by Amy Metz
“The mob, oh please,” Tess looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “No, Chief. Nothing. I have no idea why these things have happened.”
“Seems a might strange we don’t have ‘ny trouble ‘roundcheer till you happen into town.”
“John Ed. Tess told you. I told you. We have no idea why this happened.” Jack spoke slowly, with exaggerated patience, as if trying to reign in his temper. “You got your stupid head on today? Why do you want to keep on huntin’ where there ain’t no stink?”
“Boy, you can put your boots in the oven, but that don’t make ’em biscuits.”
“Just what exactly does that mean?” Tess asked.
“It means . . . “ Jack glared at John Ed, “ . . . that he thinks we’re lyin’.”
The phone rang, and Tess went to answer it. “You’re saved by the bell, Chief. Or maybe I am. I was getting ready to say something I shouldn’t.”
The two men stared each other down while she talked. She hung up a minute later, saying, “That was Lou. She wanted to know if I had seen you, Jack. She went over to your place to check on you, and when you didn’t answer, she got concerned.”
“How long you say you been here?” John Ed asked, suspiciously.
“John Ed, you’re wastin’ daylight. You keep asking questions we’ve already answered.”
“She add grumpy to your eggs, Jack?” John Ed smiled a disingenuous smile.
“No, John Ed, whoever hit me over the head gave me a dose. Now why don’t you get out there and find out who did it?” Jack’s voice was getting louder and angrier. His attempt to keep impatience at bay was failing. He put his palm on his forehead. Ezzie stood next to him and gave a low growl, her eyes fixed on John Ed.
“I never figured a basket hound fer a guard dog.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I see everthin’ in this job. Well . . . I’ll let myself out.” He turned to leave the kitchen.
Tess followed to see him out anyway, and as she did, she saw Jack mouth, “Basket hound?” She shrugged and went with John Ed to the door.
When she came back, she found Jack writing on a piece of paper from a pad she kept by the phone.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, indicating the paper he was using.
“Of course not. Did you have a sudden urge to make a grocery list?”
“No,” he said absentmindedly, continuing to write. Finally he looked up. “I think I know why these things are happenin’.”
She took a bite of her cold eggs. “You do?” She took Jack’s plate to the microwave to reheat the eggs and then did the same with her plate.
Jack waited until she got back to the table to speak.
“Well, are you going to tell me?”
“I want your undivided attention.” He set the pencil and paper aside. “What’s new in the life of Mary T?”
Tess looked at him, puzzled. “Town? House? Job? There’s a lot new in my life.”
“Now narrow it down,” he prodded, taking another mouthful of eggs. “Mmmm . . . Good eggs, by the way.”
“Jack, are you going to tell me, or are we going to play twenty questions all day?”
“Okay, okay. You recently found somethin’.” She stared at him blankly. “The key. Last night when we were talkin’ about it bein’ connected to Lou’s daddy’s murder . . . I think we were right. All of the stuff that’s been happenin’ has got to have somethin’ to do with the key. Martha Maye said Lou didn’t want to know who the killer was. Maybe somebody else doesn’t want anybody to know.”
“But who would know that John Hobb had tried to tell his wife about something in a trunk before he was murdered? And who knows I have, or had, a trunk key? Had being the operative word, because it doesn’t matter anymore. Whoever took my purse took all of my keys. The trunk key, too—it was on my key ring.”
“Au contraire, mon cherie.” He reached into his shirt pocket and held up the key with his thumb and forefinger. “Voila!”
She sat there looking at him with her mouth open, so he added, “Remember? Last night at the diner. You showed the key to Martha Maye. Then I took it from her, and you were engrossed in talking and eating, so I stuck it in my pocket.”
“Well I’ll be . . . “ she said, realizing what had happened. “So he didn’t get the key. But who would care about it anyway? Anyone who was involved in the murder would surely be dead by now.”
“That’s what we have to figure out, Boo. Who would care, and why. And you know I do like a good mystery.”
Still Buyin' Green Bananas
ate up: verb eyt uhp eaten up, consumed with
He was so ate up with love he couldn’t stand the thought of any man havin’ her.
Goose Pimple Gazette
July 30, 1937
Widow Testifies In Murder Trial
There was a collective gasp in the courtroom on Thursday, July 22, when Maye Hobb was carried in on a hospital cot, accompanied by her doctor and a nurse. Only fifteen days after being shot in the chest, she was carried into Mallard Circuit Court, still too frail to walk on her own. She was allowed a brief reprieve from her hospital room to testify in the murder trial of her brother-in-law Trevor Hobb, who shot and seriously wounded Maye, and killed Maye’s mother, Nellie Lawrence, on July 7. Maye is thirty-four years old and the widow of John Hobb.
Trevor Hobb was the brother of John Hobb, who was found dead in his car with a bullet to the head at the Goose Creek Bridge on December 15, 1935. Both men were sons of C.C. “Cooter” Hobb, a prosperous Duckbill Creek farmer who has thrived in the development of oil and gas in the county.
John Hobb was an upstanding member of the community, who worked at the First National Bank from 1923 until the time of his death. He was a trusted employee who served in numerous positions at the bank, including auditor, cashier, and teller. It was John who identified Brick Lynch as one of the bandits who robbed the First National Bank in March of 1932. Lynch was convicted of the robbery, but was pardoned after three months by Governor Shelby. Lynch and his former wife, Maisey, are accused of John Hobb’s murder. Ironically, their trial was due to begin next week. It has been postponed.
Not much is known about Trevor Hobb, except what has been gleaned during the course of his trial for murder. He is married to Billie Jane Hobb, and has four children.
Nellie Lawrence, widow of John E. Lawrence, was visiting the home of her daughter, Maye, when Trevor Hobb entered the home and shot both women. In her testimony, Maye stated that Trevor had made numerous advances to her since her husband’s death. Hobb told her he wanted to divorce his wife and marry her, but she said she turned him down flat, telling her brother-in-law that such an action was impossible, and she would not marry him. She testified that he responded that he wouldn’t allow her to marry anyone else and if she tried, he would kill both her and the man. Tragically, she hadn’t thought he was serious.
Maye Hobb described Trevor as calm when he came to her home on July 7. It was her testimony that he again asked her to marry him, and when she refused, he pulled out a gun and shot first her, and then her mother. Nellie Lawrence died two days later. She was fifty-nine years old. She is survived by two daughters, Araminta Daniels, and Maye Hobb, one son, P.D. Lawrence, three sisters, four brothers, and six grandchildren.
On Tuesday, July 27, 1937, Trevor Hobb was found guilty of the murder of Nellie Lawrence by a jury of seven women and five men, in spite of a plea of insanity. He was sentenced to life imprisonment with a recommendation of no pardon, and no parole.
[ July 2010 ]
“Who have you told about the key?” Jack asked Tess, as they continued their conversation about why bad things kept happening to good people, namely Tess.
“Well . . . “ Tess looked out the window, thinking. “I told Lou. And you. And Martha Maye . . . I think that’s all.”
“And those are three names we can safely rule out as the culprit. So we have to assume it’s someone they told, or someone who overheard you. When you told me, we were sitting r
ight here. When you told Lou, was there anyone else who could have overheard you?”
“We talked about it in the bookstore, so I suppose there might have been.” Tess thought for a minute. “I remember Lou pulling me behind the counter after I initially told her about the key. I don’t know if anyone in the bookstore was within earshot.”
“Last night when we talked to Martha Maye, the diner was pretty crowded. It’s possible someone could have overheard us. Although it doesn’t seem likely. I don’t remember seein’ anyone out of the ordinary.”
“He must have followed us from the diner, or how else would he know where we were? Unless this was just a random mugging.”
“Tess, Goose Pimple Junction doesn’t have random muggings. It just doesn’t happen.”
“I think we need to talk to Martha Maye again,” Tess said.
“I think you’re right.”
Jack left shortly after breakfast, but he insisted she keep Ezzie. “She’s no guard dog, but she’ll bark if she hears somethin’. It would make me feel better if she was here with you.” Tess relented. It hadn’t taken much to talk her into it. She was glad to have the company.
She cleaned up the breakfast dishes and called Martha Maye to ask if they could meet the next morning for breakfast. Tess was starting to feel guilty about doing all of this behind Lou’s back. She decided to talk to Martha Maye about that, as well.
Ezzie lay at Tess's feet as she opened her computer and began to work on her book. She didn’t get very far before the doorbell rang.
“Mr. Mayor, what can I do for you?”
“I just wonted to check on ya, and see how you’re fairin’ after last night’s mishap.” He presented her with a bunch of bananas.
“Wonder if he brought beer, too,” she said under her breath. It reminded her of on one of the worst dates she’d ever had; the man brought her bananas and beer. Some men bring flowers, or chocolate, or wine. But bananas and beer?
“What’s that?” Buck had invited himself in, pushing his way right past Tess and Ezzie.
“Oh! . . . I said . . . bananas . . . are here!” Tess held the bananas in the air.
“I figured you needed somethin’ healthy. How are you after last night? That was a terrible thing that happened, and I was worried about ya.”
“I’m fine, really. Just some sore palms.” She held up her scraped hands. “Jack got the worst of it. Maybe we should take these to him.”
Buck looked down at Ezzie, who was eyeing him distrustfully. “Ya mean he’s not here?”
“No, why—”
“I thought with his dog bein’ here and all,” he interrupted. “And I saw John Ed a while ago and he mentioned…”
“Ezzie’s my houseguest for a while.” This time she interrupted, angry that the police chief had been gossiping about her.
“Is Jack goin’ out of town? You dog sittin’?”
“Something like that.” She didn’t want to admit that a basset hound was her guard dog.
Buck stood there awkwardly, and Tess didn’t make an attempt at small talk. She just wasn’t up to it.
Finally, Buck said, “Well, I’ll be goin’. Just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
“Thank you, Mayor.”
“Buck,” he corrected, as he stepped outside.
Tess had just sat back down at her computer when the phone rang. Lou's voice rang out loud and clear. “Tessie! You all right? You'd best be takin' care a yourself. Listen, the reason I called is, Martha Maye and I made you a cake. Well, actually, if ya don't mind, we're gonna give half to you and half to Jack. So's it okay if I bring it over't your house now?”
“Of course that's okay, Lou. You didn't have to do that.”
“Well, we sure did. Now you sit tight, and I'll be over right quick.”
Tess was inundated all day with baked goods and casseroles, starting with Lou's Lemon Raspberry cake. Someone new rang her doorbell, one after the other, all afternoon with some sort of homemade food item. She didn't get much work done, but she felt pampered and taken care of. It was a good feeling.
* * *
The next morning, Martha Maye was waiting in a booth at the diner when Tess arrived. Willa Jean was on duty, and Clive and Earl were in their regular places. As she entered, Clive said, “Tessie, Tessie, are you all right, sugar booger? We heard what happened to y'all—that's just about the most awful thing to happen 'round here in I don’t know how long.”
“Yes, thank you, Clive, I'm okay. It was scary when it happened, though.”
“Well, I'm glad to see there's no lingerin' effects—you look prettier than a glob of butter meltin’ on a stack a wheat cakes.”
Across the room, Martha Maye called out, “I b’lieve they could charm the dew right off a honeysuckle. He already tried that line on me, not more than five minutes ago.”
“Aw, don’t mind him, ladies. He could talk the hair off a dog,” Earl said.
“And you’re older ‘n dirt,” Clive shot back.
Tess left the men to battle it out, and as she headed for the table, she noticed Pickle dash past the diner window.
“Hi, Martha Maye. Was that Pickle who just ran down the sidewalk?”
“Yes,” Martha Maye nodded, looking at her watch, “if I had to guess, I’d say that the bank’s about to open, which I ‘spect means Charlotte Price will be walkin’ up any time now. She has a summer job as a teller.” Tess raised her eyebrows and Martha continued. “Mama said Pickle and Charlotte have been an item for about six months now. She said he never did have a lick a sense, but since he’s been seein’ Charlotte, his brain has been rattlin’ around like a BB in a boxcar.”
“He doesn’t really seem to be all there,” Tess admitted. “Although he’s a sweet boy.”
“Well, he’s sweet on Charlotte.”
“Charlotte Price. So she’s the one who came in with Henry Clay the other night at the diner?”
“Yep, she’s his daughter. And John Ed’s granddaughter, ‘a course.”
There was a commotion at the front door, where Jack was making his way in.
“Hidee, Jack,” Clive said.
“Z’it hot enough out thar fer ya, Jack?” Earl asked.
“Shewee, it’s hotter than forty hells out there, boys.” Jack clapped Earl on the back and made his way to the ladies’ booth.
“How are you, Jack?” Martha Maye asked.
“I’m still buyin’ green bananas.” Jack slid in next to Tess.
What’s with all the bananas lately? “Okay, I'll bite. What's that supposed to mean?” Tess asked.
“It means I'm doin' so good, I'm expectin’ be around long enough to eat the bananas when they're ripe.”
“Oh! I like that.”
“Sorry I’m late, but Butterbean wanted to talk, and I got waylaid coming down the driveway.”
“I’m so sorry, Jack. She hasn’t made that many friends in town, and when she finds fresh meat, she tends to run off at the mouth.” Martha Maye looked embarrassed.
“Aw, it’s not a problem. She’s a sweet girl. And after that, Pickle nearly ran me off the sidewalk.”
“What did his t-shirt say today?” Tess asked.
“Jesus Is My Homeboy.”
Willa Jean arrived with coffee for Jack. “Have a cup of coffee, sugar britches. It’s already been saucered and blowed.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“Well, that’s mighty nice a you, Willa Jean. You’re too good to me.”
She blushed, and said, “I was worried about ya, hon. I couldn't believe it when I heard the news of y'all's muggin'.”
“Thank you, Willa Jean, but we're all right. I assume you were worried about Tess, too?”
“Hmm? Oh . . . yeah . . . of course.” She took her pad and pencil out of her apron pocket. “Are y'all ready to order?”
Tess started. “I’d like two scrambled eggs with toast.”
“And I’ll have two fried eggs over easy with bacon,” Martha Maye said.
“I believ
e a western omelet and an English muffin sounds good today,” Jack said. “And bring us three orange juices, too, please.”
“Okay, that’s an Adam and Eve on a raft and wreck ‘em, flop two over easy with two pigs, a cowboy, burn the British, and a sun kiss times three.” They nodded hesitantly. “Comin’ right up.” Willa Jean walked away, yelling, “Walkin’ in…”
“I reckon y’all wonta finish our conversation from the other night,” Martha Maye said.
“If you wouldn’t mind . . . “ Tess hedged.
“Naw, I don’t mind. I just didn’t wonta get into it in front a Henry Clay . . . it’s . . . it’s complicated.”
“You don’t have to explain,” Jack assured her.
“All right now, what else y’all wonta know?”
“You said your grandmother was murdered, too, but they caught her killer, right?”
Martha Maye snorted a sigh. “Yeah, they caught him. The killer was Mama’s uncle.” She looked up as Willa brought their juice.
“Fresh squeezed just fer you, darlin'.” Willa winked at Jack.
“Well, thank you, Willa Jean. See ladies? It pays to hang around with me!” The women looked at each other and shook their heads.
Martha Maye continued, after a sip of juice. “My mama’s mama and my great grandmamma were on Mama’s back porch that day, on account a it bein’ sa hot.” She stopped talking for a moment, then slapped her hand down on the table. “Well cut my legs off and call me shorty! It was around this time a year that it happened. Lessee . . . yep, I b’lieve the shootin’ was on July 7. I remember ‘cause it was seven-seven-thirty-seven. Idn’t that somethin’? Almost to the day.”
“That really is a weird coincidence,” Tess said, wide-eyed.