Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction Read Free

there’s one question answered—no wife. Yep, probably gay. Aren’t all the good ones gay?
    “ So you come here to write, too?”
    “ Yep. I guess you could call this my office. I write here by day, and at home by night.”
    She nodded, not knowing what else to say. There was no way she was going to be able to write anything halfway decent with him sitting just a few feet away, and she didn’t really want to continue the conversation. The look in his eye scared her. She was not going to get involved with another man. She needed to put a stop to this right away. So as she started packing up her things, she told him she was done for the day.
    He cocked his head to the side and smiled, showing that dimple, as he said, “It has been a pleasure talkin' to you, Tess Tremaine. I’ll be lookin' for your e-mail.”
    Leave now, Tess. Leave now. She smiled back at him and mumbled, “Nice meeting you. See ya.”
    She stood up and tried to grab her cup of lemonade, purse, and tote bag, too, but the strap of her purse slipped down her arm, causing her to spill lemonade all over the table. She felt like an idiot. She set her tote bag down, went for napkins, and frantically wiped up the spill. Waving weakly at Jack, she headed out. I need air, she thought as she quickly walked away, trying to get out of the shop as fast as possible.
    “ Tess!”
    She heard him call after her. She turned around and saw him holding her tote bag, which held her laptop. He had a sparkle in his eye and was trying to suppress a smile. She had taken her purse but left the tote bag on the floor.
    Feeling humiliated, she walked back to him and took the bag. When their eyes met, and their fingers touched briefly as he handed her the bag, she repeated in her head , Martian Man, Martian Man.
    Trying to hide her embarrassment, she gave him a look that said, “Don’t say a word or you’re a dead man.”
    She turned, trying to make a graceful exit once again, but walked straight into a table. She cleared her throat, sidestepped the table, and without turning around, raised her hand up in the air as she walked out of the shop, indicating that she knew she was an idiot, and he really didn’t have to point it out.
    On her way out, she noticed a man in blue jeans and pointy-toe cowboy boots staring at her. She breezed past him, with the niggling feeling she’d seen him before.
    How rude of him to stare.

It Ain’t Chinese Math
     
    Despurt : adjective \des-purt\  desperate
    It was an act only a despurt man would commit.
     
     
    [  1932  ]
     
    March 9, 1932 was a beautiful day in the town of Goose Pimple Junction. The sun was a welcome change from the blustery cold day before, when it snowed three inches.
    There were no customers in the First National Bank shortly after two o'clock in the afternoon. The two tellers yawned and paced, waiting for the clock to chime four times, signaling they could lock up for the night. Cashier Nate Hunter walked to the front window to pull down the shade.
    “ What’ja do that for?” Tallulah, the other teller, asked.
    “ The glare of the sun was gettin’ to me,” he said. She shot him a confused look, and was about to say something else when her face froze and she gulped noticeably, as three men walked through the door with guns. Two of them walked to the counter, guns drawn, while a third stood watch at the bank door, a sub-machine gun propped on his hip.
    “ This is a holdup. We want all the money,” a tall, skinny man wearing a cowboy hat boldly proclaimed to the tellers. “C'mon, c'mon, put it all in these here sacks,” the stocky man in overalls and a plaid shirt said. He and the other man held out pillowcases. Tallulah froze, her eyes wide and her mouth opening and closing without anything coming out.
    “ What are you waitin’ on,” bellowed Overalls. “This ain’t Chinese math, for Pete’s sake. Put the money in the sack. Git movin’. And hurry it up.” Looking petrified, she went to the money