by Amy Metz
A few moments later, the back door slammed loud enough to rattle windows.
Johnny drove straight from the police station to Martha Maye’s house, and when the door opened, he was surprised to see a tall, skinny man with a mullet haircut standing in front of him. He didn’t know why, but he disliked the man on the spot, and not just because of his haircut.
“Oh, I-I didn’t mean to intrude. I just-I wanted to see how Martha Maye was doing. I’m sorry. I should have called first.” He looked past the man and saw Martha Maye coming to the door.
“Don’t be silly. Come on in, Johnny. I want you to meet Lenny’s brother, T. Harry. I didn’t expect him in town until tomorrow, but he surprised us this afternoon. T. Harry, this is Chief Johnny Butterfield.”
“Actually, it’s Chief-on-leave Butterfield,” Johnny said miserably, reaching his hand out to T. Harry.
“Nice to meetcha.” T. Harry shook Johnny’s hand with the strength of a dishrag. “But you don’t have to worry about Mayepie here, I’m gonna take good care of her. That’s why I came in early.” He put his arm around Martha Maye’s shoulders.
“What do you mean Chief-on-leave?” Martha Maye asked, ignoring her brother-in-law and moving out of his reach. She wore a red cashmere sweater and jeans that did all sorts of good things for her figure, Johnny thought. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of jealousy toward T. Harry’s slightly proprietary air.
“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later.” Johnny hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just get going since you have company.”
“Oh, Johnny, don’t rush off. Why don’t you come in and let me fix you a plate? We just ate, but there’s plenty left.”
“I really don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing, is he, T. Harry?” Martha Maye didn’t wait for an answer; she’d already started toward the kitchen.
“Actually,” T. Harry started to say.
Johnny cut him off with a hard stare and quickly said, “Well, if you’re sure.” He followed Martha Maye, while T. Harry lagged behind, mumbling something about more pie.
“Where’s Butterbean?” Johnny asked, looking around the bright yellow kitchen. He saw a big Dutch oven and a black pot on the stove and a pie plate full of homemade rolls on the counter. A cake plate holding a pound cake sat next to the sink.
“What’s all this Butterbean talk?” T. Harry leaned against the counter, sounding annoyed. “Her name is Carrie.”
“She’s upstairs doing homework. And T. Harry, around here we call her Butterbean. You’ll just have to get used to that.”
Johnny looked down so they wouldn’t see him smile at her directness.
“Well, aren’t you a little spitfire?” T. Harry sidled up a little too close to Martha Maye. “I’d say you’ve changed for the better since you left my brother, God rest his soul. You always had spirit, but now you got spunk. Spunkiness is next to Godliness.” He winked at her, but Martha Maye ignored him.
“Here you go, Johnny. Come sit down.” On the table she set a plate loaded rim to rim with pork chops, new potatoes, green beans, fried apples, and hot rolls. “Now you be a clean plater, and you can have some of Mama’s pound cake for dessert,” she teased, sitting down at the table with him. “Or apple pie. Your pick.”
“Humph. Looks like he’s a practiced and accomplished clean plater,” T. Harry mumbled. When he saw Johnny’s glare, he held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m not saying you’re fat or nothing, but I’ll bet when you get on the scale to be weighed, it says ‘to be continued.’” T. Harry slapped Johnny on the back in what would have been taken as good-natured ribbing if he hadn’t put so much force behind the slap. Johnny didn’t acknowledge the sting the man’s hand had left behind. Martha Maye missed the gesture because she’d gotten up to pour some tea.
T. Harry sat down at the table. “Martha Maye, that apple pie sure was goood. I believe I could eat another piece. Reckon you could get me some?”
Martha Maye gave him a hard look, but she unwrapped the pie and cut a slice for him. She set it down in front of him and joined the men at the table.
“Mayepie, honey, I need another fork,” T. Harry whined.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Martha Maye’s voice suggested she wasn’t sorry at all. “Help yourself, you know where they are.” She turned to Johnny before T. Harry could argue.
“Can I get you anything else, Johnny?”
“I’m good. This is, too,” Johnny said with his mouth half-full. “Mmm, mmm, that’ll make a Chihuahua break a chain.”
“Say, you know what I saw on the way in today?” T. Harry asked.
“What?” Martha Maye said.
“You know those farmer stands out on the highway? The ones that sell on the honor system?”
“Yeah,” Martha Maye said, while Johnny nodded. His mouth was too full to talk.
“Well, I saw this dude trying to carry too many watermelons to his car, and he had them stacked precariously-like, and yep, sure enough, one dropped and went splat all over the ground.”
“Oh no.” Martha Maye sounded uninterested.
“Yep, and what do you want to bet he didn’t pay for that’n? I’ll tell you what else. Driving in today, I saw a man walking down the road with snakes coiled all over his arms. Can you imagine that?”
“Yeah, that’s just Roddey McClansky.” Martha Maye answered T. Harry, but she looked at Johnny with amusement in her eyes.
“And guess what else I saw?” T. Harry asked, hardly stopping to take a breath.
Does the man ever shut up? Johnny wondered.
“What?” Martha Maye said.
“The old Marshall farm is for sale. It’s a beaut, too. I wonder how much they want for it.” T. Harry continued to monopolize the conversation as Johnny ate. Martha Maye got in an “Oh,” a “Mmm-hmm,” and a “you don’t say,” but T. Henry was on a roll, while she and Johnny had a meaningful conversation with their eyes.
Finally, Martha Maye said, “I called over to the Stay A Spell Hotel and got you a room, T. Harry. How about you gwon over and get settled in. You must be tired after that long trip, and tomorrow will be another long day what with the funeral and all.”
T. Harry frowned. “I’m not that tired, and what’d you get me a room for? I thought I could just stay with y’all.”
“I thought it would be better this way, since the house is so small and all.” Martha Maye stared back at T. Harry as an uncomfortable silence fell over the kitchen.
T. Harry must have realized Martha Maye had her mind made up, because he didn’t argue. “All right. You the boss. Nice meeting you, John,” he said, again clasping Johnny too hard on the shoulder as he walked past him toward the front door.
“Nice meeting you, too,” Johnny called with a wave T. Harry didn’t see. Even nicer seeing you leave. Shewee, my ears are bleeding.
A while later, Johnny and Martha Maye sat together on the couch, and Johnny told her what had happened at the police station.
“Oh, Johnny, I’m so sorry. I’m nothing but trouble for you.” She reached out and held both his hands in hers, her eyes sympathetic and apologetic.
“Now, you stop that right now.” She looked startled and started to pull her hands back. Johnny held them tighter and said, “No, don’t stop that. I mean stop blaming yourself. This isn’t your fault, and I guess now that I’ve calmed down a little, I have to admit it does make sense. Velveeta’s right. I can’t be objective about this. Until they’re sure you and I weren’t involved, I should step aside. I should have seen it before she made it an issue in front of the entire force.”
“What if they never find the killer? What happens to your job then?” she asked.
“We’ll jump that bridge when we get to it.” He ran his hand up and down her arm in a comforting way.
“You know what I think we should do?”
That brought all sorts of ideas to Johnny’s mind, but he said simply, “What?”
“Let’s go over an
d talk to Jack and Tess. They’re good at sniffing out bad guys. Maybe you can team up with them, and just like with my granddaddy’s murder, they can get to the bottom of this. And I want to help, too.”
“If there’s something I can think of for you to do, I’ll sure let you know, but you got your teaching, and Butterbean to care for, and the funeral tomorrow. You’re going to be busier than a one-legged woman at the IHOP.”
That made her smile.
“You know, you’re beautiful all the time, but when you smile, man alive, you pretty much turn me into a puddle.”
“Oh, Johnny.” Her eyes went to her lap, and she tucked her hair behind her ear in a self-conscious gesture.
“I mean it, sweet pea.” He stopped when he saw the strained look on her face. “What? What did I say?”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” She suddenly had an agitated air, and Johnny didn’t know why.
“You don’t like to be called sweet pea?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just . . .” Her hands were in her lap now, and she fidgeted–almost wringing–them. “It’s just . . . someone left a sweet pea on my desk not too long ago.” She looked up at him. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
“No, Mart. It wasn’t me. I swear. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It happened the day I called you about Lenny watching me over at school. Remember? You came and took me home and we followed Butterbean on her bike?”
“I remember.” Their eyes met, and they both knew the other remembered it was also the day they kissed.
“We kinda sorta had enough going on then.” She cleared her throat.
Johnny reached for her hand, squeezed it tight, and leaned toward her. “I’ve thought a lot about that day.”
“Me, too.” She leaned in, their faces just inches apart. Johnny suddenly sat up straight. The abrupt change startled Martha Maye, and she moved back.
“Is that the last gift you got?” he asked. “The sweet pea? Have there been any more?”
Again she diverted her eyes to her lap and smoothed a crease in her skirt. “Actually, no. And yes.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No, it’s not the last gift I got. Yes, there’ve been more.”
“Good night, nurse,” Johnny swore. “Why don’t you tell me these things when they happen, Mart? I’m the blessed police chief. How can I protect you if I don’t know all that’s going on? When did you get something else?”
“The night Lenny died,” she said softly.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. It was a pumpkin with a heart carved out of it. I figured it was from Lenny, and that’s why he was at my house. I didn’t think I needed to worry about it any more. Since he’s . . .”
“On the dance floor for the last horizontal tango?” Johnny finished for her. Martha Maye grinned and he said, “There it is again. That beautiful smile.” He leaned in again and put his hand to her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I’d like to do that more often.”
She looked at him questioningly, and he clarified, “Make you smile.” He came closer still. With his lips against hers, he added, “And I’d like to do this more often, too.”
All the buzzards will come to the mule’s funeral.
~Southern Proverb
“I’m ready.” Butterbean came into her mother’s bedroom and plopped down on the bed, looking sadder than a weeping willow in frost.
“Don’t waller around like that, you’ll mess up your dress,” Martha Maye snapped. She saw the hurt look on Butterbean’s face and went to her, smoothing her hair.
“You all right, peaches?” Martha Maye cupped her daughter’s chin, forcing her face upward so she could look into her eyes.
“I’m all right, Mama.” She pulled her eyes away from her mother’s and fidgeted with the blue bow on the front of her dress. Without looking up, she asked, “Are you sad, Mama?”
Martha Maye sat down and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Yes, sweetie, I am sad. I may have been divorcing your daddy, but he was still your daddy, and I’m sad he’s gone. I know you are, too. You just come talk to me anytime you want, okay? It’s important for you to get your feelings out, and it’s important for us to always speak our minds with each other.”
Butterbean nodded, and Martha Maye kissed her daughter and went to the mirror to put on her lipstick.
“Mama, do you like Chief Butterfield?” Martha Maye met her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. “You know, do you like, like him?” Butterbean stood uncertainly beside the bed, nervously twisting her fingers around the big bow at her waist.
“Well, Bean, I suppose I do. Is that all right with you?” She leaned close to the mirror to apply her lipstick.
“Uncle T says it’s unseemly for you to be dating so soon after Daddy died.”
“Oh he does, does he? I’ll have to remind T. Harry to keep his straw out of my Kool-Aid.”
“He says your business is his business. He says he’s the head of the family now. He says he has to watch out for us.”
Martha Maye capped the lipstick tube and set it down. She turned and grabbed Butterbean’s arms, pulling her to the bed again, where they sat facing each other.
“Honey pie, it’s sad, and I know it’s not something you’ll fully understand for quite a while, but your mama and daddy’s marriage has been over for a long time. I’m not promiscuous, and I wouldn’t do anything to bring shame on this family, but I do like Johnny an awful lot, and I think he likes me back. Right now we’re just two good friends, but I’d like to see if we can be more than that. There isn’t anything wrong with me doing that. You understand?”
Butterbean nodded and Martha Maye added, “The heart wants love, the soul wants friendship. I forget who said that, but it’s true.”
“I saw you two kissing,” Butterbean said accusingly.
“Oh honey, that’s what grown-ups do when they like each other, but good Southern girls don’t sleep around, and you have my word on that, okay?”
“Okay, Mama.”
After several moments of silence, Martha Maye said, “You know, I probably should have waited until the divorce was final to kiss Johnny. I’m sorry I didn’t wait, but me liking Johnny doesn’t mean I’m not sad your daddy is gone.”
Butterbean nodded but was unable to look at her mother.
“You ready to go?” Martha Maye stood up and smoothed her skirt with her hands.
“I guess so.”
On the way out the door, Butterbean said, “Mama, what’s ‘miscuous’?”
“There are more people here than you can shake a stick at,” Martha Maye whispered to her mother as they waited for the funeral service to begin. “More than I expected, that’s for sure.”
“It was good of everybody to come. Are you sure you don’t want to be seated last?”
“I’m sure. It doesn’t seem proper to play the grieving widow, and I don’t want to parade Butterbean down the aisle in front of everyone.”
Lou craned her head around to see who was in attendance. “Looks like all the Nosey Nellies in town have come to gawk, but all your friends came for you, darlin’, not Lenny.”
“Do you see Johnny?”
“Yes. He’s sitting with Tess and Jack.” She patted her daughter’s hand and held onto it. Butterbean took her mother’s other hand.
Martha Maye felt bad that T. Harry and Butterbean were the only ones who were mourning. But he made his bed. Now he’s gotta lie in it. She looked at the casket and heard Lenny’s voice in her head say, “Literally.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle.
Later that day after dark, Johnny and Jack drove down the deserted country road toward the Magnolia Bar, talking about the funeral. “It was more than he deserved, I can tell you that,” Jack said.
They pulled into the bar’s parking lot, gravel popping under the tires. As the headlights swept over the lot, they illuminated Pickle pulling away in his red pickup truck.<
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“What in tarnation is Pickle doing in a bar parking lot?” Johnny asked, craning his neck to watch the taillights on Pickle’s truck grow smaller and smaller.
“Good question.” Both their eyes searched the parking lot to see if anyone else was around, maybe meeting Pickle, but they saw only empty cars.
“You don’t suppose he was buying weed or something, do you? The Mag Bar attracts all kinds.” Johnny parked the car.
“I don’t think so.” Jack looked to the side and behind him, “Besides, there’s nobody else around.”
“I tell you what,” Johnny said as they got out of the car, “I’ll be speaking to Pickle about this the next time I see him.”
They walked into the Mag Bar, looking like two friends wanting to kick back with a couple of beers, which they were, in fact, but they were also there for information.
“Help ya?” Bartender Cash Wily asked, slapping two napkins on the bar, as the men sat down on stools.
“Two Blue Moons.” Jack looked at Johnny for approval, and he nodded.
When Cash put the bottles in front of the men, he said to Jack, “You only hang out with lawmen these days?”
Jack gave him a confused look, and the bartender said, “You’s in here the other night with Officer Beanblossom. Looks like you moved up the totem pole bringing in the chief. You gonna come in with the mayor next?”
“Oh.” Jack nodded. “He’s actually a civilian at the moment.” He bobbed his head toward Johnny.