Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction (12 page)

Tess
opened up the chapter she was currently working on, but couldn’t concentrate. She thought of e-mailing Jack, but it had been a week since their lunch at the diner. She hadn’t seen him since then and thought he’d probably lost interest in her.
It’s just as well
.
Story of my life
. She decided to stop thinking about him.

Her
mind wandered to her son and whether she'd received an e-mail from him. Logging on to her account, she found two e-mails waiting, one from her son, and one from a friend back home. None from Jack. Nicholas was settling into his new home, job, and town nicely. He seemed happy.

The
second e-mail was from her friend Sara, wondering how she was doing in her new house. Tess was getting ready to reply when a new e-mail came in. This one from Jack. She took a deep breath and opened it.

Subject: update

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Hey, Tess—I’ve missed seeing you. I haven’t had much chance to ask around town about what we talked about. I’ll try to do that tomorrow. Have you thought any more about talking to Lou? See ya soon.

J.

She drummed her fingers on the keyboard for a minute while she thought about what to write back. She hit “reply.”

I’ll think about talking to Lou. I’m not sure it’s the way to go, just yet. What are you doing up at one a.m.?

t.

She
went back to replying to Sara’s e-mail but noticed a flashing tab about five minutes later. It was a chat invitation from Jack.

mysteryman
: I’m reading my latest chapter to Esmerelda. It’s putting her to sleep. What are you doing up?

Btw—what does the m stand for in mtess?

“
Who’s Esmerelda?” she said aloud. “Surely he doesn’t have a
woman at his house while he’s instant messaging me. That cad! I’m not asking. I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

mtess:
Couldn’t sleep. Writer’s block. Mary Tess.

mysteryman:
Mary Tess. I like it. Writer’s block? You didn’t ask, but my first suggestion would be to put down the pen, so to speak. It's about as useless to you right now as using a snow shovel to scrape wallpaper, and all you're gonna do is frustrate yourself.

mtess:
Pen and snow shovel have been put away for the evening. Thanks.

mysteryman:
The next thing I'd do is find something to relax your mind awhile. Let's see, what'd do the trick? How about a nice quiet homemade dinner for two? It's too bad you don't know of someone who shares in your craft to invite over.

Oh, no he’s not,
she thought. He wouldn’t be inviting me to dinner at the same time he’s entertaining another woman. He wouldn’t do that. But Lou did say . . .

Another
IM came in.

mysteryman:
Yep, I think what you need is to have some fella put dinner together for you tomorrow night . . . well, I guess that would be tonight. If you don't mind me saying, I think I know just the right guy. I'll tell him to expect you for 8:00. I hope I'm not being too presumptuous. Bye Tess.

“Oh good grief!” she shrieked aloud, pounding the bed with her fists. “What am I supposed to do now? That man is unbelievable! Oh!” she banged her head against the headboard.
If I call him to decline, he’ll just insist I come. I am
not
going. I refuse to be one of his conquests
.

Since
Jack had logged off of Yahoo, she decided to send him an
e-mail.

Subject: Dinner

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Jack, thanks very much for the dinner invitation, but I’m afraid
I have to decline. I already have plans.

She sat back and looked at her message. He couldn’t argue with that. She hit send.

* * *

The next morning, Tess went into the yard. She worked her way around the side of the house to the back, pulling weeds and deadheading blooms as she went. It was early morning, but it was starting to heat up. She sat down on the brick walk to rest, looking around her backyard. Her eyes swept around the perimeter of the yard, and she compiled a wish list in her head, mentally planning what she’d like to plant in the fall.

Deciding
she could stand the heat for a little while longer, she scooted herself down the path, shifting from sitting to kneeling. The first thing that caught her attention was the small flowerbed under
her office window, where small patches of purple, white, and yellow coneflowers were planted. Noticing some of the normally upright stems of the flowers were lying horizontally, she edged closer and saw that a portion of them had been trampled. She immediately thought of her dog, since he used to get into her previous garden almost daily.
But
I don’t have a dog now
.

Tess
tenderly picked up the trampled stems, looking to see if they were salvageable and noticed two fresh cigarette butts in the dirt.

Standing
up to take a better look, she froze. Rain the previous night had made the garden slightly muddy, which made the footprints planted directly beneath the window particularly noticeable.

She
stepped back as if she had seen a snake. Cold chills ran up her body. Someone had been watching her.

nemmine
: interjection \nem-mahyn\ never mind

Aw, nemmine. I don’t have any proof.

[  1935  ]

It just seems s’picious,” John Hobb whispered to his brother Trevor, three years after the bank robbery. They’d met for coffee at the local diner, and John couldn’t help using his brother as a sounding board.
“I know what Nate Hunter makes, and it’s not enough to support the fancy new suits of his and the new Desoto. How’s he swingin’ all that?”

“
Beats the heck outta me, John. I don’t know the man.”

“
I’ve been thinkin’ more about the day of the robbery.” John leaned forward conspiratorially, even though there was no one around them to hear. “Know what seems strange to me? About a minute before the bandits came into the bank, I remember seein’ Nate goin’ over to the window and lowerin’ the shade.”

“
So? Maybe the sun was too bright,” Trevor said, shrugging. He pulled a flask out of his pocket, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and poured an amber liquid into his coffee.

“
See, the thing is, nobody’s ever pulled that shade down before or since. So why then?” John was deep in thought and didn’t notice the flask.

“
Hmmm . . . I see what you’re gettin’ at. He was givin’ ‘em the green light to go ahead with the robbery.”

“
And another thing: why would they take
him
as a hostage? It
woulda been much easier to control a little lady like Tallulah than a man as big as Nate.”

“
Now there might be somethin’ to that—” Trevor tried to interject, but his brother was on a roll.

“
There are too many red flags. I don’t want to think poorly a Nate, but it just doesn’t add up.” John shook his head and looked out the window.

“
That’s ‘cause you’re a bookkeeper,” Trevor teased. “Why’s
everythin’ gotta add up? Maybe some things ya just cain’t explain.” He narrowed his eyes and looked closely at his brother. “I know that look a yours, though. Whatta you thinkin’?” He took a sip of coffee and winced.

“
You know what I’m thinkin’,” John replied. “Aw, nemmine. I don’t have any proof. I can’t accuse a fella worker of wrong doin’ just ‘cause he’s got some new duds, and he pulled a shade down. Long as I’ve known him, he’s been straight as string. He couldn’t do somethin’ like that now, could he?”

“
I don’t know him, John. But it sounds like you ain’t got no call ta accuse ‘im of anything.”

“
Yeah, you’re right. But I think I have to put these questions to him, just to clear my mind. Thanks for listenin’, Trevor. You comin’ over’ta house tonight? Maye’s fixin’ pot roast and coconut pound cake.”

“
Shoot, John, pot roast or no pot roast, if you’re invitin’, and Maye’s gonna be there, I will be too, sure as a cat's got climbin’ gear.”

“
Trevor! That’s my wife you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“
Yeah, well, if anything ever happens ta you, I’m first in line.”
Trevor brought his coffee cup into the air, in a mock toasting gesture.

* * *

“He’s getting’ wise to me, Brick. What am I gonna do?” Sore Thumb hissed. The two men were again at Humdinger’s, their favorite meeting place. There were only three other people in the bar, and they were too drunk to think, let alone listen in on a conversation. The men were far enough away from the bartender, too, but still they kept their voices low.

“
I say it’s time ta start spinnin’ some yarn about one Mr. John Hobb,” Lynch answered.

“
Whatta ya mean?”

“
What I mean is, you spread the word, that you think durin’ the hold up
, he
hepped hisself ta the till. And you say maybe
he
was in on it from the beginnin’. We spread enough out there ‘bout his
possible
guilt, and we let the waggin’ tongues take it fumm’air.” Lynch took a swig of his beer and licked the foam from his mustache.

“
Have you taken leave a your senses? Who’s gonna believe that about John? He’s salt a the earth kind of people. Not ta mention that he’s tighter ‘n bark on a tree. Who’d believe he was in on a robbery or that he had money to spend?” Hunter said, skeptical of Jenning’s plan.

“
Man’s gotta put shoes on four kids. Maybe he needed the money.” Lynch belched, then his thin mouth curled into an evil smile.

“
Hmmm . . . “

“
And ain’t you ever heard the expression, ‘Cold as a banker's heart’? All we gotta do is plant the seed.” Lynch scratched the back of his neck. “You can lie like a dirty cur dog, so I know you can pull it off.”

“
All right, I guess we can try it your way.” Sore Thumb was still skeptical.

“
And after the hens get a cluckin’, you and me’s gotta have us a
private meetin’ with ole Johnny boy,” Lynch said, before letting out a huge belch.

[ 
June
2010  ]

“Of course I’m sure they’re not my footprints,” Tess insisted into her cell phone. “There are two clear footprints underneath my window that look like someone was standing there, looking in my office, and there were cigarette butts next to them. Plus they trampled my flowers. I’m telling you, this is getting weirder every day. I’m starting to get scared.”

Tess
needed to confide in someone, and she didn’t dare call John Ed again, so she’d called her son as she walked to work. She knew John Ed would just laugh at her. Lou would overreact. And she didn't want to call Jack. He was trouble.

“
I’m almost at Stafford’s, sweetie. I have to go. Yes, I’ll keep you posted. No, you don’t need to come. I’d love to see you, but I know it’s hard for you to get away. I’m fine . . . really. Okay, sweetie, bye-bye.”

Holding
a plate of chocolate chip cookies she’d made for her co-workers, Tess slipped her phone into her purse and walked into the bookstore a few minutes before ten o’clock. Pickle was already hard at work. Unfortunately, he was standing right behind the door, and she didn’t see him until she stepped inside and closed it. At that point, she jumped a mile, and in trying to hold on to the cookies, fell backward into a table of books.

“
Oh Good Lord, Pickle, you scared me half to death,” Tess said, trying to stand up straight again.

“
Sorry, Mizz Tess, all I did was stand here,” Pickle said feebly. He stood there in baggie shorts, a black t-shirt, and black Chuck Taylor's, looking completely confused.

“
It’s all right. I’m just on edge lately. Here, have a cookie.” She pulled aside part of the plastic wrap and held out the plate of cookies to him.