Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  “You and the law are real tight now, huh?”

  “I didn’t tell ‘em anything ‘bout you, sir. I did just as you told me to. I swear.” Pickle was wide-eyed and dry mouthed, but he managed to take a gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

  “Yeah, I heard. That’s why I’m here. You can relax. I just dropped by to give you yer money.” He handed Pickle a wad of dollar bills.

  Pickle shook his head. “Uh . . . sir . . . if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather not take that this time. It just don’t feel right. And I need to resign from my employ with you, too.” Pickle swallowed hard again, and added, “If y . . . you don’t mmm . . . mind, that is.”

  “Sure thing, boy. I know I put you in a tight spot. But you came through for me. I guess we can part ways as friends now. Just remember what I tolt ya.” He pointed his finger in Pickle’s face. “Not a word to nobody ‘bout me, or you and old Tank Marshall will be pushin’ up daisies side-by-side. Ya hear?”

  “Ye . . . yessir.” Pickle nodded his head vigorously, gulping once again. He then began to hiccup.

  “I’ll be watchin’ you, boy.” The man clasped a firm hand on Pickle’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Don’t you forget that.” Aqua Velva man turned and disappeared around the side of the building.

  * * *

  Jack saw Officers Beanblossom and Duke inside the diner as he passed, and since he had thirty minutes to spare before picking up Tess for their dinner date, he decided to stop for a chat.

  He passed the old men at their usual seats at the counter, saying, “Afternoon, Clive, Earl, how are y’all today?”

  “If dumb was dirt, he'd cover ‘bout half an acre,” Clive said, pointing to Earl.

  “Ha!” snorted Earl, “An empty bucket makes the most racket.”

  “Aw, boys, tell ya what do,” Jack clapped Earl on the shoulder as he passed by, “have some of Junebug’s chocolate cream pie. It’ll sweeten ya both right up.”

  “We’s plenty sweet. What’s she got that will make him smart?” Clive hitched his thumb toward Earl.

  The men started arguing, and Jack started for the officers’ table. He saw Henry Clay at a table with a group of men, all wearing “Price For Governor” buttons. Jack waved and Henry Clay answered with a nod of the head.

  “Mind if I sit a spell?” he asked the officers, grabbing the back of a chair.

  “Sure thing, Jack. What’s up?” Skeeter asked.

  “Y’all were over at Tank Marshall’s the other day, weren’t ya?”

  “Yeah, we was there,” Hank Beanblossom said. He and Skeeter exchanged looks.

  “I was just wonderin’—how’d y’all get past the dogs?”

  “The dogs?” Hank repeated.

  “Yeah, you know, Foghorn and Leghorn. They always, uh . . . enthusiastically greet visitors to Tank’s farm. Tank’s pretty much the only one they’ll mind. How’d you get past them to the house?”

  “Wull . . . they were locked up in the barn that mornin’,” Skeeter said.

  “Locked up?”

  “Yeah, that is kinda weird, now that ya mention it. I didn’t think he ever locked them dogs up.” Skeeter scratched his head. “Add that to the list of strange, Beano.”

  “What do y’all think? Do you buy the suicide theory?” Jack asked, lowering his voice.

  “Off the record?” Hank whispered.

  “Off the record,” Jack promised. The three men leaned into the table to carry on the conversation without being overheard.

  “I didn’t buy it for a minute,” Hank said quietly. “John Ed’s the one who signed, sealed and delivered that verdict. Skeeter and I noticed some things at the scene. The coroner did, too.”

  “He’s gonna do an autopsy,” Skeeter interjected. “He says he can do an x-ray to determine the path of the bullet. Cool, huh? Then he’ll be able to determine the angle of the bullet, and know if it’s possible he could have shot himself. But I know it wasn’t a suicide. It looked like a set-up from the get-go. The gun was limp in his hand, and there wasn’t any blowback or blood. We’re waitin’ on a report to see if there was any gun powder residue on his hand.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, fellas. I don’t buy the suicide theory either. Say, you guys don’t like John Ed for the killer, do ya?”

  “Naw, ain’t no way it was him. Coroner said it happened around nine this mornin’ and the chief was at the station from eight o’clock on. The only time he left was when the three of us went to Tank’s. Naw, I think he’s jest lazy, s’all. Dudn’t want the headache of a murder investigation jest fer the likes a Tank Marshall.”

  “Okay, boys. Thanks a bunch.”

  “But mum’s the word about this investigation, Jack. The chief don’t know anything about it. We’d like to keep it that way.”

  Jack made a motion like he was zipping his lips. He winked at the officers. “Keep me posted?”

  “Sure thing, Jack.”

  * * *

  After dinner at The Silly Goose, Jack helped Tess into his truck and then got in behind the wheel, eyeing the cake on her lap. “Good thing it wasn’t chocolate, or it would have melted sittin’ in the truck in this heat.”

  “True. I’m not sure how Lou’s going to react to our wanting to look at the trunk. I just thought a cake might sweeten the deal.”

  “That was nice of you.” He leaned over to kiss her.

  ‘I think I’m falling in love with you’ ran like a never-ending loop in her brain as the kiss deepened. She broke away and looked at Jack.

  “I think I am, too.”

  “I think I know what you’re saying, but I want to hear it.” Jack was so close to her, their noses almost touched.

  “I told Nick I like you a lot. But it’s more than that, Jack.” She put her hand on his cheek. “I’m in love with you.”

  “Aw, Tess.” Jack kissed her lips, her cheek, her neck. “Do we have to go to Lou’s right now?”

  She giggled. “We’ll make it quick.”

  * * *

  After they’d eaten huge pieces of cake, Lou said, “Oooowwweeeee! I’m full as a tick! But y’all, I’m startin’ to worry there’s somethin’ wrong with me. First Martha Maye volunteers to work late for me, now y’all bring me cake. I mean, it sure was mighty nice and all, but ya know you’re welcome over here anytime—ya don’t have to bring food, you can just bring yerselves.” She looked from Jack to Tess, scrutinizing them. “There’s not some bad news I don’t know about, is ‘ere? I’m not dyin’ am I?”

  Jack laughed and said, “No, Lou, you’re not dying.”

  “But we do have something we want to discuss with you, Lou,” Tess said.

  “Oh. Well in that case, Buttabean, you gwon up and get yer bath now, and let the adults talk a spell,” Lou told her granddaughter.

  “Oh, all right,” Butterbean whined, stomping out of the kitchen. “I miss out on everything good.”

  Once Butterbean was gone, Lou asked, “Now what’s this somethin’ you want to discuss? It must be a lulu to require cake beforehand.” She nervously fingered the pearls around her neck as she looked at Jack and Tess.

  “Lou, do you remember that key I found back when I first started redecorating the house?”

  Lou swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Well, we believe it’s related to your father’s murder.”

  Lou hopped up and immediately began picking up plates to clear the table. Tess looked at Jack, and he gave her an encouraging nod. They stood up to help with the dishes, and Tess pressed on, talking while Lou washed the plates.

  “Lou, I know this is hard, but don’t you want to know who killed your father?”

  She fiddled with the water to get the right temperature. “The report from the detective agency my mother hired said we didn’t want to know.”

  Tess handed her a plate. “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. After Daddy was murdered, my mama hired The Pinkerton Agency to investigate. She didn’t think the police were doin'
enough on their own. After a few weeks of investigatin’, the PI came over't the house and said, ‘You do not want to know.’ That was his exact words, accordin’ to Mama. I don’t know what else was said, I just know that it was enough to make Mama drop it, and never talk about it again.” She handed Tess a plate to dry and began washing another one.

  “You mean she never talked about your father after that?” Tess dried the plate and handed it to Jack, who was stacking them on the table.

  “Oh, law no, we talked about Daddy. But only the good times. We never discussed that horrible December night ever again.”

  “How awful. You must have questions.”

  “I believe what my mama believed: some things are just better left unknown. I’m at peace with that. Why do ya wont to go stirrin’ it up now for?”

  “Because someone is going to an awful lot of trouble to keep us from finding out the truth,” Tess said. “And when somebody tells me I should leave well enough alone, it just makes me want to dig that much deeper. I want to know why someone’s broken into my house, and called with threatening messages, and attacked us on the street. And something tells me it wasn’t Tank Marshall.”

  “Well, whoever it is can’t be the killer! Anyone old enough to kill Daddy way back then would surely be dead hisself by now.”

  “Which makes it all the more peculiar that someone would care. I think we need to get to the bottom of this,” Tess said gently to Lou.

  “H’ire y’all gonna do that?” She gave Tess another dish to dry.

  “We’re going to start by talking to you and seeing what you know that might fill in some blanks.”

  “Child, I don’t know nothin’. I was just knee high to a grasshopper myself at the time. I remember feelings and emotions of that turrible time, but that’s all I remember.”

  “You may know more than you think,” Jack told her.

  “Let’s start with what we’re sure about,” Tess suggested. “We know that your father was a witness to a bank robbery three years before his death, and that could be one motive for killing him. Brick Lynch was tried, but acquitted. What about Rod Pierce?”

  “He spent some years in jail. After that, I don’t know what became of him.”

  “Why do you think the detective didn’t want you to ask questions?” Tess asked.

  “I s’pose it was on account of some people thinkin’ Daddy committed suicide; even the insurance comp'ny thought so. They denied the double indemnity claim, and ruled it a suicide. And then there were some people who thought Daddy was in on the robbery. They thought he knew too much. And then still others thought the killer possibly was my uncle.” Lou scrubbed a dish so hard Tess wondered if the paint would come off. Forcefully she said, “I will never believe it was suicide. My daddy wouldn’t do that to us. And I will never believe that he stole one red nickel from that bank.”

  “Lou, did you just say the killer could have been your uncle?”

  Lou nodded. She took the dry dishes and put them in the cabinet.

  “Why would he kill his brother?” Tess asked.

  Lou took a deep breath and let it out. “Because he loved my mama and wanted her for hisself. So don’tcha see? Murder, suicide, friend, foe, his own brother . . . “ her voice got very soft, then she seemed to strengthen. “Whoever . . . whatever . . . it doesn’t matter. My daddy’s still dead. And the killer is surely dead by now, too. What does it matter anymore?” She dried her hands with a dish towel.

  “It matters because it was your father. And you deserve to know who took him away from you. He deserves for somebody to find the truth. Can’t you think of anything that might help us figure this out?”

  “All right,” she said, leading them to the den to continue their conversation. “The one thing I remember my mama sayin’ to me was that on the night Daddy died, he had tried to tell her somethin’, but he never had a chance to tell her, and she regretted that for all her days.” She smoothed the wrinkles in her hot pink skirt.

  “Mama said he’d tried to tell her a couple of times about somethin’ in the trunk in the attic. She assumed he was talkin’ about his grandmother’s steamer trunk that they kept up there with old clothes and quilts in it. Mama searched it high and low but never found anything he’d left. When you said you found a key, I knew that’s what it was for. It brought all those memories back.” Lou’s eyes got watery, but she reined her emotions in and continued talking as she fiddled with a tissue in her hand.

  “At first it was an obsession with her. About once a week, she went up there to that attic and took every article out of that trunk. She unfolded and shook out each piece, examined it, only to have to fold everything back up and put it all back in the trunk. It never made sense to her. Then after the detective finished his investigation, she never went near that trunk again.” Lou took a deep breath. “And then there was the insurance money . . . “

  “What about it?” Tess asked.

  “Mama filed a death claim suit against the insurance comp’ny, on account that her husband was shot and killed by an unknown person. I b’lieve she asked for $10,000 double indemnity benefits under a $5,000 policy he held. You know . . . it’s like an accidental death benefit. But the insurance comp’ny denied the policy, alleging the death was suicide. That just about killed my Mama. I mean, how could it have been suicide? His gun hadn’t been fired, and there were three bullet holes in his car windows. It just didn’t add up. But sometimes life makes as much sense as bowling cleats.”

  “Okay, that trunk has been searched—right?”

  “And searched and searched,” Lou said.

  “Could he have been talking about something else besides the steamer trunk? Try to think of what else was in the attic that could have been considered a trunk.” Jack leaned forward in earnestness.

  Lou closed her eyes and put her hands on her temples. Finally, she said, “I just don’t think there was anything else up there. There were some old chairs, and some Christmas decorations in boxes, and excess stuff like that up there, but nothin’ else that you’d call a trunk.”

  “Okay, can Tess and I see the trunk? Sometimes a new pair of eyes can see somethin’ others have missed.”

  “Y’all are welcome to gwon up there and look at it. I hope ya won’t mind if I just stay put.”

  “Of course you can stay here, Lou, can we get you anything before we go up?”

  “No sugah, I’ll just go check on Buttabean.”

  Thirty minutes later, Jack and Tess came back down the stairs, looking dejected.

  “Well?” Lou asked.

  “Here’s the thing, Lou,” explained Jack. “We didn’t find anything, but I think it’s possible that old trunk may have a secret compartment. I once wrote about an old trunk from that era in a book of mine, and I did some research on them. They always had secret compartments that were hard to find. It’s so dark and cramped up there, would you mind if we took it to one of our houses to get a better look at it? It’s getting’ late, too, and it might take us awhile.”

  “Y’all really think somethin’ could be hidden in that trunk?”

  Jack and Tess both nodded, and Tess answered, “It’s worth a looky-loo.”

  “But Mama surely knew about a secret compartment, or else why would Daddy hide somethin’ there?”

  “I don’t know, Lou. I’d just like to go over it with a fine-tooth comb to be sure.”

  “Just promise me somethin’.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows in a question.

  “If ya find out somethin’ horrible, you’ll keep it to yerselves and tell me y’all didn’t find a thing. Deal?”

  “Deal,” they said in unison.

  “Alrighty then, gwon. Get it outta here.” She waved them off upstairs.

  Tess and Jack came down the stairs with the trunk, just as Martha Maye came in the front door with Henry Clay.

  “Where on earth are y’all takin’ that old trunk?”

  Lou came into the hallway, holding a Barbie doll. “Ah, don’t m
ind Sherlock and Watson. They think they’re hot on the trail of a mystery.”

  Martha Maye looked at Tess and whispered, “You got her to talk? How?”

  “Long story. We’ll talk later, okay?” Then louder, Tess said, “Lou, we’ll pack this up in the truck and then take off. We’ll let you know tomorrow what we find out, okay?”

  “Why don’t y’all just look at it down here? You don’t have to take it to one of your houses,” Henry Clay said.

  “I’d rather ‘em take it, Henry. No tellin’ what they might find, or how long it’ll take. Y’all gwon, and remember our deal. And thanks for the cake. It wasn’t better ‘n sex, but it was delish.”

  Tess and Jack went next door to his house and sprung Ezzie from lock-up. She trotted happily at their sides out to the truck.

  “Let’s put her in the cab with us,” Tess said, looking at the sky. “It looks like it’s blowing up a cloud.”

  As they drove away from the house, they could see Martha Maye, Henry Clay, and Lou sitting down in the living room.

  “Should we have stayed to make sure she’s all right with this?” Tess asked.

  “Nah. She’ll be fine,” Jack assured her. “Henry Clay and Martha Maye will see to it.”

  Well I’ll Be Dipped In Peanut Butter

  veeola: interjection vee-oh-lah voila

  And veeola, there it is.

  [ Sunday, December 15, 1935 ]

  “Daddy, phone’s for you!” Ima Jean called.

  As soon as John said ‘Hello,’ Nate Hunter said, “Be at the old Goose Creek Bridge tonight at seven o’clock.” He heard a click, and the line went dead.

  John went to his bedroom, dodging his sons and their toy cars along the way. He took a folded sheet of paper from his dresser drawer, picked up the trunk key, and went up to the attic, where he went to the bracket-footed Victorian trunk.

  I've got to leave it here. If the worst-case scenario plays out, people will be swarming the house. I can't chance just anybody seeing this.