2 Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  “Not so’s I noticed. I’m not here all the time, but purt near.”

  “I just don’t know where to go on this. Nobody saw anything, the evidence is missing, and my only suspects are ones other people tell me are the salt of the earth and couldn’t be murderers. I found nothing in his hotel room.” She put her head in her hands. “I just don’t know how to proceed.”

  “What does your gut tell you to do?” Junebug asked, wiping off the counter.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I have enough for it to tell me anything yet.”

  Junebug ducked her chin and looked at the officer under raised eyebrows.

  Velveeta nodded. “Okay,” she lowered her voice to almost a whisper, “I guess I like Martha Maye for it. She hated the man, and she can’t account for her whereabouts for about thirty minutes that night. A mama bear will do anything to protect her baby bear. She has means and motive, and the murder weapon was her kitchen knife. How can I ignore that?”

  Junebug crossed her arms and looked thoughtfully at Velveeta. She propped an elbow on the counter and sat her chin in her hand as she thought about the question. Finally, she propped her elbows on the counter and leaned toward Velveeta.

  “There’s something to be said for hunches. They ain’t scientific, but a lot of times they pan out.” She leaned in even more and lowered her voice before continuing. Her face and tone suggested she was deadly serious.

  “But I’m telling you, sugar, I’ve known Martha Maye since she wasn’t no bigger ‘n a beef roast. She doesn’t hate anybody, and if she’s capable of murder, I’ll eat Slick’s liver ‘n onions. And honey, let’s just say there ain’t no flipping way on either account. I’d sooner believe Elvis was a woman than believe Martha Maye is a murderer.” She shook her head and grimaced. “Mmm, it pains me to say that, ‘cause I do love my Elvis, and I do hate Slick’s liver ‘n onions—”

  “Hey!” Slick protested from the window.

  “Oh, that ain’t no state secret, bless your heart, and it ain’t nothing against your cooking, neither. I’m just talking ‘bout liver in general.” She looked back at Velveeta. “What I’m saying is, my belief in Martha Maye is that strong.”

  Velveeta nodded and slowly chewed the last bite of donut.

  “You know, I don’t mean to be telling you your bidness or anything,” Junebug said, still leaning on the counter and talking to Velveeta conspiratorially, “but I saw Martha Maye’s costume that night.” Velveeta’s eyebrows formed a V, and she listened intently to Junebug. “Now think about it. That dress talked as she walked. She couldn’t have sneaked up on anybody, and if Lenny knew she was there, there woulda been a struggle and she woulda gotten grass or dirt or hair or something on it. How in the world could she have killed Lenny while she wore that froufrou white dress?”

  Velveeta’s eyes got big. “She couldn’t have,” then looked as if a light bulb had gone off in her head.

  “Now let’s look at it with a different set of eyes.” Junebug came around the counter and sat on the stool next to the officer. The women faced each other. “Supposing she didn’t have the dress on. Could she have changed clothes, come upon Lenny, killed him, changed back into that white Southern belle dress, and gotten back to the Oktoberfest all in—how long was she gone?

  “Thirty minutes.” Velveeta nodded. “You’re right. Thank you, Junebug. You’re the best.”

  “If you ask me, this murder didn’t have anything to do with Goose Pimple Junction. Who here would know him enough to care if he were alive or dead? It don’t add up.”

  “That’s why I keep coming back to the chief or Martha Maye.”

  Junebug shook her head. “You gotta think outside the box, sugar.”

  Velveeta cocked her head.

  “Think about the man’s life before he got here. Have you looked into that at all?”

  Velveeta downed her coffee, slapped a five on the counter, and hurried to the door.

  “Hey! I said the donut’s on me!”

  “Keep it! I owe you more than that for helping me get my head on straight.”

  And she took off down the street like a lion charging toward its prey.

  Big Darryl D stood when he saw Velveeta Witherspoon get out of her car and head for the showroom. He pasted on a smile as she pushed through the door.

  “How do, Officer. What can I put you in today?”

  “I’m not here to shop. I’m here to ask you some questions about Lenny Applewhite.”

  Darryl D put on his hangdog face. “Yes, yes, such a shame, wasn’t it?”

  “What kind of an employee was he?”

  “The man was a born salesman. He sold a lot of cars in the brief time he was here, God rest his soul.”

  “How did he come to work here?”

  “He showed up one day outta the blue. Said I needed him. Like I said, he was a salesman, and I bought what he was selling and hired him that very day.”

  “Anything you can remember that was strange or out of the ordinary concerning him?”

  “Yes, actually there is. I got in a car one night to go home and he was sleeping in the backseat.”

  “The backseat?”

  “Yep. About scared the life outta me, let me tell you. I screamed like a girl.”

  “Did he say why he was sleeping in the car when he had a hotel room?”

  “All’s he would say is he was having ‘people problems.’“

  “People problems?” Velveeta quirked her brow.

  “Yep. As I pulled out of the lot that night, a big black SUV rolled up, two men inside. They looked real suspicious, but when I told them we was closed for the night, they just kinda looked around the parking lot and then drove off without a word.”

  “And you think that was related to Lenny?”

  “Yep. He saw them coming, took a dive in the backseat, and told me to drive.”

  “But you have no idea what they wanted?”

  “No earthly idea.”

  “Can I have a look around his office?”

  “Sure. It’s just as he left it. I haven’t touched a thing.”

  Martha Maye stood in front of her mother’s refrigerator looking into the freezer. “There aren’t any waffles, Butterbean, and no cereal, either. How about I make you some eggs?”

  Louetta walked into the kitchen dressed in a bright orange blouse and black pants, her hair coiffed nice and big, and her face made up for the day. “No cereal? That can’t be. I just bought some the other day.”

  Ima Jean followed Lou into the room. “I go cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”

  “Yeah, well, somebody else did, too, Aunt Imy. I’m telling you, we’re out.” Martha Maye opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon.

  Lou went to the pantry to look for herself. She stood in front of it, hands on her hips, shaking her head. “The peanut butter’s gone, too.” She moved a few things and said, “And my two cans of peaches and some granola bars. What in the land of cotton is going on?”

  “I don’t know, Mama, but I don’t have time right now to figure it out. I gotta get Butterbean some breakfast and get us both to school.”

  “Here, honey, I’ll make my special ghostie eggs for both of you. You have to have ghostie eggs on Halloween morning, for Pete’s sake. You go finish readying yourself while I fix breakfast.”

  Martha Maye gave the carton of eggs to her mother, who took over breakfast preparations.

  The bacon was almost done, and Lou was cracking an egg into a ghost-shaped hole she’d cut in the bread in the pan when a knock sounded on the back door. When Lou looked up, she saw T. Harry looking through one of the panes of glass that covered the top half of the door. He had his hands cupped around his face to shade the light from his eyes as he peered into the kitchen.

  “Oh, for crying out catfish. That man’s about as sharp as a mashed potato. I’m gonna nip this in the bud right quick.” Louetta stomped to the door and pulled it open, nearly knocking T. Harry off balance.


  “Good morning, Ms. Louetta. I was in the neighborhood and thought maybe I’d walk the girls to school.” He craned his neck around her to see if Martha Maye was in the room. Lou blocked the doorway and kept him from entering. She had a look on her face that could wilt a daisy.

  “Listen up, T. Harry. I want you to stop all this foolishness. I mean it. You’ve taken real good care of our girls, and I know they ‘preshade it, but it’s time for you to get in your car and drive on back home.”

  T. Harry sniffed the air. “Say, is that bacon I smell? And coffee?”

  From behind Louetta, Ima Jean said, “The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup.”

  “T. Harry.” Louetta glared at him. “I want you to read my lips and mind my words. Go home. The girls are fine now. We’re all watching out for them, and we’ll take real good care of them.” She propped her hands on her ample hips. “Get in your car and go home. Now.”

  “Have you driven a Ford lately?” Ima Jean piped up again, peering over Louetta’s shoulder.

  “Ms. Louetta, you ain’t got no call to talk to me like that. Butterbean’s my niece, and if I want to spend time with her, I can—”

  Once again, Lou didn’t let him finish.

  “Act like you got some raising, boy. I only met your mama once, God rest her soul, but I think she’da raised sand if she ever saw you carrying on this way.”

  That did it. T. Harry let out a big sigh and held up his hands in surrender. “All right. All right. I’ll go. May I please say good-bye to Martha Maye and Butterbean?”

  “Make it snappy.” Lou reluctantly stood aside so he could come into the kitchen.

  Ima Jean handed him a glass of orange juice. “A day without orange juice is like a day without sunshine.”

  “Bernadette, do you have the dispatch log from the night of October twenty-second?” Velveeta pulled her jacket off as she approached the desk.

  Bernadette, at her computer, hit a few keys and said, “Yep. I’ll shoot it over to you.”

  Velveeta sat at her desk and pulled up her email. The log showed Johnny had talked to Bernadette at 7:55, 8:28, and 8:42. She sat back in her chair and tapped a pencil on the desk. Then she went into the break room, where she found Hank Beanblossom.

  “Hank, I got a hypothetical for you. Let’s suppose I liked a person for a murder—”

  “Okay, who?”

  “We’re just supposing. Hypothetical like. Suppose this person talked to someone off and on for about two hours at intervals no more than thirty or so minutes.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Do you see any way this person could have lost his mind and killed someone with a knife and then gotten back to his normal self, normal voice, normal demeanor, talking that frequently to someone else?”

  Hank thought about it for a minute, biting his lip in concentration. “I reckon it’d be awful hard to do, especially since I talked to the hypothetical person a couple times myself during that window.”

  “I think it’d be impossible, too, and I don’t see how Martha Maye woulda had time to do it, either. She was only gone thirty minutes, tops, from the Oktoberfest, and she had that costume on. There wasn’t any blood at the scene, but still, you’d think the killer would have gotten something on his or her clothes.”

  “Well, the blade killed him instantly, so there really wasn’t a lot of blood. And we know the killer snuck up on him, on account he had to have been urinating in the bushes, what with his ding-a-ling sticking out of his zipper and all, so there probably wasn’t much of a struggle. Even so, it would be practically impossible for Martha Maye to do it in such a short time, especially given her getup.”

  “Have you ever worn one of them hoop skirts and a long frilly dress like that?”

  “Nope, can’t say that I have.”

  “To tell you the truth, I haven’t either, but thinking about it, I just don’t see how it would be at all possible. Not to mention it would have been next to impossible to sneak up on him in that dress that went swish swish with every move she made.”

  “So you’ve crossed the chief and Martha Maye off the list.”

  “You knew I was talking about the chief from the get-go. How’d you know that all along?”

  “I’m not as dumb as I look,” Hank said.

  “That would be impossible,” Velveeta said over her shoulder on her way to find the chief. “Bless your heart.”

  Hospitality is making your guests feel at home, even if you wish they were.

  ~Southern Proverb

  “So she came to my house and said she had talked to Junebug and looked at the dispatch log. Said she’d done some pondering, and checking, and she apologized for putting us through the wringer. Said we were both free and clear of any suspicion. Said she has another theory she’s working on.”

  Johnny told Martha Maye about the day’s interesting turn of events as they walked along the sidewalk, trailing Butterbean and Maddy Mack, who were trick-or-treating.

  “That’s great, Johnny. I’m so glad you got your job back, and more importantly, your good name.”

  “And even more importantly, it sounds like you got rid of T. Harry.” Johnny gave her a sympathetic look. “I ran into Louetta today, and she told me about her talk with him.”

  “Yeah, she took care of it all right. I feel bad for him, but after finding out about his duplicate behavior, I don’t feel too awful bad.”

  “Duplicitous,” Johnny gently corrected.

  Martha Maye bumped sideways into him. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

  Johnny put his arm around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Did your mama tell you she invited me to dinner tonight?”

  Martha Maye watched the girls run across a lawn to knock on another door. “She did, but if she hadn’t, I would have. Mama puts on the best Halloween party you ever did see. I hope you’re hungry. She’ll expect you to eat until you burst.”

  “I’m always hungry, but I’ll pass on the bursting.” Butterbean screamed, and the light from the flashlight in his hand jerked toward the sound. Martha Maye took off at a dead run, but Johnny beat her to the two girls, who were jumping up and down, clinging to each other, half-laughing and half-crying. Pickle stood inside a Rubbermaid trash can, his skinny legs sticking out of the cutout bottom. He held the lid in his hand. He wore the black trashcan like it was a pair of overalls.

  “What in the world?” Martha Maye started to say.

  “Mama! We came past this trashcan—least we thought it was a trashcan—and Pickle jumped out and scared the living daylights out of us.”

  “Him is mean!” Maddy Mack glared at Pickle, who was still laughing at his practical joke.

  “Aw, I’m sorry.” Pickle didn’t look sorry. “But y’all gotta admit that’s a good trick.”

  “That is a good trick,” Johnny said. “I’ll have to remember that next time I’m on surveillance.”

  “Surveillance?” Maddy Mack’s face screwed up in confusion.

  “Like a stakeout,” Johnny explained.

  “You’ve been on a stakeout before?” Butterbean asked, full of awe and wonder.

  “Sure. A couple of times.”

  As Johnny recounted one stakeout he’d been on, Pickle quietly crouched back down on the grass, pulling the trashcan lid over himself like a turtle. Then he pulled his arms through the cutouts and tucked them inside. It looked like a trashcan was simply sitting on the lawn. When Johnny finished his story, Pickle jumped out like a jack-in-the-box, scaring the little girls again and sending them into another round of screams.

  “Aw, come on, that couldn’t have scared you! You knew I was inside there.”

  “Okay, y’all, everybody move it. Let’s head to Mama’s for dinner. I can practically smell the cornbread from here.” Martha Maye herded them all toward Lou’s house in typical teacher mode.

  “Hey, looka there!” Pickle said. “Hi, Mama! Hey, Peanut!”

  “Ugh, Peanut,” Maddy Mack said to Butterbean. “He’s so
ugly he could trick-or-treat over the phone.”

  “Shh, now, none of that, girls.” Martha Maye swatted at the girls behinds. “Hello, Caledonia. Hi, Peanut. You sure are a scary vampire,” Martha Maye said.

  “He scared us!” Butterbean said to Caledonia, pointing to Pickle.

  “What did he do, darlin’?” Caledonia looked from Butterbean to her son. “What did you do, Pickle?”

  Pickle started to crouch back down and show his mother his trick, but Martha Maye stopped him. “Show her later, like when the girls aren’t in the vicinity. Caledonia, will you and Peanut join us for supper? I’m sure Mama fixed enough to feed Pharaoh’s army.”

  “That would be lovely,” Caledonia said.

  “Where’s Philetus tonight?”

  She shook her head. “Working. He’s always working, isn’t he, Peanut?” Peanut was no longer at his mother’s side. He was running after the girls, who were going to trick-or-treat at the last few houses.

  When they finally got to Louetta’s house, Martha Maye led them through the extensively decorated living and dining rooms and into the hub of activity—the kitchen. Louetta had placed jack-o’-lanterns all over the living room. Some lined the mantle, some were on the coffee table, some went up the stairs, and some stood sentry in the doorways. Witches, ghosts, and monsters decorated every table in the room. In the dining room, five tissue paper ghosts hung from the chandelier, and pumpkins with faces made from vegetables sat on the table as a centerpiece. For hair, they had broccoli, unshelled peanuts, or Brussels sprouts; red peppers for lips; tiny white potatoes for eyes; string beans for eyebrows; tomatoes for ears. The antique sideboard showcased five different desserts.

  Ima Jean, Louetta, and Charlotte were in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

  “Howdy, y’all. Welcome.” Louetta was dressed up like a witch, all in black, complete with striped stockings, a witch’s hat, and a fake nose with a wart. “Would y’all like some of my witch’s brew?” She cackled like a witch and didn’t wait for an answer, but grabbed mugs, and began pouring hot apple cider into them. “I got Polka Dot Punch for the kids, too.”