Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction (Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries Book 4) (12 page)

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “And whatnot?”

“Aw, shucks, Chief, you know it’s slim pickings around here when it comes to eligible—and palatable—women.”

“What about Araminta Lee?”

Hank let out a half-laugh. “She’s stuck up higher than a light pole.” He sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “She’s not conceited, she’s convinced.”

“What’s she got to be convinced about?”

“Sure enough.” Hank rubbed the back of his neck.

Johnny drummed his fingers on his desk. “Well how about Nellie Baker? She works up at the school. Martha Maye could introduce you.”

“Nellie Baker?” Hank grimaced. “Nellie Baker has all the personality of linoleum. You ever try to carry on a conversation with her?”

“Can’t say that I have.” Johnny stroked his chin and looked out the window. “Well, there’s always Honey Winchester. She never met a man she didn’t like.”

“Thanks. That’s high praise. She and Lolly are spending time together now anyway.”

“You can only do one thing then.”

“What’s that?”

“Convince the fair Trixie—what did you say her last name was?”

Hank looked dumbfounded. “Huh.” He scratched his head. “I didn’t. I don’t know her last name.”

“Well, convince Trixie What’s-her-name to stay in town. You like her, right?”

“Yeah, but how am I gonna do that?”

“Introduce her around. She makes some friends, maybe she won’t want to leave. In addition to wooing her with your manly charm.”

“I don’t know, Chief.” Hank regarded Johnny skeptically. “People don’t just up and move.”

“Give her a reason. Tell you what do; let’s all go out for supper tomorrow night. You and Trixie, Jack and Tess, and Martha Maye and me. No pressure, just a good night out with friends. What do you say?”

Hank’s face brightened. “I say it’s worth a try. But a dinner date on a Tuesday?”

“Sure. You can’t ask her for tonight. That would be two nights in a row, and you’d look desperate. Gotta play it a little cool, dude. But you don’t want to wait too long either.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I’ll call Jack, Tess, and Martha Maye and set it up.”

Hank started out the door and then turned around and said, “There’s something about her that just makes me want to know more.”

“Man, you’re ate up, aren’t you?”

Bernadette’s voice rang out. “Chief, Pickle Culpepper is on line one.”

Johnny picked up the phone and punched the line, raising a finger in the air to signal Hank to stick around a minute. He put the call on speaker.

“Sir, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but Mama said I had to,” Pickle’s voice wavered.

“Go on.” Johnny and Hank exchanged looks.

“I, uh, sir, do I really have to? I don’t know much of anything—”

“Pickle, your mama must think you know something. What’s it hurt to tell me and let me be the judge?”

“I thought you were the police chief.”

Johnny used his forefinger and thumb to pinch the corners of his eyes. He tried to keep his voice calm. “Let me decide, Pickle. I
am
the police chief. And you have something you need to get off your chest, don’tcha?”

“Well . . . Maybe. I don’t know—”

“Pickle,” Johnny said sternly, “talk to me.”

“Well, I didn’t see him exactly, but I suspect who spray-painted those cars.”

Johnny sat up. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“‘Cause like I said, I didn’t see him do the deed, and it’s his word against mine. He’s a mean son of a . . .well, he and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye on things. Plus he’s got a reputation at school.”

“What kind of reputation?”

“One that says he’s nasty as a hair shirt. I’d just as soon not tangle with him.”

“You gonna give me a name?”

There was silence, but Johnny waited him out. “Well, sir, I think Jimmy Dean did it.”

“The kid with the prosthesis? The one folks call peg leg?” Johnny’s voice went up in disbelief.

“Yep. One and the same. He likes to play the poor pitiful victim around you adults. Around us kids, he’s a bully. I’ve even seen him take off his leg and swing it at kids. Then he hops around on one leg like a crazy person, waving his leg in the air like a bat or something.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I saw him throw something into the trash and walked over to see what it was. I’s just curious, you know. And guess what I found?”

“Spray paint.”

Pickle confirmed his guess. “Spray paint.”

“All right, Pickle. It just so happens my officers are about to bring the suspect in.” Johnny raised an eyebrow at Hank. “We’ll see what he has to say for himself. But we won’t let on what you told me.”

Johnny put the phone down as Hank said, “But we don’t have anything to go on, Chief. Pickle’s right . . . it’s one person’s word over another’s.”

Johnny shrugged. “We can still question him.”

“Seriously?” Hank gaped.

“Why not?”

“Well, his daddy’s a lawyer.”

“What does his father’s crookedness, I mean occupation, have to do with the price of eggs?”

“He’ll just figure a way to buy or lie his son out of the problem.”

“Does that mean we stop doing our duty? The one we were sworn to uphold?”

“No sir, I take your point.”

“Take Officer Witherspoon with you. And keep me apprised of the situation.”

“Roger that.”

Mama always said . . . Rudeness and ignorance go hand in hand. Never be either one.

H
ank and Velveeta drove to the Howe residence on Clyde Bird Road, the richest road in or around Goose Pimple Junction. They were in the countryside now, and the few houses they spotted were far from the main road at the top of hills that made them look extra palatial.

“Shewee, how do these people take care of that much land?” Hank gawked at the landscaped acreage of each property.

“They have gardeners, that’s how.” Velveeta craned her neck to gawk at one house as they drove past. “And they have hired help to take care of the inside just like they have people to care for the outside. All the owners do is sit around and count their money.”

Hank slowly shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, it’s another world out here.” He turned the cruiser onto a freshly paved driveway and stopped at a speaker in front of a big iron gate. Moments later, he heard a British accent:

“How may I help you?”

“Officers Beanblossom and Witherspoon to see Jimmy Dean Howe?” Hank spoke it as a question, and Velveeta whispered for him to act with authority.

“And what should I tell the master this is regarding?” The voice dripped with snootiness.

“Police bidness.” Hank looked at Velveeta, and she nodded her approval.

“One moment, please,” the disembodied voice said.

“I’ll bet he ain’t even English,” Hank whispered to Velveeta.

After about
two
minutes, the eight-foot-tall gates slowly opened, and Hank proceeded up the long winding driveway lined with trees that appeared to be at least one hundred years old.

When the house came into view, Velveeta gasped and Hank said, “Whoa! Would you look at that house? I’ve been to resorts that weren’t as nice as that.”

They parked in front of the house and were met at the door by a proper English butler, complete with a tuxedo, British accent, and snooty air. Standing very tall and erect, he led them down a hall and into a gourmet kitchen where Jimmy Dean sat, stuffing his face with a submarine sandwich. A bottle of Heineken beer sat on the table.

“Officers Beanblossom and Witherspoon, sir,” the butler announced and then quietly retreated.

Hank’s eyes went from the beer to the defiant face of the teenager. “Aren’t you still in high school, son?”

“Number one, I’m not your son. Number two, yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

“It’s illegal for a minor to drink alcohol.”

“Who said I’m drinking it? You’re assuming since it’s sitting on the table that it’s mine?”

“Is someone else at home?”

“Do you have eyes?
Someone
else just brought you in here, didn’t he?”

“Are you telling me your butler is drinking that beer that sits right in front of you?”

Jimmy Dean spread his arms out wide. “Now there you go assuming again.”

Hank wanted to knock the disingenuous smile off the kid’s face. “Okay. Let’s forget the beer for the time being. We need to take you down to the station house for questioning. Would you come with us, please?”

Jimmy Dean took another huge bite of the sandwich. Lettuce spilled out of his mouth, muffling his voice. “Questioning about what?”

“A few matters of vandalism. If you’ll come with us, we’ll discuss it at the station.”

“What if I don’t want to come with you?”

“We have the authority to
require
that you do,” Velveeta said, leaning over so that the leather on her holster squeaked ever so subtly.

Jimmy Dean didn’t lose any of his bravado. While one hand jammed the sandwich in his mouth, his other held up a finger indicating the officers should wait for him to finish his lunch. He took another few bites of the sandwich, stuffing his mouth full. Then he stood, wiped his hands on his cargo shorts, and with a still full mouth said, “You gonna cuff me?”

“You’re not under arrest.” Velveeta frowned and pressed her lips together.

A glimmer of disappointment crossed his face before he held out an arm. “Ladies first.”

Velveeta stood straight, her beefy legs taking her to five feet eleven inches in height. With her long, thick arms, size sixteen body, and the several inches she had on Jimmy Dean, she clearly could handle him. She put her hand on his back and gently shoved, indicating that
he
should go first. “I ain’t no lady. I’m an officer of the law, and you’d best remember that.”

On the way through the house, Jimmy Dean called out for the butler, telling him to notify his parents, and then he mumbled, “My dad and his associate will get over there, and I’ll be out of this farce fast as Cheez Whiz out of a can.” He looked pointedly at Velveeta.

“Aren’t you a lucky boy.” Velveeta opened the car door for him. “Watch your head now.” She put her hand on top of his head and none too gently shoved him into the cruiser.