Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction (Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries Book 4) (8 page)

Hank turned his attention again to the woman two stools down. She was twirling her hair around her finger and reading something on her cell phone. He tried not to stare, but his eyes kept going back to her. Her lips were large and made her nose look too small for her face. Or were her lips too big for her face? Just as he was thinking
Botox?
she made eye contact with him.
How can she see through that hair
? he wondered. But it was long, beautiful hair.
Probably soft
.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” He hoped his grin and uniform would show her she didn’t need to be afraid to talk to this stranger.

“Drinking coffee,” she said, looking into her coffee cup.

He laughed but immediately sobered when he saw her blank expression and realized she was serious. He tried again. “Are you new in town or just passing through? I saw you taking pictures, so I’d wager you’re visiting?”

She had a thick Southern accent. “Oh.” She giggled. “I get it. I guess I’m both. New and passing.” Was she playing shy or was she shy? Either way, she talked to her coffee cup instead of him. He couldn’t see much of her eyes because of her hair, but he liked what he saw for some strange reason.

“I could show you around if you’d like. How long you here for?”

“Just a day or two.” The woman’s attention returned to her phone, and she wouldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Where you staying?” Hank leaned forward, hoping to get her to look at him again.

“In a hotel.” She made the word “hotel” have three syllables.

Clive, sitting three stools down on the other side of Hank, spoke up. “You know what this is, Officer Beanblossom?”

“Oh boy, here it comes,” Hank said over his shoulder. “No, Clive. What is this?” He sat sideways on the stool so he was facing the woman and not the man who’d just spoken.

“It’s like a monkey trying to do math problems.”

“It ain’t gonna happen is what he means.” Earl joined the conversation.

“You know what, Clive?” Hank swiveled so he faced the two men. “The last time I saw a mouth big as yours, it had a hook in it.”

Hank glanced at the woman and thought he saw a hint of a smile as she took a drink of her coffee.

“Are y’all harassing my customers?” Junebug flicked a dishtowel over her shoulder and then turned to Hank with her hands on her hips. “Ain’t you on duty?”

“I’m on break, Mom. Don’t go getting your knickers in a knot. I’m just being friendly.”

“Ha! You’d have more manners if I
were
your ma. Finish your break, and go serve and protect. Leave my customers alone.” Junebug flicked the dishtowel at Hank and refilled the woman’s coffee. “You decide what you want, hon?”

The woman mumbled something and then Junebug turned, hollering, “Gimme Bossie on a board and fried breath.”

Hank smacked the counter. “Now how in the world you gonna fry air, Junebug?”

“He ain’t gonna do no such thing, fool.” Junebug propped her hands on her hips. “He’s gonna fry some onion rings. Don’t you know anything? Now g’won about your business and leave my clientele be.”

Hank turned back to the tourist. “I apologize if I bothered you, ma’am. My name’s Hank Beanblossom.” He waited expectantly for her to give her name.

Finally she offered, “I’m Trixie.”

Skeeter Duke came into the diner, and Clive hollered out, “Officer, arrest this man for harassment. He won’t leave this pretty lady alone.”

“I’m just being neighborly, is all.” Hank stood with a scowl on his face and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. A second later, he laid a business card next to Trixie’s coffee cup. “Call me if you need
anything
while you’re in town. I’d be happy to help.” His voice was soft, and he tried to hide the hurt in it.

Trixie watched the officer through her hair as he paid his bill at the cash register. Her initial impression that he was good looking was confirmed. She’d done her best to ignore him but couldn’t help taking peeks through her bangs now.

The old men began arguing over what sounded like an upcoming town celebration. Something about a Founder’s Day. She listened as they talked about a kiddie tractor pull (a great idea according to Clive, but a terrible idea according to Earl), and a Hula-Hoop contest (which both men thought was a great idea), and the usual ideas of a cake walk, cake and pie bake-offs, and an ice cream social.

“I think we should have a strawberry shortcake booth,” declared Clive.

“What in the good world for?” Earl slammed his hand on the counter.

Clive reared back indignantly. “Because I love strawberry shortcake. Everybody loves strawberry shortcake.”

“I don’t. I think that’s a stupid idea. What’s the matter with you? You got Cheez Whiz for brains?”

“Earl, you’re in serious need of an attitude adjustment. You think anything that’s not your idea is stupid. You ought to open your horizons a little. Think outside the box. Goose Pimple Junction is tired of the ordinary.”

“Think outside the box, huh? Okay, how about a bubble gum contest then?”

“A what?” Clive shrieked.

“You heard me. The kids would love it. We could call it,” he fanned his hand in the air as if seeing the name in lights, ‘The Great Bubble Battle.’”

“You know you got the mental agility of a soap dish?”

“Well, I don’t hear you coming up with any great ideas. The old ‘this is the way we’ve always done it’ attitude is for the uncreative. Those ideas are stale as yesterday’s bread.”

“You want a new idea? How about a basketball challenge? We could call it the ‘1st Annual Founder’s Day Shootout.’“

“Teams or two-on-two b-ball?”

“Either or.”

“Well now, that might not be such a bad idea. Say, what you got there?” He pointed at a magazine next to Clive’s plate.

“I’m thinking of ordering me one of these.” He held up the magazine, but Trixie couldn’t see what he was showing his friend. If you could call him that.

“A miniature bulldozer?” Earl screeched. “What in the world for? You can borrow my John Deere for anything you’d need that bulldozer for.”

“Not on your life. That mini-dozer could outpull a John Deere garden tractor any day of the week.” Clive poked a finger at his friend. “And twice on Monday.”

She finished her meal and got up to pay the bill. Her ears were hurting from listening to those two old men. A waitress with a beehive hairdo and a nametag of “Willa Jean” worked the register. “Your tab’s been settled, hon.”

“Excuse me?” She stared at the woman through strands of hair, stunned.

“Yeah. Hank Beanblossom took care of it.” When Trixie didn’t say anything, Willa Jean added, “You could do worse, you know.”

Trixie nodded, but she thought,
This does not bode well
.
Am I ever gonna be able to fool anyone?

Mama always said . . . Always remember it’s better to arrive late than to arrive ugly.

H
ank closed the bookstore door and stood on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. He walked to the corner of the block prepared to cross at the crosswalk, but when he glanced to his right, he saw Caledonia and Tess coming out of a dress shop down the block. He waved and walked toward them.

“You two getting ready for the big party?”

“We sure are. Prepare to be dazzled,” Caledonia said.

“Shoot . . . I’m dazzled every time I see y’all. You get any more dazzlier, you’re liable to blind a fella.”

“Oh, you.” Tess smacked his arm playfully.

“Just my luck that you’re both married women. You don’t have any sisters, do you?”

“You need a date for the party?” Caledonia touched his forearm. “You know who you might like?”

“Aw, I was just funning you. You don’t have to fix me up.”

“No, seriously. You and Paprika would be perfect for each other.” She turned to Tess. “Wouldn’t they be perfect for each other?”

“You know, you just might be right. Maybe she’ll be at the party and we can introduce you two.”

A bell sounded, and Hank turned to see Trixie leaving the shoe shop across the street.

“Don’t let me keep you ladies. Y’all have a real nice day.”

“You too, Hank.” Caledonia waved.

“See you soon,” Tess called.

As he started toward Trixie, the confused expressions on the ladies’ faces registered with Hank, and he momentarily felt rude for abruptly ending their conversation.

“I need your help, Ms. Trixie.”

“My help? How on earth could I help you?” She put on sunglasses and brushed the hair from her face.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I didn–”

“You can accompany me to a little party a few friends are having Sunday night.” He saw the wariness on her face and rushed on. “It’s nothing fancy, just some people and some food and drink over at the bookstore. I’ve been ordered to have a pretty lady on my arm, and I think she should be you.”

“Who should be me?”

“The pretty lady.”

“But I don’t know her.”

He studied her to see if she was joking. She didn’t appear to be. “No, see . . . ” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “let me start over.” He ran his hands through his hair. “You said you’d be in town for a few days.”

She nodded.

“Would you please go with me to a party?”