by Amy Metz
“What?” he asked.
“Thank you, Johnny. Just . . . thank you.” Martha Maye paused, and then her head jerked up and she added, “Is it okay if I call you Johnny when you’re on duty?”
Honey interrupted Johnny’s answer when she suddenly rushed into the room. “What in the Hell’s bells is going on over here? Why are there two police cruisers here?”
“My secret admirer left me another gift. This time it was inside my house.”
“Oh my gosh!” The last word came out as two syllables: gow-ush. She hugged Martha Maye, and then held her at arm’s length. “Sweetie, are you all right?”
“I am now.”
Honey looked at Johnny working on the lock. “You moonlighting, Chief?”
“All in the line of duty, ma’am.”
“Ma’am. Pshaw.” She gave him a mild scolding look, but he was intent on his work and didn’t see it. “I’m only thirty-five. You call me ma’am again, and you’ll have to arrest me for assaulting a police officer.”
“Honey, he’s just a polite gentleman,” Martha Maye cut in, before things got out of hand. She could see Honey’s feathers were ruffled even as she joked.
“I just can’t believe all this is happening to you, Mart. How do you think he got in?”
“Don’t know. There isn’t any sign of a break-in. Nothing’s broken or torn up.”
“But she didn’t have the best of locks on her doors, either,” Johnny said, his eyes on the screwdriver in his hand. “One putty knife’s all a person would need to get through those old locks.”
Honey sat at the table and picked up a thick chocolate brownie with nuts and marshmallows, topped with an inch of chocolate icing. “Ooh, Mart, you know I love your Mississippi mud bars.”
Officer Beanblossom appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I think I got everything except for in here. Hidee, Ms. Winchester,” he said, seeing her at the table.
“Well, hidee yourself, big boy.” She exhaled a grunt through her nose. “‘Ms. Winchester.’ ‘Ma’am.’ Y’all are enough to break a girl’s heart.”
“Honey, they’re on duty. They’re just being professional. Don’t take it personally.”
She studied her fingernails and mumbled, “I’m a person. I take everything personally.” Honey crossed her longs legs, sat back, and looked up at Hank through her eyelashes. “In that case, do you want to frisk me, Officer Beanblossom?”
Hank blushed, as Johnny said, “Negative. But he would like to take your prints.” He stared pointedly at Hank.
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Hank was flustered. He set the box down with a loud clang and fumbled with the latch. “I should get both of y’all’s prints for exclusionary purposes.”
Hank moved to the table and sat down next to Honey. She slowly licked the sticky chocolate residue off her fingers while she held Hank’s eyes. Red flushed across his face again and he looked away nervously. “I . . . I think Butterbean’s will be evident ‘cause they’re so small,” he stammered, getting the materials ready.
“Are you gonna fingerprint all my friends and family?” Martha Maye asked. “There must be a lot of people’s fingerprints in here.”
“Y’all will need to wash your hands before he fingerprints you.” Johnny stood up and tried the dead bolt he’d just installed. “Well, whatta you know. It works.” He handed Martha Maye a key. “You’ll have two different keys for your locks until you can get a locksmith over here to change them and give you one key for all of them.”
Hank began putting the materials back in the black box. “We’re all set, Chief. I’ll take all this back to the house and see if we get any hits.”
“Why are you taking them home?” Martha Maye asked.
“Not home. The house. The station house.”
Honey excused herself and walked the officer out, wiping a lemon on her fingers to remove the ink. Putting the tools away, Johnny turned to Martha Maye and said, “You know, Mart, we never did have that coffee.”
“No, sir. No we didn’t, Chief.”
“Oh, stop with the ‘Chief’ talk.”
She laughed softly, handing him the tools.
“It’s past quitting time for me,” he said, returning to his point. “How about we go now?”
“It’s pretty near dinnertime now, Johnny, and I’m supposed to go pick up Butterbean from Mama’s.”
“Maybe she could stay at Lou’s a little longer, and we could stretch coffee into some supper. If it’s all right with you,” Johnny added quickly.
“Well, I s’pose they won’t mind if Bean stays a while longer. Let me call and see.”
Ima Jean answered the phone. “Leggo my Eggo.”
“Aunt Imy, you’re using the phone, not the toaster,” Martha Maye said gently.
“Who’s that behind those Foster Grants?” Ima Jean shot back and Martha Maye suppressed a laugh. “It’s me, Aunt Imy, Martha Maye. Hireyew?”
“Somebody stole my waffles.”
“And your marbles,” Martha Maye whispered under her breath. Louder she said, “Waffles? I’m, sorry, Imy. Say, is Mama there?”
Lou came on the line. “What’s up, darlin’?”
“Aunt Imy sounds in rare form.”
“Oh, just another day in the nuthouse.” Lou whispered, “She thinks someone stole our waffles outta the freezer. I tried telling her Pickle prolly just ate them, but she’s all agitated about it.” Lou changed to her normal voice and said, “What’s going on, hon?”
“Mama, can Butterbean eat with y’all and stay just a while longer?”
“Of course she can. You all right?”
“I’m fine, Mama. I’m just going to get a bite to eat with Johnny.”
“It’s about damn time,” Lou shouted. Martha Maye’s eyes shot to Johnny, wondering if he’d heard her mother. Judging by his grin, he’d heard.
She turned her back to him, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, Mama. I’ll be over to get her in about an hour or two. Make sure she does her homework.”
She wanted to end the call before her mother could embarrass her any further, but Lou’s voice boomed out of the receiver: “Take your time. Don’t you come for Bean for at least two hours. Not a minute before. I mean it!”
They drove to the diner in Johnny’s car. Walking in the front door, they saw two old men were at the counter as usual.
“So she says to me, she says, ‘The row’s crooked.’ And I says back, ‘You can plant more in a crooked row, woman. Don’t you know that?’“
“Women,” the other man said, shaking his head.
“Hidee, Clive. Earl.” Johnny raised his hand in a greeting to the two old men, permanent fixtures on the diner’s front stools.
“How do, Chief, Martha Maye.” Clive turned on his stool to speak to Johnny. “Say, Chief, did you catch that hardened criminal?”
Confusion showed on Johnny’s face.
“The one stealing all the punkins in town? It’s like the Grinch switched holidays.”
“We’re still on the hunt. You hear anything, you let me know, okay?”
“Sure thing, Chief. I’ll tell you what—whoever it is doesn’t have all the dots on his dice.”
“I’d say that’s an accurate assessment.” Johnny gently pushed on the small of Martha Maye’s back, urging her to lead them to a table.
“I seen it all,” Clive said, turning back around.
“Seen it all, done it all, can’t remember most of it,” Earl said.
As Johnny and Martha Maye made their way to a booth in the back, he said, “You think Earl’s interested in a woman? We could introduce him to your aunt.” Martha Maye poked him in the ribs, shaking her head and stifling a laugh.
Martha Maye felt like everyone’s eyes in the crowded diner were on them as they sat down.
“I don’t know if this was such a good idea, Johnny. I feel as conspicuous as the Emperor in his new clothes.”
“Mart, there isn’t anything wrong with two friends having dinner
together.”
“You know that, and I know that, but does everybody else know that?” Her eyes self-consciously swept the room. Several people were sneaking glances at them.
“I don’t give two hoots and a holler what everybody else thinks. What you think is all’s important to me.” Johnny looked at her with an intensity that made her heart pound in her chest and her mouth go dry. Before she could respond, Junebug appeared at the table.
“Hirey’all tonight?”
“We’re hanging in there like loose teeth, Junebug, hireyew?” Johnny answered.
“I’m having a good hair day, and that’s about all I can ask for.” Junebug took the pencil out from behind her ear. “What can I gitchy’all?”
After they ordered, Junebug started to head for the kitchen when she suddenly reversed course and came back to the table. “Almost forgot to tell you the latest, Chief. We’re missing a peck of apples. Add it to the list, ‘kay?”
“Okay, Junebug.” Johnny sighed, taking out a notebook from his pocket and making a note in it. “Will do. Where’d they disappear from?”
“Out back. Deliveryman stacked up some boxes by the back door. By the time we hauled everything in, and I checked it all off, we was short. I called him right up, and he swore he delivered it. I believe him. We ain’t never had any problem with him before. He’s as honest as a summer day is long.” Junebug headed toward the kitchen, and Martha Maye looked at Johnny questioningly.
“Official police bidness,” he said, with another one of his big grins lighting up his face. “I’d rather talk about you. You said you don’t know who this clown could be who keeps sending you stuff, but do you have even the tiniest inkling? Somewhere to start?”
“No, Johnny, I don’t. I mean, the obvious suspect is Lenny.”
“Your husband.”
“For the moment.” Martha Maye gave him a weak smile. “I prefer to think of him as my future ex-husband.”
“So, Lenny’s the obvious suspect, but—there is a ‘but,’ isn’t there?”
“But it’s not his style. Lenny wants credit for everything he does if it’s good, which isn’t often, and that’s another reason why I don’t think it’s him. Number one, he’s never once in his life given me poems, lingerie, or perfume. And number two, he wouldn’t send a gift anonymously. If he sent me something, he’d want the whole town to know it. That would be the only reason he’d do it—for the brownie points.”
Junebug brought two glasses of sweet tea and a basket of corn muffins. “Rest’ll be out in a jiffy.”
Johnny took a drink. “Anybody at school you can think of?”
Martha Maye looked at the poodle skirt in the picture over Johnny’s shoulder. She thought for several moments, then shook her head. “Nobody I can think of.”
“It appears he’s getting more personal, and by coming into your house, more dangerous with each new gift. Promise me you’ll keep your doors and windows locked at all times.”
“Yes sir.”
“And you’ll drive to school instead of walking.” Johnny gave his stern police chief look.
“Yes sir.”
“And if you see anything or anyone even the tee-ninceyest bit suspicious, you’ll call me right away.”
“Yes sir.” Martha Maye couldn’t stifle a grin. “Even the tee-ninceyest bit.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, until Johnny said, “So …”
“So . . . ” echoed Martha Maye.
“Last time we talked, your husband was in town and wanted you back.”
“That’s what he said.”
“And how’s he doing with that proposition? If I may be so bold to ask.”
“Johnny, I’d rather jump barefoot off a six-foot stepladder into a five-gallon bucket full of porcupines than get back with him.”
“Good to know.” Johnny’s smile was wide, and his eyes were earnest, shining bright with possibility.
Always drink pure water. Many get drunk from breaking this rule.
~Southern Proverb
Lenny cruised by Martha Maye’s house, not seeing any sign of life on the street except for the nosy old biddy neighbor sitting in the La-Z-Boy in her front window. Luckily, he’d picked a car with tinted windows this time. “Look all you want, old woman. You’ll never know who’s in this here car,” Lenny said out loud.
He stopped at the four-way stop sign, turned right on Main, and drove toward the center of town, almost wrecking the car when he saw Martha Maye and the police chief come out of the diner.
That brazen hussy.
He whipped into a parking space across the street and watched in his rearview mirror as the chief helped Martha Maye into his car. When they drove away, Lenny put the gold Suburban into reverse, backed out, shifted into drive, and followed them.
Lenny watched Johnny pull into Lou’s driveway. He drove past the house, did a U-turn, and parked several houses down, watching as the two drove into the house. His mind reeled as he waited. Martha Maye was out of control. He had to do something. She’s a married woman and going out on a date in broad daylight with another man. She’s colder than a mother-in-law’s tongue to me, and then she goes and flirts with the police chief in front of God and everybody.
Lenny stewed about his wife until he saw her, their daughter, and the police chief come out of the house and get into the car. He followed them to Martha Maye’s house and watched from the corner of the street perpendicular to Martha Maye’s as she and Butterbean got out of the car. He turned off the engine and rolled the windows down, watching as she walked around to the chief’s window instead of following their daughter inside the house.
She best not be kissing him good-bye in broad daylight. Act like you got some raising, woman. He could see her laugh at something the idiot cop said, her body language in full flirt mode. She shuffled her feet in the grit of the driveway, her hips swaying, while she talked and smiled into the car at Johnny. It was enough of a spectacle to turn Lenny’s stomach.
Intently watching his estranged wife, a sudden “Boo!” from the passenger side startled him. He turned to see a woman’s smiling face in the open window. She reached in and unlocked the door.
“You—”
“Hidee, sugar,” she said. “Imagine finding you here.”
“Don’t I know you?” Lenny studied the woman’s face, sure he’d seen her somewhere before.
“You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She slid in next to him.
“Uh, well, actually, I kinda got a headache.”
“In that case,” she paused, with a mischievous look in her eyes, “I could kiss it and make it all better.”
Lenny stared at her, dumbfounded. “Come again?”
“You know Martha Maye isn’t coming back to you. Maybe I can help some of the hurt go away.” Her fingers walked over the console and up his arm like a spider.
“Woman, you are batshit crazy.” Lenny looked out the window at Martha Maye, who was still flirting with Johnny. “What are you doing here?”
“Whatta you mean what am I doing here? I live here. Don’t you remember me? Allow me to introduce myself.” She scooted closer to him.
“Is this some kind of a trick? Are you some kind of a Trojan Horse or something?”
“Oh, come on, Lenny. We’re both consenting adults—”
“I am most certainly not consenting to anything with you, lady.”
“Look at Martha Maye over there flirting with the chief of police, big as all daylights.” She turned and craned her neck to see around the car’s window frame, continuing to talk while she watched Martha Maye. “That should prove to you your wife is through with you. And why would you want her back, the way she treats you? Let me make up for that tonight.”
Again he stared hard at her. “Huh?”
“I like you, Lenny. You’re not afraid to go after what you want. I find that extremely sexy.” She leaned over, letting Lenny get a good look down her shirt. “Are you actual
ly going to say no to somebody like me?” she whispered.
“Somebody like you, I might not say no to. You you, yes, I most certainly am,” Lenny said. He moved back as far against his car door as possible, feeling like a cornered animal. “I know what you’re up to. You get me into a compromising position, and then you go running to Martha Maye saying I was unfaithful on her. Well, slam, bam, no thank you, ma’am.”
She looked hurt. “I would do no such thing. Martha Maye is my friend, and I wouldn’t want to hurt her. Besides, she’s already made her mind up about you.” She ran her hand through his hair and continued, “Come on, handsome. You and me. Let’s have ourselves a between-the-sheets rodeo.”
Lenny was pleased to finally see Johnny’s reverse lights. He took the woman’s hand in between his index finger and his thumb, holding it like it was germ infested. He removed it from his hair, dropping it in her lap.
“Lookit, this was a real nice offer, but my heart literally belongs to Martha Maye, and you will not tempt or trick me away from getting her back. Now, if you will kindly vacate my vehicle, I’ll be on my way.”
She let out a disgusted sigh. “Suit yourself, darlin’. You change your mind, you know where I live. But don’t put all your eggs in her basket. She ain’t coming back.”
Lenny rolled up his windows and drove past Martha Maye’s house, where he caught a glimpse of her through a window. He slowed, contemplating going inside, but instead sped off in the direction of the Magnolia Bar. He really needed a beer.
It was almost completely dark when he turned into the Mag Bar’s gravel lot. He parked his car and hummed the song “If I Can’t Be Number One in Your Life, Then Number Two on You” while he walked across the parking lot. He heard the crunch of gravel behind him and turned around just as a punch hit his kidneys. He let out a loud “oomph,” and another blow landed on his lower jaw.
