2 Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction (18 page)

Martha Maye began to laugh. “You did? Oh, I wish I’d seen his face. I’ll bet it was all puckered up like he’d been sucking on a lemon.”

“Mart, something’s not right with that boy. He concerns me.” He slowly turned the cookie in his hands. “He’s threatening me in public, essentially stalking you, and possibly sending you anonymous gifts. What’s he going to do next?”

Quiet for a bit, she took in his words. He ate a cookie, and she sipped her tea. The kitchen was quiet. Too quiet. Only the sound of a ticking clock could be heard.

Johnny cleared his throat. “And Martha Maye, there’s something else he said.” She looked up at him. “He told everyone who would listen that you and I are sleeping together.”

Martha Maye got up and moved to the sink to pour more tea even though her glass was almost full. Her hands shook in anger. How dare Lenny act like that after the way he’d treated her? “And that’s why you threatened him?” Martha Maye said softly, turning toward him.

“I won’t tolerate him talking about you that way.” He stood up and rubbed the back of his neck, a move that made his bicep bulge. Martha Maye noticed it. He wasn’t a body builder type, but the man did have muscles. Her gaze traveled from his arms to his eyes.

“Doesn’t seem fair, him accusing us of”—she waved her hand in the air—”of
that
, when we haven’t even kissed.” Martha Maye’s nerves were raw. She looked at Johnny’s lips, and her gaze moved slowly back to his eyes. Butterflies floated around in her stomach, and her mouth went dry.

“No, no it doesn’t,” he said, coming closer to her and holding her gaze. His six-foot-five frame towered over her five-foot-six body. They stood so close they were almost touching. Martha Maye made the first move by touching his arm, and their eyes locked.

He bent his head and put his lips softly to hers. She wound her hands around his neck and squeezed into him, returning the kiss. He brought his hands up and cupped her face, deepening the kiss. A soft hum came from her throat, and she matched his enthusiasm. He pulled away and looked questioningly into her eyes, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. Then his lips found hers again. They held the kiss, a kiss that was three months in the making, a kiss she’d wanted since the moment she ran into his arms at the end of her kidnapping ordeal.

At the sound of running feet, they jumped away from each other, as Butterbean and Maddy Mack came racing into the kitchen. Martha Maye’s hand went up to her mouth.

Butterbean hesitated, looking from her mother to Johnny, and then said, “Mama, can Maddy Mack have a cookie, and can we watch some TV for a while?”

“Sure.” Martha Maye rubbed her index finger and thumb against her mouth. “If you say ‘may.’”

“Um, I’d best get back to work before they put an APB out on me.” Johnny started for the door, and Martha Maye followed.

“We’re still on for Saturday night aren’t we?” he said, opening the front door.

“Yes.” She grinned from ear to ear. As Johnny headed to his car, her eyes followed. Her mind on Johnny, only for a second did she register a BMW with tinted windows slowly driving past.

The distance to the next milepost depends on the mud in the road.

~Southern Proverb

O
n Saturday night, Martha Maye pulled her Toyota Camry into the parking lot of the restaurant at the Buttermilk Hill Inn, a country inn about thirty miles outside of Goose Pimple Junction, where Johnny and she had arranged to meet. She’d taken great care in dressing and left Butterbean with Honey and Maddy Mack. Tess had talked her into buying a dress she would have never picked out on her own. She hadn’t worn anything this revealing in her entire life, and she felt very self-conscious, which only added to the butterflies in her stomach.

She walked into the inn’s cozy dining room, and the maître d’ led her to the corner table by the window, where Johnny waited. She wondered if he was as nervous as she felt. Probably not, she decided. That would be impossible. She flexed her damp palms, pasted on a smile, and tried to walk with confidence, but she felt awkward.

Johnny stood to hold the chair for her, and she saw him swallow. “Wow. You look absolutely amazing, Martha Maye.”

“Thank you, Johnny,” she said, putting her hand to her chest, where she’d pinned the plunging neckline so that it wasn’t quite so plunging. She still felt like it showed off more than it should. “Thank you for understanding about meeting me here, as opposed to somewhere in town. I don’t want folks talking.”

“No problem. I understand. I’m just happy you agreed to go out with me. I’d have met you at the Piggly Wiggly three counties over for a Spam sandwich if that’s what you wanted.” He hurried to add, “Not that this is a date, exactly. We’re just two friends getting together for a meal. Nothing wrong with that.”

She smiled shyly and looked out the window at the lake at dusk. It was mid-October but still warm out, although not stifling hot as in the summer. Ducks sat in the grass and floated on the lake, making the outdoor lights dance on the ripples. She forced her eyes back to Johnny, who watched her.

She bit her lip and searched for something to say. “This is a beautiful restaurant, don’t you think?”
That sounded lame.

“It sure is,” he replied. “I hear tell Robert E. Lee himself stayed at the inn once.”

She nodded, looking around the room. The lights were low, and a candle inside a glass hurricane sat at the center of each table. Copious bunches of white gladiolas sprang from huge glass vases in various spots around the brick-walled dining room. The ambiance of the restaurant combined with Johnny’s reassuring presence calmed her nerves.
If only I could think of something to talk about.

“How’s work, Johnny?”

He groaned. “Oh, don’t ask.”

“Oh? You’re not sorry you took the job, are you?”

“Naw, I like the job. And the town.” He leaned in toward her with a shy smile and added, “And the people.”

She smiled but couldn’t hold his gaze.

“But we got us a mess going on.”

“What kind of mess?” She crossed her hands on the table and leaned toward him.

“A petty thief wreaking havoc all over town kind of mess. I think just about every business has been hit at least once, but nobody ever sees anything or anyone suspicious. It’s the durndest thing.”

“Mama mentioned some items from the store had disappeared.”

“Yeah, boy,” Johnny said. “I’ve checked with every store in town, and just about everyone has had at least a few items go missing within the last month or so.” He paused while a busboy set glasses of water on the table. When he left, Johnny took the lemon wedge off the rim of the glass and plopped it into the water, then continued.

“I’m thinking it must be a kid, because nothing big’s ever taken, just incidentals like candy, apples, underthings, battrees.” Martha Maye smiled at him and he said, “What?”

“My daddy used to say batteries like that.”

He flushed but continued. “Yep. Most of the time, nobody even realizes right away that anything is gone. At first, some of the stores said no, nothing was missing, then they got to looking and called me back with a whole list, and by then the trail’s ice cold. It could be anybody.” He took a sip of water.

“Don’t any of the shops have video cameras?”

“Only the Piggly Wiggly. Goose Pimple Junction’s stuck in time as far as theft prevention goes.”

“I guess noboby’s ever really needed it before.”

“I reckon not. Then of course, there’s the great pumpkin caper. He didn’t get y’all’s, did he?”

“No, we were spared, but I did hear some of my students talking about that.” The waitress stopped at their table to take their drink order. When she left the table, Martha Maye said, “You do like being police chief though, don’tcha?”

“I like it just fine. This petty theft stuff is aggravating, but it’s a whole lot more interesting than writing speeding tickets all day like I did as a statie. Of course, chances are I won’t get to do any high-speed chases, but the people are a whole lot friendlier.” He looked at her and added, “And prettier.”

Martha Maye straightened the silverware at her place setting, mumbling, “Thank you.” Alarmed, she looked up quickly, adding, “Oh, there I go again, assuming—”

“Your assumption is correct, pretty lady,” Johnny interrupted, nodding.

“Well, thank you again,” she said, her eyes still not able to meet his.

“So, you haven’t had any more incidents, have you? With Lenny, or with gifts?”

“No, thank goodness. It’s been a few days since y’all’s run-in. Maybe he finally got the point and left town, although it does seem like he would have said good-bye to Butterbean.”

When the waitress brought their drinks—a frozen margarita for her and a Sam Adams pale ale for him—Martha Maye took a sip and looked up at the entrance to the dining room. She almost spewed the drink into the air. She coughed and sputtered and wiped her lips with a napkin. Johnny turned to see what had upset her. Lenny was crossing the room to their table.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Lenny asked loudly, causing everyone in the room to stop talking and stare.

“Lenny, what are you doing here?” Martha Maye croaked, her face red with embarrassment.

Lenny glared at his wife. “What in tarnation are you doing out with another man? You are still a married
wo-man
, you know.”

“Are you following me, Len?”

“So what if I am? You’re still my lawfully wedded wife.” He looked her up and down and added, “Although you look like a two-bit hussy. You two gonna hustle on up to a room when you’re finished here?” Lenny somehow managed to sneer and leer at the same time.

Johnny stood up, like a redwood over a sapling. “You got no call to follow this woman or call her names. She and I are just having a bite to eat as friends. That’s all. We even came in separate cars. Call her a despicable name like that again, and you’ll be sipping your dinner through a straw for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t give a diddly squat if you came on separate donkeys. That’s my wife you’re on a date with,
Chief Butterbrain.
And when she dresses like that, she
asks
to be called a hussy. A brazen hussy.”

The maître d’ had rushed to the table and tried to get a word in. Everyone ignored him.

“Lenny, number one, it’s not a date,” Martha Maye talked slowly and tried to keep her voice low. She glanced around the room and saw that other diners were openly staring at them.

“Number two, you and I are separated. Number three, I can have dinner with a friend if I want. And number four, I can dress however I want.” She tugged on the V of her neckline.

“And five, you apologize to this lovely lady for calling her that shameful name and insinuating something that isn’t true,” Johnny added.

The maître d’ stood by awkwardly. Finally he said more forcefully, “Sir, may I get you a chair?”

“NO. He will
not
be staying,” Martha Maye said quickly.

“Perhaps a table then?”

Lenny looked from Johnny, who stood with his fists flexing at his sides, to Martha Maye, who looked into her water glass, to the maître d’, who nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

Finally, Lenny grinned slyly and said, “Yeah. Yeah, sure. You can show me to a table.” He walked off with a smirk and veered away from the maître d’, finding a table himself across the room where he could sit and stare straight at Martha Maye.

“That boy is wound up like a cheap alarm clock,” Johnny said, glancing at Lenny across the room. His face registered sudden recognition, and he snapped his fingers. “I know where I’ve seen him before. I couldn’t place him in the hardware store, but now I remember. He was sitting in a parked car down the street from your mother’s house a while ago. I can’t rightly recall when it—”

“He was parked on my mother’s street?” Martha Maye interrupted, looking stunned. “Why would he be parked on my mother’s street?”

“He told me he was new in town and had stopped to look at a map.”

“And I’m Crystal Gale, on my way to the Grand Ole Opry. Looks like he’s been following me for a while now. Estherlene said she’d seen him drive past the house a bunch of times. And to think I almost bought his I’ve-learned-my-lesson-I’m-a-changed-man routine.”