Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction (Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries Book 4) (31 page)

“Here’s the nutshell in detail. It will tell you all about her double-dealing ways.”

Virgil leafed through the documents, periodically shaking his head and screwing up his mouth. Junebug brought his coffee and a creamer. Almost absentmindedly, he poured cream into the cup and took a sip. He read the documents some more.

Caledonia had a hard time taking her eyes off the man. She leaned forward, her chin on her left fist, and studied him while he read. He had an elegant yet down-to-earth air about him. He seemed refined but not prissy. He looked to be in his early forties. His hair was receding, his nose was a little crooked, and one tooth slightly covered another. But they were all endearing qualities on him. He had on a white Oxford cloth shirt with a navy and yellow rep striped tie. She could see his strong biceps through the shirt as he moved the papers around. Unconsciously, she let out a sigh.

He must have mistaken the sigh as an impatient one because he closed the file folder and looked up. “All right. I’ll have to get Ms. Petty’s side of the story of course. Then there’s due process and all that sh—stuff.”

She nodded. “Can we do anything about my divorce settlement?”

He sucked air through his teeth. “That’s a tough one. We can certainly start down that road, but it might be better if you approach your ex-husband and explain the situation. Tell him with a small town like this, you’re sure he wants to maintain his fine reputation before word gets out that he was involved in a scandal.”

“I just want what’s fair. And then I want to buy Miss Penny’s Dress Shop.”

He nodded and pulled out a business card from his wallet. “Give him this and ask him to call me if he’d like to re-open negotiations.”

“And if he wouldn’t like to do that?”

“Tell him
I’ll
be contacting
him
.”

The gentleman sitting in the booth behind Caledonia was eavesdropping on her conversation. He smoothed his walrus-like mustache and twisted the ends. A finger pushed his horn-rimmed glasses into place. His bowler hat and umbrella lay across the seat opposite him since no one would be joining him.

“See you got your umbrella. It does look like it’s coming up a cloud out there.” The waitress indicated his umbrella sitting on the booth seat. She’d already gotten him coffee and muffins but had blessedly left him alone so far.

“One must always be prepared,” the man said in a clipped British accent.

She peered down at her customer. “You’re not from around here, are ya?”

The man suppressed a smile. “No. I am not.” He glanced at her nametag. “Junebug.”

“I’d say from your accent that you’re a long way from home. What brings you here—if you don’t mind me asking.”

He raised his shoulder in a non-committal shrug. “Lunch.”

She shrugged and beamed. “You’re in the right place. You here on vacation?”

He shook his head. “I’m here on business.”

“In Goose Pimple Junction?” She looked at him as if he’d just said Slick uses store-bought piecrust.

“Yes, ma’am,” was his only response. He wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.

“You got a name?”

His expression was a put out one, but he eventually answered her. “John Noseworthy.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Noseworthy. I’m Junebug, and I just have two questions for you.”

He tensed.
Uh-oh, here it comes .
. .

“Can I call ya John, and can I getcha anything else?”

He wondered if his face showed the relief he felt. “Is your egg salad made with watercress?” he inquired.

“Water what?” Junebug cocked her head.

“Watercress.”

“No, honey, but it’s awful good.”

“All right. I’ll have an egg salad sandwich and cup of hot tea if you please. With cream and sugar.”

“Sure thing.” She walked away, hollering, “Gimme a chicken in the hay, Slick. And Willa Jean, the gentleman wants boiled leaves.”

The man resumed pretending to read the latest edition of the
Goose Pimple Gazette
while listening to the conversation in the next booth.

He adjusted the lapel of his black suit coat and ran a finger under the collar of his shirt.
I feel like I’m being choked to death.
The horn-rimmed glasses were heavy, and the mustache was itchy.
Being a man sucks.
I miss my Jimmy Choo shoes and my dresses and skirts.
One thing was for sure, she would not use this disguise again and was thankful she’d only have to put up with it for one day. She’d hated that Santa Claus get-up too. It was cumbersome and the beard was itchy. Yep, being a man sucked. Wynona sat back, looking thoughtfully out the window at the gloomy day, not really seeing anything. She wondered what she was doing here.

Pretending to let her eyes wander, she shot a glance over her shoulder at Hank Beanblossom sitting on a stool at the counter, wondering if he’d been watching her. He appeared to be watching the door.

She’d failed yet again, but this time it was on purpose. Her foot had let up on the gas as she neared Caledonia in the street. She just couldn’t do it. She was getting tired of this killing business.

She surveyed the diner and frowned to herself. What she’d just heard from Caledonia made her think. A lot of things she’d learned in Goose Pimple Junction had changed her views on things. Her heart went out to those women. Who’s to say what career path is right? And for one woman to punish another for her choices in life, well, that was wrong. If what Caledonia was saying was true, Dee Dee Petty went against her sworn duty and betrayed other woman all because of her prejudice. To Wynona, that was just . . . petty.

It appeared someone in this town had morals worse than her own. Wynona didn’t like it when other women were taken advantage of. Her own divorce had been messy, and she’d often thought that her lawyer could have—should have—done better. That was a simple case of being out-lawyered. That and having a vindictive ex-husband. But what had been going on in this town was downright poppycock. She started to giggle at the pun, then remembered men don’t giggle, and she cleared her throat.

Looking out the window, she saw the first fat raindrops hit the pavement. Yes indeedy, it was coming up a bad cloud.

Mama always said ... Have some gumption.

M
onday afternoon, Jimmy Dean was bored. He’d cut out of school early, but now he didn’t know what to do with himself. He wished he had a little brother or sister to pester. His mom was out of town on business—again—and, as always, his dad was at work. He thought about finding his toy mouse and tormenting the housekeeper again. Man, that was funny when she screamed and hopped up on the chair. He’d spent an entire day moving that thing around the house, scaring the daylights out of Mrs. Whitaker. By the end of the day, she’d threatened to quit.

In town, he parked in front of the bookstore. He wasn’t sure he would go in there today, but he knew Louetta would see his car and have a hissy fit.

Christmas decorations were everywhere, and all he could think was
bah humbug
. He thought about getting a Santa suit and a big bucket and ringing a bell like he was collecting for charity, but it sounded boring to him.

Walking to the hardware store on the next block, Jimmy Dean passed Slick & Junebug’s Diner. It wasn’t busy, but he saw several people in there. He spotted Junebug talking to a stuffy-looking man in a suit and tie as he passed by. The wind blew, and he pushed his hands into his pockets and used his shoulder to push through the hardware store’s door. He was hoping something would catch his attention and give him inspiration. Nothing jumped out at him. He shoplifted a screwdriver and a wrench. Not because he needed them, but just for something to do.

Back out on the sidewalk, he decided the weather called for some coffee. First, he had an idea. On his way to the coffee shop, he stopped in Ernestine & Hazel’s Sundries. He walked two aisles before he found what he wanted: a bottle of spray paint. He stared down the woman at the register, daring her with his eyes to say anything to him. She didn’t. He took his change and left without ever uttering a word. As soon as he was out the door, he wondered why he had paid for it.

Jimmy Dean sauntered into the coffee shop next to A Blue Million Books like he owned the place. He ordered a caramel macchiato and took it to a table by the window, setting his new purchase on the table next to him. Unzipping his coat, he sat back and breathed in the coffee aroma. He took a tentative sip and decided the temperature was acceptable. He took a longer drink, tipping his chair on its rear two legs. His mother always yelled at him when he did that at home, so he did it every chance he got when he was out.

Cup to his lips and chair balanced on the back two legs, he planned what he was going to do with the spray paint. He was looking out the window, in the direction of Slick & Junebug’s, when he saw Hank Beanblossom and Caledonia Culpepper come out of the diner. He snorted under his breath at the solicitous way the officer was acting toward the woman.
She ain’t all that and a bag of chips.

It was the person who came out several steps behind them—the man he’d just noticed at Slick & Junebug’s a few minutes before—who caught his attention. It wasn’t every day you saw someone in a black suit and a bowler hat in Goose Pimple Junction. The man had the straightest posture he’d ever seen, and he kind of twirled a black umbrella as he walked.

Jimmy Dean’s eyes narrowed and his head jutted out, studying the figure striding toward him on the other side of the street. As the man got closer, Jimmy Dean nearly lost his balance before his chair landed with a thud. He jumped up and headed for the door, quickly backtracked, grabbed the bag off the table, and then scurried out of the shop.