Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction (Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries Book 4) (37 page)

“Are you all right? I don’t want to pry. I just—” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I sense something’s wrong. But we’re strangers, and I should just shut my big mouth right now.” He held his hands out. His shoulders slumped a little, and he put his elbows on the bar and rubbed his face with his hands.

Wynona glanced sideways at him. “You look tired. You just get off duty?”

“Yep. Had a special situation. It’s been a rough couple of days. It’s still not over. I hate to say it, but we have a killer on the loose.”

“Oh?”

He scratched the top of his head. “Yeah, the funny thing is, we had two fatalities tonight.” Hank cringed a little and pulled on his earlobe. “I don’t mean it’s funny. I mean it’s the durndest thing.”

“That sounds just awful.”

‘We’ve had two murders today, and one just a few months ago.” He chuckled. “Goose Pimple Junction is becoming a hotbed of crime.”

“Wow. Murder.” She shuddered. “I shy away from anything like that. Did you catch the murderer?”

“No. And the awful thing is, we don’t know why either of them was killed. See,” Hank pulled a pen from his pocket and used a cocktail napkin to write on. “Say we have victims A, B, and C and an innocent person, D. We think A tried to have D killed, but got B killed instead.” He drew lines to and from the four letters. “And A killed C herself.” He swiped at his nose and said as an aside, “We think on account of D’s legal case that I can’t talk about.”

“So what’s the funny, durndest thing? Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

Hank turned slightly, and his knee rubbed against her thigh. Neither one moved or said anything. “We don’t know whether a crime has been committed. The fatality tonight said she fell on the knife as she and ‘
Y
’ were fighting for it. We got that much out of the vic before she died. There’s no reason for her to lie, but something’s missing. I don’t know. Poor woman, she suffered like a stuck pig. She didn’t say a whole lot. Mostly gibberish.”

The bartender set two bottles of beer in front of them and moved on. Wynona picked up her bottle and began her fourth for the night, trying to hide the guilt she felt.

“Geez, I’m sorry to be talking about all this unsavory stuff. Let’s change the subject. “What is it you do?” Hank took a pull from the bottle.

Wynona fidgeted a little and gave a half-shrug. “I’m just a mom.” She munched on a French fry.

“How many you got?”

She wasn’t sure what he was talking about. She hesitated, and he saved her.

“Kids. How many kids.”

“Oh!” She slapped her forehead. “Just one. A boy.”

“Well isn’t that nice. Kids are great. Is he traveling with you?”

“No, he’s at home with my sister. You have any yourself?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. So . . . what do you do all day?”

Wynona let out a half-laugh. “My favorite question.” She gave his question some thought and then answered, “A little of this and a little of that. What I don’t do is sit around watching TV and eating bonbons.”

Their eyes met again, and he cocked his head. “I feel like I know you. We haven’t met before, have we?”

“No,” she said shyly, averting her eyes.

“That wasn’t a come-on,” he said quickly. “I mean, not that I don’t want to come on to you, but I wasn’t—” he moaned and looked heavenward, “Oh, Lord, make me shut up, please!”

She chuckled and touched his arm. “It’s okay.”

They stared into each other’s eyes. Someone put on a song from the jukebox. Jimmy Buffet began singing “Please Bypass This Heart.”

“Would you dance with me?” Hank stood and held out a hand.

To her complete surprise, she took it.
Maybe I shouldn’t have had that fourth beer
. They walked through peanut shells littering the ground to the tiny dance floor, where he took her in his arms, and they began to sway to the music.

“Just for the record,
this
is a come-on,” he whispered, his mouth to her ear. He gently pushed off her ball cap and held it in his hand at the small of her back. He rested his face on top of her head.

Wynona took a deep breath. He smelled magnificent, and she thought she surely would swoon if she didn’t get her nose away from his neck. But his arms felt so good, and she was so tired of running and hunting and being someone she wasn’t. She held on and gave herself to the moment. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was hiding.

When the dance was over, he led her back to the bar, holding onto her hand. She didn’t want to let go.

“Last call.”

“Oh my gosh.” Wynona looked at her watch. “Is it
that
late? Have we really been talking that long?”

“Guess so.” Their eyes met in the mirror behind the bar until the bartender came by for one last order. They shook their heads, finally breaking eye contact. Then they stood, and Hank helped her on with her jacket and walked her out. The rain had let up, and dark clouds were skimming over a full moon.

They stopped at Wynona’s car, saying nothing out loud but everything with their eyes. Hank leaned in and softly kissed her.

“I hope you come back,” Hank whispered.

“Maybe I will, cowboy,” she whispered before getting in the car.

He watched her taillights get smaller and disappear down the dark country road.

“Wynona,” he muttered to himself. “Why, Wynona?”

Then it hit him. Johnny’s voice reverberated through his brain:
Dee Dee kept saying Why did it. Or Y did it. It didn’t make sense.”

“No. No, it can’t be.” He clasped his hands on top of his head and gazed at the sky. He stood alone in the deserted parking lot, realization washing over him.

“WYnona?”

“Wy?”

“Y?”

Read other books by Amy Metz

Writing a book is a solitary task, but getting a book ready to publish takes a village. First, I want to thank the readers who wrote to me asking when the next book would be out. You are the wind beneath my wings. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Y’all are sweeter than a box of jelly donuts!

I could not write a book without the advice of others. To my beta readers Sarah Mallery, Ellen Mansoor Collier, Lisa Spears, Liz Metz, and my editor Lisa Binion, thank you for helping me through the final stage, the one that is the most brutal. I appreciate your attention to detail, your honesty, and your friendship.

Thank you to “Emerico” Imre Tóth for the fantastic cover art for this book. As soon as I saw the “Bowler Hat on a Rainy Day” painting, I knew it was right for this novel. I am so happy I was allowed to use it.

Thank you to Tom Brooks for listening to me babble about GPJ and for your insight and friendship. Thank you to my family, Jake Metz, Michael Metz and Liz Metz, for your support and encouragement.

Amy Metz is the author of the Goose Pimple Junction mystery series. She is a former first grade teacher and the mother of two sons. When not actively engaged in writing, enjoying her family, or surfing Facebook or Pinterest, Amy can usually be found with a mixing spoon, camera, or book in one hand and a glass of sweet tea in the other. Amy lives in Louisville, Kentucky.

This is a work of fiction. All names and character are either invented or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 Amy Metz

All rights reserved.

Published by Southern Ink Press, 2016.

1st Edition, 4
th
volume in the Goose Pimple Junction mystery series.

Printed in the United States of America

Cover by “Emerico” Imre Tóth.

Cover and Interior Design by