2 Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  Johnny got up and went to Bernadette, taking her by the elbow and leading her to the chair in front of his desk.

  “All right, Bernadette. I’m sorry I raised my voice. Start from the beginning. How long ago were they here? What did they look like? What did they say?”

  “Geez Louise, Chief. What are you getting all exercised for?”

  Johnny perched on the edge of his desk in front of her and rubbed his hand over his face. “I’m not worked up. Just tell me the whole thing from the beginning.”

  “Well, two men came in, they’s dressed real nice, but they reminded me of Mutt and Jeff—you know, one real tall and the other one . . . not. They said they were detectives from”—she took a tissue from the box on Johnny’s desk—”I can’t remember where from, but they showed me a shiny badge, and the tall one said he liked my hair.” She looked up at Johnny, who folded his arms across his chest and stared at her.

  In a small voice, she said, “They seemed real nice.”

  Hank said, “That’s about as useful as a prefabricated post hole.”

  “I see that now. But at the time. . .” She stopped to wipe her nose.

  “Go ahead, Bernadette.”

  “Well, let’s see. They said something like, ‘We’re here to inquire about one Leonard Applewhite, also goes by the name of Lenny. Do you know of this person?’ I said no I did not. I said we have a Martha Maye Applewhite and a Butterbean Applewhite, but no Lenny Applewhite.” She fidgeted with the tissue in her hands. “And that was about it.”

  “They didn’t ask where Martha Maye lived?” Johnny wanted to know. The look on her face was answer enough.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “Good heavenly days, Bernadette, you told them where Martha Maye lives?”

  “No, I may have had a temporary stupidity attack, but it wasn’t fatal.” She looked down at her lap, and her voice softened. “I may have told them she taught up at the school.”

  Johnny let out a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. He stomped around the desk and dropped into his chair.

  “Have we learned a lesson today, Bernadette?”

  “Yessir,” she said timidly, pulling at the tissue still in her hands.

  “Next time someone you don’t know comes in asking questions, you direct them to an officer or to me.”

  “Yessir.”

  “What else? You said there were two things.”

  “Skeeter was just over to the diner. He says Slick told him a box of ‘nanas is gone. Says he ain’t never had a box of food stolen in all his born days.” She stood up, shaking her head. “Pumpkins and ‘nanas. This town is going to Hell in a hand basket.” She left the office muttering, “Hell in a hand basket, Hell in a hand basket …”

  “What in the Sam Hill is going on? Who’s asking about Lenny, and what kind of bandit steals pumpkins and ‘nanas?”

  “A hungry one?” Hank shrugged his right shoulder.

  Johnny dropped his chin and looked under raised eyebrows at Hank. “What’re you doing standing around, Officer? Get out there and catch us a thief, and I want every officer on duty looking for these two mystery men.”

  The box was sitting on Martha Maye’s back step. She nearly stepped on it when she went out to take a bag of trash to the garbage can. This one was a white box with a huge red bow and had a tag on it that simply said, MARTHA MAYE.

  It was late on a Saturday night, and Butterbean had been in bed for hours. A shiver passed through Martha Maye when she picked up the box, and it wasn’t due to the cool October night air.

  She sat at her kitchen table and opened it, curious what the secret admirer had left for her. Inside layers of lilac tissue paper, she found a teeny tiny lacy red negligee. When she picked it up, she noticed a note in the bottom of the box. Still holding the red lingerie in her left hand, she opened the note.

  I dream of you in this, was all it said.

  Many good cotton stalks get chopped up by associating with weeds.

  ~Southern Proverb

  Jumping up from the chair, Martha Maye dropped the nightgown and the note as if they were two snakes.

  Is this Lenny? No, it couldn’t be. But if it’s not Lenny, then who? Johnny? Absolutely not. Especially not this one. Johnny wouldn’t do that. Should I call him? And say what? “I found a nightgown on my porch.” That would sound real classy.

  Feeling unsettled and worried, she tiptoed upstairs to check on Butterbean, knowing she was safe in bed, but needing the reassurance. She pulled the covers over her daughter’s shoulder and looked down at her innocent sleeping face. How could Lenny have fathered such an angel?

  She walked quietly out of the room, back downstairs, and called Honey, needing to talk to somebody.

  Martha Maye explained to her friend about the newest present. Honey was well aware of the others.

  “He appears to be ratcheting up the stakes, doesn’t he?” Honey said after listening to her friend.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before, it was kind of harmless stuff, right? A heart on the bulletin board, some flowers, a bottle of perfume. Now he gets into a personal area with intimate clothing. I think this person is crazier ‘n a Bessie bug. Why don’t you bring Butterbean over, and y’all stay the night over here?”

  “No, I can’t do that. I just wish I knew who was behind all this. It’s starting to concern, not to mention irritate, me.”

  “At least let me come over and sit and talk for a bit. Help you calm down. Maddy Mack’s asleep, but we can sit on the porch if you want. That way we’ll see her if she should come downstairs.”

  “Okay, that’d be nice. Thanks, Honey.” While she waited for Honey, Martha Maye went around her small house closing all the drapes and checking the locks on windows and doors. She hugged her arms to herself, determined not to cry.

  Jack and Tess sat on the couch in Tess’s den. She was snuggled into him, with her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her. A fire burned in the fireplace, and Jack’s dog Ezmeralda sat across their laps—her rear end on Tess’s lap and her head propped on Jack’s leg.

  “Jack, is something wrong? You’ve been kind of quiet tonight.” Ezzie raised her head to see if there was any mention of food.

  “Well . . .” He patted Ezzie’s head, and she relaxed, propping her snout on her front paws, content to have Jack stroke her head and down her back. “Yeah, there is something on my mind,” he said. “I know something about someone, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Hmm, I’m pretty sure you could be a little bit more vague.” Tess patted Ezzie’s rump.

  “It’s just that I’ve never been one to pry into someone else’s business, but in this case, I know something maybe a friend should know.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “It might also hurt the friend. And she might shoot the messenger.”

  Tess sat up straight and looked at him. “She. Do you mean me, Jack?”

  “No, no, no. I’m sorry.” He squeezed her with one arm. “No. The she is Martha Maye.”

  “What is it?” She maneuvered so that she faced him, displacing Ezzie’s rump.

  “You and she have gotten to be pretty close since the kidnapping.”

  “Well, going through something like that together does tend to forge a bond.”

  “Do you know if she’s back together with Lenny?”

  “I know she has her doubts. Evidently he’s been putting on the full-court press. Why?”

  “I saw him last night.” He brushed her hair off her neck.

  “You saw him? Where? With who?”

  “Shouldn’t that be with whom?”

  Tess slapped the couch next to Ezzie, which made her jump. “Sorry, Ez. Jackson, quit stalling and tell me what you saw!”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get violent on me, woman!” He rubbed Ezzie’s ears. “I was at the Mag Bar last night with Hank, and we saw Lenny there.”

  “Go on or I’ll have to hurt you.”

  �
��You couldn’t hurt a fly.”

  She raised one eyebrow at him.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Jackson!” Her tone was threatening.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. He wasn’t alone, Tess.”

  “What do you mean he wasn’t alone? You mean he had a date?”

  “He didn’t when he went in, but he sure did when he went out.”

  “He picked up a woman at the Mag Bar?” Tess screeched, standing up and displacing Ezzie altogether.

  “I’m not sure if he was the picker. He might have been the pickee. But either way, yes, he left with a woman. And I don’t think they left to go play cards.”

  “Just what do you think they left to do?” Tess said, half-serious.

  “The way he was hanging all over her, I’d say there was a fair amount of hanky-panky going on.”

  Tess looked at him for a moment, trying not to smile. “Oh. You mean they were going dancing, only . . . naked?” Tess said, hands on her hips.

  “Yep. In amorous congress.” Jack got up and moved toward Tess, leaving Ezzie on the couch, watching them.

  Tess backed up.

  “Doing the four-legged frolic?” she said, smiling and moving so the couch was between her and Jack. She knew that look in his eye.

  “Dippity doo da,” Jack said, accentuating “da” and moving to his left. Tess moved to her left.

  “Playing doctor?” Tess said, screeching and reversing direction when Jack faked left and went right, and almost faked Tess out.

  “Parking the Plymouth in the garage of love,” Jack crooned, continuing around the couch.

  “Doing the bedroom rodeo.”

  Ezzie barked twice and jumped to the floor, joining Jack in the chase.

  “Having a party for two,” Jack said.

  “Shaking the sheets.” She held up her hands. “Okay, stop!”

  “Lady, do you know how beautiful you are?” Tess let him catch her, and they fell onto the couch, with Ezzie nudging their arms with her cold, wet nose.

  “Jack, I feel guilty.”

  “Yeah, I know. We’re not married—”

  “Oh, you.” She playfully slapped his back. “I mean I feel guilty that we’re making light of the situation, and this is Martha Maye’s life we’re laughing about.”

  “We’re not making fun of Martha Maye’s life; we’re having fun with each other. There’s a difference,” Jack said, kissing her neck.

  “Why are men such pigs?” Tess asked.

  “Hey!” Jack raised his head, acting offended.

  “Except for you. I lucked out with you, my handsome man.” She pulled him back toward her.

  “We both lucked out,” Jack said, silencing Tess with another kiss.

  When they stopped for air, Tess asked, “We have to tell Martha Maye, don’t we?”

  “Yeah, babe. I think we do. And you know the news will go over like a pregnant pole vaulter.”

  “Goose Pimple Junction Police, how may I help you?” Christine “Teenie” White, the nighttime police dispatcher, said into the phone on the first call of her shift, late Monday afternoon.

  “Chief Butterfield, please,” Martha Maye said urgently.

  “Who may I say is calling?” Teenie held the phone to her pudgy face. At five foot two and one hundred-eighty pounds, she was anything but teenie. The older woman’s permed and set hair was thoroughly sprayed into place and hardly looked the slightest bit different from day to day.

  “Dolly Parton,” Martha Maye said impatiently. “Teenie, you know who this is.”

  “I’m just following proper police procedure, Dolly. You don’t have to get snippy.”

  “Teenie, I’m a little stressed at the moment. Can I please speak to him? Like NOW?”

  “One moment, please.” She spoke into the intercom. “Dolly Parton on line one.”

  A few seconds later, Johnny came on the phone. “Dolly, I stand corrected,” he said with a smile in his voice. “You said you’d call me, but I didn’t believe you.”

  Martha Maye spoke a mile a minute. “Johnny, I didn’t want to bother you with this, but Saturday night somebody left a package at my doorstep, and today I think somebody’s been in my house.” She finally took a breath.

  He sat straight up. “I’m putting you back on with Teenie. You stay on the line with her until I get there. I’m on my way. Be there in a jiffy.” Johnny punched a button on the phone, dropped the handset, and ran out of his office.

  A sharp axe is better than big muscle.

  ~Southern Proverb

  Johnny was true to his word. He arrived at Martha Maye’s house three minutes and twenty-four seconds after he hung up the phone. Martha Maye was waiting outside for him.

  “You okay?” Johnny rushed up the walk, his face full of concern.

  “I’m okay.” She nodded. “Just really scared.”

  “What happened?”

  She sensed he wanted to reach for her. And she wanted him to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But he didn’t. He was, after all, there in an official capacity. And she really hadn’t yet given him the green light to be anything but official. At that moment, she sorely wished she were divorced. She led him inside.

  “I came home from school and found this on my kitchen table.” She handed him a homemade CD. “I was so scared, I grabbed my phone and hightailed it outside to call you, thanking my lucky stars that I sent Butterbean over to Mama’s after school.”

  Johnny looked at the CD in his hand. “What’s on it?”

  “C’mere and hear for yourself.” She put the CD into a player, and the song “If I Had Shot You When I Wanted To, I’d Be Out by Now” came on.

  “What the—”

  “That’s not all.” She hit Skip and then pressed Play. Johnny looked at her questioningly. Her eyes went to the CD player, not able to hold his gaze. She held up one finger. “Just wait.”

  A new song came on: “My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don’t Love You.”

  “Mart, are you kidding me?”

  She slowly shook her head. “I wish I were. Hold on, that isn’t all, either.” She pushed Skip again, and when she hit Play, a third song came on: “You’re a Hangnail on My Heart, and I’m Gonna Cut You Off.”

  “Great day in the morning, Martha Maye. This was on your kitchen table?” Johnny’s voice was an octave or two higher than normal.

  “Yes sir,” Martha Maye sank into a chair and put her face in her hands. “All wrapped up in a pretty package.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “Don’t you think I would have been forthcoming with that information if I had it?” Martha Maye’s tone came out harsher than she meant. Her head snapped up, and she saw that Johnny looked hurt, so she added, “How about I get us some sweet tea?”

  Johnny called the station while Martha Maye poured sweet tea over ice in two glasses. She cut a lemon and put the wedges in a small bowl shaped and hand-painted like a lemon, and she put some Mississippi mud bars on a plate. She couldn’t help stealing glances at him through the doorway.

  The man sure is handsome in a uniform. Heck, he looks good in anything. Matter fact, I’ll bet he’d look real good in nothing, too. Martha Maye was so surprised she was having such impure thoughts, she jerked her hand up to her mouth, knocking the lemons out of the bowl, spilling the yellow wedges all over the table and sending the scent of lemon through the air.

  Johnny came into the kitchen. “One of my officers will be bringing some things over. What in the world happened?” He bent to help her pick up the lemons.

  “I must be all butterfingers today.” She washed the lemons and put them back in the bowl.

  While they sat at the kitchen table and waited, Martha Maye admitted to him about the gifts.

  He listened intently without interrupting her until she finished. “You’ve got yourself a stalker.”

  “I know.” She slumped back against the chair. “I’m scared, Johnny.”

  “Why’nt you tell me about
this stuff before now?” Hurt, puzzlement, agitation, and concern played across his face.

  She shrugged. “At first I thought it was just harmless, maybe one of my students. Then, to tell you the truth . . . oh Lordy, this is embarrassing.” She put her head in her hands.

  “Tell me, Mart.” Johnny reached over and touched her arm.

  “See, at first I thought maybe the gifts were from you, Johnny. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, and maybe I just hoped they were from you,” she said, finding the palms of her hands intensely interesting.

  “Mart, number one, I like your presumptions.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his legs, dipping his head down so he could look at her face. “And number two, I wish I’d thought of it—except for the last two gifts, and number three,” his voice softened, and he reached for her hand, “I’m awful glad you hoped they were from me.”

  His hand engulfed hers, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Johnny opened his mouth and then closed it when they heard Hank knock on the door and let himself in.

  “Yoo-hoo, anybody home?”

  “In here,” Johnny called, clearing his throat and standing up.

  “Chief, I brought those things you asked for,” the officer said, coming into the kitchen. He held a black box by its handle in one hand and a sizable toolbox in the other.

  “Thank you, Bean. I want you to dust for prints. There wasn’t any sign of a break-in, so dust all the doorknobs, do the countertop—oh Hell, you know what to do, just go do it. This is a B&E, no doubt about it, but she doesn’t think anything was taken. In fact, it was a backward B&E.”

  Hank’s brow furrowed, and he looked quizzically at the chief.

  “The perp left something instead of taking something,” Johnny explained.

  Hank looked confused but just said, “Yes sir, Chief.”

  Johnny took the toolbox and turned to Martha Maye.

  “Mart, I’m going to install some dead bolts.”

  “Excuse me?” Martha Maye stared at him.

  “You need dead bolts on your doors. I’m putting them in right now.”

  Martha Maye’s brow furrowed. “Sure.” She nodded. “Okay.” Another nod. “Thank you.” She stood and watched him install an extra lock in the front door as if he were her hero, then she followed him to the kitchen and watched him go to work on the back door. Johnny looked up at her at one point and saw her watching him.