by Amy Metz
“I put it back there. Honest. Am I still in trouble?” Pickle asked.
“For the moment, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. But we’re going to follow you to Louetta’s. I aim to talk to Charlotte and find out what all these shenanigans are about.”
Lazy folks’ stomachs don’t get tired.
~Southern Proverb
Johnny parked in Louetta’s driveway, and he, Pickle, and Velveeta traipsed up the sidewalk. Ima Jean answered the door.
“How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop?” she said.
“I’m not rightly sure, Ima Jean, but we’d like to speak to Charlotte. Is she here?”
“Charlotte!” Ima Jean yelled, holding the door open. “Kumpny!” The three stepped into the house, Johnny gently pushing Pickle in first.
Charlotte came out of the kitchen, sucking the icing off the candy witch legs from a cupcake. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the three of them, her eyes round as teacups.
“Wha-what’s going on?”
“Charlotte, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Johnny looked at Ima Jean. “Do you mind if we talk to her alone?”
Ima Jean shrugged and walked toward the stairs singing, “Have it your way, have it your way.”
Pickle rushed to Charlotte. “It’s all right, least I think it is. What was in that box you gave me?”
Before she could answer, Johnny said, “Pickle, I’ll let you stay, but you’re gonna have to let me ask the questions.”
“Yessir.”
Pickle started to sit on the couch with Charlotte, but Johnny grabbed his elbow and led him to a chair next to the sofa. Johnny remained standing, but Velveeta sat next to Charlotte, who had turned white, making the freckles across her nose more prominent.
“Okay, Charlotte, I need to know what’s in those boxes you’ve been giving Pickle to deliver and who you were delivering them to.”
Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t tell you. If I do, I’ll get somebody else in trouble.”
“Right now you need to worry about your own self. The more you stall and don’t answer my questions, the more I think something funny’s going on. I don’t want to think poorly about you, but at the moment my curiosity is more than aroused.” Johnny spoke kindly but firmly.
She began to cry. Pickle started to get up, saw Johnny’s hand in the air and the warning on his face, and sat back down. Velveeta went to the bathroom and brought back a box of tissues.
When her crying had lessened a bit, Johnny tried again. “C’mon, Charlotte, tell me what the devil is going on.”
The tears got worse, and she choked out, “I can’t, I just can’t. We haven’t broken any laws.”
“You’re suspected of criminal behavior. Folks who make a drop behind a bar habitually heighten my natural curiosity. If you’ve done nothing wrong, it won’t hurt to tell us. Now talk to us, Charlotte. That’s the only way we can help you.”
She cried quietly for several minutes, then finally spoke softly. “I was just trying to help my . . . my granddaddy.”
“Okay, that’s good, Charlotte, that’s a good start, now tell us the rest of it.” Johnny squatted down in front of the girl.
She looked at Pickle, and he nodded reassuringly to her.
“Well, since he lost his job as police chief, he hasn’t had much money to live on.” She blew her nose and looked at her lap. “He gets real hungry, and I was just trying to help him.” She sniffed. “I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong, even though he asked me not to tell anyone.”
“Not to tell anyone what?” Johnny gently prodded.
“I figured if I cut back on what I ate at Lou’s house, I could give my granddaddy some of the food I would have eaten. You know? If it was gonna get eaten, Lou wouldn’t care who ate it, right?” She blew her nose again and looked at Pickle pleadingly.
“So you packed up some of Lou’s home cooking, gave it to Pickle, Pickle delivered it to the picnic table behind the Mag Bar, and your granddaddy picked it up. Is that about the size of things?” Johnny said.
“Yessir, it is.” She blew her nose into another tissue.
“See!” Pickle leaned forward, hands on his thighs, looking like he was going to spring at any moment. “I didn’t do nothing wrong and neither did Charlotte.”
Velveeta said, “Why didn’t you just ask Lou for the food for your grandfather?”
“He was afraid she hated him on account of what he did, and besides, he told me not to tell.”
Johnny looked from Velveeta to Charlotte. “Charlotte, I know you’re a good girl, and I don’t see anything particularly wrong with what you did. I respect you for keeping your word to your grandfather, but I’m wondering why you thought you couldn’t tell us? You said it would get someone else in trouble. Who did you think you would get into trouble?”
Charlotte began crying again, in great big heaving sobs. Velveeta tried to calm her down, but Johnny finally let Pickle sit by her. He held her hand and patted her back.
“I believe there’s more in the can, Charlotte,” Johnny said soflty.
She looked at the tissue in her hands as she said, “I didn’t have enough to give him.”
“And?” Johnny said, growing impatient.
“And he didn’t have enough money to buy food.”
“And?” Johnny said again, but Charlotte was back to crying too hard to answer. She put her face in her hands and cried, while Pickle talked soothingly to her.
Johnny looked at her, then Pickle, and finally Velveeta. Then it came to him. He smacked his forehead.
“Ernest Borgnine,” he said as if he were stupefied.
“Who?” Velveeta asked.
Johnny walked to the window to look out onto the street and then back to the three on the couch. His expression had gone from bewilderment to comprehension. “John Ed doesn’t have any money, and he’s mad at the town for shunning him, so what’s he do?”
Velveeta looked up at him, realizing what he was getting at.
“What?” asked a clueless Pickle.
“He steals the town blind,” Velveeta said.
Charlotte cried louder.
“Well, Detective, we’ve been cruising for hours. Up through town five times, out past the city limits north, south, east, and west.” Hank Beanblossom turned onto Marigold Lane for the third time that day. “Past Martha Maye’s house three times. We’ve cruised all the restaurants and bars. I just don’t know where else to go.”
“I guess we’re going to have to sit outside the mo-tel and wait for him to come back.”
“Let’s swing by Slick and Junebug’s first. If we’re going to sit in a car for hours, at least we can sit in a car for hours with some good food.” Hank turned the car toward Main Street, resisting the urge to put on the lights and siren.
When they walked into the diner, Clive and Earl were on their usual stools. By way of a greeting, Earl lifted a hand about an inch from the counter and Clive nodded to the men.
“Boys, how are you?” Hank took the stool next to Earl.
“I’m fine, but Clive’s being sued.” Earl hitched his thumb at his friend.
“Sued?” Hank leaned around Earl to look at Clive. “What are you being sued for?”
“His brain is suing him for neglect.” Earl slapped his knee and cackled.
“Aw, don’t mind him, Officer,” Clive said. “His mind is on vacation, but his mouth is working overtime as usual.”
“Now, you boys behave. Don’t make me load you up in the paddy wagon for disturbing the peace.”
“They certainly disturb my peace, each and every day,” Junebug said, walking behind the counter to place some orders.
“You’d be lost without us, and you know it,” Clive said.
She poked her pencil behind her right ear, turned, and called to Slick, “I need a bowl of red, and two cows. Make ‘em cry.”
Turning back around to Hank and Detective Squires, she said, “
What can I get y’all?”
“Junebug, we need the works to go. Couple a burgers—Rusty, how you like yours?
“The works.”
“The works for him, and just onions and ketchup for me. And give us some fries, too.” He looked at the domed cake plates. “What kind of pie you got today?”
“Apple caramel, cherry, chocolate, peanut butter, and coconut.”
Hank looked at the detective, who said, “Apple caramel without a doubt.”
“An apple caramel, a cherry, and two shakes.”
Junebug looked up from her order pad. “White cow or you wanna throw it in the mud?”
Hank looked at the detective and said, “Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Oh. Um . . . chocolate.”
“One chocolate and one vanilla, Junie.”
She hollered in Slick’s direction, “All righty, Slick, on the rail. Burn one, take it through the garden and pin a rose on it, burn another one, make it cry and give it a hemorrhage, gimme some frog sticks, and let it walk.”
“Be right out,” Slick called.
“Tell you what, darlin’, set yourselves down while I pack a poke. I’ll be right back, y’all. Gonna fix your shakes first.”
Rusty leaned toward Hank and asked, “What’s she going to do?”
“Fix our shakes.”
“No, before that.”
“Oh,” Hank said smiling, “She’s going to pack it all in a sack for us.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Clive asked.
“He’s from up north in Nashville. This here’s Detective Rusty Squires.”
“How do, Detective.”
“This is Clive.” Hank pointed with his thumb. “And this here’s Earl.”
“Howdy, boys.” Rusty nodded to the men.
“Did you catch that killer yet, Officer?” Clive asked, stuffing a bite of chocolate pie in his mouth.
“Not yet, but we will.”
“What about the hooligan who’s been taking stuff all over town?” Earl asked.
“We’re getting close,” Hank said.
“Did you bring in the detective to help out on the cases?” Earl asked.
“Naw, I’m here on my own case.”
“You come down here on account of another case?” Clive echoed. “What for?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”
“Well, ain’t he highfalutin,” Earl grumped. “Up from the big city and all.”
“He’s just doing his job, Earl. Say, y’all haven’t seen Lenny Applewhite’s brother T. Harry, have you?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Clive said, going back to his pie.
“Nope,” Earl said.
“If you do, you be sure to give me a call, all right?”
“Is he a wanted man?” Clive wanted to know.
“Naw. We just want to ask him some questions.”
“Do we get a reward if we call you?”
“Just the reward of doing a good deed,” Hank said.
“Humph,” both men said together.
“That don’t pay for pie,” Clive grumbled.
Don’t trade off a coonskin before you catch the coon.
~Southern Proverbs
“We got him, Chief,” Hank Beanblossom said as he and the detective led T. Harry into the police station by both arms just after one a.m.
“I’s innocent. I didn’t do nothing,” T. Harry slurred.
“He’s plum loopdylegged is what he is.” Hank said as they walked past Johnny.
“Copy that.” Johnny stood in his office doorway with his hands on his hips.
“We got him when he came back to the motel. I’ma book him for DUI and public intoxication. He blew a .25.”
T. Harry broke out in song, slurring the lyrics to “My Heart’s Too Broke to Pay Attention.”
“Mark Chestnut, you aren’t.” Hank put a finger in his ear and shook it.
“That’s enough outta you,” Detective Squires snarled.
“All right, Beano, after you check him into our little hotel, show him to his room. While he’s sleeping it off, we got another matter to attend to. Detective, why don’t you get some sleep. We’ll chat with T. Harry in the morning after he’s sobered up.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Rusty tipped his hat and left the building.
A while later, Hank arrived in Johnny’s office, where Skeeter and Velveeta were waiting.
“What’s up?” Hank slumped into a chair.
“We like John Ed for stealing the stuff around town.” Johnny’s chair squealed as he settled in behind his desk.
“Well, spit in the fire and call me Billy Bob,” Hank said, looking truly astounded.
“Okay, Billy Bob. Now we gotta find him.”
“How do you know it’s him?”
“His granddaughter Charlotte spilled the beans. She was a tough nut to crack, let me tell you.” Johnny took a swig from the can of Mtn Dew on his desk. “He’s been stealing stuff he needs or wants from all over town, and she’s been supplementing with Lou’s home cooking. Seems he figured the town owed him.”
“Plus he prolly just wanted some good old-fashioned revenge,” Skeeter speculated.
“That, too. I guess it didn’t occur to him to take responsibility for his own self. Anyway, he gave himself a license to steal. But we can’t find him anywhere. He sold his house back a few months. Got any ideas?” Johnny looked at each of the officers.
“Mag Bar?” Hank offered.
“Negative. Cash says he doesn’t come into the bar. I guess he uses—or used—it as a drop-off point for his food deliveries, but he wasn’t a regular customer.”
“It’s not like he could steal anything in there,” Skeeter pointed out. “You order a drink, you gotta pay for it.”
“Yeah, but you can steal out of the back room,” Velveeta said.
“That”—Johnny pointed at her—”you can do.” He leafed through some papers and pulled one out of the stack. “Affirmative. Cash reported four bottles of bourbon missing a few weeks back.”
“Shoot, since all the commotion last summer, he ain’t been a regular anywhere in town,” Skeeter said. “But I heard he kind of holed himself up in old Crate Marshall’s place. After Tank died, the house has been empty. Doesn’t have electricity or gas, but it’s a shelter.”
“He’d hear us coming a mile away up at that place.” The room was silent for a bit. “I think we have to set him up.”
“How?” the three officers said together.
“Charlotte let it slip that sometimes she’d leave Lou’s back door unlocked, and in the middle of the night he’d come over and help himself to the contents of the kitchen. I think he mostly came for refrigerated stuff at night. Food she couldn’t leave in the drop box.”
“So old Ima Jean wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought she was, huh?”
“It appears not. I say we get Charlotte to tell him she’ll leave the door unlocked and we let him steal his last meal.” Johnny absentmindedly twirled a pencil around his fingers.
“Then we wait for him at Lou’s?” Hank said.
“Then we wait for him at the old Marshall place. He’ll walk right to us with the evidence in his hands. I don’t want to cause a scene at Lou’s, especially with Charlotte living there.”
“Okay, when?” Velveeta looked like she was ready to go right then and there.
“Charlotte said the food she just sent him should last a few days. Let’s do it on Thursday night.”
“Roger that.” Hank’s usual easygoing nature had turned all business.
“Meantime, if you see him, watch him, but don’t bring him in. I think we’ll get him to tell all if we catch him red-handed.” Johnny put his pencil on the desk and stood up.
The officers filed out, but Johnny called out, “Officer Witherspoon?”
Velveeta peeked around the doorway. “Yes sir?”
“Anything on that theory of yours?”
“Negative, sir. I’m still working it.”
He nodded, and she left him alone in the room once again.
Johnny stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking out his office window to the light pole across the street. His mind kept going over Cash’s description of the woman at the bar. It couldn’t be. But things she’d said kept running through his head like a news crawler. But she out and out lied to me about never going to the Mag Bar.
He picked up the phone. “Jack? Johnny here. Yeah, sorry for calling so late. Can you meet me up at the diner in the morning?” He listened for a few seconds. “Negative. I gotta go home and get some sleep. It’ll keep until tomorrow. About seven? All right. See you then.”
Jack was waiting in the back booth when Johnny arrived at 7:02. “Morning, gentlemen.” Johnny breezed past Clive and Earl at their regular places. “Do y’all sleep here?” He’d said it as more of a statement than question, but the men nodded.
“We might if Slick stayed open twenty-four hours.”
“Thank the good Lord he don’t,” Slick said.
Johnny waved to Slick in the kitchen, squeezed past Willa Jean taking an order, patting her on the shoulder, and walked to the back booth to join Jack.
“You look like you were pulled through a knothole backward.” Jack’s wrinkled brow showed his worry for his friend.
“Kinda feel that way, too,” Johnny said, running his hand through his short, dark hair.
Willa Jean finished at the other table and came to their booth, eyeing Johnny carefully. “You look more miserable than a horse in a hayless barn.”
“Aw, not you, too. I don’t look that bad, y’all.”
Willa and Jack looked at each other and then back at Johnny. They said in unison, “Yes, you do.”
“I’m going to get you some of my fresh-squeezed OJ. Y’ont anything else?”
“Thanks, Willa Jean. How about some scrambled eggs?”
As soon as she walked toward the kitchen, hollering, “Gimme two and wreck ‘em,” Johnny said, “I got a problem.”
“I can see that,” Jack said. “I thought everything with you and Martha Maye were okay now.”
“They are. This is a work problem. I think I know who killed Lenny, but I can’t prove it.”
