Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction (36 page)

“PICKLE?”

Nicholas
stood over Pickle, breathing hard, absolutely astonished at who he’d tackled. “You?” he managed to say as he leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. “Are you kidding me?”

“
I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry . . . please forgive me! I didn’t wanna do it! He made me! Oh crap, why’d I get myself into this. Why?” Pickle pounded his fist against his head.

“
Who
made you?”

In
a muffled voice Pickle said, “I cain’t say.”

“
NICHOLAS!”

Nick
heard his mother’s frantic call. She sounded panicked. He pulled Pickle up and shoved him toward Tess’s house, holding on to him by the back of his shirt.

“
I suppose you’re going to tell me your imaginary friend made you do it,” Nick said sarcastically, not expecting a reply. But Pickle, being Pickle, gave him one.

“
Ya think they’d believe that?” he asked seriously.

“
No, Pickle. I do not.” They walked up the front lawn, to where Tess was waiting on the porch with the brick in her hand.

“
What’s going on? Who…PICKLE?” Her mouth flew open.

“
Pickle.” Nick’s breathing was starting to return to normal. “He says somebody made him do it, but he won’t say who. Don’t ask him if it was his imaginary friend, he’s already thought of that defense and just might go with it.”

Tess
was holding a note that had been wrapped around the brick. It, too, had lettering cut from a magazine.

I’
L
L LeA
R
n Y
a

D
u
Rn
Y
a
.

“Why, Pickle?” Tess whispered, sounding deeply hurt.

“
I needed the money,” he mumbled, looking at the ground.

“
Mom, go call the police, and I’ll watch Mr. Shot Putter here.”

“
I believe the expression around here is ‘call the law,’” Tess said,
attempting to lighten the moment. Pickle’s lip was quivering and tears threatened to overflow his eyes.

“
Did you send me that note too?” she asked, referring to the one at the bookstore.

Pickle
looked at the ground, shaking his head.

Tess
called the police station first and then Jack. It was late, but she knew he worked late into the night most of the time. He actually got to her house before Officer Skeeter Duke. He shot a dark look at Pickle and went to Tess.

“
Are you all right?” He pulled her into an embrace.

“
I’m fine. Only my feelings are hurt.” She smiled weakly, clearly
upset at Pickle’s betrayal. “I guess you were right about he-she-it slipping up soon.”

Nicholas
came back into the room, and Jack released Tess when he saw the look on her son’s face.

“
Hey, Nick.”

“
Hey, Jack.”

“
Good thing you were here. You're definitely in better shape than Ezzie or me.” He went to Pickle, who was sitting on the couch, with his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Jack talked softly to him, with Pickle nodding his head every now and then.

Tess
let the officer in and filled him in on what had happened.

“
Looks like they caught you red-handed, boy,” Skeeter said, standing over Pickle. “Don’t that just dill yer pickle?” He laughed at his own joke, slapping his knee, and looking around for others to join in, but no one was laughing.

It
wasn’t until Skeeter had loaded Pickle into the patrol car and
driven off that Tess laughed.

“
What are you laughing at?” Jack asked.

“
Pickle’s t-shirt. It just sunk in.”

Jack
and Nick looked at her blankly.

“
Apparently in all the commotion, you didn’t notice his shirt. It wasn’t the invisible friend one he had on earlier today,” she said. “This one said, ‘High Achiever’.”

* * *

John Ed walked into the Goose Pimple Junction police station bright and early the next morning. He was blissfully unaware of the events of the past evening, but Skeeter filled him in.

“
He’s three pickles shy of a quart,” Skeeter snickered.

John
Ed glared at him. “Zat supposed ta be funny?”

Skeeter
cleared his throat. “No sir. Um . . . he won’t talk, Chief. Just keeps sayin’ he needed the money, but won’t say who paid him, or why.”

John
Ed farted loudly as he walked away, saying over his shoulder, “That’s what I think a that. Bring him to the interrogation room.”

“
Ya mean the break room?” Skeeter called out.

“
Break room, interrogation room, powder room. Call it what ya want. Jest get his butt in there.”

Escorting
Pickle down the hall, Skeeter said, “Pickle, mash your hair down. It’s stickin’ straight up, even more than usual,” he motioned to the top of his head. Pickle’s eyes were red, with shadows underneath, and his clothes were wrinkled and grass stained. He flopped into a chair opposite the chief.

Chief
Price looked at him for a moment and then said, “You look like somethin’ the dog’s been keepin’ under the porch.” He stared
at him, waiting for Pickle to say something. Finally, the chief said, “Whattsa matta with you, boy?”

Pickle
shrugged his shoulders, looking at the floor.

“
You think my granddaughter’s gonna wanta hang ‘round with you after this stunt?”

Pickle
shrugged again.

“
Don’t you got anything to say fer yerself?”

Again,
Pickle just shrugged his shoulders.

“
Okay, let’s cut the crap, boy. Who told you to do this?”

Pickle
shrugged his shoulders.

“
You been responsible for all them other shenanigans?”

Pickle
shrugged his shoulders.

John
Ed glared at him.

“
What’s gonna happen to me, Chief Price?” a glum Pickle finally asked.

“
Well, boy, that depends on yer cooperation. You cooperate, things’ll go easier for ya.”

“
What if I say I don’t know nothin’? That I just did it on my own?”

“
That dog won’t hunt, son. You do know somethin’, and I wanta know what it is.”

“
Well I cain’t tell ya! Stop bein’ so mean to me!” screamed Pickle.

“
Just scratch your mad place and get glad real quick like. I’m losin’ patience. I’m gonna give you some time to think things over, but when
I come back, you’d best be of a mind to spill yer guts, or I'm gonna slap you so hard, when you quit rollin' your clothes'll be outta style.” He stood up and walked to the door. “But I didn’t say that.” He winked at Pickle and left the room to find Skeeter.

“
How’d it go, Chief?”

“
Like tryin’ ta poke a cat out from under the porch with a rope.
I want you to call his mama, get her over here.”

“
Will do, Chief. She’s been callin’ every ten minutes. Had to
make
her go home last night.”

“
Bring her in when she gets here.”

Fifteen
minutes later, Caledonia Culpepper swept into the station. She was a Southern Belle through and through, wearing a sleeveless lime green and hot pink Lily Pulitzer shift dress and white sandals with two-inch heels. A hot pink scarf held her long, blond hair back into a ponytail. Her makeup and nails were perfect.

Bernadette
, the secretary, saw her coming and said under her breath, “She's all dressed up like she's goin’ to Wal-Mart or somethin’.”

Skeeter
appeared in the chief’s doorway. “Chief, she’s here.”

“
Send her back,” John Ed growled.

The
sound of Caledonia’s heels clacking on the floor followed her as she walked through the police station, holding the hand of her eight-year old son, and leaving a stream of perfume in her wake. John Ed met them in the hallway telling Skeeter, “Take little . . . “ the chief trailed off, waving his finger in the air, not knowing the child’s name.

“
Peanut,” Caledonia supplied.

“
…Peanut up front and keep him occupied while we
chat
with Pickle.”

“
What do I do with him?” Skeeter looked slightly terrified at the prospect of entertaining an eight-year-old for any amount of time.

“
Play Tic-tac-toe, Tiddlywinks, or Hangman, I don’t care.”

“
Oh, he loves Hangman,” Caledonia said.

John
Ed walked a few steps, sighed heavily, and turned back toward Skeeter. In a more patient voice he said, “Take him out back and show him your vehicle. Let him play with the siren once or twice.”

Chief
Price showed Caledonia to his office and motioned to a chair in front of the desk. “Your son’s not of a mind to talk, Ms. Culpepper.”

“
Caledonia,” she smiled sweetly, smoothing her skirt over her knees.

“
He won’t tell us who paid him to throw that brick into Ms.
Tremaine’s house, but he let it slip that
someone
did. What we’re gonna do, is play good mom-bad cop with him. Understand?”

“
I’m with ya, Chief.”

They
walked to the closed door of the interrogation-slash-break-room, and stopped. Caledonia was a true steel magnolia. She took a deep breath, worked up tears in her eyes, nodded her head, and the chief opened the door.

Pickle
was sitting bent over, with his head resting on his crossed arms on the table. When he saw his mother, he jumped up. “I’m sorry, Mama. I really am.”

His
mother hugged him and said through tears, “If you’re truly
sorry, then you’ll answer Chief Price’s questions.” She looked at him, blinking back tears for a moment and then, in a dramatic attempt to control her emotions, flapped her fingers in front of her eyes, like a
butterfly on speed. She stood up a little straighter, and shook her head ever so slightly, sniffing back tears.

Bravely
bringing her emotions under control she said, “I used to could always count on you to tell the truth.” Then her eyes turned from sad to steely. She stood with her face an inch from her son’s, and pointed a pink-painted fingernail into his chest with each word. “So let me tell you somethin’, little mister. If you don’t tell the truth now, I’ll
be all over you like stink on a skunk.” Then she smiled sweetly at him, patted his cheek, and gracefully sat down at the table, crossing her legs.

Pickle
and the chief joined her. Chief Price reared back in his seat, balancing the chair on its back two legs, pushing his thumbs through his belt loops, his big belly straining the buttons on his shirt. “Well Pickle? What’s it gonna be, son? I need a name.”

“
My name’s Pickle Culpepper,” he said in all seriousness.

The
chief made a face. “Not
your
name, ya dipstick, the name of the person who hired you.”

Pickle
took a deep breath and let it out. “If I have to give ya a name . . . “ he looked at his mother and then at the chief. “Crate Marshall.” He sat back in the chair hanging his head.

“
And what did Crate Marshall tell you to do, zactly?”

“
He wonted me to spy on Mizz Tess all the time. And that’s all I did, up ‘til last night. I swear!”

“
How much did he pay you?”

“
Seventy-five bucks a week,” Pickle mumbled, looking at his shoes.

“
Why’d he wont you to spy on Ms. Tremaine?”

“
He didn’t say. Just said to watch and listen and tell him what she talked about.”

“
Why’d he want you to go from just spyin’ to throwin’ bricks through her window?”

“
I didn’t ask. He said I had to do it, is ’all. He said if I didn’t, he’d tell the law it was me who broke into her house.”

“
But you didn’t have nothin’ to do with the attack
or
the break-ins?”