Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction (Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries Book 4) (13 page)

Hank and Velveeta escorted Jimmy Dean to the only interrogation room the GPJPD had. It was actually a former supply closet and didn’t hold anything but a table and four chairs, with barely enough room to pull the chairs out from the table. But it was better than the old interrogation room that doubled as the break room. Chief Butterfield said it was hard for suspects to take the officers seriously when they were staring at cheese puffs and Hawaiian Punch in vending machines.

Jimmy Dean’s father, Louis P. Howe, was the head of a law firm with offices on Main Street, just down from the town green. It wasn’t far from the police station, so just as Jimmy Dean had predicted, his father and associate were waiting when the three of them arrived. They let the lawyer talk to the client while Louis P. requested a conference with the officers and the chief.

“What’s all this nonsense about, Chief?” Louis sat in a chair and tugged at the sharp crease in his pants before he crossed his legs. He appeared nonchalant but had an air about him that suggested he was wound tighter than a three-day clock.

Johnny stood beside Louis’s chair, peering down at him, and said, “This
nonsense
, as you call it, is about your son vandalizing public property with spray paint on top of vandalizing the school the other day.”

Louis’s expression did not change as he scanned Johnny’s entire body. “Seriously? You got us down here on account of some art?”

“Vandalism is a crime, sir. We take all crimes seriously.”

“Slow day in the junction, I see,” he mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard. “And just because you
think
he vandalized those windows, you took the giant leap that he
surely
must be responsible for whatever transpired with some spray paint?” He looked down his nose and said condescendingly, “Come on, Chief. You’re smarter than that.”

“We have a witness who shared some interesting information. So I’m not leaping anywhere. You’re the one leaping, sir, assuming I’m charging Jimmy Dean. He’s just here to answer some questions. If he’s done nothing wrong, we’ll have y’all on your way right quick.”

“Okay.” Louis took out his checkbook from his coat pocket. “I understand you people need a little excitement in your lives. You don’t get to haul in many people and throw your
authority
around, do you? And my gosh, we must catch this vandal before another crime is committed, right?” Louis regarded the chief with pity. He put his checkbook on the edge of the desk and readied his pen to write. “Now that you’ve had your fun, how much to make this go away?”

Johnny considered the man until he looked up from his checkbook and met his eyes. “This is about more than money, sir. And I would hardly call it art. Are you suggesting your son was merely demonstrating his artistic skills when he spray-painted all those cars?”

“I’m suggesting you have no real proof. For all I know, this
witness
could have a grudge against my boy.”

Johnny interrupted him. “Sir—”

Louis held up his hand. “Let me finish, Chief.” He regarded him as a schoolteacher would a disruptive student. “I’m suggesting that there’s a conspiracy against my son and you simpletons will stop at nothing to frame him.” His voice rose. “I’m suggesting it will cost you and me a lot of money to pursue this, so why don’t we cut to the chase and let me rectify the situation while, of course, admitting no guilt on my son’s part.”

“Because that’s not the way we handle things around here, sir. When a law is broken, we prosecute the perpetrator. This matter
will
most likely be settled with restitution being paid to the business owner. But that’s for a court to decide. Not me. Your son has to learn that he can’t go around doing whatever he pleases in this world and depend on his daddy to fix his problems. Furthermore, I’d like to ask your son about some other incidents of mischief that have occurred around town recently. I swore to uphold the law, and that’s what I intend to do. Are we standing on the same corner?” It was Johnny’s turn to look scathing.

Louis twisted the point back into the pen before returning it and his checkbook to his inside coat pocket. “I understand perfectly what you’re saying, Chief.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some questions for your son.” Johnny stood and started for the door.

Louis shot up and followed the chief. “He’s a minor, and I demand to be present when you question him.”

In a tired tone, Johnny said, “Follow me. But you’ll have to stand in the doorway. The room literally isn’t big enough for all of us.”

Mama always said . . . When your mom is mad at your dad, don’t let her brush your hair.

T
he morning after the party, Caledonia was talking to Pickle when Phil walked into the kitchen and into the middle of their conversation.

“. . . so if you’re not working today, I was wondering if you could watch Peanut for a little while.”

Phil butted in. “Don’t you ever stay home, Cali? Where you running off to today?” He got the orange juice from the refrigerator.

Caledonia waited for Pickle’s answer.

“I guess so.” Pickle moped. “But you gotta tell him he has to mind me.”

“Okay, darlin’. I’ll have a talk with him.” She turned to Phil and said coolly, “I’m meeting a new girl up at Miss Penny’s.”

“What for?”

“We got to talking last night, and I offered to take her to Miss Penny’s.” She muttered under her breath, “Like you want to know or care about what we’ll be doing.”

“So you’re going shopping again. Wonderful.” He snatched the paper off the counter, threw it on the kitchen table, and dropped into a chair. “How are you gonna pay? Your looks?”

“Did I say I was going to buy something? I said I was meeting a friend—”

“Yeah, but since when have you ever stepped foot in a dress store and not come out carrying a bag?”

“Daddy.” Pickle gave a warning shake of his head. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re not.” Phil snapped the newspaper out in front of him, effectively cutting off all discussion.

Caledonia wiped the same spot on the countertop that she’d wiped twice since Phil’s arrival in the kitchen. Pickle got up and left the room.

Twisting around to her husband, the sponge stuck out of her hand propped on a hip. “Why do you have to be so hateful? You like to never say anything nice to me.”

“If there was something nice to say, I’d say it.” He flicked the newspaper to get the kinks out. “By the way, I may not be home for dinner tonight.”

She turned back to the counter to compulsively wipe it some more. “Well, when will you know? I need a little warning so I can figure out dinner.”

He curled the corner of the paper down and looked over the top at her. “You haven’t already planned what you’re fixing?” He might as well have added, ‘What kind of a housewife are you, anyway?’ because that’s what hung in the air unspoken.

With her back to him, she flashed a most satisfied grin. “Actually, I have. We’re having chicken livers.”

She turned and saw the scowl on his face, which told her the meal choice had hit its target as intended. “While you’re up, why’nt you get me some coffee?” Phil held his coffee mug in the air as he resumed reading his paper.

Caledonia stuck out her tongue at the outstretched newspaper as she filled her husband’s mug with coffee and put the pot on the table harder than was necessary. “Excuse me,” she said in the most polite tone she could muster, “I have to go put on my face.”

“Please do,” he spat.

Tears swam in Caledonia’s eyes. She felt like she’d been slapped. “That was cruel.”

“Deal with it,” Phil said from behind his paper.

“Morning,” Wynona said as she entered Miss Penny’s Dress Shop.

“Good morning to you, hon. Can I help you?” Miss Penny came around the counter.

“I’m supposed to meet someone here. We’re just going to browse, I think.”

“Oh? Who are you meeting?”

“Caledonia Culpepper.” When Wynona saw the expression on Miss Penny’s face, she had to inquire. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong. We go a long way back. I hate to say it, but the only thing that separates her from white trash is her rich husband.” Miss Penny crossed her arms and craned her neck to look out the window. She moved closer to Wynona conspiratorially. “You don’t mind me speaking plainly, do you?”

Wynona ducked her chin. “I thought you just did.”

“Let’s just say that Caledonia nearly lives up to her potential as a dumb blonde. I mean, who names their children Pickle and Peanut?” Penny peered over her bifocals at Wynona, giving her a know-it-all look.