2 Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction (41 page)

A short man wearing a khaki poplin suit and a salt-and-pepper bottlebrush mustache that matched his hair appeared at the doorway. Johnny stood up to greet him and put out his hand.

“I’m Chief Butterfield.”

Shaking the chief’s hand, the man said, “I’m Detective Rusty Squares from Nashville. You got a minute to talk?” He handed Johnny his business card.

“Sure thing, Detective Squares. Have a seat.” Johnny glanced at the card, noticed the man’s last name was actually spelled S-q-u-i-r-e-s, and corrected himself. “I mean, Detective Squires.”

The detective nodded. “It’s all right. I get that a lot.” The man’s Southern accent rolled off his tongue thicker than his moustache.

Johnny returned to his seat, folded his hands on his desk, and studied the man. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I’m investigating a murder, Chief. I have a forty-year-old victim by the name of Joe Bob Mossbourn, and I’m looking for a person of interest by the name T. Harry Applewhite. I’ve been searching for him for some time. He’s wanted for questioning, and I heard he might be down here.”

“Well, he was. I’m afraid you just missed him. I believe he left town yesterday. Hold on.” He held up one finger. “Let me make sure of that.”

Johnny looked in the phone book, then punched in some numbers. While he waited for the call to be answered, he told the detective, “I’ll put it on speaker phone.”

“Stay A Spell Hotel, Sydney Greenbottom speaking. How can I help you?”

“Syd, this is Chief Butterfield.”

“Howdee, Chief. Hireyew?”

“Fine, fine. You?”

“Not too good, actually. I messed up my leg in an ATV accident.”

“Ouch. What did you want to go and do a fool thing like that for?”

“It’s my nature, I suppose.”

“I see. You best take it easy until it heals. Listen, you had a fella named Applewhite—”

“You mean T. Harry?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Yep. He’s in room 301.”

Johnny sat up straight. “You mean he hasn’t checked out yet?” He picked up a pen from his desk as he talked and clicked it in and out.

“No. He’s still here. I saw him drive off about an hour ago.”

Johnny scribbled something on a piece of paper. “And you’re sure he didn’t check out?”

“I’m sure. He said he’d be here indefinitely. I gave him the long-term rate.”

“Which way’d he go?” Johnny bopped the pen on the desk blotter.

“He turned left out of the lot, which would take him up toward Helechewa.”

“Okay, that’ll do it. Thank you a lot. Hey—think you could give me a call when he returns?”

“I s’ppose. But I’ll be going off shift after while. I doubt Junior would remember.”

“Okay. Just do your best.”

He hung up and looked at the detective. “I’d like to talk to Mr. T. Harry myself. Why don’t I get an officer in here to help you look. Y’all can bring him in, and we can both get down to business.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Johnny pressed the intercom button. “Bernadette, would you have Officers Beanblossom and Witherspoon come to my office?”

Bernadette shouted, “Sure thing, Chief.”

Johnny grimaced. “She’s good people, but why the woman feels the need to yell into an intercom is beyond me.”

A few minutes later, the officers appeared in the doorway. Both men stood for the introductions. “Detective, this is Officer Witherspoon and Officer Beanblossom.”

Rusty stuck out his hand and said, “Detective Rusty Squares, nice to meetcha.”

They shook hands and Hank said, “Likewise, Detective Squares.”

Johnny looked at the detective with apologetic eyes. “Let’s get this over with right quick. The name’s
Squires
, with an
i
not an
a
.”

“Your people aren’t the Bugscuffle Squires, are they?” Hank asked.

“Naw, afraid not.”

“He’s investigating a murder up in Nashville. Wants to talk to T. Harry Applewhite. Syd says he’s still in town—”

“But left the hotel about an hour ago,” the detective interjected.

Witherspoon narrowed her eyes and asked, “You drive a dark SUV?”

The detective’s forehead wrinkled. “No. A Crown Vic. Why?”

“Somebody in a dark SUV was looking for Lenny. Just wondering.”

Johnny took command. “Beano, I want you to take the detective around and find Applewhite. Witherspoon, let’s you and me go on over to the Mag Bar. I have a few more questions for Cash.”

By the time Johnny and Velveeta walked into the bar a little after three, she’d filled him in on her talk with Big Darryl D, and he’d filled her in on his previous talk with Cash and his visits to the three couples’ homes.

“I’m really liking those two hooligans in the dark SUV for the murder, Chief. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Johnny nodded and took off his sunglasses as he pushed through the door into the dim interior.

Cash Wily was behind the bar setting up, with his back to them. “We’re not o—,” he stopped midsentence when he turned and saw who had come into the bar.

“Oh, it’s the law. You here on o-fficial or un-o-fficial bidness this time?”

“
Official
,” Johnny said. “I checked out all the names you gave me.”

“Yeah?” Cash looked indifferent.

“Yeah. Got nothing. You’ve had some time, and I thought maybe you might’ve remembered someone else who was in here talking to Lenny.”

“Or something else about the two men who came in looking for him,” Velveeta put in. “Anything come to mind?”

Cash laughed. “Nope. Didn’t talk to them but the one time. Y’all want something to drink?”

“I could wet my whistle. Got Mtn Dew?” Johnny asked.

“Sure,” Cash got a clean glass, added some ice, and shoved it under the soda dispenser, filling it up. When he turned to set the glass on the bar, his face brightened up. “I know who!” He slapped the bar lightly. “I mean, I don’t know who exactly, but I seen somebody.”

“Come again?” Velveeta said.

“I don’t know the woman’s name, but I do remember her hitting on Lenny a bunch of times, but she wasn’t ever successful. He always brushed her off like a gnat.”

“Can you describe her?” Johnny got out his notebook and pen.

“Well, lessee. She was probably in her sixties, maybe older, it’s hard telling not knowing. Blondish hair that looked like a dye job. Wore a lot of spackle on her face.”

Johnny looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“Makeup. She was always heavy on the makeup. Dressed younger ‘n her age, if you ask me, but not nothing trampy-like.”

“Height?”

“Oh, I’m never good at that.” Cash held his hand out sideways in front of his torso. “Uh, I guess, right about here. What would that be? Around five-two? She was petite.”

“Was she ever with anybody?”

“Nope. Always alone. What made me remember her is she always asked for a Mtn Dew. She didn’t drink nothing but the Dew.”

“Did she have any distinguishing features?” Velveeta asked.

Cash looked blankly at her.

“You know, a big nose, or no lips, or big boobs, or three eyes?”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Yeah, she did kind of have what you’d call
prominent
ears. And big hair. She was real tan too.” He rubbed at a spot on the bar, lost in thought, and then added, “And she smoked a lot. Man alive, she sure liked her cigarettes and her Mtn Dew.”

Johnny and Velveeta looked at each other.

“You thinking about who I’m thinking about?” Johnny’s eyebrows tented as he looked at Velveeta.

“Yeah, but that can’t be. Can it?”

“Y’all know who I’m talking about?” Cash’s face showed true surprise. “Cool! Do I get a reward?”

“For describing a woman?” Johnny said incredulously.

“You know, maybe a tip or something?” Cash said, with less certainty.

Johnny downed the Mtn Dew, put the glass back on the bar, and said, “Here’s your tip: Never slap a man who’s chewing tobacco.”

Cash scowled at him, and Johnny slapped some bills on the bar. “Just kidding. Here you go. Use it in good health. Thanks for the help.”

When they were back in the car, Velveeta said, “Now what? You don’t actually like
her
for the killer, do you? That doesn’t make as much sense as the two men, Chief.”

“As a matter of fact—” Abruptly, Johnny stopped talking. Throwing the cruiser into gear, he said, “Shoot fire. There goes Pickle Culpepper. That’s the second time I’ve seen his skinny butt coming from out back there.” He flipped his lights and siren on and tore out of the gravel parking lot after Pickle’s truck, spraying dirt and gravel.

“What are you doing?” Velveeta held onto the door as the car fishtailed and then righted. “Coming from behind a bar ain’t against the law.”

“I have a few questions for him. If he’s dealing or buying, I aim to put a stop to it right quick.” They caught up to Pickle and pulled off to the side of the road behind his red pickup truck.

Velveeta followed Johnny to Pickle’s driver’s side window. Pickle looked scared and confused.

“Son, I thought we had an understanding about you being over there at the Mag Bar.”

“Yessir,” Pickle gulped visibly, his face so white his freckles looked painted on.

“Would you kindly state your business?”

“I’m not doing nothing, Chief. I swear.”

“Did you think I was kidding before?”

“No sir, but I ain’t done nothing–”

“Step out of the vehicle, son.” As Pickle obeyed the order, Johnny glanced at his T-shirt:
EASILY DISTRACTED BY SHINY OBJECTS.

“God, give me strength and patience,” Johnny muttered under his breath, swiping his hand over his face.

“Chief, I swear! I ain’t up to nothing.”

“I don’t understand what you think he’s done, Chief.”

“Come with me.” Johnny’s tone was firm and professional, and he could see he was clearly scaring the fire out of Pickle.
Good.

Pickle and Johnny got into the cruiser, and Pickle said, “Seriously, Chief. I was just doing a favor for—”

Johnny interrupted him. “Weren’t you in trouble with the law once before, not too far back?”

Pickle ran his hands through his hair and held them against his head as if he were holding his brains in.

“Yessir, but I learned my lesson. I surely did.” He put his hands in his lap, leaving his hair sticking out in several places.

“Well then, you need your sleeves lengthened a few feet so they can be tied in the back.”

“Huh?”

Johnny rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Straightjacket.”

“Chief, let the boy talk.” Velveeta stood by the open passenger door.

“All right. Out with it. But it better be good.”

Pickle took a deep breath and said, “I been trying to tell you. I was just doing a favor for Charlotte. She asked me to deliver a box, and that’s all I did.”

“A box? What was in it?”

“I don’t know, Chief. I never asked. I trust Charlotte. She wouldn’t do nothing bad. Honest.”

“Who did you give the box to?”

“Nobody,” Pickle said, rubbing his eye and blinking fast.

“Pickle . . .” Johnny’s voice held a warning tone.

“No really, I swear. She said to take the box, put it on the picnic table out there behind the Mag Bar. She said it was for a friend. So that’s what I did.”

Johnny took a deep breath and stared through the windshield. “Go check it out, Witherspoon, while he and I chat some more.”

Five minutes later, Velveeta returned, reporting that there was no box behind the Mag Bar.

“They must’ve come and got it,” Pickle insisted.

“Did you search the area?”

“Yeah, but you know what it’s like back there. The bar backs up to woods. Anyone can come and go through there, sight unseen.”

“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.”