Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction (Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries Book 4) (17 page)

The store bell sounded again, signaling the arrival of another customer.

“Well, never mind. We’d best get to work.”

When Pickle started for the stock room, Lou noticed what his T-shirt said on the back:
THE LAST TIME I REACHED FOR THE STARS I PULLED A MUSCLE
. She shook her head and went to greet the hippie-looking woman who had just stepped into the store.

“Hidee, sugar. Weren’t you here last night with Hank?”

“Yes, I was. Lovely party.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you could come, uh . . . What did you say your name was?” Lou looked expectantly at the woman.

“Trixie. My name’s Trixie.”

“Oh yeah! I remember now. We don’t have any other Trixies around here. Yeah, we like to do it up right. Tess deserved it. Are you looking for anything impa tickler?”

“I just thought I’d browse a bit. Perfect day to get lost in a book.”

“Honey, any day is a perfect day to get lost in a book, but I take your point. You stay long’s you want. Has the rain let up any?” Louetta twisted around to look out the window.

“A bit. It’s still pretty nasty out there.”

“Well, a little rain never killed anybody. Holler if you need anything.” Lou went behind the counter and picked up the phone.

“Tessie? What in God’s green land is going on in this town? Did you hear—”

Tess interrupted, “I can’t really talk right now, Lou. I’m at Caledonia’s house. There’s been an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” Lou’s voice boomed across the store, and she noticed Trixie watching her. Lou smiled and turned her back to the customer, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. “Is Caledonia all right?”

“Caledonia’s fine. We’ll explain when we see you.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know. Soon as we can. I promise.”

Louetta hung up muttering, “Don’t that beat all.” She bustled around the store, working off her nervous energy. It wasn’t long before she looked up to see Martha Maye walk in.

“Hey, darlin’. Did you get Butterbean over to your Aunt Imy’s all right?”

“Just like always. It’s cute how they each think they’re babysitting the other.” She studied her mother’s face. “You don’t seem right. What’s the matter?”

Lou took her daughter’s arm and led her to the office. She told her all she knew and begged her daughter to call Johnny.

“Mama, I can’t call him to ask about gossip. What’s gotten into you?”

Lou sighed and sank into her office chair. “You’re right. I’m just so anxious to know what’s going on. Tess’s voice sounded grim.”

An hour later, Lou looked out her office door to see who’d come into the store. When she saw Officer Skeeter Duke, she rushed to him, Martha Maye on her heels.

“Skeeter, what in tarnation is going on?”

Skeeter’s face was drawn. “Y’all won’t believe this, but we’ve had another homicide.”

The women grabbed each other. Lou said, “Sweet Jesus and Mary Jane.”

Martha Maye said, “Is Johnny—”

The officer held his hands up. “Johnny’s fine.”

“Who got killed?”

Skeeter looked around the store and pulled the women in close. “It was Miss Penny.”

They gasped. Lou slumped into a nearby chair. “Well, I’ll be battered and fried. Penny wasn’t the most genteel woman in town, but who’d want to kill her?”

“That’s what we’re gonna have to find out.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the crime scene?”

“I was, but Johnny told me to come up here and give all y’all the news so you wouldn’t worry. Maybe you could break it to Pickle and Peanut about a murder at their house? I gotta go tell Miss Penny’s employee and then get back.”

“What about Oren? Has anyone told him?”

“The chief’s going to break it to him personally.”

Skeeter left, and Martha Maye sunk into a chair next to her mother, seeming completely flummoxed.

“Mama, what are we gonna do?” Martha Maye looked like she was about to cry. “Tank Marshall and Lenny’s murders were shocking enough, but Miss Penny! She’s practically a pillow of the community.”

“Martha Maye, it’s pillar. And we’re gonna make a casserole; that’s what we’re gonna do. Now, go get a pencil. We need to make a shopping list.”

Lou noticed Trixie lingering nearby and realized she must have overheard their conversation.

She rushed over to the woman. “Don’t you worry none, hon. This here’s a safe town.”

Martha Maye returned and blurted out, “These days it seems like it’s one murder after another if you ask me.” She slapped a hand over her mouth.

Mother and daughter glanced nervously at each other and then at Trixie, who looked alarmed. Lou conceded, “Well, this technically makes three in recent history. But the first two were of an unsavory sort—”

“Mama!”

“Well, they were.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“I think I’ll end my stay here a little early.” Trixie’s face had gotten white, and she began backing toward the door. “I don’t like discord of any kind. Especially dead bodies.”

“Well, now see—”

Peanut suddenly appeared at Lou’s side. “Um . . . Ms. Louetta, that boy’s taking off with more than he came in with.” He pointed to Jimmy Dean who was making a beeline for the door.

Lou’s face scrunched up. “That little turkey. I see his game now. First he comes in and makes me believe he stole something, so I confront him, and he makes a fool out of me. He thinks that gives him the green light to come in and take whatever he wants, and I won’t say anything out of fear of being humiliated again.”

“Mama, what are you going to do?”

“I have an idea,” Lou said with a gleam in her eye. “He will rue the day he thought he could mess with Louetta Stafford, let me tell you.”

She turned, trying to decide whether to tell Trixie that Goose Pimple Junction really was a crime-free town or lecture Jimmy Dean on his sins, but both were gone.

Wynona and Jimmy Dean hit the door at the same time. Both were in a hurry to get out of the store and collided after they did a little dance of
you first, no you go ahead
until finally both tried to push through at the same time. There was a collective “Oomph” followed by “Oh, good grief” from her and an expletive from him. She glared at him, brought her purse strap up tighter on her shoulder, and pushed ahead. Jimmy Dean took advantage of the moment, reaching in and lifting out her wallet. He was relieved when she hotfooted it around the corner, obviously not detecting the slight movement his hand made when it dipped into her purse.

Jimmy Dean hung back to open the wallet, pulling out several credit cards and IDs.
IDs
—
plural!
Dumbfounded, he sifted through the contents of her wallet: three drivers’ licenses under three different names and three different women, and three credit cards matching the names on the licenses.
This is gold
.

The teenager began walking while studying his bounty.
Something’s familiar about all three women
, he thought. He was so engrossed in inspecting Trixie Cochran’s license, he plowed right into someone. When he raised his head, the woman was glaring at him with her arms crossed over her midsection.

When he stepped back, she held out a hand. “I believe you have something of mine, Poop.”

“Several somethings, huh?” he snorted, the triumphant expression on his face turning to annoyed when her name for him registered. “And would you please stop calling me that?”

“You’re gonna need to come with me.” Wynona took his arm and firmly led him to her car.

She put him in the passenger seat and headed around the front to the driver’s side. He lifted his phone in the air as she entered the car. Then his thumbs typed furiously on the small keypad, and he finally looked up with a satisfied smile on his face. “So what are you, an identity thief? A hustler? A con artist? Whatever you are, I’m in.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to teach me what you know. I want to have a little fun in life. You teach me everything you know about breaking the law and I won’t tell a soul what I know.”

“Or I could just take you out of town, kill you, and dump your body.”

He laughed nervously and ran his sweaty palms across his thighs. “Naw, you won’t do that. I just took your picture and sent it to my friend. Told him I had a hot date with you. But if I turn up dead, you’re the first person they’ll look at. Jordan will make sure of that.”

Wynona let out a heavy sigh. “Look, kid, I’m not into anything. I’m hiding from my abusive ex-husband; that’s all. That’s why I have three identities. Period. End of story.”

He studied her with an eyebrow raised. “You really ‘spect me to believe that?”

“You don’t have any proof otherwise.”

“Still, I could go to the law and tell ‘em what I know.”

“You think they’d believe a punk-ass kid like you? Think again.”

“I heard that police officer talking about a murder. I think they’d be interested in someone who just happens to be walking around with three IDs on the day a murder is committed in town.” He studied her face and a diabolical grin crossed his. “You did it, didn’t you?”

Wynona flung her hand in the air. “Wow. That was quite a leap. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You got an alibi for this afternoon?”

“Of course I do.” She adjusted her glasses.

“Bet you don’t.” The rascally smile returned.

She scrutinized him. “You go telling the police anything and my ex is bound to hear about it. How much you want?”

“I don’t want money. I got that coming out my ears. I want knowledge. I want a mentor.”

“Let me think about it, kid.”

He stuck out his hand. “Jimmy Dean Howe at your service.”

Mama always said . . . You’ve got to be 10% smarter than the equipment you’re running.