Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction (37 page)

“
Naw sir, I wouldn’t ever do somethin’ like
that
.”

“
But you don’t mind hurlin’ bricks through people’s windows,” the chief said matter of factly. “What if you’d hit somebody inside the house with that brick?”

“
I didn’t think a that,” Pickle said softly.

“
Dudn’t sound like you thought ‘bout anything.” He sighed heavily. “All right, Pickle. I’ma let you go home with your mama. Mizz Tess says she won’t press charges if you’ll pay to have her window fixed. You just better hope she doesn’t change her mind. And you stay outta trubba, now, ya hear? Or I’m gonna come after you and throw you in the paddy wagon myself, little mister.”

“
Yessir. I’m sorry, sir. Thank you, sir,” Pickle said, jumping up.

“
Not me you need to be apologizin’ to.”

“
Oh, he’s gonna do his share of apologizin’.” Caledonia stood up, held her well-manicured hand out for her son to take, and led him out of the room. They found Skeeter and Peanut in the reception area.

“
C’mon, Peanut, let’s take yer brother home now. He’ll be my indentured servant for the foreseeable future.”

The
chief and Skeeter stood with their arms crossed, watching the mother and two boys leave the station. Chief Price shook his head.

“
Pickle . . . Peanut . . . them folks’ family tree don’t fork.”

* * *

“Well tie me to an anthill and fill my ears with jam!” Lou was fortuitously standing in front of her chair when she heard the news about Pickle, because her knees gave out, and she dropped into it like a sack of flour. She stared into space with a look of utter disbelief.

“Lou, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Pickle meant to be harmful, I think he just got caught up in the money and things got carried away.”

“
Money? Whatta ya mean? Who was payin’ him?”

“
John Ed called a little while ago to tell me Pickle said it was Crate Marshall who paid him to do it.”

“
Of course.
Brick
Lynch’s grandson told him to throw a
brick
through the window. But why on earth would
that
man pay Peekal to vandalize your home?”

Tess
had hoped Jack would be at the bookstore by the time she had to get into the particulars with Lou. She didn’t want to go it alone.

“
Lou, do you remember that key that I found in the floor register?”

“
Oh, law . . . “

“
Well, one thing led to another, and . . . “ Just then, they could hear the bell tinkle at the front door. Tess went to the doorway of Lou’s
office. “We’re back here!” she said in relief when she saw Jack and
Martha Maye.

“
Uh oh. You brought in the cavalry, huh? Is anybody gonna tell me what’s goin’ on? Tess here’s been beatin’ ‘round the bush sa long, I grew another wrinkle.”

Tess
and Jack told Lou about how they’d heard of her father’s murder, and it led them to be curious, which they believe led to someone getting nervous, which led to all of the mayhem that had been happening to Tess and Jack, of late. Lou listened without saying a word, her eyes darting from one to the other.

“
But why would y’all care about Daddy’s murder?”

“
Besides the fact that I love a good mystery,” Jack said, “we felt, and more so once things began happening, that there was an answer to his unsolved murder. I guess it’s all about truth, justice, the American way, and all that.”

“
What did you have to do with all of this?” she asked Martha Maye.

“
I just helped them fill in some of the blanks.”

“
Why didn’t y’all tell me ‘bout this?”

“
I tried Mama, but you know how you get when your daddy’s name is brought up. We just wanted to spare ya the pain.”

“
Why would Crate Marshall do those things?”

“
That’s a good question. It’s looking more and more like his grandfather was the killer, and for some reason, Crate didn’t want that to be dredged up again.”

“
Ooooh! I could just wring his neck!” Lou had gotten beyond the shock and was moving on to the awe.

“
I think John Ed will do that for you, Lou,” Jack said in all
seriousness.

* * *

The dogs were barking wildly when Crate Marshall opened the door and saw the men drive up.

“
What‘re you doin’ here?” he called out from the porch.

“
Put those damn dogs in the barn and tie ‘em up. Else I’ll shut ‘em up,” the driver called from inside his car.

Tank
shot the man a long, dirty look, but obliged him.

As
he walked back to the house, his visitors got out of the car.

“
Thought you didn’t wonta be seen with the likes a me. Want me to put my Groucho glasses on?” Tank asked facetiously.

“
Very funny.” Tank’s visitor was not smiling. “He thinks he’s a comedian,” he said to the other man.

They
walked up the steps to the porch and Tank opened the door, but stood in the doorway, arms crossed like a bouncer.

“
You gonna let us in or are you gonna let out all the bought air?”

“
What‘re you? My daddy? I can air cond . . . well come on in,” Tank said sarcastically, waving the air in front of his face, as the man pushed his way past him, reeking of
Aqua Velva aftershave.

Tank
made his voice soft and feminine. “There’s nothing like an Aqua Velva Man.”

“
Funny. A real laugh riot. Got any coffee?” the man barked.

Tank
led the way to the kitchen. While the Aqua Velva man sat down at the end of the table, Tank poured coffee into mugs that said, “Bikers do it on the road.” Tank put the coffee mugs on the pine farmhouse table and sat down. Willy sat in between the two men.

“
What brings you two way out here this time a the mornin’? Willy,
I didn’t think you’s up this time of day.”

Willy
grunted and took a gulp from his mug.

“
I wanted you to tell me ‘bout your little visit with Miss Priss and Mr. Wonderful.” Aqua Velva man slurped his coffee.

“
Not much to tell. I tolt ‘em enough to make ‘em go away happy.”

“
What zactly did you tell them?” Willy asked.

Tank
shot him a look. “I tolt ‘em my granddaddy pulled the robbery. They asked if there was somebody else involved, I tolt ‘em I wouldn’t know.”

Tank
and Aqua Velva man talked while Willy looked on. Finally, he finished his coffee, and took the mug to the sink.

“
You ever mention my granddaddy to ‘em?” Aqua Velva man asked, taking a sip and slowly putting his coffee mug down.

“
Hey! I ain’t got grits fer . . . “

I
n one swift move, Willy walked to Tank’s side and shot a bullet into his brain, before Tank could say ‘brains’ to finish his sentence. The sound of the gunshot reverberated through the silent room.

Dog of his own trot
: adjective \dawg uhv hiz own trot\ peculiar

That boy is a dog of his own trot.

[  July
2010  ]

“Oops.” Heh heh heh
,
Willy laughed like a monkey
.
Standing over Tank, he said, “I guess I stopped a
Tank
in his tracks.”

“
Don't quit your day job, Willy. A comedian, you are not. Now cut the jibber jabber and clean the gun up,” Aqua Velva man said. 

Willy
took a towel and wiped his prints from the gun. Using the
towel, he raised Tank’s hand, placed it on the table, and put the gun in it.

Aqua
Velva man emptied the coffee into the sink, and rinsed the mugs, saying to Willy, “Smartest thing I did was set Pickle up. Worked like a charm.” He dried the mugs with a towel, and put them in the cabinet. “Now quit fussin’ with him and go get it out of the car.”

Willy
went to the car and came back into the house, whistling. After he made a trip to Tank’s bedroom, he stopped in the kitchen.

“
All set, Boss.”

Aqua
Velva man took one more look around. As he left he said with a sneer, “How’s that for
strategery
?”

* * *

John Ed’s police cruiser led the way up the long gravel drive to Crate Marshall’s house, kicking up a cloud of dust that surrounded Officers Skeeter Duke and Hank Beanblossom’s car as it followed closely. The men parked in front of the house and got out. John Ed hitched up his pants and sniffed the morning air. He and Officer Duke went to the front door, while Officer Beanblossom went to the back.

“
Open up, Marshall.” The chief pounded on the door. “We got a search warrant for the premises.” There was no answer to John Ed’s knock, except for the barking coming from the barn.

“
CHIEF! BACK HERE!”

John
Ed and Skeeter ran around the side of the house. Officer
Beanblossom pointed to the window in the back door. John Ed looked in and saw Crate Marshall slumped over the table, a gun in his hand.

“
Move along, sweet Jesus. Call it in. Get the coroner out here, too.” Using his revolver, he broke the glass, unlocked the door, and let himself in. Walking over to Tank, he put two fingers on his neck. “Deader ‘n a doornail.”

He
looked around the tidy kitchen. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “Check the rest of the house.”

Twenty
minutes later, a forensics technician took pictures of the scene while John Ed and the coroner talked.

“
I don’t give a damn, Leonard! It’s clear as day it’s a suicide,” the chief said.

“
Chief, who makes a pot of coffee, pours a cup, and then sits down to drink it and kill hisself? It don’t add up.”

“
Looka here what I found, Chief.” Officer Beanblossom stood in the doorway, holding up a purse. Skeeter took it from him.

“
Let me guess who it b’longs to,” the chief said.

Skeeter
reached inside the purse, pulled out a wallet. “Tess
Tremaine.”

“
Well, that wraps it up fer me.” John Ed looked at both men, then at Tank, still slumped over the table. “He was the one who was harassin’ the little lady, he hired Pickle to scare her, for whatever reason, and when Pickle got caught, he figured he would spill the beans. Nothin’ left to do but die or go to jail. He chose dyin’. Case closed.”

“
But Chief, aren’t you the least bit curious ‘bout
why
he chose death over a probable fine or a few days in jail? Sumpthin’ dudn’t add up,” Hank said.

“
I don’t know, nor do I care ‘bout his reasons. The man’s dead.
Case closed
.”

Hank
and Skeeter exchanged skeptical looks. The chief walked out of the room, and Hank motioned Skeeter over to the body. Leonard
followed.

“
Look at this,” Hank whispered, pointing to Tank’s hand. “The gun is limp in his hand. He didn’t shoot himself.”

“
Yeah . . . “ Skeeter said.

“
And check this out. There’s no blood or blowback on his hand, or wrist,” the coroner said.

“
Holy smokes,” Skeeter said.

“
Beanblossom! Duke! I said we’re done. Move it.”

* * *

Nicholas drove Tess to Lou’s house that night for the dinner party. Tess looked down at the bunch of flowers that she’d picked from her garden for Lou.

“
What are those called?” he asked, pointing to some orange and
yellow flowers, some solid colors and some with stripes on the petals.

“
Marigolds.”

“
Why didn’t you pick any blue ones?”

“
There’s no such thing as a blue marigold, silly. Have I taught you nothing?”

“
No blue marigolds? Well, there ought to be.”