2 Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

“I’ve seen her out there most of the day,” Tess said. “She’s talking to everybody she sees. Seems friendly enough.”

  “She may be friendly, but that’s not why she’s talking to people. Ten to one she’s working the case. Johnny told me he put her in charge. Well, I’ll be. Here she comes.”

  “We must be gracious,” Lou said, two seconds before the door opened and Velveeta stepped in.

  “How’s the investigation coming along, Officer Witherspoon?” Martha Maye asked, as Velveeta walked through the door.

  “It’s coming.” She took in the group standing and looking at her. “One thing’s for sure, I’m getting to know folks in this town real fast.”

  “What can we do for you, Officer?” Lou asked.

  “I’d like to ask y’all a few questions if you don’t mind.”

  “Shoot.” Martha Maye’s eyes went to the officer’s service revolver. “I mean, don’t shoot, shoot, but go ahead, ask your questions.” She clamped her hand over her mouth.

  Velveeta’s eyebrows rose at Martha Maye’s blabbering.

  “I swan, Martha Maye. Sometimes I think that mouth has a motor of its own.” Louetta gave her daughter a stern look.

  Velveeta switched her gaze to Tess. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Officer Velveeta Witherspoon. We weren’t formally introduced last night.”

  Tess shook her hand. “Tess Tremaine. Have you met Louetta Stafford? She’s Martha Maye’s mother.”

  “How do, ma’am.” She nodded at Lou.

  “I do just fine, thank you.” Lou’s naturally hospitable behavior seemed a little forced.

  “Tess, you’re engaged to Jackson Wright, is that right?”

  Tess smiled at the unintentional pun. “Yes, that’s right. Mr. Wright is my Mr. Right.”

  “Good one.” Velveeta walked closer to the three women. “Can you tell me about his relationship with Mr. Applewhite?”

  “Relationship? He had no relationship with Lenny.” Tess’s face showed confusion, and her voice came out a little higher than normal.

  “Were they friendly to one another?”

  “I wouldn’t say anyone I know was friendly to Lenny,” Martha Maye interjected. “Folks I know thought he was about as useful as an ashtray on a motorcycle.”

  “Did you witness any interactions between the two men?” Velveeta asked, continuing to look at Tess.

  “Interactions?” Lou squawked. “She just told you Jack didn’t have no use for the man—”

  “I think I know what she’s getting at,” Tess interrupted, placing her hand on Lou’s arm. “You want to know about last week at the diner, don’t you?”

  Velveeta scratched her head with the eraser end of her pencil. “I’d like to hear your take on it.”

  Tess told her the story of how Lenny came into the diner and started harassing Martha Maye. “Jack let him make a fool of himself for a bit, and then he showed him the door. That was basically all there was to it.”

  “Were any threats made? From either party?”

  “Oh, Lenny was just being Lenny.” Martha Maye stood with her hands on her hips. “He always had a pebble under his paw. Jack was protecting me, is all. He certainly didn’t threaten Lenny, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Did Lenny threaten Jack?” Velveeta asked Martha Maye.

  Martha Maye and Tess exchanged a look, and Tess said, “He ran his mouth off, is all he did. Nobody took him seriously.”

  “So, Lenny did threaten Jack?”

  “Oh, I think he said he’d put him in a permanent off position.” Tess leaned against a table and crossed her arms. “Something like that. But as I said, nobody thought he was serious.” She sat back slightly and knocked a stack of books off the table. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she mumbled, stooping to pick them up.

  “Do all y’all have alibis for the time in question?” Velveeta asked, writing in her notebook, as Tess and Lou picked up the books.

  “We sure as shooting do,” Lou said hotly. “We were all at the Oktoberfest. You can ask anybody.”

  “I asked Ms. Applewhite last night, and she indicated there was a period of time where nobody can vouch for her whereabouts.”

  “That’s on account of she went home to use the little girl’s room, then she came right back. Everyone else was together, I guar-on-tee it.” Lou stood and crossed her arms defiantly.

  “Why did you go to your mother’s house instead of your own?”

  “Mama suggested it on account it was closer.”

  Velveeta nodded and wrote that down in her notebook. When she looked up, she noticed Ima Jean for the first time.

  “Oh, hello. I don’t believe we’ve met. Who might you be?”

  “I drink Dr Pepper and I’m proud. I’m part of the original crowd.”

  “This is my sister, Ima Jean Moxley. She lives with me now.” Lou came up behind her sister, putting an arm around her shoulder.

  Martha Maye sidled up to Velveeta and said out of the corner of her mouth, “She ain’t right in the head.”

  “No kidding.” Velveeta walked closer to four-foot-eight Ima Jean, towering over her.

  “You were at the Oktoberfest all night, too?”

  “Yes, she was,” Lou answered for her sister.

  Velveeta persisted, directing her question at Ima Jean. “Do you remember being there all night, Ms. Moxley?”

  “‘Course I do. I’m not crazy.”

  Velveeta wrote in her notebook, suppressing a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She turned toward Martha Maye. “You and the deceased were in the process of a divorce, is that right?”

  Martha Maye nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Was it a contentious divorce?”

  The ladies exchanged looks, which Velveeta noted.

  “I guess you could say it was.”

  “How so?”

  “We were fighting for custody of our daughter.”

  “Did your husband want the divorce?”

  Martha Maye snorted. “He said he didn’t, but he never acted like a proper husband, with all the philandering he did.”

  “I’ll bet that was humiliating. Must’ve made you real angry.”

  “No,” Lou interrupted. “Hell, no. I know what you’re getting at, and the answer is no. Martha Maye wanted a divorce, and she wanted custody of Butterbean, but she did not kill Lenny. That’s just not logical.”

  “Oh my gosh.” Martha Maye shrieked. “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh! You still think I did it?”

  “Well, you have motive—the divorce and the custody battle—and you can’t account for your whereabouts for about thirty minutes right around the time of the murder . . .” Velveeta let the suggestion hang in the air to see if anyone would try to fill the silence.

  All four women did. They all began talking over one another.

  Lou: “Martha Maye could no more kill someone than she could sing an opera”

  Martha Maye: “I was madder than fire at him, but I didn’t kill—”

  Tess: “That’s ridiculous.”

  Ima Jean: “Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t.”

  “Now you listen here, little missy.” Louetta put her hands on her hips and walked toward Velveeta. “I know you’re just trying to do your job, and I know you’re new in town and don’t know no better, but you’re about as smart as a mashed potato if you think Martha Maye, or any of us for that matter, had anything to do with Leonard’s death. Jack included. Now you best giddyup and get along.”

  “Okay, okay folks.” Velveeta held her palms up to quiet them. “That’s all for now. Thank you for your time. I’ll be talking to you.” She turned toward the door and then turned back around. “Is there anyone you think might have wanted to do harm to the deceased?”

  “Harm him?” Martha Maye laughed through her nose. “Nobody had any use for the man. But murder him? No.”

  “Can any of y’all think of anything out of the ordinary that night? Did you see anyone that stuck out to you?”

&nbs
p; “I saw Ernest Borgnine,” Ima Jean piped up.

  “You saw Ernest Borgnine,” Velveeta repeated, looking at the woman skeptically.

  “Yeppie.”

  “In Goose Pimple Junction.”

  “Sure as eggs is eggs.”

  “Last night,” Velveeta persisted.

  “Woman, are you deaf? Isn’t that what I just said?”

  “Ima Jean, don’t be ugly now, she’s just making sure she heard correctly what you think you saw,” Lou said.

  “But she keeps going and going and going.”

  “Like the Energizer Bunny, right?” Velveeta smiled kindly at Ima Jean. No one smiled back. “All right.” On the way to the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “That’s all for now. Thanks again.”

  And with that, she beat a hasty retreat.

  Velveeta sat on a bench and made note of what she’d just heard. She watched leaves fall to the ground like brightly colored snowflakes, then she walked to the hardware store. She wanted to hit all the businesses in town. The bell over the door jingled as she entered.

  “Good afternoon.” The man behind the counter was short, fat, and gray, with round eyeglasses that made him look like an owl. He wore an apron with the words “Doc’s Hardware.”

  “Good afternoon to you, too. I wondered if you could tell me if you knew Lenny Applewhite.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that I could say I knew him, but I knew of him.”

  “Oh? Did he come in here a lot?”

  The man sat down on a stool behind the cash register, smoothing his mustache. “No. Now that you mention it, he was in only once.”

  “What did he come in for? Did he make a purchase?”

  “No. No purchase.”

  “Then what makes you remember him?”

  “You see . . . he had . . . sort of an altercation.”

  It would be easier getting answers from a wooden man.

  “An altercation? With whom?”

  “With the police chief.”

  “Chief Butterfield?” She was so surprised she almost dropped her pencil.

  “Yep.”

  “What happened?”

  “He called him Chief Gutterfield and Chief Mutterfield and whatnot.”

  “Is that it?”

  Could the man be any more obtuse?

  “Well, he might have accused the chief of sleeping with his wife. I guess the chief got real angry with him and told him what for.”

  “What do you mean ‘told him what for’?”

  He scratched his head. “Oh, I don’t really remem—”

  “I do,” a man in overalls said. He stood in the paint aisle about eight feet from Velveeta. He walked over to her. “I remember ‘zactly what he said.” The man’s head bobbed up and down. “He said one day he would be off duty and he’d teach him a thing or two. Can’t say’s I blame him. Lenny was talking lower than a mole’s belly button on digging day.”

  “Do you think he was serious? The chief?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess it was just posturing. Two males after the same female. They gotta butt heads. It’s nature’s law.”

  “But he definitely threatened the deceased?”

  “The who?”

  “Lenny Applewhite,” Velveeta clarified.

  “Well, yeah. They was both threatening each other, like two bucks vying for a doe.” The man scratched his stomach underneath his overalls.

  “Okay, sir. Thank you. And your name is?”

  “Chester White.”

  “Okay, Chester White.” She wrote his name in her book. “If you remember anything else, you be sure to call me, all right?”

  “Sho’ ‘nuff.” Chester shuffled back to the paint aisle.

  Velveeta turned back to the man behind the counter, who was now arranging keys on a display. “I’m sorry to say I don’t know your name, sir.”

  “Who, me?” The man pointed to his chest.

  “Yes, you.”

  “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

  “No, I’m new to town. I’m Officer Witherspoon. And your name is?”

  “Doc.”

  “Doc.” She wrote the name in her book. “Do you have a last name, Doc?” Do you have a family tree that forks, Doc?

  “Hardy,” Doc said, more interested in the keys on the swivel display than in the officer or her questions.

  “Okay, Doc Hardy. Thank you kindly. You be sure to call me if you remember anything else.” Velveeta walked back out into the sunshine thinking Doc was doing well if he remembered to breathe.

  She reviewed her notes. So nobody liked Lenny Applewhite, but did anyone really have a motive to kill him? He’d gotten a lot of good guys riled up. Is it possible one of the good guys had been provoked enough to commit murder?

  She studied her list of suspects:

  Martha Maye: Contentious divorce, custody battle, no real alibi.

  Jack Wright: Disliked victim? Threatened him. Wanted to protect Martha Maye?

  She tapped her pencil against the notebook, then put the eraser end between her teeth. She stood in the shade of the hardware store’s awning, thinking, wondering, hypothesizing. Then she added another name to her list.

  Chief Butterfield: Resentful? Protective? Angry?

  No concrete alibi.

  Rheumatism and happiness both get bigger if you keep telling folks about them.

  ~Southern Proverb

  “Aw no, I wouldn’t say the chief hated Lenny,” Skeeter said, clueless as to the point of his conversation with Velveeta. “He was just an ornery old cuss, and the chief wanted to put him in his place. Make him tow the line. You know how it is.”

  “Put him in his place,” Velveeta repeated. They were at the Muffin Man, eating donuts and drinking coffee. Skeeter clearly thought they were just chatting, but Velveeta was actually pumping him for information. After talking with the men in the hardware store, she wanted to know more about the chief’s relationship with the deceased.

  “Uh-huh.” Skeeter looked out the window behind Velveeta, searching for words. It was a pretty autumn day, and the gingko trees on the town square were a vivid yellow.

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  “See, there was the time he set him up to get a speeding ticket.” Skeeter slapped his leg and laughed. “Oh law, that was a goodun. See, Lenny had been following Martha Maye all over town, and he followed her to that restaurant out on Route 42 where she met Johnny for dinner. You know the one—the Buttermilk Hill Inn. And then he wouldn’t leave. He just sat across the room, staring at them.”

  “So what did the chief do?” Velveeta wrestled with herself, fighting her motherly instinct to wipe the powdered sugar off Skeeter’s face.

  He shoved the last of his jelly donut into his mouth, chewed, and then dusted off his hands over the table, the powdered sugar still on his lips.

  “He called us—me and Hank—and then he set him up.”

  Skeeter told her about the gravy mishap, the speed trap, and how they gave Lenny a speeding ticket when he crossed into the city limits.

  “I have the feeling that it didn’t end there.” Velveeta’s eyes dipped to Skeeter’s lips and the donut residue. She swiped at her own lips, but he didn’t get the hint.

  “Naw.” He wadded up the donut papers, the crinkling momentarily drowning out a little girl’s whine at the next table. “Lenny was waiting for him up at the station the next day.”

  “What did he do?” Velveeta shot a look at the mother a table over, whose daughter was throwing a tantrum.

  “Aw, it was all posturing. Lenny had to try to reclaim his manhood.”

  “How did he go about doing that?” She swiped her mouth again. Seeing the powdered sugar on his face made her feel like she had some on hers.

  Skeeter continued grinning. “He said we were harassing him and trampling on his civil rights. Can you believe that? His civil rights.” He shook his head. “With that man, there are biscuits on the griddle but the stove ain’t on. Know what I mean?”


  “I suppose I do. Is that all he did?”

  “No, he called the chief some names, told him to stay away from his wife, said he was giving him fair warning.” Skeeter poked his finger toward Velveeta, punctuating each word, imitating the way Lenny had acted. “Then the chief told Lenny that Martha Maye didn’t want him around her and he should stay away from her or Johnny would be on him like stink on a pig.”

  “And?” Velveeta raised one eyebrow.

  “Hell, of course Lenny had to go and say the chief was threatening him, said he had witnesses, but he was just running off at the mouth, is all.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “That Johnny wasn’t serious?” Skeeter’s eyebrows tented.

  “Yeah. Maybe he was angry at Lenny for the way he’d been behaving. How do you know the chief wouldn’t be all over him, if he thought he had to protect Martha Maye?”

  He thought about it for a minute, pursing his sugary lips left then right, then out like a fish. “I guess he might’ve wanted a dustup with him, maybe, to make sure he stayed away from Martha Maye.” His eyes snapped to Velveeta, realization finally dawning on his face. “Aw, no. Hell, no. You don’t think the chief killed Lenny, do you?”

  “Well—”

  “Because that dog won’t hunt, missy. Johnny’s the police chief, galdernit. He sees that the laws of this town are upheld, and he upholds them himself. He’s the most decent, honest man I know, believe you me.”

  “Yeah, we know how Goose Pimple Junction police chiefs always uphold the law.”

  “Hey now, that’s not fair.” His frown turned into a smile when he greeted a woman coming in with her young son. “Hidee, Mizz Rayann.”

  Velveeta smiled politely and returned her gaze to Skeeter. “How long have you known Johnny?”

  “Okay now, I take your point. It hasn’t been that long, I’ll give you that, but I know these things.” Skeeter tapped his temple. “I can tell about people. I have the touch. And I can tell you, Johnny ain’t no killer.”

  Velveeta looked at him skeptically. He stared back at her defiantly. The mother in her overcame the cop in her, and she said, “Oh, good grief, Skeeter, you’re a cop, not a clairvoyant.” She couldn’t hide her annoyance as she stood to go. “And for heaven’s sake, wipe that powdered sugar off your kisser.”