.”

  Tess looked to Jack for an explanation.

  “See, Miss Goose Pimple Junction is not chosen on talent, looks, or brains, but more or less on popularity,” Jack explained. “Of course, whichever contestant’s father glad-handed the most voters might have somethin’ to do with the outcome, too. The contest is a parliamentarian’s nightmare. You saw the voting over at the Piggly Wiggly grocery store all last week, right?” Tess nodded. “Well, did you know anyone could vote each and every time they visited the store, if they wanted?” Tess shook her head. “It’s true,” Jack continued. “And the best seat in the house for the announcin’ of the new Miss Goose Pimple Junction is right next to Lou. She won’t sugar coat anything, she’ll give you the unvarnished truth on each contestant, and she’ll entertain you while she’s at it.”

  “In that case, Lou, please don’t censure yourself on my account.”

  “Well, all right, if you’re sure . . . “ Lou looked like she might need some more prodding, but the music started, and the mayor appeared on the makeshift stage. “Afternoon, everyone! And Happy Birthday, America!” The crowd applauded enthusiastically.

  “Let’s warmly welcome the lovely ladies, our fine contestants for Miss Goose Pimple Junction.” Buck swung his arm out toward the women, who were walking on stage to applause and whistles.

  “These beautiful young women don’t need an introduction, but it’s protocol, so I gotta do it,” he continued. “Our first fine contestant is Araminta Lehigh.”