2 Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction (32 page)

“If there’s something I can think of for you to do, I’ll sure let you know, but you got your teaching, and Butterbean to care for, and the funeral tomorrow. You’re going to be busier than a one-legged woman at the IHOP.”

That made her smile.

“You know, you’re beautiful all the time, but when you smile, man alive, you pretty much turn me into a puddle.”

“Oh, Johnny.” Her eyes went to her lap, and she tucked her hair behind her ear in a self-conscious gesture.

“I mean it, sweet pea.” He stopped when he saw the strained look on her face. “What? What did I say?”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” She suddenly had an agitated air, and Johnny didn’t know why.

“You don’t like to be called sweet pea?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just . . .” Her hands were in her lap now, and she fidgeted–almost wringing–them. “It’s just . . . someone left a sweet pea on my desk not too long ago.” She looked up at him. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

“No, Mart. It wasn’t me. I swear. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It happened the day I called you about Lenny watching me over at school. Remember? You came and took me home and we followed Butterbean on her bike?”

“I remember.” Their eyes met, and they both knew the other remembered it was also the day they kissed.

“We kinda sorta had enough going on then.” She cleared her throat.

Johnny reached for her hand, squeezed it tight, and leaned toward her. “I’ve thought a lot about that day.”

“Me, too.” She leaned in, their faces just inches apart. Johnny suddenly sat up straight. The abrupt change startled Martha Maye, and she moved back.

“Is that the last gift you got?” he asked. “The sweet pea? Have there been any more?”

Again she diverted her eyes to her lap and smoothed a crease in her skirt. “Actually, no. And yes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No, it’s not the last gift I got. Yes, there’ve been more.”

“Good night, nurse,” Johnny swore. “Why don’t you tell me these things when they happen, Mart? I’m the blessed police chief. How can I protect you if I don’t know all that’s going on? When did you get something else?”

“The night Lenny died,” she said softly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. It was a pumpkin with a heart carved out of it. I figured it was from Lenny, and that’s why he was at my house. I didn’t think I needed to worry about it any more. Since he’s . . .”

“On the dance floor for the last horizontal tango?” Johnny finished for her. Martha Maye grinned and he said, “There it is again. That beautiful smile.” He leaned in again and put his hand to her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I’d like to do that more often.”

She looked at him questioningly, and he clarified, “Make you smile.” He came closer still. With his lips against hers, he added, “And I’d like to do this more often, too.”

All the buzzards will come to the mule’s funeral.

~Southern Proverb

“I’
m ready.” Butterbean came into her mother’s bedroom and plopped down on the bed, looking sadder than a weeping willow in frost.

“Don’t waller around like that, you’ll mess up your dress,” Martha Maye snapped. She saw the hurt look on Butterbean’s face and went to her, smoothing her hair.

“You all right, peaches?” Martha Maye cupped her daughter’s chin, forcing her face upward so she could look into her eyes.

“I’m all right, Mama.” She pulled her eyes away from her mother’s and fidgeted with the blue bow on the front of her dress. Without looking up, she asked, “Are you sad, Mama?”

Martha Maye sat down and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Yes, sweetie, I
am
sad. I may have been divorcing your daddy, but he was still your daddy, and I’m sad he’s gone. I know you are, too. You just come talk to me anytime you want, okay? It’s important for you to get your feelings out, and it’s important for us to always speak our minds with each other.”

Butterbean nodded, and Martha Maye kissed her daughter and went to the mirror to put on her lipstick.

“Mama, do you like Chief Butterfield?” Martha Maye met her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. “You know, do you
like
, like him?” Butterbean stood uncertainly beside the bed, nervously twisting her fingers around the big bow at her waist.

“Well, Bean, I suppose I do. Is that all right with you?” She leaned close to the mirror to apply her lipstick.

“Uncle T says it’s unseemly for you to be dating so soon after Daddy died.”

“Oh he does, does he? I’ll have to remind T. Harry to keep his straw out of my Kool-Aid.”

“He says your business is his business. He says he’s the head of the family now. He says he has to watch out for us.”

Martha Maye capped the lipstick tube and set it down. She turned and grabbed Butterbean’s arms, pulling her to the bed again, where they sat facing each other.

“Honey pie, it’s sad, and I know it’s not something you’ll fully understand for quite a while, but your mama and daddy’s marriage has been over for a long time. I’m not promiscuous, and I wouldn’t do anything to bring shame on this family, but I do like Johnny an awful lot, and I think he likes me back. Right now we’re just two good friends, but I’d like to see if we can be more than that. There isn’t anything wrong with me doing that. You understand?”

Butterbean nodded and Martha Maye added, “The heart wants love, the soul wants friendship. I forget who said that, but it’s true.”

“I saw you two kissing,” Butterbean said accusingly.

“Oh honey, that’s what grown-ups do when they like each other, but good Southern girls don’t sleep around, and you have my word on that, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.”

After several moments of silence, Martha Maye said, “You know, I probably should have waited until the divorce was final to kiss Johnny. I’m sorry I didn’t wait, but me liking Johnny doesn’t mean I’m not sad your daddy is gone.”

Butterbean nodded but was unable to look at her mother.

“You ready to go?” Martha Maye stood up and smoothed her skirt with her hands.

“I guess so.”

On the way out the door, Butterbean said, “Mama, what’s ‘miscuous’?”

“There are more people here than you can shake a stick at,” Martha Maye whispered to her mother as they waited for the funeral service to begin. “More than I expected, that’s for sure.”

“It was good of everybody to come. Are you sure you don’t want to be seated last?”

“I’m sure. It doesn’t seem proper to play the grieving widow, and I don’t want to parade Butterbean down the aisle in front of everyone.”

Lou craned her head around to see who was in attendance. “Looks like all the Nosey Nellies in town have come to gawk, but all your friends came for
you
, darlin’, not Lenny.”

“Do you see Johnny?”

“Yes. He’s sitting with Tess and Jack.” She patted her daughter’s hand and held onto it. Butterbean took her mother’s other hand.

Martha Maye felt bad that T. Harry and Butterbean were the only ones who were mourning.
But he made his bed. Now he’s gotta lie in it.
She looked at the casket and heard Lenny’s voice in her head say, “Literally.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle.

Later that day after dark, Johnny and Jack drove down the deserted country road toward the Magnolia Bar, talking about the funeral. “It was more than he deserved, I can tell you that,” Jack said.

They pulled into the bar’s parking lot, gravel popping under the tires. As the headlights swept over the lot, they illuminated Pickle pulling away in his red pickup truck.

“What in tarnation is Pickle doing in a bar parking lot?” Johnny asked, craning his neck to watch the taillights on Pickle’s truck grow smaller and smaller.

“Good question.” Both their eyes searched the parking lot to see if anyone else was around, maybe meeting Pickle, but they saw only empty cars.

“You don’t suppose he was buying weed or something, do you? The Mag Bar attracts all kinds.” Johnny parked the car.

“I don’t think so.” Jack looked to the side and behind him, “Besides, there’s nobody else around.”

“I tell you what,” Johnny said as they got out of the car, “I’ll be speaking to Pickle about this the next time I see him.”

They walked into the Mag Bar, looking like two friends wanting to kick back with a couple of beers, which they were, in fact, but they were also there for information.

“Help ya?” Bartender Cash Wily asked, slapping two napkins on the bar, as the men sat down on stools.

“Two Blue Moons.” Jack looked at Johnny for approval, and he nodded.

When Cash put the bottles in front of the men, he said to Jack, “You only hang out with lawmen these days?”

Jack gave him a confused look, and the bartender said, “You’s in here the other night with Officer Beanblossom. Looks like you moved up the totem pole bringing in the chief. You gonna come in with the mayor next?”

“Oh.” Jack nodded. “He’s actually a civilian at the moment.” He bobbed his head toward Johnny.

“Zat so?” Cash said.

Both men nodded.

“How come?”

“Conflict of interest,” Johnny said. “I’m just taking a short leave.” He took another pull from the bottle. “Ah, that tastes good. My mouth was as dry as Melba toast.”

“Conflict about what?”

Johnny looked uneasy, so Jack answered. “Has to do with Lenny Applewhite.”

Cash wiped a glass clean and grunted. “You ask me, I say it was a jealous husband who killed Lenny.”

“Yeah?” Jack said.

“Yep. Lenny was in here practically every night picking up women. Some were married.” He shook his head. “The stories he used to tell me.”

Jack and Johnny exchanged looks. “Like what?” Jack said.

Cash leaned on his forearms toward the men so he could talk confidentially. “This one woman he picked up, he mentioned to her to stop by Big Darryl D’s sometime and he’d get her a real good deal on a car.” Cash’s eyes scanned over both men’s shoulders, and he looked side to side to see if anyone was listening. The bar was busy, but no one was close by. Deciding it was safe, he continued.

“So she shows up—
with her husbin
.” He waited for the men to react, and they didn’t disappoint. Jack dropped his chin and gave Cash a look of disbelief. Johnny, who had just taken a pull from the bottle, almost spewed beer in the bartender’s face.