by Amy Metz
“Zat so?” Cash said.
Both men nodded.
“How come?”
“Conflict of interest,” Johnny said. “I’m just taking a short leave.” He took another pull from the bottle. “Ah, that tastes good. My mouth was as dry as Melba toast.”
“Conflict about what?”
Johnny looked uneasy, so Jack answered. “Has to do with Lenny Applewhite.”
Cash wiped a glass clean and grunted. “You ask me, I say it was a jealous husband who killed Lenny.”
“Yeah?” Jack said.
“Yep. Lenny was in here practically every night picking up women. Some were married.” He shook his head. “The stories he used to tell me.”
Jack and Johnny exchanged looks. “Like what?” Jack said.
Cash leaned on his forearms toward the men so he could talk confidentially. “This one woman he picked up, he mentioned to her to stop by Big Darryl D’s sometime and he’d get her a real good deal on a car.” Cash’s eyes scanned over both men’s shoulders, and he looked side to side to see if anyone was listening. The bar was busy, but no one was close by. Deciding it was safe, he continued.
“So she shows up—with her husbin.” He waited for the men to react, and they didn’t disappoint. Jack dropped his chin and gave Cash a look of disbelief. Johnny, who had just taken a pull from the bottle, almost spewed beer in the bartender’s face.
“Yep. She showed up with her old man over to Big Darryl’s. So Lenny, the old dog, he gets Darryl D to yack at the husbin while he takes the wife for a test drive. And I do mean, he took her for a test drive.” Cash’s eyes went big in the telling, and he nodded with a know-what-I-mean look.
“In the car?” Johnny squeaked.
“While the husband waited back at the lot?” Jack’s eyes bugged out like a bullfrog’s.
“Yup. That’s old Lenny for you. Or I should say, was Lenny.”
“Did the husband find out?”
“Don’t know. But she wasn’t the only one he did crazy stuff like that with. Maybe one of them husbins got wise to him. You know?”
“Can you give us some names?” Johnny asked.
“Thought you weren’t on the case no more.” Cash stood up straight, his distance showing his reluctance to cooperate.
“Unofficial investigation. I’ve got to clear my name. Don’t worry, I won’t say where it came from.”
Cash reached for a glass to dry, appearing to think it over.
“I gotta know, Cash,” Johnny said. “I swear I’ll leave you out of this.”
The bartender hesitantly scratched three names on a napkin and slid it across the bar to Johnny. “There were more, but those are the only names I know.”
Johnny looked at the napkin and then back at Cash. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“What?” Jack leaned over to get a look.
Johnny handed him the napkin. “I know two of these women.” He took a pull on his beer. “Well, not know know them, but I know who they are.”
“That Lenny.” Cash shook his head. “I’ll say one thing for him. That man could sell socks to a rooster. But honestly, he didn’t have to try all that hard with women. Can’t explain it, don’t understand it. There was just something about him the girls liked. It was like watching moths to a light.”
“Until they got to know him,” Johnny said.
Cash pointed to Johnny. “You got that right.”
“Maybe one of the women had a score to settle,” Jack suggested.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Of course, could be his old lady found out about his philandering ways.”
Johnny slammed his hand on the bar. “No. It could not be, and don’t you go spreading unfounded rumors like that.”
Cash studied Johnny for a moment and then wandered off to help another customer, looking glad for an excuse to leave the conversation.
“How do you want to approach these women, Johnny?”
“Let’s call on them tomorrow night right after supper. I want to talk to them with their husbands there. It will be interesting to see how both of them react when we bring up old Lenny’s name.”
After a moment of silence, Jack asked, “So what do you think of Lenny’s brother?”
Johnny turned the bottle in his hands in a slow circle, thinking how to answer. The jukebox played Lewis Grizzard’s “If Love Were Oil, I’d Be About a Quart Low.”
“I think he’s as useless as pockets on a cow. I think Martha Maye and Butterbean are the best things that ever happened to the sorry lot, though I don’t see how she ever got mixed up with them in the first place.”
“He seemed like a decent enough fellow to me,” Jack said. “I didn’t talk to him all that long, but it looked like he took good care of Butterbean and Martha Maye. You’ve got to give him credit for that.”
Johnny grunted. “I don’t trust him any more than I could throw him. There’s just something about him that isn’t quite right, and it’s not just on account he’s an Applewhite.” Johnny shook his head in disgust. “Maybe it’s coply intuition, I don’t know. I do know I’m going to be glad to see his taillights, I tell you that.”
“You didn’t hear?”
“Hear what?”
“T. Harry’s sticking around a while. Says he wants to look after the girls.”
“Isn’t that a fine how do you do.”
Cash came back and stood warily in front of them. “‘Nother one?”
“I’ll take one,” Jack said. “Johnny’s driving. He’s reached his limit.”
“You know.” Cash popped the top on the bottle. “I thought of something else.”
“Oh?” Johnny raised his eyebrows.
“There were some dudes in here looking for Lenny—two, maybe three times. Real rough looking. He never was here when they were. Wait, maybe he was here once, but he beat feet. Anyway, they didn’t hook up with him far’s I know.”
“Any idea who they were?”
“No idea. They weren’t local, I know that. They didn’t offer names. Just asked about Lenny.”
“Well, well, well,” Jack said, turning to look at Johnny. “Add that to the stew and mix real good.”
All the buzzards will come to the mule’s funeral.
~Southern Proverb
The sound of Muzak and a creaky grocery buggy wheel couldn’t drown out a distressed mother’s voice.
“Cinnamon! I’m not playing. I’m about to embarrass you.”
The man wearing overalls and an oversized jacket heard the mother yelling to her daughter one aisle over. He leaned into the grocery shelf full of cookies, pretending to examine them carefully, eased the package of Double Stuf Oreos into his jacket, then stood up straight, adjusting his coat.
“Put that back, puddin’. I don’t have money for that,” he heard the mother say,
wondering for a moment if the woman was talking to him. Over his shoulder, he saw Pickle and his mother rounding the aisle, although it appeared they hadn’t seen him yet. He turned his back, flipped his coat collar up, and pulled his hat down over his brow, praying neither one would recognize him. He began to nonchalantly make his way out of the aisle.
“Let’s get some Nilla wafers so I can make ‘nana puddin’,” Pickle’s mother, Caledonia, said.
“Yeah, I love nanny puddin’, Mama.”
“I know it, son. Pretty soon you’re gonna eat us out of house and home.”
Overalls edged down the aisle, feigning interest in all things cookie. He heard the young mother’s voice again.
“Why, hello, Ms. Winchester. Hireyew tonight?”
“You’re that new officer, right?” he heard another woman say.
“I am that. I’m off duty now. You can call me Velveeta. “
“And you can call me Honey. Did y’all catch him yet?”
“You mean Mr. Applewhite’s killer?”
“Yes. When I think it happened just a few feet from my house, lawzie, I just get the heebie-jeebies. Did you catch him?”
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“Not quite, ma’am, but I’m hot on her trail. His. His or her.”
“Her? You said ‘her’ first. You think the killer’s a her?” Honey was loud, and her voice rose a few decibels at the end.
“I really can’t comment, ma’am.”
Overalls leaned into the display of chocolate MoonPies, as he sensed Pickle and Caledonia passing behind him.
“A her.” Honey said it as though she were talking to herself more than to the officer.
“Yes, ma’am. But don’t you worry. I’m all over it like a bad rash on a big butt.”
“Oh my.”
Velveeta let out a big laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your hand went unconsciously to your behind when I said that, bless your heart.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“But I’ve said too much, ma’am. I really can’t say any more. Just rest assured we’ll apprehend the person responsible for the homicide. Don’t you give it another thought. You’re perfectly safe here in Goose Pimple Junction.”
Looking over his shoulder, he saw Pickle and Caledonia turn the corner. He thought the officer and Honey were through talking but then heard Velveeta’s voice.
“Say, where were you at the time of the murder? You didn’t happen to see anything that night, did you?”
“Me?” Honey asked. “No, I wasn’t home when it happened.”
“Just exactly where were you, ma’am?”
“Ma’am? Me?” Honey said again, then under her breath, When did I go from Miss to ma’am? “I was at the Oktoberfest, of course.”
“All night?”
“Yes, I was there with my daughter and Martha Maye and her daughter. And Lolly.”
“What’s a Lolly?”
“It’s a he. Pete Lallouette, the fire chief.”
“Ohh. All right then.” There was a pause. “Well, I gotta get these youngins home. Nice talking to you.”
“You too, Officer.” After a pause, she added, “Velveeta.”
Overalls decided to move quickly, intending to leave the store before he was seen. As he reached the end of the aisle, suddenly a little girl flew around the corner, slamming into him, causing the cookie package to rustle. His hands went out instinctively to the little girl, to keep them both from toppling over, and when he did so, the cookie package fell to the ground. She looked up, wide-eyed, into his eyes.
He quickly mumbled, “You ought not run in the store.” He scooped up the cookies and walked away as fast as he could.
Behind him, he could hear the little girl saying, “Mama, that man had cookies in his belly.”
“Cinnamon, whatchew talking about, child?”
“Who’s first on the list?” Jack asked Johnny, as he buckled his seat belt.
“Molly Ann Adair and her husband Stanley. They live in a small house up in Spring Hill. I’ve run into him a time or two. He should remember me.”
“By gonnies, they live so far out they just about have to pump sunshine in.”
“Oh, Jack, it’s not that far out.”
“It’s halfway to Bristlebuck. I call that a pretty fer piece.”
“Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
When Johnny pulled in front of the Adairs’ house, he said, “See? It wasn’t that bad.”
Jack pretended to be asleep, and Johnny punched him in the arm.
“All right, all right, I’m up.” Jack opened the door and started to get out of the car.
“Jack, would you mind if I call Martha Maye right quick?”
Jack had already swung his legs out, but he twisted in the seat to look at Johnny. “‘Course I don’t mind. Want me to go on up to the house? Give you some privacy?”
“Naw, you don’t have to do that.” Johnny punched in the numbers on the phone. “I just want to make sure she’s doing all right. I haven’t seen her since the funeral yesterday and haven’t been able to reach her all day.”
Jack nodded as Johnny held the phone to his ear. A few seconds later he said, “Martha Maye, this is Johnny. Just wanted to see how y’all are doing. I hope you and Butterbean are all right. Give me a call when you get a chance.” He punched the phone with his thumb, disconnecting the call.
“Third message I’ve left today.” He looked at Jack. “You don’t suppose she’s avoiding me, do you?”
“No,” Jack said firmly. “I do not think that.”
“There’s a killer on the loose. You don’t suppose—”
“Nope. Don’t think that, either.”
“What’re you smiling at?” Johnny asked.
“You. You’re so darn cute when you’re smitten.”
As they walked up to the house, Johnny noticed a blue minivan with a DO NOT DISTURB bumper sticker parked in the driveway. The yard was well maintained and manicured, which was more than he could say for Molly Ann when he stepped up on the porch and got his first look at her. It was a beautiful fall evening, and Molly Ann and Stanley were sitting on the glider on their front porch, amid potted chrysanthemums and asters.
The couple appeared to be in their thirties, and Molly looked like she had lived every one of those days to their fullest. At first glance, Johnny thought she was pretty enough, but then he noticed her bleached blond teased hair, her face caked with too much makeup, and leathery skin that suggested she’d spent too many summers in the sun. The lines above her upper lip told Johnny she was a smoker. Even though she looked a little rough, it appeared to Johnny that she’d married down.
“Evening, Chief.” Stanley didn’t bother getting up with his wife when the men stepped onto the porch.
“Evening, folks,” Johnny said, taking in Stanley’s denim cutoffs and white T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. “This here’s Jackson Wright. Don’t know if y’all have met.”
“No, can’t say’s we have. Nice to meet you, Jackson.”
“Likewise.” Jack nodded at Mary Ann and shook Stanley’s hand.
“This isn’t official police bidness, is it, Chief?” Molly Ann motioned to two old lawn chairs with heavy steel frames covered by sturdy nylon webbing in which the men could sit. Johnny watched her as she sat down, her nervous eyes darting every which way.
“No, of course not. Fact is, I’m on a leave of absence from the department.”
“Y’are? How come?” Stanley asked, gently moving the glider up and back with his foot.
“I guess you heard about the murder over on Marigold Lane.” Jack and Johnny had previously agreed that Jack would watch Stan’s reaction and Johnny would watch Molly Ann’s. But Johnny tried to register both of their expressions when he said, “You know—Lenny Applewhite?”
“Yeah, we heard about it,” Stanley said indifferently. “But I thought you said y’all weren’t here on official bidness. Asking folks about murder sounds official to me, don’t it to you, Moll?” Stan nudged Molly Ann’s leg, clad in skintight jeans. She nodded, her eyes flitting from Jack to Johnny. She chewed on a hangnail.
“I can see where y’all might think that.” Johnny looked at Jack.
“Thing is,” Jack said, “we’re just out talking to folks, trying to find any little clue, so we can catch a killer.”
“So you’re going to every house in Goose Pimple Junction?” Stanley asked suspiciously, absentmindedly scratching his protruding stomach.
“‘Course not,” Johnny said. “We saw y’all out on the porch here, thought we’d just stop and see if y’all had any thoughts on the subject.”
“Nope, sure don’t.” Stanley looked at his still silent wife.
“Did y’all attend the Oktoberfest?” Jack asked.
“Uh, yeah, we were up there for a while. Ate some supper, then came home.”
“But y’all did know Lenny Applewhite, didn’t you?” Johnny pressed.
Both husband and wife shook their heads, but Stanley spoke for both of them. “No, can’t say that we did. I may have seen him around town once or twice, but don’t believe I ever met the man. Honey, did you kno
w him?”
Molly Ann had been nodding to what her husband was saying, but then switched to studying her nails. “No, I don’t think so.” Then, giving her gravelly voice its full strength, she said, “Where are my manners? Can I get y’all a beverage? Co’Cola or Mtn Dew maybe?”
“No, ma’am, we won’t trouble you for that.” Johnny held up a hand.
“Ale-8? RC? How about a Dr Pepper?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you.” Johnny pursed his lips and looked questioningly at Molly Ann. “You never met Mr. Applewhite?”
“Well, I might have met him up at the Mag Bar. His name does sound kinda sorta familiar.” She tried to look uncertain but failed. She stood up and forced a smile. “How about an ice-cold Yoo-hoo?”
“No thanks. Can you tell me where y’all were between eight and ten that night? The night of the murder?”
Husband and wife looked at each other. “Yeah,” Stanley said, “We can tell you.”
They waited. Finally, Johnny said, “Well?”
“Oh. We were eating and socializing and participating in the wife-carrying contest. Don’tcha remember, Jack? Our turn was before yours, maybe you didn’t see us, but I know plenty other people did.”
“Yeah, I do remember, now that you mention it. Y’all look a might different than you did that night.”
“He was Popeye, and I was Olive Oyl,” she explained to Johnny.
Johnny stood up and Jack followed. “I see. Okay then. We’ll get out of your hair. If y’all think of anything pertinent to the case, you be sure to call me or the house, you hear?”
“Sure thing, Chief,” Stanley said.
“Toodle-oo.” Molly Ann wiggled her behind as she leaned on the porch railing and waved to the men, giving them a good look at her cleavage. “Y’all don’t be strangers.”
Jack and Johnny waited to speak until the car doors were closed. The second they were both in the car, Jack said, “She was lying through her yellow teeth.”
“She sure was, but I’ve got to say I don’t think Stan was lying. So if he doesn’t know about his wife and Lenny, it would be a pretty human thing for her to lie to keep him from finding out. And they do have an alibi.”
“So they say. Right now all’s we can be sure of is they were there for the wife-carrying contest. I’m going to see if I can get Hank to confirm their alibi.”