by Amy Metz
Pickle and the chief joined her. Chief Price reared back in his seat, balancing the chair on its back two legs, pushing his thumbs through his belt loops, his big belly straining the buttons on his shirt. “Well Pickle? What’s it gonna be, son? I need a name.”
“My name’s Pickle Culpepper,” he said in all seriousness.
The chief made a face. “Not your name, ya dipstick, the name of the person who hired you.”
Pickle took a deep breath and let it out. “If I have to give ya a name . . . “ he looked at his mother and then at the chief. “Crate Marshall.” He sat back in the chair hanging his head.
“And what did Crate Marshall tell you to do, zactly?”
“He wonted me to spy on Mizz Tess all the time. And that’s all I did, up ‘til last night. I swear!”
“How much did he pay you?”
“Seventy-five bucks a week,” Pickle mumbled, looking at his shoes.
“Why’d he wont you to spy on Ms. Tremaine?”
“He didn’t say. Just said to watch and listen and tell him what she talked about.”
“Why’d he want you to go from just spyin’ to throwin’ bricks through her window?”
“I didn’t ask. He said I had to do it, is ’all. He said if I didn’t, he’d tell the law it was me who broke into her house.”
“But you didn’t have nothin’ to do with the attack or the break-ins?”
“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 . . . “
In one swift move, Willy walked t
o 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.
Deader ‘n A Door Nail
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.”
They could smell fried chicken as soon as they got out of the car at Lou’s house. Ezzie came around the side of Jack’s house barking, running the distance to Tess, followed by Jack on her heels.
“Look at her, Mom. You’ve got a friend there.” Nicholas bent down with Tess to lavish attention on Ezzie.
“I thought dogs were supposed to help you get attention, not take it all away,” Jack grumbled.
“Aw, we’re happy to see you, too. But you didn’t come running, with your tail wagging like Ezzie did,” Tess said, grinning up at Jack.
“How do you know what my tail—” Jack stopped and cleared his throat, as Nicholas stood up, put his hands over his ears, and said, “La la la . . . I'm just gonna go on in the house.”
“Y’all comin’ in or do I have to serve supper out on the lawn?” Lou called from the front door.
“Let me take the attention hog home, and I’ll be right back.” Jack picked Ezzie up and cradled her like a baby as he walked toward home, while everyone else went into Lou’s house.
Tess looked up a few minutes later to see him coming into the house with John Ed.
“Now that wasn’t a fair trade,” Tess whispered to Lou.
“Sorry to interrupt the party, folks,” John Ed said, “but I have some news, and Henry Clay said you’d all be together over here.”
“What kinda news?” Lou asked, crossing her arms in front of her. “If it’s anything like the news I got this mornin’ 'bout Peekal, I don’t wanna hear it.”
“What’s goin’ on, John Ed?” Jack asked.
“I told you this mornin’ that Pickle pointed the finger at Crate Marshall. Well, I went out to question him, but I didn’t ‘zactly get any answers.”
“Why not?” Tess asked.
“’Cause he was dead. Dead’er ‘n a door nail.” Everyone started talking at once.
“Oh my word,” Lou exclaimed, putting her hand over her mouth and sinking onto the couch.
“Well, tie me to a pig and roll me in mud,” Henry Clay said.
“Dead?” Tess and Jack said at the same time.
“Dead,” John Ed confirmed. “Looks like he knew he was done fer and decided to go out on his own terms. He shot hisself after he had his mornin’ coffee. We found your purse in his bedroom, too, Ms. Tremaine. Looks like he was the attacker. It all makes sense. And now it’s over.”
“I’m not sure it all makes sense. He didn’t seem to be the type to go off the deep end like that,” Tess said.
“That boy was a dog of his own trot. Don’t really matter no more. He’s a goner, and I say good riddance. Saves me some time and work, and saves the taxpayers some money.”
“John Ed, that’s an awfully cold-hearted thing to say,” Lou said.
“Aw, Lou, ain’t nobody gonna shed a tear over that man. Facts is facts. I’ll be on my way now. Just wanted to give y'all the good news myself.”
* * *
“Lou, I’m so full I’m ready to pop, but this cake is delicious. I can't stop eating it. What’s it called?” Tess asked.
“Better Than Sex.” She blushed, and answered the quizzical stares around the table by shrugging her shoulders and adding, “That’s its name.”
“Is that the doorb
ell? Who could that be?” Martha Maye asked to no one in particular. “Buttabean, go get the door, will ya, sugar?” Butterbean ran out of the room.
“Well? Does the cake live up to its name?” Lou asked.
Tess said, “I’m not touching that one.”
Nicholas said, “There’s no way I’m answering that with my mother sitting next to me.”
And Jack said, “It’s been so long, I really couldn’t say.”
“Hell, at my age, fruit cake would be better than sex,” Henry Clay said.
Butterbean ushered Pickle and Caledonia Culpepper into the dining room. Pickle had his hands in his pockets and was looking at his shoes. His facial expression matched the sentiment on his t-shirt: “My Imaginary Friend Kicked Me Out Of Our Imaginary Club.”
Caledonia said, “Excuse the interruption, y’all. No wonder Tess didn’t answer her door. We didn’t know everybody was here, but that’s fortuitous, since Pickle has somethin’ he wants to say to Lou and Tess. Don’t you, Pickle?” She nudged his arm.
Pickle looked at Tess and said, “I want to apologize again for my . . . “
His mother helped him out, “abominable . . . “
“…for my amominal . . . adobin . . . abdominal behavior. I . . . “ he glanced at Henry Clay, then back at his shoes.
Lou broke in. “Peekal, you’re squirmin' like a worm in hot ashes. Sit yerself down and have some cake. We’re not gonna boil ya in oil or nuthin’.”
Pickled coughed and shuffled his feet.
“No thank you, Lou, Pickle’s gonna say his peace, and we’re gonna get outta your way. Go on, Pickle,” Caledonia urged.
Pickle cleared his throat and looked around the room, then down at his shoes. “I’m just so ashamed of myself, Mizz Tess. You’ve been so nice to me, and I let the smell of money turn my head. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Pickle, are those your words or are they rehearsed?” Tess asked.
“Uh . . . both I guess.”
“Well, I want to hear it straight from you,” she said gently.
