by Amy Metz
Pickle confirmed his guess. “Spray paint.”
“All right, Pickle. It just so happens my officers are about to bring the suspect in.” Johnny raised an eyebrow at Hank. “We’ll see what he has to say for himself. But we won’t let on what you told me.”
Johnny put the phone down as Hank said, “But we don’t have anything to go on, Chief. Pickle’s right . . . it’s one person’s word over another’s.”
Johnny shrugged. “We can still question him.”
“Seriously?” Hank gaped.
“Why not?”
“Well, his daddy’s a lawyer.”
“What does his father’s crookedness, I mean occupation, have to do with the price of eggs?”
“He’ll just figure a way to buy or lie his son out of the problem.”
“Does that mean we stop doing our duty? The one we were sworn to uphold?”
“No sir, I take your point.”
“Take Officer Witherspoon with you. And keep me apprised of the situation.”
“Roger that.”
Mama always said . . . Rudeness and ignorance go hand in hand. Never be either one.
Hank and Velveeta drove to the Howe residence on Clyde Bird Road, the richest road in or around Goose Pimple Junction. They were in the countryside now, and the few houses they spotted were far from the main road at the top of hills that made them look extra palatial.
“Shewee, how do these people take care of that much land?” Hank gawked at the landscaped acreage of each property.
“They have gardeners, that’s how.” Velveeta craned her neck to gawk at one house as they drove past. “And they have hired help to take care of the inside just like they have people to care for the outside. All the owners do is sit around and count their money.”
Hank slowly shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, it’s another world out here.” He turned the cruiser onto a freshly paved driveway and stopped at a speaker in front of a big iron gate. Moments later, he heard a British accent:
“How may I help you?”
“Officers Beanblossom and Witherspoon to see Jimmy Dean Howe?” Hank spoke it as a question, and Velveeta whispered for him to act with authority.
“And what should I tell the master this is regarding?” The voice dripped with snootiness.
“Police bidness.” Hank looked at Velveeta, and she nodded her approval.
“One moment, please,” the disembodied voice said.
“I’ll bet he ain’t even English,” Hank whispered to Velveeta.
After about two minutes, the eight-foot-tall gates slowly opened, and Hank proceeded up the long winding driveway lined with trees that appeared to be at least one hundred years old.
When the house came into view, Velveeta gasped and Hank said, “Whoa! Would you look at that house? I’ve been to resorts that weren’t as nice as that.”
They parked in front of the house and were met at the door by a proper English butler, complete with a tuxedo, British accent, and snooty air. Standing very tall and erect, he led them down a hall and into a gourmet kitchen where Jimmy Dean sat, stuffing his face with a submarine sandwich. A bottle of Heineken beer sat on the table.
“Officers Beanblossom and Witherspoon, sir,” the butler announced and then quietly retreated.
Hank’s eyes went from the beer to the defiant face of the teenager. “Aren’t you still in high school, son?”
“Number one, I’m not your son. Number two, yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“It’s illegal for a minor to drink alcohol.”
“Who said I’m drinking it? You’re assuming since it’s sitting on the table that it’s mine?”
“Is someone else at home?”
“Do you have eyes? Someone else just brought you in here, didn’t he?”
“Are you telling me your butler is drinking that beer that sits right in front of you?”
Jimmy Dean spread his arms out wide. “Now there you go assuming again.”
Hank wanted to knock the disingenuous smile off the kid’s face. “Okay. Let’s forget the beer for the time being. We need to take you down to the station house for questioning. Would you come with us, please?”
Jimmy Dean took another huge bite of the sandwich. Lettuce spilled out of his mouth, muffling his voice. “Questioning about what?”
“A few matters of vandalism. If you’ll come with us, we’ll discuss it at the station.”
“What if I don’t want to come with you?”
“We have the authority to require that you do,” Velveeta said, leaning over so that the leather on her holster squeaked ever so subtly.
Jimmy Dean didn’t lose any of his bravado. While one hand jammed the sandwich in his mouth, his other held up a finger indicating the officers should wait for him to finish his lunch. He took another few bites of the sandwich, stuffing his mouth full. Then he stood, wiped his hands on his cargo shorts, and with a still full mouth said, “You gonna cuff me?”
“You’re not under arrest.” Velveeta frowned and pressed her lips together.
A glimmer of disappointment crossed his face before he held out an arm. “Ladies first.”
Velveeta stood straight, her beefy legs taking her to five feet eleven inches in height. With her long, thick arms, size sixteen body, and the several inches she had on Jimmy Dean, she clearly could handle him. She put her hand on his back and gently shoved, indicating that he should go first. “I ain’t no lady. I’m an officer of the law, and you’d best remember that.”
On the way through the house, Jimmy Dean called out for the butler, telling him to notify his parents, and then he mumbled, “My dad and his associate will get over there, and I’ll be out of this farce fast as Cheez Whiz out of a can.” He looked pointedly at Velveeta.
“Aren’t you a lucky boy.” Velveeta opened the car door for him. “Watch your head now.” She put her hand on top of his head and none too gently shoved him into the cruiser.
Hank and Velveeta escorted Jimmy Dean to the only interrogation room the GPJPD had. It was actually a former supply closet and didn’t hold anything but a table and four chairs, with barely enough room to pull the chairs out from the table. But it was better than the old interrogation room that doubled as the break room. Chief Butterfield said it was hard for suspects to take the officers seriously when they were staring at cheese puffs and Hawaiian Punch in vending machines.
Jimmy Dean’s father, Louis P. Howe, was the head of a law firm with offices on Main Street, just down from the town green. It wasn’t far from the police station, so just as Jimmy Dean had predicted, his father and associate were waiting when the three of them arrived. They let the lawyer talk to the client while Louis P. requested a conference with the officers and the chief.
“What’s all this nonsense about, Chief?” Louis sat in a chair and tugged at the sharp crease in his pants before he crossed his legs. He appeared nonchalant but had an air about him that suggested he was wound tighter than a three-day clock.
Johnny stood beside Louis’s chair, peering down at him, and said, “This nonsense, as you call it, is about your son vandalizing public property with spray paint on top of vandalizing the school the other day.”
Louis’s expression did not change as he scanned Johnny’s entire body. “Seriously? You got us down here on account of some art?”
“Vandalism is a crime, sir. We take all crimes seriously.”
“Slow day in the junction, I see,” he mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard. “And just because you think he vandalized those windows, you took the giant leap that he surely must be responsible for whatever transpired with some spray paint?” He looked down his nose and said condescendingly, “Come on, Chief. You’re smarter than that.”
“We have a witness who shared some interesting information. So I’m not leaping anywhere. You’re the one leaping, sir, assuming I’m charging Jimmy Dean. He’s just here to answer some questions. If he’s done nothing wrong, we’ll have y’all on your way right
quick.”
“Okay.” Louis took out his checkbook from his coat pocket. “I understand you people need a little excitement in your lives. You don’t get to haul in many people and throw your authority around, do you? And my gosh, we must catch this vandal before another crime is committed, right?” Louis regarded the chief with pity. He put his checkbook on the edge of the desk and readied his pen to write. “Now that you’ve had your fun, how much to make this go away?”
Johnny considered the man until he looked up from his checkbook and met his eyes. “This is about more than money, sir. And I would hardly call it art. Are you suggesting your son was merely demonstrating his artistic skills when he spray-painted all those cars?”
“I’m suggesting you have no real proof. For all I know, this witness could have a grudge against my boy.”
Johnny interrupted him. “Sir—”
Louis held up his hand. “Let me finish, Chief.” He regarded him as a schoolteacher would a disruptive student. “I’m suggesting that there’s a conspiracy against my son and you simpletons will stop at nothing to frame him.” His voice rose. “I’m suggesting it will cost you and me a lot of money to pursue this, so why don’t we cut to the chase and let me rectify the situation while, of course, admitting no guilt on my son’s part.”
“Because that’s not the way we handle things around here, sir. When a law is broken, we prosecute the perpetrator. This matter will most likely be settled with restitution being paid to the business owner. But that’s for a court to decide. Not me. Your son has to learn that he can’t go around doing whatever he pleases in this world and depend on his daddy to fix his problems. Furthermore, I’d like to ask your son about some other incidents of mischief that have occurred around town recently. I swore to uphold the law, and that’s what I intend to do. Are we standing on the same corner?” It was Johnny’s turn to look scathing.
Louis twisted the point back into the pen before returning it and his checkbook to his inside coat pocket. “I understand perfectly what you’re saying, Chief.”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some questions for your son.” Johnny stood and started for the door.
Louis shot up and followed the chief. “He’s a minor, and I demand to be present when you question him.”
In a tired tone, Johnny said, “Follow me. But you’ll have to stand in the doorway. The room literally isn’t big enough for all of us.”
Mama always said . . . When your mom is mad at your dad, don’t let her brush your hair.
The morning after the party, Caledonia was talking to Pickle when Phil walked into the kitchen and into the middle of their conversation.
“. . . so if you’re not working today, I was wondering if you could watch Peanut for a little while.”
Phil butted in. “Don’t you ever stay home, Cali? Where you running off to today?” He got the orange juice from the refrigerator.
Caledonia waited for Pickle’s answer.
“I guess so.” Pickle moped. “But you gotta tell him he has to mind me.”
“Okay, darlin’. I’ll have a talk with him.” She turned to Phil and said coolly, “I’m meeting a new girl up at Miss Penny’s.”
“What for?”
“We got to talking last night, and I offered to take her to Miss Penny’s.” She muttered under her breath, “Like you want to know or care about what we’ll be doing.”
“So you’re going shopping again. Wonderful.” He snatched the paper off the counter, threw it on the kitchen table, and dropped into a chair. “How are you gonna pay? Your looks?”
“Did I say I was going to buy something? I said I was meeting a friend—”
“Yeah, but since when have you ever stepped foot in a dress store and not come out carrying a bag?”
“Daddy.” Pickle gave a warning shake of his head. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re not.” Phil snapped the newspaper out in front of him, effectively cutting off all discussion.
Caledonia wiped the same spot on the countertop that she’d wiped twice since Phil’s arrival in the kitchen. Pickle got up and left the room.
Twisting around to her husband, the sponge stuck out of her hand propped on a hip. “Why do you have to be so hateful? You like to never say anything nice to me.”
“If there was something nice to say, I’d say it.” He flicked the newspaper to get the kinks out. “By the way, I may not be home for dinner tonight.”
She turned back to the counter to compulsively wipe it some more. “Well, when will you know? I need a little warning so I can figure out dinner.”
He curled the corner of the paper down and looked over the top at her. “You haven’t already planned what you’re fixing?” He might as well have added, ‘What kind of a housewife are you, anyway?’ because that’s what hung in the air unspoken.
With her back to him, she flashed a most satisfied grin. “Actually, I have. We’re having chicken livers.”
She turned and saw the scowl on his face, which told her the meal choice had hit its target as intended. “While you’re up, why’nt you get me some coffee?” Phil held his coffee mug in the air as he resumed reading his paper.
Caledonia stuck out her tongue at the outstretched newspaper as she filled her husband’s mug with coffee and put the pot on the table harder than was necessary. “Excuse me,” she said in the most polite tone she could muster, “I have to go put on my face.”
“Please do,” he spat.
Tears swam in Caledonia’s eyes. She felt like she’d been slapped. “That was cruel.”
“Deal with it,” Phil said from behind his paper.
“Morning,” Wynona said as she entered Miss Penny’s Dress Shop.
“Good morning to you, hon. Can I help you?” Miss Penny came around the counter.
“I’m supposed to meet someone here. We’re just going to browse, I think.”
“Oh? Who are you meeting?”
“Caledonia Culpepper.” When Wynona saw the expression on Miss Penny’s face, she had to inquire. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong. We go a long way back. I hate to say it, but the only thing that separates her from white trash is her rich husband.” Miss Penny crossed her arms and craned her neck to look out the window. She moved closer to Wynona conspiratorially. “You don’t mind me speaking plainly, do you?”
Wynona ducked her chin. “I thought you just did.”
“Let’s just say that Caledonia nearly lives up to her potential as a dumb blonde. I mean, who names their children Pickle and Peanut?” Penny peered over her bifocals at Wynona, giving her a know-it-all look.
“I take your point.” She tried to turn away, but the woman followed, continuing to talk.
“I mean, there’s a stump in Louisiana with a higher IQ than Caledonia Culpepper.”
“Well, now—”
“I mean, she carries an empty Easter basket if you catch my drift.”
“I know what you mean.” Wynona coughed into her hand to keep from chuckling at her pun that obviously went over Penny’s head.
“I mean, if brains were chocolate, she wouldn’t have enough for an M&M.”
Wynona wanted to put a stop to this line of conversation. “Are you here by yourself?”
“Yes. I have two employees that help out, but they don’t come in until later.”
“That must be a lot of work for you. Does your husband mind you working that hard?”
Penny cocked her head.
Leafing through the rack of dresses against the wall, Wynona explained, “I met him briefly at the party last night.”
“Oh,” Penny grunted. “He doesn’t seem to care what I do.” She stopped talking and began straightening dresses on a round rack. Seconds later, the bell over the shop door signaled Caledonia’s arrival. The smell of rain wafted into the store. “Ooooweee. It’s coming up a bad cloud out there. I thought I was going to get blown away.”
Penny snorted
and muttered, “Not much chance of that happening.”
Caledonia feigned a smile. “Lovely to see you, Miss Penny. Bless your heart.” She looked past the woman to Wynona. “Morning, Trixie.”
“Morning to you.” Seeing the two women together, Wynona understood Paprika’s point of how much they resembled each other. Caledonia was considerably more beautiful than Penny, but their height, build, and hair were very similar. She decided it would be best not to mention that to either woman. Even though both had lovely figures, it was obvious neither would want to be compared to the other.
“Oh, Caledonia, you don’t have to act all highfalutin with your ‘Miss Penny.’“
Caledonia didn’t have to fake a smile this time. “Mama always said to be respectful of my elders.”
Penny rolled her eyes dramatically. “I’m only two years older than you. I’m hardly your elder.”
“Two years? Is that all?” Caledonia’s hand went to her throat. “Well, you’re Philetus’s age. I always tell him he’s not old; he’s rustic, and that’s chic nowadays.”
“Yes, well, it’s easier to get older than it is to get wiser.” Penny moved toward Caledonia slightly, studying her face. “You know there’s a place up in Nashville that will clear those sun spots right up. I’ll write down the name and number for you.” She turned on her heel and walked away. “Y’all let me know if you need anything,” she said over her shoulder.
Caledonia’s face showed shock as she watched Penny retreat. She wheeled around to Wynona. “Well that was rude. How rude! I’ll tell you how rude—”
“She had a lot to say about you.”
“I’ll just bet she did.” Caledonia fumed.
“Don’t worry about her. Let’s do some retail therapy.”
“Am I late? I’m sorry you had to endure a conversation with that woman.” Caledonia looked over her shoulder and then lowered her voice, turning back to Wynona. “The only place that woman is invited is outside, so she has to chat up her customers every chance she gets.”
Wynona put her arm around Caledonia and led her in the opposite direction of Penny. “Let’s forget about Miss Penny. We’re here to shop.”
