Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction (14 page)

Maye Hobb called up the stairs, “Samuel! Johnny! Y’all stay out of that bedroom and away from the wallpaper mess. I don’t want that wallpaper glue traipsed all through the house or in your hair or on your clothes!”

Hearing
her husband John’s low, patient voice upstairs talking to their sons, she felt confident he would keep the boys away from their bedroom. She went back to fixing dinner.

John
came downstairs a short while later looking worried and preoccupied. He’d been busy up there for a while, first in the bedroom, then up in the attic. Maye asked him what he’d been doing, and he said, “Maye, I need to tell you somethin’. You know the big trunk up in the attic . . . “

She
put her hand up to momentarily silence John, listening toward the stairs. “I mean it boys!” she hollered. “You stay away from that wallpaper mess!”

She
stirred the spaghetti sauce and said, “You look worried, John. What's the matter?”

John
took a deep breath. “Maye . . . “

She
glanced at the wall clock. “Oh, will you look at the time. We’ve got to eat supper and get to church.” Going to the bottom of the steps, she called up, “C’mon boys! Ima Jean! Louetta! Supper’s ready!”

* * *

The wallpaper stuff was tempting. Johnny and Sam had been playing around it almost all day. Their fingers were itching to get at that paste. They were playing in the hallway outside their parents’ bedroom door, tantalizingly close to wet, gooey fun.

Sam
“accidentally’ sent a toy car flying into the room their mother had just warned them away from. Johnny chased after it. The car bounced off the bottom of the Victorian dresser, and rolled backward, striking his shoe before careening into white mopboard. It bounced back and forth from the wall to the door until it finally stopped behind the pine door.

Johnny
picked it up and said, “We need something to weigh it down a little.” He looked around his parents’ room and then walked over to their dresser. He saw a thin copper key, with a tag attached by yarn. “This’ll be perfect!”

Johnny
got down on his hands and knees to put the key on top of his car.

“
Sam! Lookit this!”

Sam
watched as the car shot across the room, straight as an arrow, the tag trailing along in the air, mimicking the exhaust in a car’s wake. 

“
Nifty!” Sam readied his car. “On the count of three, we’ll race ‘em, okay?”

They
barely heard their mother yell up the stairs, “I mean it boys! You stay away from that wallpaper mess!”

They
both sat at one end of the room, cars side by side.

“
One . . . Two . . . Three!”

The
cars shot all the way across the room, only stopping when they reached the finish line—the wall. Johnny’s car got there first and bounced backward, hitting Sam’s car as it careened toward the woodwork. Sam’s car skidded sideways, bounced off the wall, and back into Johnny’s car, knocking the key off, and sending it into the floor register.

Clink.
Clink. Clink.

“
Uh-oh—the key!” The boys went over to the register, knelt down, and peered in. It was deep and dark, and they couldn’t see anything. “Holy cannoli! What’ll we do now? How are we gonna get the key back?”

“
C’mon, boys! Ima Jean! Louetta! Supper’s ready!” their mother called up the steps.

“
We’ll get it later. Come on, we gotta get downstairs for supper,” Sam said.

They
grabbed their cars and ran from the room.

* * *

John helped Louetta, his youngest child, up into her chair and sat her on top of some books that boosted her high enough for the table. The family ate quickly and noisily.

Several
times John started to say, “Upstairs in the attic—” but each time he was interrupted by one of the kids. Maye finally excused everyone, instructing them to get ready to leave for church.

He
sat quietly at the dinner table while Maye and Ima Jean cleaned up the dishes, talking and laughing together. He was deep in thought, with a serious expression on his face, until Louetta tugged on his arm. Then his face lit up with love. She climbed up onto her daddy’s lap,
nuzzling her nose into his neck. He wrapped his big bear arms around her and squeezed her tight, closing his eyes and breathing in her sweet smell.

“
I wish you could go ta church with us too, Daddy.”

“
Me too, Butterbean. But I have to go to a meetin’.” He gave her another big squeeze and kissed her forehead. “Now go get yer shoes, and I’ll help you put ‘em on.”

“
Why’d he say ya had to go all the way up there tonight?” Maye asked her husband, as she dried her hands on the dishtowel.

“
I don't know why. The message only said he needed to see me and it couldn’t wait,” John explained for the second time. He wanted to spend time with his family as much as they wanted him to, but he’d gotten an urgent message that he couldn’t put off. “But Maye . . . “

Louetta
came back into the room and climbed back onto his lap, handing him her shoes. He didn’t finish his sentence.

“
I’ll drive you and the kids up to church. You can attend the service and fellowship time, and I’ll be back to pick you up with time to come in, visit a spell, eat some of that mouth waterin’ chocolate cake you’re takin’, and drink some bad coffee.”

Maye
let out a long sigh, but there really was no use in arguing about it. She walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Come on kids, time to go!”

“
Maye, I need to tell you about the attic trunk . . . “ John began but was again interrupted when the three other Hobb children came
lumbering down the steps and began pulling out coats, scarves, and gloves, all talking over each other.

“
Daddy, can we play in the snow when we get home?”

“
Dad, have you seen my Bible?”

“
Daddy, tie this shoe, please.”

“
Mama! Daddy! Look at my loose tooth!”

Maye
handed out hats and mittens, insisting they all wear them.

Ima
Jean, the oldest, whined, “Do I have to wear a hat? It messes up my hair.”

Her
brother, Sam, piped up, “She wants to look her best for
Walter
!”

She
swatted him on the arm, and he jumped back out of her reach, laughing.

“
That’s enough, you two,” their father warned from the kitchen chair
where he was scrawling something on a piece of paper and stuffing it into his pocket. “And yes, you have to wear a hat.” He helped Louetta put on her hat and mittens, then held Maye’s coat open, while she slipped her arms inside. He gently tugged on the bill of Johnny’s hat in a gesture of affection.

“
Come on crew, off we go.”

It
was an unusually cold December night with a light snow flitting through the air. Outside, the children breathed heavily to see their breath in the air. They loaded up and headed over to the First Methodist Church where they had been members for twelve years. John was a
deacon and Maye was the secretary of her ladies circle. They were there every Sunday morning and evening and every Wednesday night.

John
pulled up to the side door of the church. Imitating a train
conductor’s voice he said, “All out! First Methodist Church, stop one!”

They
piled out of the car, with a quick “Bye, Dad” or “See ya!”

Maye
said, “No, keep that hat on until we get inside . . . “ as John tried to say, “Maye, the trunk in the attic…”

Louetta
pulled on her arm. “Come on, Mommy!”

Maye
turned back to look at John, leaning down, peering back into the car. Deciding he couldn’t say what he wanted to in only a few seconds, and not wanting to worry her needlessly, he simply gave a weak smile and said, “Save a piece of cake for me.”

She
stood up to close the door and said, “Okay, darlin’. Hurry back.”

“
I’ll be back before you know it,” he called after them. They waved, and he watched them disappear through the church door.

[ 
June
2010  ]

Tess listened in horror as Buck told her about Lou’s father being murdered two years before her grandmother was murdered. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my goodness. I had no idea.”

“
Yep, Lou doesn't like to talk about it at all. It was a horrible
tragedy. Seems like Lou’s mama had one tragedy befall her after another. And she was left with four youngins to raise. Mizz Maye did a good job with ‘em youngins though, as you can witness through Louetta.”

“
Mercy goodness. That would make a good novel, wouldn’t it? Was either murderer ever caught?”

“
Nellie’s was. There whadn’t ever any doubt about who killed her. Poor Maye witnessed it herself, God love her. But, Lou’s daddy? Naw, some said her father’s death was suicide, some said murder. It wasn’t ever solved. Matter fact, I guess it’s still on the books. What they call a
cold case
. Hey, I heard you’re a writer. You write true crime?”

“
Oh no.” Tess shook her head. “I was thinking it would be something Jack could sink his teeth into.”

“
Hey—you know what would make a good story?”

“
What’s that?” Tess asked, just as Junebug appeared at the table with their food.

She
served the meals and then asked, “Can I gitch y’all anything else?”

“
That’ll do it, Junie,” Buck said.

“
Alrighty, enjoy your mill.”

Tess's
confused expression as she watched Junebug walk away prompted Buck to say, “Your
meal
. Enjoy your meal.”

“
Ah! Thank you for the translation.”

After
taking a bite, Buck continued. “Okay, I think you’ll like this one. Goose Pimple Junction used to have some real scoundrels. Around World War II, I hear tell there was a fight on Main Street just about every Saturday afternoon . . . “

Tess
listened to Buck's story of Goose Pimple Junction lore. He was nearing the end of his story when she saw Jack walking toward the diner. She immediately felt guilty because she’d told him she had plans for the evening. Starting to wave as he entered the diner, she quickly dropped her hand when he sat down at the counter and didn’t look her way.

“
But ole’ P.D. had his thinkin’ cap on that day. He blew the whistle, but he blew it in a different manner than was the usual signal, see. The sheriff heard it, and figured somethin’ waddent right. So he hoofed it on over to the station, but he went the back way. He and his deputies snuck in through the back door, and they subdued the louts and hauled ‘em off to the pokey.”

“
That’s some tale. And that was some fast thinking.”

“
True story,” Buck said proudly, finishing off his dinner. He glanced over his shoulder, following Tess’s eyes, and saw Jack sitting at the counter. “Well thar’s Jack, now. Hey Jack! We was just talkin’ ‘bout you!”

Jack
looked over his shoulder indifferently, but didn’t get off the stool. “Zat right?”

“
Yep. Tess said you might could use some ‘a Goose Pimple
Junction’s true crime to write about. But she’ll hafta tell ya all ‘bout it some other time. We gotta git goin’.” He looked out the window. “Tess, it’s pourin’ down bullfrogs out there. You have t’allow me to deliver you home. You walked to work, didn’t ya?”

“
Oh, well . . . yes, I did walk, but I was going to stay and have a piece of that lemon pie. Thank you for the offer though.”

“
Now what kind a gentleman would I be if I let you walk home in this weather? I insist. How ‘bout you get that pie to take home?”

“
Yeah, Tess, how ‘bout gettin’ take away? You must have other plans,” Jack said sarcastically.

Tess
didn’t like being told what to do. She was not about to go anywhere until she was darn good and ready. She’d rather get soaked to the bone than be manipulated. She signaled Junebug. “One piece of your lemon pie for
here
, please.” Then she pasted on her most charming smile and said firmly to Buck, “Thank you anyway for the offer, but I’ll be fine.”

Buck
shot an annoyed look Jack’s way, but quickly recovered. “Well, thank ya for the favor of your kumpny tonight, Tess. I will be seein’ you around.” With that, he gave Junebug some dollar bills, said, “Keep the change,” and disappeared out the door and into the rain.