by Amy Metz
“LOU! Lou where are you?”
She came running from the back of the store.
“Good Lord, Jack. You’re wound up like a cheap alarm clock. What in the world’s the matter with you?”
“Lou. Let me ask the questions. This is serious. Tess is missing . . . “
“Tess is missin’?”
“Yes. Listen to me. She’s missin’ and so is the trunk. Tell me somethin’. Nate Hunter. He have any kin around here?”
Pickle knocked a stack of books off a table behind Jack.
“Nate Hunter? Why?” Lou stammered.
“Lou!”
“Okay, okay, you’re askin’ the questions.” She looked at Pickle who just stood there, bug-eyed, with his mouth wide-open.
“Lou!” Jack said again, louder than he’d intended.
She put her attention back on him. “Well, yeah, hon. John Ed’s wife was Nate’s daughter. Why?”
A crushing, cold feeling of panic rose up in Jack.
“John Ed?” he repeated, in disbelief.
“Wull . . . yeah . . . what’s all this about, Jack? You’re scarin’ me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Pickle quietly backing away. Jack stepped backward three steps and grabbed him by his t-shirt, stopping him. He spun Pickle around and glanced at his shirt, which said, “I Make Stuff Up.”
Pointing to Pickle’s chest, he said, “That certainly is appropriate for you, boy. Start talkin’. NOW.”
“I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout John Ed.”
Jack squinted at him. “What do you know about? Spill it.” He was inches from Pickle’s face.
The kid started talking a blue streak, his sentences running together. “Okay I lied I’m so sorry but I was afraid of him you see nobody knows the real dude he's meaner than a sack of snakes he threatened me, and I didn’t know what to do the whole thing started out ‘cause I wanted to get in good with him on a count a Charlotte and well . . . the pay was good but it got outta hand, and I didn’t know what to do and he—” He was talking a mile a minute, not even stopping to take a breath.
“Pickle!” Jack interrupted. “Slow down. Slow down. We can’t understand a word you’re sayin’. Who are you talkin’ about? Are you sayin’ John Ed hired you?”
Pickle took a deep breath, pacing back and forth, holding his hands on the sides of his head, as if it was going to fall off. “No. Henry Clay.”
“Henry Clay?” Jack’s knees felt wobbly.
“Yeah. At first he told me to spy on Mizz Tess, which seemed harmless enough, on account of her workin’ here. It was easy for me to listen in on conversations and then just report back to HC.” He looked quickly at Lou and added, “He told me to call him HC. And now you know why my straw was always in your Kool-Aid. I ain’t naturally nosey.”
“Go on, Pickle,” Jack said impatiently.
“Well, that’s all, until the thing with the brick. I didn’t want to do it, but that’s when he got mean. Said I’d do it, or he’d make it look like I was the one who attacked y’all, and I promise, that wadn’t me!”
“Okay, Pickle, I believe you, now go on.”
“He told me to throw the brick. He said if I got caught I should tell ‘em it was Tank Marshall who hired me. Said if I didn’t, he’d see to it I’d never see his daughter again, plus he’d hang me out to dry to boot. Said I’d end up with jail time, or worse. Said he could make it happen on account of John Ed bein’ his daddy. I didn’t know he was gonna kill anybody. Then, after Tank died, HC said I’d end up as worm food alongside Tank if I squealed. So see? I had no choice but to do what he said! Oh Lord, I’m so sorry. But Jack, that’s what I was tryin’ to tell y’all when I said that ‘bout the well and the handle. He ain’t what he seems.”
“Henry Clay. Unbelievable.” Jack shook his head, pacing back and forth. “Unbefreakinglievable.” He stopped in front of Pickle. “Who else is involved in this little scheme? Henry Clay isn’t the one who attacked us, is he?”
“Naw, I don’t reckon. I don’t know who else, though. That’s all I know. I swear.”
Lou was white as a sheet as she listened to Pickle’s confession. Suddenly, she blurted out, “Martha Maye. I gotta call and warn her.” She picked up the phone, started to dial, but hung up. Panicked, she said, “Oh no. I forgot the phones are dead.”
“Cell phone?” Jack asked.
“Neither of us is that fancy, Jack.” She stood up. “I gotta find her.”
She stopped, turning to Jack. “Jackson, do you mean to tell me Nate Hunter killed my daddy, and Henry Clay killed Tank Marshall?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Lou. And now Tess and the proof is missing. We found a letter from your daddy in the trunk last night. It’s pretty much proof of Hunter bein’ the killer. Of course it was written before the fact, but your daddy was afraid, and he’d spelled it out for your mama. I’ll bet if we were to go over to the bank and look in one of the floorboards in his old office, we’d find confirmation, but I’ll tell you about that later. We gotta find Henry Clay . . . and Tess, first.” He ran his hands through his hair and walked to the window, as if the answer was out on the sidewalk.
Lou followed him, wringing her hands. “But why would the detective say we didn’t want to know what happened to Daddy, if it was Nate who killed him?”
“Lou, I suspect the private detective was paid off. Nate probably spread the gossip about your daddy bein’ involved in the bank heist, too.”
“Well I’ll be battered and fried,” Lou said, staring into space.
You Can Put A Porcupine In A Wood Chipper, But You Will Not Make Maple Syrup
gotcherself: verb gotch-yohr-self got yourself
You gotcherself in a heap a trouble.
[ July 2010 ]
The truck slowed and came to a stop. Tess heard the hum of a small motor and gears working somewhere. The truck moved forward, then stopped, and the engine died. She heard the sound of the motor again and a clunk that sounded like a garage door hitting the ground. The trunk rocked as the two men got out of the vehicle and slammed the doors shut. Tess heard Willy barking orders.
“Cut the ‘lectricity on them doors, Joe Bob, while I call the boss. We don’t want nobody comin’ along and tryin’ to get in.”
“Yeah, Boss—calm down,” Willy said. “I know that wadn’t part of the plan—”
Silence.
“We couldn’t hep it—”
Silence.
“What choice did we have?” His voice grew more faint until a door slammed shut, and the only thing Tess could hear was a sniffling sound beside her, and Joe Bob whistling “When The Saints Go Marching In.”
She waited until she heard Joe Bob’s footsteps disappear too, and then putting her mouth as close to the crack in the trunk as she could, she said, “Martha Maye? Is that you?” She heard a gasp.
“Tessie? Oh my gosh! It is you in that trunk,” Martha Maye whispered. “I tried to tell myself it wasn’t you I heard in your driveway, but it sounded like you, and—”
“Yes, it’s me,” Tess interrupted. “Are you okay?” She strained to talk through the crack in the wood.
“I’m okay, but that trunk ain’t big enough to cuss the cat in. How’d they get you in there? You do still got all your body parts, don’t ya?”
“Of course I do, but it’s a tight squeeze. I can’t feel my left foot, and my neck’s killing me, but I’m all in one piece…Martha Maye, I can’t see anything. Where are we? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know what’s goin’ on. One minute I was talkin’ to Willy in your driveway, the next I was trussed up like a chicken and thrown into the truck bed. They put a big blue tarp over us and now, goin’ by the smells, and the sound of that garage door, I’d say we’re in old man Crowley’s fillin’ station, which is not indicative of anything good, ‘cause I heard he closed it down and went on vacation for the week.” She stopped talking for a moment, and Tess heard a rustling sound. Martha Maye said, “Yep. I just peeke
d out of the tarp. We’re in one of the bays. What do you think they’re gonna do with us?”
“I don’t know, Martha Maye.”
“Tess . . . “
“Yes?”
“I’m scareder than a porcupine in a nudist colony.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get out of here. Somehow.”
Tess heard more rustling and felt movement in the truck bed, and then she heard a scratching sound on the trunk.
“What are you doing?” Tess asked.
“Tryin’ to pick the lock with my bobby pin. Fortunately, I decided to wear my hair up today. Just hold on, I’ll get you out in a jiffy.”
“Where are they? They won’t see you, will they?”
“Naw, I think they’re in the office, and there’s a car in between us and them.”
It took a few minutes, but she managed to pick the lock and open the trunk lid.
“Martha Maye—I thought they tied you up,” Tess said, sitting up and rubbing her neck.
“They did.” Martha Maye helped Tess out of the trunk. “But apparently neither one of ‘em was a boy scout. They can’t tie knots worth a lick. I got outta them in no time. But I didn’t want them to see me movin’ back here, so I stayed still.”
“That was good thinking.”
As Tess looked around at the surroundings, she sat in the truck bed stretching her legs and feet, rotating her head in a circle to work the pain out of her neck, and shaking her arms to get the blood circulating. A car was up on hydraulics between them and the door to the office, where she figured the men were. The garage doors had windows, but there was nothing and nobody outside.
“What in the world is goin’ on, Tessie? Why did they grab you and put you in the trunk?”
“Martha Maye, do you know that co-worker of your grandfather’s? Nate Hunter?”
“Yeah, sure . . . “
“Does he have any family still living in Goose Pimple Junction?”
“Wull, a course he does. Nate Hunter was a friend of my grandfather’s. He was so nice to us after the murder; he kinda took us under his wing—”
“Martha Maye!” Tess interrupted impatiently. “Are any of his relatives still living here?”
“Well, yeah, you see John Ed married Medora, Nate’s daughter. John Ed, Medora, and Mama grew up together, just as Henry Clay and I did . . . “
Tess couldn’t believe her ears. She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. “You’re kidding . . . J . . . John Ed?” Tess stammered.
“ . . . was Nate’s son-in-law. Yeah. Tessie, what’s goin’ on?”
“John Ed? I knew he was a good for nothing so-and-so, but I didn’t think he was capable of all this . . . “
“What are you talkin’ about, sugar?”
“Well, the short version is Jack and I found a letter in the old trunk last night. It’s from your grandfather, written right before he was killed, and he points the finger at Nate Hunter.”
Martha Maye went still as a statue. The color drained from her face. “You mean to say that John Ed’s behind all this? No, I can’t believe it. It can’t be.”
“I’ll bet there’s proof in the floorboards at the bank. Willy must be workin’ for him, but what I don’t know is how they knew that we knew.”
Martha Maye blinked back tears. “I know how they knew.”
“How?”
“After y’all left with the trunk last night, I thought Henry Clay acted kinda strange. He was real antsy, ya know? And then, all of a sudden he had to go home and check on somethin’.”
“You mean you think Henry Clay was in on it?”
“I don’t know, I’m just tellin’ ya what happened last night,” Martha Maye said.
“So you think one of them was at my house last night, watching us?” She thought of Jack and her rolling around on the floor and blushed. “Oh my . . . “
The ladies heard a car drive up outside, and they looked up to see Henry Clay getting out of his car.
“Well, shave my legs and call me smoothy,” Martha Maye whispered, bug-eyed. She stared out the window at Henry Clay like she was in a trance. “I heard Willy say he was callin’ the boss. Now Henry Clay shows up here. Tessie, you don’t think . . . “
“Yes, I do think, Martha Maye. I think Henry Clay’s in this up to his eyeballs. Quick—get back under the tarp, and try to make it look like you’re still tied up. I’m going to grab a crowbar and hide on the side of the truck. Hopefully, they’ll think I’m still in the trunk. If we get the chance to get Henry Clay alone, I think we can take him. If you can, try to distract him and get him to turn his back to me. Just say . . . oh I don’t know…trunk. When I hear you say that I’ll fly out and, whomp,” Tess made a practice hit into her palm, “I’ll hit him over the head. Hurry up, he’s coming. Oh, and don’t act like you know anything. Act like you think he’s here to save us.”
Martha Maye lay back down, while Tess closed the trunk lid, covered her back up with the tarp, then climbed over the side of the truck and crouched down.
Loud voices came from the office, but Tess couldn’t hear what was being said. Suddenly, the voices got louder, and Tess heard Henry Clay say, “Stay here. I wanna talk to ‘em first.”
First? She heard footsteps coming toward the truck.
He peeled back the tarp, and Tess could hear rustling and then, “Oh Henry Clay! I’m so glad you’re here! You gotta save us! Those men . . .” she began crying.
“Shh . . . shush now, Mart. It’s gonna be okay. Tell me what happened.”
Martha Maye quickly relayed the events of the past thirty minutes, leaving out the fact that she knew Tess had been in the trunk, or that she was no longer in there.
“So . . . what’s in the trunk?”
“I don’t know. Why would they want it? Why’d they grab me and truss me up like a chicken?”
“Martha Maye. I’ve known you all my life and been in love with you for over half of it. I think there’s something you’re not tellin’ me. Spill it.”
Martha Maye sniffed, and her voice grew hard. “Why don’t you spill it, Henry Clay? Tell the truth, and shame the devil. Your granddaddy killed mine, didn’t he?”
Tess heard feet shuffling. He let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, Mart,” he said softly. “Well, he and Brick Lynch. I don’t rightly know who actually pulled the trigger. But my granddaddy had aspirations of becomin’ president of the bank, and your granddaddy was goin’ to ruin that for him. He had to do it.”
“Oh no he didn’t, Henry Clay. Just like you don’t have to do this. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Martha Maye, I promised him. I promised him I wouldn’t let the world find out it was him. I wanted to stop all this from gettin’ out, to save my family’s reputation, and because I love you.”
“And I suppose you wantin’ to be governor dudn’t have anything to do with it.”
“A scandal woulda ruined any chance of that, it’s true. I wanted to be somebody you’d be proud of. Things just got outta hand, is all. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“You can stuff your sorries in a sack, mister! You ain’t right in the head. But even so, I know you don’t wanna hurt either of us. You gotta come clean and end this nonsense.”
“Either of you? I thought you said you didn’t know what was in that trunk.”
“Henry, stop your jibber-jabberin’. You can put a porcupine in a wood chipper, but you will not make maple syrup.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means you are who you are. You gotcherself into a heap of poop, and you ain’t gonna come out smellin’ like a magnolia. What are you gonna do? Kill Tess and me? And then what? You’ll have to kill Jack, and then Mama, and then—” she broke off and whispered, “Butterbean.” She took in a shaky breath. “It’s time to stop all this, Henry.”
Tess peeked around the truck.
“All right. If that’s how you feel.” Henry Clay stood with his hands on his hips and barked, “Willy!”
“You cut the electricity off to these bay doors?”
“Duh.”
“Don’t you sass me, boy. Didja lock ‘em?”
“Well, no, you didn’t say to do that.”
“Do I have to tell you everything? Come out here, lock the doors, and throw me the key. Then you go find Jack. And Pickle. Bring ‘em on back here. Take my car.” Tess heard the sound of keys being caught in a hand.
Her legs, back, and neck were hurting from being locked up in the trunk and from squatting behind the truck, so she knelt on her hands and knees, craning her neck around the back of the truck to see what was going on. She saw Henry Clay swipe his hand over his face, and she ducked back behind the side of the truck. Hearing squeaking and feeling the truck rock a bit, she figured he’d sat down on the tailgate. She thought about trying to strike him from that position, but decided against it.
Willy locked both garage doors, and said, “Heads up, boss.”
Tess heard a key fall on the concrete floor. Looking under the truck, she saw it had landed at Henry Clay’s feet, and Martha Maye got to it before he could.
“Let me have it, Martha Maye.” The truck rocked as Henry Clay stood up.
“Why? So you can kill us?”
Crouching on her hands and knees, Tess watched under the truck as Martha Maye’s feet moved backward toward the front of the bay.
“Who says I’m gonna kill you?” He stepped toward her. She took another step back, and he followed, as did Tess, duck walking.
“Well, what are you gonna do?” Martha Maye asked, continuing to back up toward the front of the truck.
“I haven’t quite figured that out,” he said, following her.
“While you’re figurin’, can we let Tess outta that TRUNK?”
Tess had slowly worked her way around the back of the truck, holding the crowbar, as they were moving toward the front. At the word, “trunk,” she leapt up and with all her might, hit Henry Clay over the head with the crowbar. He fell like a sack of potatoes.
The office door sprang open, and Joe Bob called out, “HC? Everythin’ okay out here?”
