Short & Tall Tales in Goose Pimple Junction Read online

  The Goose Pimple Junction mystery series:

  Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction

  Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

  Short & Tall Tales in Goose Pimple Junction

  Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction (coming soon)

  Note: while Short & Tall Tales in Goose Pimple Junction is book 3 in the series, it occurs chronologically between books 1 and 2.

  Amy has also contributed to the following anthologies:

  COP TALES

  I'M NOT CRAZY, I'M ON LUPRON

  CHIARI WARRIORS

  Dedicated to

  The folks of Stockbridge, Massachusetts – my Northern Goose Pimple Junction

  Some people don’t have any walking-around sense.

  ~Southern certitude

  “There goes Pete the Greek with that woman.” Estherlene Baumgarten glared out the diner’s big picture window that looked onto Main Street in downtown Goose Pimple Junction. “Look how she’s dressed. Putting on airs and all.”

  “He’s been seeing her for some time now, don’t you know?” Junebug fixed the pins that held a bun to the top of her head as her eyes followed the couple walking down the street.

  “Doesn’t he know she and Homer Wensley ate supper without saying grace?”

  “Well, not only him . . . ” Junebug had heard Tallulah’s morals were questionable, but she was trying to be delicate. “Once she had Homer’s kid, he moved on, and . . . ” Junebug raised an eyebrow, “she moved on and on and on.”

  Clive and Earl came into the diner, in the midst of another one of their lively discussions, and took their regular seats at the bar. The two older men had whiled away many hours arguing over anything and everything on those red vinyl stools, but when all was said and done, either one of them would take a bullet for the other – and most of the residents of Goose Pimple Junction as well.

  “Did not.” Earl slapped his hand on the counter.

  “She absogaldernlutely did.” Clive turned to Junebug as if to signal the discussion closed, but Earl wasn’t quite ready.

  “Junie, old Clive here expects me to believe Carla Sue — may she rest in peace — once found Tallulah Bogarde and Patrick Dobbins in . . . uh . . . in flagrante delicto.”

  “In fragrant what?” Junebug put her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed.

  “Not fragrant.” Earl rolled his eyes and let out an impatient sigh. “You know…in amorous congress.”

  Junebug stared at him with narrowed eyes and a confused look on her face. She looked at Estherlene. “You know what this fool is talking about?”

  “Junebug,” Estherlene said as if she were talking to a child, “rumor has it she found them.” She waggled her head. “You know. Bread-and-butter fashion.”

  “Oh. Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Sure she did. I was just telling Estherlene here that woman has sweet-talked—and Lord knows what else—just about any man on two legs.” She looked through the open window into the kitchen at her husband, Slick. “Except for Slick. He knows I won’t tolerate none of those shenanigans.”

  “You’re all the woman I need, Junebug,” Slick called through the window. “You’re the cheese to my macaroni.”

  “And you’re the milk to my cookie. Now get back to work. Table three’s waiting, sugar.” Her voice sounded harsh, but the smile and look that Junebug gave to her husband said that it was merely banter. The two were clearly crazy about each other.

  Clive seemed amused. “Is that how Patrick got his nickname?”

  Just then, Louetta Stafford and Tess Tremaine walked in. “What nickname? Who y’all gossiping about?” Louetta asked. She looked resplendent in a hot pink polka dot dress.

  “Moon Dobbins,” Junebug said, pouring coffee into a cup.

  “I call people by their given name. I don’t stand for all that foolishness,” Earl mumbled.

  “Everybody calls Patrick ‘Moon,’” Louetta said, sliding her ample bottom onto a counter stool. “Didn’t you know that? I thought everybody knew that. Is what how he got his nickname?”

  Tess slid onto a stool next to Louetta. “I don’t believe I know Mr. Dobbins, do I?”

  Estherlene, who was known for her big mouth and extensive knowledge of the goings-on in the community, answered her. “His wife found Tallulah and Moon in convivial society.”

  “And y’all think that’s how he got his nickname? I always thought it was on account of the cheeks on his face.” Junebug put a cup of coffee in front of Clive and Earl.

  “Junebug!” Tess clamped her hand over her mouth.

  “Now, Junie, don’t be ugly,” Clive cautioned. “Gimmee a piece of that buttermilk pie, will ya, darlin’?”

  “Sure.” She nodded in Earl’s direction. “Whatta you want, Earl?”

  “I’ll make it easy on you. Make it the same.”

  “You always do everything I do.” Clive slapped his hand down on the counter. “Why don’t you grow a brain and think for yourself?”

  “Then what would I need you for?” Earl winked at Junebug, and she went off to get their order.

  Estherlene spoke up, addressing Louetta and Tess. “You know she’s carrying on with Pete the Greek now, don’t cha? That’s what got us started on the subject. We seen them walking up yonder.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Clive grumped. “As my mother would say, we none have the promise of tomorrow, so enjoy today. Can’t fault old Pete for doing that. He’s a widower, you know.”

  Junebug came back with the pie. “My mama used to say a reputation is better ‘n great wealth.”

  “That’s Proverbs,” Estherlene corrected.

  “Nuh uh,” Clive said. “It’s Ecclesiastes.”

  “It’s both, y’all. To one degree or another.” Louetta asked for sweet tea and then said, “‘Course it would be nice to have both.”

  “Huh?” Clive said.

  Louetta took the glass of tea from Junebug. “A good reputation and great wealth. Keep up, will ya?”

  “Of course there was Claude Tally too,” Estherlene said.

  “What about Claude Tally?” Earl asked.

  “I heard he had a brush with Tallulah once.” Clive waggled his eyebrows.

  “If there’s one rat you can see, there’s gonna be fifty you can’t.” Junebug refilled everyone’s cup of coffee. As she set the pot back down on its burner, she turned to look out the diner’s plate glass window. “Now there’s a peculiar one.” She nodded her head toward the street. “Honey Winchester. She never met a man she didn’t like, if you know what I mean. Why, she’d steal one right out from under the best of us if given half a chance. She’s got the morals of an alley cat.”

  “Well, now that we’ve slandered half of Goose Pimple, who’s gonna talk to Pete the Greek?” Clive asked.

  “Will you just call the man Pete?” Earl mumbled.

  “Why do y’all call him Pete the Greek?” Tess looked from face to face.

  Everyone stared at her like she had two heads, but Louetta spoke up.

  “First of all, I’m right proud of you, Tessie. You’re talking more like a southerner everyday. Secondly, we call him Pete the Greek because he’s from Greece, darlin’.”

  “Why’s anybody gotta talk to him? It’s his private bidness.” Earl shook his head in disgust.

  “But he’s new in town,” Clive said. “He retired down here from upstate who-knows-where. He might not know about her checkered past. And what if he finds out about it when it’s too late? I think somebody oughtta tell him.”

  “You shouldenoughtta get involved.” Earl jabbed his finger at his friend.

  Clive jabbed his
finger back at Earl. “The man’s got a right to know he’s carrying on with a loose woman.”

  The opportunity to talk to Pete presented itself a few weeks later, right after his and Tallulah’s engagement was announced. Pete came into the diner and sat down next to Earl and Clive. Earl, knowing what Clive intended to do and wanting no part of it, politely excused himself, threw some bills on the counter, and left the diner.

  “That Earl.” Clive slowly shook his head. “I’ve known him since dirt was new. He’s good people, but a little high-strung, ya know?”

  “I expect he is,” Pete the Greek said in his thick accent.

  “Hireyew doing, Pete?”

  “Clive, if I was doing any better, I’d be twins.”

  Junebug arrived and Pete ordered coffee and a burger. Before she went to put in the order, she said, “I hear congratulations are in order. You gonna go and getcherself hitched?”

  “Looks a like, Ms. Junebug. I got a tired of waiting on Slick to keel over, so what choice did I a have?” He gestured to Slick with a big smile on his face.

  Clive’s ears perked up at the unknowing lead-in Pete had just given him. “Seems like a fine man of your caliber has a lot of choices.”

  “I think, as the locals around here say, I’ve made a right good choice.”

  “Well now, how long have you been on the market, Pete? Didn’t your wife pass not too long ago? What’s the rush?”

  “No rush. I just found a da woman I want to spend a da rest of my life with, and dat’s what we’re a gonna to do.”

  “How much do you really know about Tallulah?”

  Junebug set down Pete’s burger and coffee in front of him and gave a pointed look to Clive before she retreated to tend to a table in the back.

  “I know all I need to know, Clive.” Pete put ketchup on the hamburger.

  “Are you sure? You know, some women tell enough lies to ice a wedding cake.”

  Pickle came through the door, wearing a T-shirt that said: “I SPILL THINGS.” And sure enough, there was a big red stain on the left side of his shirt.

  “How do, Pickle? You come in to get some more food on your shirt?”

  Pickle stopped next to Clive, looking confused. “Uh . . . no, sir. I came in to meet Charlotte.”

  Clive clapped him on the back. “Well then, get on, son.” He turned back to Pete and hitched his thumb at Pickle’s retreating back. “That kid’s got clue deficit disorder.” Then in a nonchalant way that was so nonchalant it was obvious, he said, “You know anyone like that?”

  Pete looked him in the eye and smiled. “I suppose I do, Clive.”

  Clive worked on Pete for a little longer, getting nowhere. Pete was either too dense or too stubborn. Clive decided it was time to be blunt.

  “Pete, I like you.”

  “I lika you too, Clive.”

  “And I want what’s best for you.”

  “Thank you.” He took a bite and looked at Clive warily over the burger.

  “But I don’t think Tallulah is it.”

  “Is what?”

  Finally, Clive flatly said, “Pete, you have to know that she’s slept with half of the men in Goose Pimple Junction!”

  Pete was silent for a moment, showing no emotion on his face. He took another bite of his hamburger, chewed, and swallowed. Then he replied, “Goose Pimple Junction, she no big a da town.”

  A good attitude spreads like kudzu.

  ~Southern belief

  Lard was Slick’s secret ingredient. Nobody knew what made his food taste so good (so good that your feet couldn’t stay still) except for Slick and his wife, Junebug. His supply was getting low, so he headed over to Fern & Moody’s General Store. Moody Phillips had a few pigs on his farm and was Slick’s only source for lard. The store was known for its specialty items, but to Slick the most special item was the lard. As he walked to the store, he took his comb from his pocket and slicked back his hair. Guess how he got his nickname?

  Mayor Buck came out of the Muffin Man wiping his brow. “How do, Slick. Is it hot enough for you?”

  Slick nodded. “Yep.” He was a man of few words.

  “I tell you what, I’m about to roast. I’m gonna go on down to the office and not come out until the sun goes down. You take care now.” Buck clapped Slick on the back and began walking away.

  “Yep,” was Slick’s reply.

  Next he passed Honey Winchester, a P.E. teacher at the elementary school. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am? Aw, c’mon, I’m not that old, am I?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “I don’t rightly know,” Slick was sure however he answered that question, he would be in trouble. He tried to change the subject and said the first thing that came to mind. “Is it hot enough for you?”

  She waved her hand in the air and said over her shoulder, “It’s so hot Satan must be right around the corner.”

  Slick nodded and began walking again. He pulled a red bandana handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow as he waved to old man Hennepin who was sitting on a bench in front of the Second National Bank.

  “Slick, how in the world are you?” The old man lifted his face as Slick passed in front of him.

  “Doing all right. You?” He stuffed the bandana back in his pocket.

  “I tell you what, it’s too hot to do anything but breathe. If you go any faster than a mile per hour, you’re gonna work up a sweat. Don’t go doing nothing more than you have to on a day like this.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” Slick kept walking. He looked down the street and saw a cherry red ’54 Chevy truck coming his way. It went through a stop sign and had almost passed by Slick when the driver stepped on the brakes so hard it made the tires chirp.

  “Hey, Slick!” The driver leaned across the passenger seat and hollered out the open window.

  “Jackson.” Slick stopped walking and waved. He saw Jack motioning for him to come closer, so he weaved through the parked cars on the street and walked to the truck.

  “Listen, I’m trying to find that farm that sells those beeswax candles. You know the ones I’m talking about?”

  “Yep.” Slick nodded.

  “I’ve been up one road and down another. I can’t find it for the life of me. You know where it is?”

  “Yep.” Slick put his hands on the opening of the window and leaned in. “Take a left here.” He pointed to the four-way stop ahead. “Then go another left and head out of town. It’s on one of those old country roads – I can’t remember the name of it.” He stroked his chin. “It’s something like Pope Lick, Lizard Lick, Chapstick, but that don’t matter. As you approach it, you’ll see one of those road signs like a sideways T. You know what I’m talking about?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Hit your clicker and slow your speed when you see the sign because the road will come up on you before you know it. Take a right on that road and go about a mile. The farm’s on the left side of the road. You’ll see the big red barn before you see the house.”

  “Will do, Slick. Thanks a bunch. You have a real good day.”

  Slick stepped back from the truck and waved as Jack drove off. Standing on the hot pavement for that short of a time made him feel like he was sweating from every pore in his body. He hopped the curb and headed for A Blue Million Books, two doors down. He stepped inside and felt instant relief.

  Louetta Stafford came toward him. “You look like you’re about cooked. I tell you what, it’s so hot, I saw a bird pulling a worm out of the ground using potholders.”

  Slick looked down his nose at her. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “Well, I didn’t mean literally. Sheesh. Some people are just too durn serious around here. How’s Junebug put up with you anyhow?”

  He shrugged. “She appreciates my good qualities.”

  “There’s more than one?”

  “Well you don’t have to get snippety, Lou.”

  Lou playfully slapped his arm. “I�
��m just funning you. C’mon in.” She took his arm. “You here to browse or just take advantage of the bought air?”

  He looked sheepish. “The latter.”

  “All right. Sit yourself down in one of those comfy chairs. I’ll get you a magazine.”

  “Naw, that’s all right. I just wanted some momentary relief. I’m on a mission. I gotta get to it.” He turned and headed for the door.

  “All right then. I’ll see you later.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  She looked sharply at him.

  “Just funning you,” he said with a grin before ducking out the door.

  A shifty looking man was standing against the front of Fern & Moody’s General Store, and as Slick approached, he pushed off and walked toward Slick.

  “Holding up the wall there, dude?” Slick raised an eyebrow but kept walking.

  The man stepped in front of him. “Maybe I am. And maybe I want all your money.” He was breathing hard, and he brandished a gun.

  The color drained from Slick’s face. He felt his pants pockets and then his shirt pocket and stammered, “I, I don’t have any cash on me.” Several tense seconds passed before he added, “Will you take a check?”

  The man scowled. “No, fool, I will not take a check. How stupid do you think I am?”

  Slick regained his composure and leveled his gaze on the man. “Well, you’re standing in the middle of town trying to rob me. I’d say you’re one fish shy of a full string.”

  The man dropped the gun to his side and let out a breath as if a balloon had been popped. He seemed to shrink. “It’s my mother’s fault. I never was like this until I was born.” He shook his head morosely and searched Slick’s eyes. “I’m just so hungry, ya know?’

  “Tell you what do. You wait right here, and I’ll be out in a jiffy. We’ll g’won up to the diner and you can wash dishes for your supper.”

  “Really? You’d do that? What for?”

  Slick clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Because we ought to be more kind to one another in this world. You need help, and I can help, so that’s what I’m gonna do.” Slick took two steps then backtracked. Taking the gun from the man’s limp hand, he said, “Why don’t I just hold onto this for you?” He put the gun in his belt at the back of his trousers and pulled out his shirt to conceal it. Walking to the back of the store, he heard the whir of the meat slicer. Moody was standing next to it, a shocked expression on his face as he stared at his left hand, which was covered in blood. Slick hurried to him and saw that the man’s index finger was missing.