2 Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  “Sure thing, Chief.” She turned and hurried off.

  “Skeeter, we need to have a talk about your surveillance skills.”

  Skeeter looked sheepish. “I know. I lost him in the crowd, so I went cruising to see if I could find him. I drove by Martha Maye’s house, real slow like, and I saw this big dark blob on the grass. I’m real sorry, Chief.”

  “Like I said, a word—later.”

  Skeeter left looking sheepish, and Johnny returned his attention to Martha Maye’s face, which was stark white.

  “You all right, darlin’?”

  “Johnny, I think that’s one of my kitchen knives.”

  “Oh, law.”

  “Of course my prints will be on it.” Martha Maye said.

  “Unless someone wiped it clean. But we’ll see if there are any others.”

  “Jack, I thought you were gonna stick to Martha Maye like glue tonight. Why didn’t you go with her when she left the party?”

  Jack shot Martha Maye a look of reprimand for going off without him, and then he gave Johnny a put-out look. “I didn’t know she’d left. I thought she was with her mama and them, plus a hundred other people. I thought she’d be fine.”

  She looked down at her shaking hands and held them in the air. “Look at me. I’m as nervous as a fat girl in a cactus garden.”

  Johnny came around the desk and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. “You hush now. There is nothing to be nervous about. You didn’t do anything. We’ll prove that here shortly, and then we’ll get on to finding the real killer.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. What am I gonna tell Butterbean?”

  “Tell her he kicked the oxygen habit,” Jack said.

  “Jack!” Johnny glared at him.

  “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the moment.”

  “Let’s worry about telling Butterbean tomorrow, Scarlett. Tonight, we gotta get you sprung from here.”

  A good farmer stays acquainted with daybreak.

  ~Southern Proverb

  “Velveeta, it looks like you’re going to get to use your skills a little sooner than we thought,” Johnny said from his desk after Jack took Martha Maye home. Velveeta had checked the knife for fingerprints and found it had been wiped clean. She questioned Martha Maye some more, and finally, reluctantly, let her go home. Now she leaned on the doorway to Johnny’s office looking energized and almost gleeful, despite the late hour.

  “I’m ready, Chief. I shouldn’t be excited over a homicide, but I’m itching to get started on this.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you lead the investigation. Report to me, and keep me apprised of any progress. Other than that, you decide how to proceed. I’m here if you need me.” He shuffled some papers and reached for his desk light. He was ready to go home.

  “Thanks, Chief.” She flashed him her big toothy smile, behind full, pink lips. She cleared her throat and stood up straight. “Uh, Chief.” He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised. “Mind if I start with you?”

  He chuckled and sat back, lacing his hands behind his head and propping his feet on the desk. “Might as well. Ask away.”

  “Okay.” She rushed to the chair in front of his desk and took a pencil from her hair, which she’d pulled back into a ponytail. She perched a notebook on her lap. “I may be new here, but I’ve heard a few things, you know.”

  “And what have you heard?” He wasn’t sure if he should be amused or annoyed.

  “I’ve heard you and Martha Maye might be an item.” She let the statement hang in the air for a long moment. “True or false?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “I won’t deny an attraction to Martha Maye. We’ve been friends since summertime, but we’ve been out on an actual date only once. We tried to be discreet. We’re friends and we’ve been on one date, if you can call it that. Nothing more.” He shifted in his seat.

  “And what was your relationship with the deceased?”

  “Humph.” He swiped his hand over his face. “I didn’t have any relationship with the deceased. I only spoke to him a few times.” He picked up a paper clip and uncoiled it.

  “Were you jealous of him?”

  He laughed through his nose. “For the record, no, I was not jealous of Lenny Applewhite.”

  “Where were you between the hours of seven and nine o’clock tonight?” She pretended to write in her notebook, avoiding eye contact.

  “Oh come on, Velveeta. Seriously? You want an alibi?”

  “You want me to do less than my job? If I’m not thorough with everyone, I might as well not do this.”

  He felt properly chastised. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He scratched his jaw and let out a sigh.

  “Were you with somebody? Somebody who can vouch for you?”

  He thought about the question, cocking his head and squinting with one eye until it looked almost frozen in a wink. Then his face relaxed and he said, “Honestly, there were probably several minutes when I was all alone. But maybe someone saw me in the cruiser. I was with Martha Maye and them until I got a call from Bernadette about a theft at the diner around eight. Check the logs for the exact time. I answered that call, talked to Slick and Junebug and Ernestine–that woman can’t keep her nose out of anyone’s business. After that, I patrolled a little, checked in with the other officers. I was just getting ready to head back to the Oktoberfest when I heard the call about Marigold Lane.”

  “How much time can you not account for? Just a guesstimate.” Her pencil stood poised over the notebook.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Johnny shrugged. “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?”

  “You answered the call to Marigold Lane awful quick. How’d you manage that?”

  “I was nearby, of course. I just said I was heading back to the Oktoberfest. When I heard Martha Maye’s address, I couldn’t get there fast enough.”

  “Okay, Chief.” She put the pencil back behind her ear and closed the notebook. She stood up and said in mock seriousness, “Stay in town in case I have any further questions.”

  He laughed. “Yep. I was right about you. You’re gonna fit in just fine around here.”

  Sunday morning, Velveeta walked into the diner during the late-morning lull, plopped her notebook on the counter, and sat on the stool next to Clive, who was sitting next to Earl.

  “I’m Officer Velveeta Witherspoon. Mind if I ask y’all a few questions?”

  “Us?” Earl looked from Velveeta to Clive. “Let me cut to the chase. I can tell you. Clive did it.”

  “Did what?” she asked, her eyebrows knitted together.

  “Whatever it is you wanna talk to us about.” Earl leaned over Clive to talk.

  “Officer, don’t mind him.” Clive hitched his chin at Earl. “He’s dumber ‘n a barrel of spit.”

  “Hey.” Earl sat his coffee cup in the saucer, making it clang. “I ain’t no slow leak, and you ain’t got no call to poor-mouth me.”

  “And you ain’t got no call to besmirch my good name.”

  “She don’t wanna hear you flap your gums, old man.”

  A hand slammed down on the counter. “Boys!” Junebug stood behind the counter directly in front of them. “Behave yourselves or I’ll snatch the taste right outta your mouths.”

  “Aw, Junie—”

  “Don’t ‘aw Junie’ me. Hush up now, and let the officer do her job.” She smiled at Velveeta. “What can I getcha, hon?”

  “I’m dry as dirt. I’d love a Co’Cola, please.”

  Junebug nodded. “One Atlanta special. Coming right up.” She pointed to Clive and Earl. “Your orders will be out in a jiffy.” Her finger waggled from one man to the other. “Unless you keep acting the fools.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

  “Why you wanna talk to us?” Clive said, sitting up taller on the stool.

  “Because I’ve heard y’all know just about everything that goes on in Goose Pimple Junction. So tell me, what do y’all know today?”

  “Well
, I know you could throw old Clive here in the river and skim ugly for two days.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to him. He’s about as useful as a poop-flavored lollipop,” Clive said.

  “I thought I done told you boys to pipe down,” Junebug said harshly, walking back with Velveeta’s Coke.

  “Boys, you want me to run you in for disturbing the peace?” Velveeta smiled, obviously not as upset with the men as Junebug.

  “Officer, what can we do for you today?” Earl flashed a toothless grin and moved to the stool on the other side of Velveeta. She now had Clive to her left and Earl to her right.

  Mumbling something about old fools, Junebug walked away to wipe off some tables, and Velveeta got to work.

  “Did Lenny Applewhite come in here much?” Not knowing to whom she should address the question, she took a big gulp of her soda and looked straight ahead, waiting to see who would answer first.

  “Couple times, I reckon,” Clive said.

  “‘Course, last time he was escorted right out of here. Now that was a sight to see.” Earl slapped his leg in delight.

  “What do you mean he was escorted out of here?”

  “I remember it like it was yesterday,” Earl said.

  “It pretty much was yesterday, you numbskull. Or a few days at the most,” Clive said.

  Earl glared at Clive, glanced over his shoulder at Junebug, and continued. “See, Lenny come in all high and mighty like, accusing Martha Maye of being a bad mama, on account of her being here without her daughter.”

  Clive jumped in. “Yeah, it was great. She told him to look to his right, and he turned and there was Butterbean with a bunch of other little girls.”

  Earl picked back up. “But that didn’t stop Lenny none. He kept on, picking at poor old Martha Maye, and finally Jackson had enough. He took him by the elbow and walked his butt to the door.”

  “Yeah, and remember what Jack said?” Clive leaned forward, looking past Velveeta to his friend.

  “Sure I remember. If you’ll pipe down, I’ll tell it,” Earl said, leaning forward to look back.

  “Naw, let me tell it,” Clive argued. “He said—”

  Earl talked over Clive. “He said he had ‘three speeds: on, off, and don’t push your luck.’ It was great. And then Lenny said he’d fix Jack’s speed to a permanent off position.”

  Clive leaned in to Velveeta. “Looks like Lenny’s speed is the one fixed now, huh?”

  “So there were threats between the two men,” Velveeta said, standing up so she could look at both men. She was getting dizzy looking from her left to her right as the men talked over each other. “Do you remember who else was in here at that time?”

  “Lady, I can’t hardly remember to change my shorts every morning. You think I can remember something like that?”

  Earl said, “I thought you smelled kind of funny.”

  Velveeta jumped in before they could start a fight again. “Do you think Jack could have killed the deceased?”

  Both men guffawed. “Jack?” Earl screeched. “No way, no how. He writes about killers, but he ain’t one.”

  “Uh-uh, no way,” Clive agreed.

  “He writes about killers?” Velveeta’s voice rose a few octaves.

  “Shoot fire, man,” Clive said to Earl. “You’re digging Jack in deeper and deeper, making him sound real bad, but he ain’t, officer lady. Jackson could never kill anyone.”

  “He could just write about someone killing someone,” she clarified.

  “Well, yeah. He does that every day. He has eleven published nov—”

  “Doggonit, Earl! Would you put a sock in it?”

  Velveeta took a final sip of her Coke, laid three dollars on the counter, waved to Junebug, and turned to go. She said, “Thanks, boys. You’ve been real helpful.”

  “We have not!” Earl called to her back.

  “Earl, I done told you to tick a lock. You got—you got—whatchacallit”—he motioned in the air, searching for the word—”diarrhea of the mouth. That’s what you got.”

  “Oh yeah?” Earl got up and moved to the stool Velveeta had vacated. “Well, you’re uglier ‘n a bucket full of armpits.”

  “You always have to go there, don’tcha? You’re so stupid you always have to go with the ugly jokes.”

  The men continued to argue as Velveeta shook her head, left the diner, and walked down the sidewalk, writing in her notebook.

  Jackson Wright—alibi? Motive?

  When God sends us on hard paths, he provides strong shoes.

  ~Southern Proverb

  On Monday, Martha Maye and Lou walked out of the church, with Martha Maye feeling like all her air had just been let out. “Whew! I didn’t know there was so much to do in order to properly funeralize someone.”

  Louetta put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder and squeezed as they walked back to the bookstore. “I don’t think anyone would blame you if you threw him in a pine box and dropped a handful of mums over top.”

  They’d been to the funeral home to make arrangements, to the florist to order flowers for the casket, and to the church to speak to the pastor about the eulogy.

  “Thanks for going with me, Mama.”

  “You’re awful sweet to do all this, Mart, considering how Lenny had been behaving toward you in his last days.”

  “There’s no one else to do it, Mama. His brother’s coming for the funeral, but he won’t be here in time to plan anything. Besides, the man was Butterbean’s daddy. That has to count for something.”

  “Is Butterbean coming to the store after school?” Louetta’s thick accent made “school” sound like “skule.”

  “Yes. Bless her heart. I offered to let her stay home and take a personal day like I did, but she said she was up to going to school. It probably was best for her. I’m sure it took her mind off her daddy.”

  “How’s she taking the news?” Lou threaded her arm through her daughter’s.

  “Aw, right now she’s as lost as last year’s Easter egg, but I think she’ll be all right in time.” Martha Maye glanced at her watch. “My goodness, it’s about time for the kids to get let out, isn’t it? We better hoof it over to the bookstore.”

  Tess looked up hopefully when Lou and Martha Maye came in, but her face fell when she saw who it was.

  “Don’t look so disappointed. Were you expecting someone else?” Martha Maye asked, brushing the hair from her face with her fingers and dropping into a chair.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. It’s just that I thought maybe you all were customers. Business has been slow today.” Tess walked to a bookshelf to return a book to its spot. “People don’t know whether to offer condolences or congratulations to you all. Condolences don’t seem fitting since it’s common knowledge you and Lenny were getting a divorce, but congratulating someone on the death of her estranged husband or son-in-law seems crass, even if it does mean an end to the custody battle. At least that’s my theory on why so many people are staying away.”

  Lou was almost to her office when she turned around. “It’s just like him to get revenge on us even in death. I wonder how much longer that man’s gonna continue to be a burr in our collective butts.”

  “Mind how you talk, Mama. You never know when Butterbean’s going to be around to hear you.”

  “Did you accomplish everything?” Tess bumped into a table of books and then went about straightening them.

  “Yes, I think so. We’re not gonna have any visitation, just the service. I doubt there’s anyone in town who would come pay respects anyway, but I hope some people will come to the service. There’s nothing sadder than a one-car funeral.”

  “I expect it will be well attended.” Having dropped off her purse, Lou came back out of her office fussing with her hair and straightening her multicolored flowered dress. “People will want to show you their support.”

  They heard a voice from behind a bookshelf. “And we thank you for your support.”

  “Mmm, Bartles & James. Now those are good
wine coolers,” Tess said.

  Martha Maye sat up and twisted around in the chair. “Aunt Imy? Are you back there?”

  “Yeppie.” She peeked around a shelf corner. “Tess put me to work.”

  “Me too,” Pickle said, coming through the back room carrying two boxes stacked one on top of the other, the top one restricting his view. He bumped into the counter and stepped back, doing a little dance to keep the boxes from toppling out of his hands. He managed to maintain control of them, and with the tip of his tongue stuck out in concentration, he worked his way to the side of the store where he set the boxes down, revealing his T-shirt, which said, HARD WORK MUST HAVE KILLED SOMEONE.

  “Don’t worry, Pickle. Hard work won’t kill you. Does it take you long in the morning to decide which shirt to wear?” Martha Maye asked.

  “No, ma’am.” He looked at her like she had flowers growing out her ears. “I hardly pay any attention to what I put on. If it don’t stink and it’s in my closet, it’s fair game.”

  “You keep carrying boxes around like that, Pickle. It’s good training for the wife-carrying contest.” Tess winked at him. “Who won that, by the way? The finals, I mean.”

  “I heard Johnny Sue and Harlowe won it,” Lou said.

  “Who’re they, Mama?”

  “You know Johnny Sue. She’s the one everybody says has a butter face.”

  “A butter face?” Tess asked.

  “Everything looks nice but her face.” Louetta giggled.

  “Oh, Mama. Quit being ugly.”

  “It ain’t ugly if it’s the truth.”

  “But I do know just who you’re talking about,” Martha Maye added.

  “Charlotte came in second in the chicken dance contest,” Pickle said proudly.

  “Well, bless her heart,” Louetta said.

  “As soon as Butterbean gets here I’ll take you both home, if you want,” Martha Maye said to Ima Jean.

  “Take home a package of Tennessee pride!” Ima Jean crowed.

  “We can do that, too.” Martha Maye walked to the window, watching for her daughter. “There’s that new officer lady. Looks like she’s heading this way.”