ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS . . .

COVER REVEAL: ROGUES & RASCALS IN GOOSE PIMPLE JUNCTION

You've waited patiently, and now it's almost time to release the fourth book in the Goose Pimple Junction series. While we're waiting for the publication date, here's a sneak peek of the cover art. Thank you, to artist Emerico Imre Toth, for allowing me to use the image for the cover of Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction.

Watch for the book to launch on May 15, 2016. But first . . . 

TA DA!

ABOUT THE BOOK

Like any good Southern belle, Caledonia Culpepper was raised by her mama to be gracious, charming, witty, and above all, a devoted mother and loving wife. Which is why she's baffled when her marriage falls apart.

Wynona Baxter is a professional hit woman at the top of her field. So when she's hired for a job in Goose Pimple Junction and things don't go as planned, she is stumped.

Crooked lawyers, restless husbands, a hoodlum intent on mischief-making – it seems there are rogues and rascals everywhere you look in Goose Pimple Junction.

When Caledonia and Wynona's paths cross, they prove there isn't a rogue or a rascal who can keep a good woman down. Mama always said there would be days like this . . .

OTHER BOOKS IN THE GOOSE PIMPLE JUNCTION SERIES

Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction

When Tess Tremaine starts a new life in the colorful town of Goose Pimple Junction, curiosity leads her to look into a seventy-five-year-old murder. Suddenly she’s learning the foreign language of southern speak, resisting her attraction to local celebrity Jackson Wright, and dealing with more mayhem than she can handle.

A bank robbery, murder, and family tragedy from the 1930s are pieces of the mystery that Tess attempts to solve. As she gets close to the truth, she encounters danger, mystery, a lot of southern charm, and a new temptation for which she’s not sure she’s ready.

Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

Goose Pimple Junction is just recovering from a kidnapping and a murder, its first major crimes in years, when trouble begins anew. Life is turned upside down in the quirky little Southern town with the arrival of several shifty hooligans: A philandering husband intent on getting his wife back, another murderer loose in town, a stalker intent on frightening Martha Maye, and a thief who’s stealing the town blind of their pumpkins, pies, and peace. Together, they’re scaring the living daylights out of the residents and keeping the new police chief busier than a set of jumper cables at a redneck picnic. Suddenly, he has his hands full trying to apprehend a killer, stop a stalker, and fight his feelings for the damsel in distress.

Short & Tall Tales in Goose Pimple Junction

This is not your average Southern town. With a hint of mystery and a lot of laughs, you'll catch a glimpse of everyday life in Goose Pimple Junction in this short story compilation. Short & Tall Tales occurs chronologically between Murder & Mayhem, book 1, and Heroes & Hooligans, book 2, in the Goose Pimple Junction mystery series. Tales is a fun escape that will answer readers' burning questions about the residents of this quirky, small town.

How did Johnny Butterfield become police chief?
How did Tess and Jack get engaged?
How did Ima Jean come to live with Louetta?
How do you celebrate an Apple Day?

These questions and more are answered in Short & Tall Tales in Goose Pimple Junction. Five short stories, one novella, and three recipes will give you more of the unique charm of Goose Pimple Junction, make you laugh, and have your mouth watering. If you want a feel-good read, you've come to the right place. Grab some sweet tea and escape to Goose Pimple Junction.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amy Metz is the author of the Goose Pimple Junction mystery series and blogger at A Blue Million Books. 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. For more information, go to authoramymetz.com.

Connect with Amy:
Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads

Merry Christmas, Happy Y'allidays!

And now for another shameless plug . . .

I am in the process of writing book 4 in my cozy mystery series, Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction, in which Pickle's mother, Caledonia Culpepper, is the main character. I am so grateful to the readers who have asked about the next Goose Pimple Junction book. So as a thank you, I have a present to my readers. Today, Tess interviews Caledonia, followed by and excerpt – the first chapter of the book – and a giveaway at the bottom of the post. I hope you enjoy getting to know Caledonia and getting teased, and I hope you will enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win a hardcopy or an ebook copy of a GPJ book. Merry Christmas!

INTERVIEW WITH CALEDONIA CULPEPPER

Caledonia, what do you love about Goose Pimole Junction?
Everything, but I especially love the people. Goose Pimple Junction folks are the best there is – they’re just flat out good people. They know all about you and like you anyway, and they’d do anything for you. 

What five things would you never want to live without?
My cell phone, sweet tea, lipstick, my shoe collection, and pie.

What’s one THING you never leave the house without (besides your phone).
Lipstick. My mama always said I should never leave the house looking like a wash woman.

What's the biggest lie you ever told?
Oh, goodness gracious. I do believe in honesty, but I once told someone – who shall remain nameless – that she looked pretty, when in reality, her pants were so tight her butt looked like two pigeons trying to fight their way out of a toe sack.


What’s your favorite beverage?
Without a doubt, it’s sweet tea with lemon and lots of ice.

What drives you crazy?
My husband, Philetus Swift Culpepper, IV. I call him Big Daddy. He's a rogue and a rascal.

What is your superpower?
My garden kicks ass,pardon my language. But it does!


Name one thing you’re really good at and one thing you’re really bad at.
I’m good at being the hostess with the mostest, and I’m bad at driving. Philetus once said I couldn’t drive any worse if I were drunk and had one eye shut. I think that’s a slight exaggeration.

Do you sweat the small stuff?
Nah, 
I don't worry too much about things. My motto is just do all you can do and let the rough end drag.

What’s one thing that drives you crazy?
Miss Penny. She owns Miss Penny’s Dress Shop. I don’t like to talk ugly, but I'd rather jump barefoot off a 6-foot stepladder into a 5-gallon bucket full of porcupines than carry on a conversation with her.

What’s your favorite/most visited Internet site?
Southern Living.

What’s in your refrigerator right now?
Sweet tea, a bag of lemons, leftover squash casserole, corn relish, sweet and spicy snacker pickles, milk, eggs . . . Lordy, I could go on, but I know you don’t have all day. Let’s just say if I don’t have it and you want it, I’ll make it or I’ll get it.

What is the most daring thing you've done?
I once went bungee jumping with some friends. I hear my mother’s voice the whole time saying, “Caledonia, that’s just ridiculous. If all your friends jumped off a bridge would you do it too?”

What is the stupidest thing you've ever done?
I once went bungee jumping with friends.

What is your most embarrassing moment?
I once walked out of a public restroom with toilet paper hanging out of the back of my pants.

What’s one of your favorite quotes?
Life is what you need, love is what you want.


You have a personal chef for the night. What would you ask him to prepare?

Oh honey, I don’t like to brag, but I can cook better than a professional chef. I’d invite him in and ask him what he’d like me to prepare.

How do you like your pizza?
I love garbage pizzas—loaded with everything and plenty of it.


What is the wallpaper on your computer’s desktop?

A picture of my two sons, Pickle and Peanut.


What’s the best advice your mother ever gave you?

Trust everybody in the game, but always cut the cards.

What would you do for a Klondike bar?

I’d go bungee jumping for a Klondike bar.



What is your favorite movie?

Steel Magnolias.



What’s your philosophy on life?

Always remember it’s better to arrive late than to arrive ugly.

A TEASER FROM ROGUES & RASCALS IN GOOSE PIMPLE JUNCTION

Chapter 1 

Mama always said . . . Most people deserve each other.


Sipping sweet tea and browsing Facebook on her iPhone, Wynona Baxter sat at a table outside a coffee shop looking carefree. With her toned and tanned bare legs crossed, her left foot – clad in black Jimmy Choo four-inch-heeled sandals – bobbed up and down to a silent beat known only to her. She looked up when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. There he was – her mark – right on time, wearing his JC Penny ugly tan blazer and brown polyester pants that sat right underneath his paunch. He ran a hand through his thinning red hair, but demonstrating the man’s definite need for a haircut, a long patch in the front dropped right back down over his right eye.

Over the rim of her glass of sweet tea, she casually watched as he crossed the street, speaking to a few people along the way. His gut preceded the rest of him by a good ten inches. Why on earth a man like that could strut like a rooster was beyond her. It was obvious from the way he carried himself that there was no conceit in his family — he got it all.

After a week of tailing him, she knew he was headed to the Dizzy Duck, his habitual after work destination. If he hadn’t made someone very angry, this wouldn’t have to be his last visit there. She knew he would spend thirty to forty minutes in the bar and then head for home. Where she’d be waiting for him.

She took one more gulp of tea, shook the ice in the glass, and set it down hard on the table, shooting a look that would put frost on a snowman to the guy a few tables away who’d been leering at her for the better part of an hour. Leisurely standing, she smoothed the front of her short linen skirt. Leaving the coffee shop, she was aware of the eyes on her . . . well, she could only guess which body part his eyes were on. Wynona preferred to be unobtrusive, but that was nearly impossible with her looks. Nevertheless, she didn’t like it when she caught someone’s attention. But no matter, by tomorrow she’d look totally different anyway. She thought she might like to be a redhead next.

The hot Atlanta sun beat down on her as she walked across the street in the opposite direction from the person she’d tailed for almost a week: Mr. Sleazy, as she’d come to think of him. Wynona had been sitting at the outdoor table for over an hour waiting for her mark to leave his office building. Feeling like she was melting, bored half out of her skull, and glad to be on the move again, she got into her rented Lexus ES300 and started it up. She turned the air conditioning to full blast and leaned her head back against the headrest, allowing the cool air to blow across her face, which glowed with perspiration. She glanced at the dashboard’s outside temperature gauge that read 104 degrees. She figured the humidity was at least in the eighty percent range, making it feel more like 150.

Taking a lace hankie from her purse on the passenger seat, she blotted her face so as not to ruin her makeup. I do not sweat, I glow, she said into the mirror. She fluffed the bangs of her brown wig, slipped on her oversized sunglasses, adjusted the air conditioning vents to point straight at her, and put the car into drive, easing out onto the road and and secretly offering Mr. Googly Eyes an unladylike hand signal.

Wynona maneuvered the Lexus down the curvy shade-dappled country lane, singing along to Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places” on the radio. She pulled off to the side of the road, stopping just in front of the black mailbox with white lettering that spelled, “Reid.” The box stood to the right of a long driveway leading to a large Colonial two-story house. This wasn’t Mr. Sleazy’s house, but one just down the road from his ticky-tacky run-of-the-mill ranch house. She waited and watched for a few minutes, but she’d come to realize this road had hardly any traffic. In fact, she’d only seen a handful of cars on that road in the six days she’d had Polyester Man in her sights.

After cracking the car door, she waited, watched, and listened. The only sound was the rat-a-tat of a woodpecker. Convinced no cars were near, she left hers running for the blessed benefit of the air conditioning. She pushed a button to pop the trunk, ran around to the back of the car, lifted the trunk lid, pulled out a duffle bag, and slid back into the car. She laid the bag on the passenger seat and reached under clothing to pull out the pieces of a Glock .40 caliber semi-automatic. Grabbing the slide, she took the barrel and slid it in, put in the guide rod and spring, keeping her thumb over it. With the weapon in her other hand, she made sure there were no obstructions, matched up the male/female grooves, slid it on, locked it to the rear, and put the take down lever at three o’clock, quickly snapping the pieces into place and screwing the silencer on. Then she opened her bag of tricks, as she liked to call her knife set. Her mind went over the different ways she’d use each one on Sleazy. A slow and torturous death was her specialty.

Wynona glanced at her watch and calculated that she’d spent five minutes cooling off after leaving the coffee shop, fifteen driving to this secluded spot, and she figured it would take Sleazy fifteen minutes to get here also — after his usual thirty minutes in the bar. She reached back into the bag, pulled out a CD and popped it into the player. “If I Had Shot You When I Wanted To, I'd Be Out By Now” came over the speakers and she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she sang along. A girl in her line of work had to have a sense of humor.

Twenty-five minutes later, she turned off the engine, got out of the car, and raised the hood. Placing the semi-automatic just inside the hood of the car, she leaned against the Lexus and waited.

She heard it before she saw it. Wynona leaned in under the hood from the side of the Lexus that faced the oncoming car so that her long thoroughbred legs would have a chance to work their full magic. She heard the pop of gravel and an engine slowing, as he eased his car to the side of the road.

“What’s the problem?” Mr. Sleazy asked as he walked up to her.

Holding the gun in her right hand, she stood up and turned, pointing the weapon at him.
“Honey, you’re the problem. But I’ve got the solution.” Walking toward him with the gun aimed at his chest, she watched his Adam’s Apple bob up and down. “You’ve made someone awfully mad with your low quantity of moral fiber. They said to make it a -” she stretched her words out, “- slow, painful end to your time here on earth.” Her smile reflected her true character.

About the author (me!)

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 writing, enjoying her family, or surfing 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 and loves a good Southern phrase.

Connect with me:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads   |  Pinterest  |  Amazon  

a Rafflecopter giveaway

HALLOWEEN, GOOSE PIMPLE JUNCTION-STYLE

Haunted Blog Hop!

If you checked in on October 26, you know that A Blue Million Books is participating in a Halloween blog hop. As promised, today I'm sharing a chapter from Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction that occurs on Halloween night. Louetta loves to cook, and she's prepared a Halloween feast . . .

Excerpt from Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

Chapter 34

 

Hospitality is making your guests feel at home, even if you wish they were.  

~Southern Proverb

Johnny and Martha Maye walked along the sidewalk, trailing Butterbean and Maddy Mack, who were trick-or-treating. Johnny put his arm around Martha Maye's shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Did your mama tell you she invited me to dinner tonight?”

Martha Maye watched the girls run across a lawn to knock on another door. “She did, and if she hadn’t, I would have. Mama puts on the best Halloween party you ever did see. I hope you’re hungry. She’ll expect you to eat until you burst.”

“I’m always hungry. But I’ll pass on the bursting.” Butterbean screamed, and the light from the flashlight in Johnny's hand jerked toward the sound. Martha Maye took off at a dead run, but Johnny beat her to the two girls, who were jumping up and down, clinging to each other, half-laughing and half-crying. Pickle stood inside a Rubbermaid trashcan, his skinny legs sticking out of the cutout bottom that was cut out. He held the lid in his hand. He was wearing the black trashcan like it was a pair of overalls.

“What in the – ” Martha Maye started to say.

“Mama! We came past this trashcan — least we thought it was a trashcan — and Pickle jumped out of it and scared the living daylights out of us.”

“Him is mean!” Maddy Mack glared at Pickle, who was still laughing at his practical joke.

“Aw, I’m sorry.” Pickle didn’t look sorry. “But y’all gotta admit that’s a good trick.”

“That is a good trick,” Johnny said. “I’ll have to remember that next time I’m on surveillance.”

“Surveillance?” Matty Maddy Mack’s face screwed up in confusion.

“Like a stakeout,” Johnny explained.

“You’ve been on a stakeout before?” Butterbean asked, full of awe and wonder.

“Sure. A couple of times.”

As Johnny recounted one stakeout he’d been on, Pickle quietly crouched back down on the grass, pulling the trashcan lid over himself like a turtle. Then he lowered the lid on top, pulled his arms through the cut-outs, and tucked them inside. It looked like a trashcan was simply sitting on the lawn. When Johnny finished his story, Pickle jumped out like a jack-in-the-box, scaring the little girls again and sending them into another round of peals of screams.

“Aw, come on, that couldn’t have scared you! You knew I was inside there.”

“Okay, y’all, everybody move it. Let’s head to Mama’s for dinner. I can practically smell the cornbread from here.” Martha Maye herded them all toward Lou’s house in typical teacher mode.

“Hey, looka there!” Pickle said. “Hi, Mama! Hey, Peanut!”

“Ugh. Peanut,” Maddy Mack said to Butterbean. “He’s so ugly he could trick-or-treat over the phone.”

“Shh, now, none of that, girls.” Martha Maye swatted at the girls behinds. “Hello, Caledonia. Hi, Peanut. You sure are a scary vampire,” Martha Maye said.

“He scared us!” Butterbean said to Caledonia, pointing to Pickle.

“What did he do, darlin’?” Caledonia looked from Butterbean to her son. “What did you do, Pickle?”

Pickle started to crouch back down and show his mother his trick, but Martha Maye stopped him. “Show her later. Like when the girls aren’t in the vicinity. Caledonia, will you and Peanut join us for supper? I’m sure Mama fixed enough to feed Pharaoh’s army.”

“That would be lovely,” Caledonia said.

“Where’s Philetus tonight?”

She shook her head. “Working. He’s always working, isn’t he, Peanut?” Peanut was no longer at his mother’s side. He was running after the girls, who were going to trick-or-treat at the last few houses.

When they finally got to Louetta’s house, Martha Maye led them through the extensively-decorated living and dining rooms and into the hub of activity – the kitchen. Louetta had placed jack-o’-lanterns all over the living room. Some lined the mantle, some were on the coffee table, some went up the stairs, and some stood sentry in the doorways. Witches, ghosts, and monsters decorated every table in the room. In the dining room, five tissue paper ghosts hung from the chandelier, and pumpkins with faces made from vegetables sat on the table as a centerpiece. They had broccoli, unshelled peanuts, or Brussels
sprouts for hair; red peppers for lips; tiny white potatoes for eyes; string beans for eyebrows; tomatoes for ears. And the antique sideboard showcased five different desserts.

Ima Jean, Louetta, and Charlotte were in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

“Howdy, y’all. Welcome.” Louetta was dressed up like a witch, all in black, complete with striped stockings, a witch’s hat, and a fake nose with a wart. “Would y’all like some of my witch’s brew?” She cackled like a witch and didn’t wait for an answer, but grabbed mugs, and began pouring hot apple cider into them. “I got Polka Dot Punch for the kids, too.”

Martha Maye opened the lid of a pot on the stove, her face showing utter contentment as she breathed in the aroma. “Mmmm, chili.”

“Where’s the beef?” Ima Jean said.

“Looks like it’s in the chili.” Johnny peered over Martha Maye’s shoulder into the pot.

“Good Lord, this is a gracious plenty,” Johnny said, looking at the food covering every surface of the big country kitchen.

“I had lots of help this year,” she said. “Imy and Charlotte have purt near cooked their fingers to the bone.”

“Shake and bake. And I hayulped,” Ima Jean said.

“So y’all better eat up,” Lou continued. “Caledonia, Peanut,” she hugged Caledonia, “I’m so glad y’all could come, too. Philetus isn’t with y’all?”

“Thank you kindly for having us, Ms. Louetta. No, he’s working tonight, as usual. It sure does smell good in here. And everything looks wonderful.” She stepped next to Charlotte, who was putting corn sticks into a basket, and pulled her in for a quick side hug.

“Hi, Ms. Culpepper,” Charlotte said. “Where’s Pickle?”

Caledonia looked around the room. “Well shoot, he was here just a minute ago. Peanut, where’d your brother go?”

Peanut shrugged. “I dunno.”

“He’s probably out front playing his Pickle-in-the-trashcan joke on some poor unsuspecting person,” Johnny said.

“I’ll go look for him.” Charlotte headed for the door.

“No need. We brought in the trash,” Jack said, coming into the room with Tess and Pickle.

“And by trash, I mean Pickle, not my sweetheart.”

“You didn’t bring Ezzie?” Martha Maye asked.

“Heavens no, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from all this good food. It would be a calamity.”


“Here, Caledonia." Lou handed over a cheese ball that looked like a pumpkin. "You take this cheese ball to the table. Imy, take the tater salad. Charlotte, grab the macaroni and
cheese. Butterbean, you take the mummy pizzas. Madison Mackenzie, take these.” She handed her a plate of pigs in a blanket, made to look like mummies.

“Lou, can I just have dessert?” Johnny eyed the huge orange-iced pumpkin-shaped cake, ghost sugar cookies with M&Ms for eyes, spider cookies with candy eyes and chow mien noodles for legs, Rice Krispies treat eyeballs, skeleton cupcakes with white chocolate–coated pretzels for the bones, and cupcakes with candy witch “legs” sticking upside down out of the icing.

“You can have whatever your little ol’ heart desires, Johnny.”

Johnny’s eyes immediately went to Martha Maye.

Jack whispered into his ear, “Man, you got it bad, don’tcha?”

Johnny’s face flushed bright red, and he swiped his hand over it.

“Yoo-hoo!” Honey called out from the front door. “Can we come in?”

“Absodanglutely.” Louetta hurried to greet Honey and Lolly. “Lolly, I’m glad you could make it.”

“Thank you kindly for the invite.” Lolly kissed her cheek.

“All right, y’all, have a seat and dig in,” Lou said, clapping her hands together. Then, “Wait. Let me say grace first.”

“I tell you what,” Lolly said after dinner, when everyone was sitting around in a sugar stupor, “that’ll chink your cracks.”

“I second that.” Jack patted his stomach. “That was flat-cold good. Y’all outdid yourselves.”

“Aw, thank you, boys, I – ” Lou stopped talking when she saw Ima Jean sit up straight, staring and stare strangely at the dining room window.

“Ernest Borgnine!” Ima Jean pointed. “Ernest Borgnine! He’s here.” She got up and ran to the window. Lou went with her, as Jack and Johnny went out the back door to see if Ima Jean really had seen somebody.

“I don’t see Mr. Borgnine, Imy. And furthermore, I can’t imagine why he would be in Goose Pimple Junction, or looking in our window.”

“But he was,” Imy insisted.

The men came back inside shaking their heads. “Nobody out there that we could see,” Jack said.

“Hey Pickle, come here a minute, would you?” Johnny said.

They disappeared out the back door and Jack explained, “He’s going to set out the trash.”

“I beg your pardon?” Caledonia said.

Jack laughed, along with everyone else. “I didn’t mean it like that. He’s setting up his own stakeout, and Pickle’s going to help. He looks invisible in that trash can, but even though nobody would guess there’s somebody inside that can, he can see out with those peep holes he punched into the side. Maybe he’ll see someone. You never know.”

Charlotte stood up so fast she nearly knocked her chair over. “I don’t want him doing that,” she said loudly. “He doesn’t know anything about stakeouts. He could get hurt.”

“Naw, Johnny won’t let that happen,” Jack assured.

“Won’t let what happen?” Johnny said, coming back inside.

“You won’t let Pickle get hurt out there.”

“’Course not.”

“I don’t care.” She looked like she was going to cry. “I don’t want him out there by himself. I’m going out, too.”

“But honey, if you go out, whoever it is might see you, and then Pickle wouldn’t be able to catch him,” Lou pointed out.

“He’s gonna scare the living daylights outta some poor unsuspecting soul.” Charlotte ran for the back door, leaving everyone at the table to look at each other in puzzlement.

Louetta broke the silence. “I’ve been around teenage girls in my time, but that’n is acting crazy as an outhouse mouse.”

Want more Goose Pimple Junction?

 

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Happy 4th of July!

I'm celebrating the 4th of July with an excerpt from Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction. Small towns are known for their festivals and celebrations, and GPJ is no exception. So grab a glass of sweet tea and sit down a spell for a visit to Goose Pimple Junction and the town's 4th of July celebration. And don't miss the special on Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction. Buy it now through July 6 for just $0.99.

EXCERPT FROM MURDER & MAYHEM IN GOOSE PIMPLE JUNCTION

CHAPTER 14

Tess and Jack walked the few blocks to the town’s Fourth of July celebration, commenting on all the homes’ patriotic decorations. 

“The town sure is decked out,” Jack commented.

Flags hung on utility poles and street lamps that dotted the street, and every home leading in or out of town had a big American flag posted either on the house or lawn.

“I’ve never seen so many decorations in all my life.” Tess looked first one way and then the other, trying to take it all in.

“The women’s club sponsors a contest, and people really get into it, decorating houses in any way imaginable, ranging from tasteful to downright tacky.”

To prove his point, they passed a house where window boxes with red, white, and blue flowers spilled out over the sides and mini American flags sprouted among the foliage. Several houses had red, white, and blue bunting hanging from covered porches. Small flags lined the sidewalks leading up to some of the houses. Streamers decorated trees in one yard; in another, mini versions of the stars and stripes were attached to tree limbs, making them look like leaves. Tess was so engrossed in a lawn’s solid sea of mini Old Glories, she wasn’t watching where she was going and almost tripped over a dog. Jack caught her arm, and she silently dared him to comment.

“Do the businesses have a contest, too?” she asked, looking around the town square.
“Oh, yeah, each one has to outdo the other.”

Every business was in full regalia, with streamers, bunting, flags, or balloons decorating their storefronts. Some had red, white, and blue lights surrounding the doors. Almost all had a sign in their window wishing America a happy birthday.

Tess smelled the mingling scents of hot grease, barbecue, and popcorn, and saw five men dressed as Abe Lincoln and two as George Washington. Jack pointed out two people dressed as the Statue of Liberty wandering around. Crazy, creative homemade patriotic hats and glasses were on more heads than not. How someone could wear glasses with little flashing light bulbs, and walk straight, Tess couldn’t understand. She had never seen so much red, white, and blue in such a condensed space. No one dared wear any other color that day. Even Pickle sported a red T-shirt, this one with the words, “Lock Up Your Daughters!”

Jack saw Pickle’s shirt. “I’m not even going to touch that one.”

After waving to all of the parade participants, Tess and Jack meandered through the various booths, sampling barbecue, hot dogs, potato salad, and fried apple pies.

“Tess, I’m full as a tick on a fat dog,” Jack said. “Let’s go find a seat. I think the winner of the Miss Goose Pimple Junction Contest is about to be announced.”

Tess was too full to walk another step when they took seats next to Lou, who was dressed in red, white, and blue, and wore a headband with glittery red and blue stars on springs that looked like antennae.

“Well hi, y’all!” Lou said, reaching out to pat each of them. “Hireyew?”

“Lou, if I was any happier I’d be twins,” Jack said.

“Well, set yourselves down and get ready to feast your eyes, Jack,” Lou said with a wink. Looking at Tess she added, “And you?”

“I’m too pooped to pop,” Tess complained, adding, “How are you?”

“Aw, honey, I couldn’t be better. It’s the nation’s birthday, my family is here, and I’m having a good face day.”

“Yes, you are, Lou,” Tess laughed, “yes, you are!”

“What are you talking about, woman? You always have a good face day!” Jack said.

Lou took a break in the joking to lean toward Tess’s ear, whispering seriously, “You know what you’re doing, right?” Tess gave her a questioning look and Lou’s eyes went to Jack.
Their conversation was interrupted when a thirty-something brunette and a young girl, who looked to be about ten years old, sat down on the other side of Lou. The woman had brown hair and eyes that were so brown they were almost black. She had a pretty face, but her body was shaped a little bit like a pear. The little girl looked just like her mother, minus the pear shape.

“Aw, here are my babies now. Tessie, meet my new roommates. This is Martha Maye, my daughter, and this here is Buttabean, my granddaughter,” Lou proudly said. “Girls, this is Tess and Jack.”

Martha Maye leaned over her mother to shake hands and said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t actually name my child ‘Butterbean.’ That’s just our special name for her. Feel free to call her Carrie.” She smoothed Butterbean’s hair back. “I’m happy to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’m glad to meet you, too, Martha Maye . . . and . . . ” Tess hesitated, while Lou looked expectantly at her, until Tess finished, “. . . Butterbean.” Lou punctuated her approval with a head nod and flashed a satisfied smile.

“May I ask why you call your beautiful granddaughter Butterbean?” asked Jack.

Lou and her daughter looked at each other, exchanging a meaningful glance. Finally, Martha said, “It’s a special name because it’s what Mama was called as a child.”

“And this little Buttabean is a special child.” Lou’s eyes suddenly glistened with tears.
“Even though any grandmother would say that, I have to agree with her.” Martha Maye combed her fingers through the little girl’s long brown hair.

“Lou, are you gonna do your usual commentary on the contest?” Jack asked, changing the subject.

“Well, honey, I don’t know if I should. Tessie here’ll think poorly of me if I go shooting my mouth off as usual.”

Tess looked to Jack for an explanation.

“See, Miss Goose Pimple Junction is not chosen on talent, looks, or brains, but more or less on popularity,” Jack explained. “Of course, whichever contestant’s father glad-handed the most voters might have something to do with the outcome, too.”

“What do you mean?” Tess asked.

“The contest is a parliamentarian’s nightmare. You saw the voting over at the Piggly Wiggly grocery store all last week, right?” Tess nodded. “Well, did you know anyone could vote each and every time they visited the store, if they wanted?”

Tess shook her head.

“It’s true,” Jack continued. “And the best seat in the house for the announcing of the new Miss Goose Pimple Junction is sitting next to Lou. She won’t sugarcoat anything, she’ll give you a commentary on each contestant, and she’ll entertain you while she’s at it.”

“In that case, Lou, please don’t censure yourself on my account.”

“All right, if you’re sure . . . ” Lou looked like she might need some more prodding, but the music started, and the mayor appeared on the makeshift stage.

“Afternoon, everyone. And Happy Birthday, America!” The crowd applauded. “Let’s warmly welcome the lovely ladies, our fine contestants for Miss Goose Pimple Junction.” Buck swung his arm out toward the women, who were walking onstage to applause and whistles.
“These beautiful young women don’t need an introduction, but it’s protocol, so I’m duty-bound to do it,” he continued. “Our first contestant is Araminta Lee.”

Araminta stepped forward, twirled around, in model fashion, and stepped back.

Lou put her hand up to the side of her mouth and whispered to Tess, “She looks like she made an ugly pie and ate every slice.” Jack leaned in, and Tess whispered Lou’s line to him.

“Cornelia Crump,” the mayor said into the microphone. Cornelia proceeded to step up and twirl.

“Land sakes, she can’t help that she’s ugly, but she could’ve stayed home,” Lou whispered.

“Julia Cole,” was the next contestant called. She stumbled a bit as she stepped forward.

“Bless her heart,” Lou said, “she’s so tall if she falls down she’ll be halfway home.”

By now, Jack was leaning over Tess’s lap so he could hear Lou’s commentary straight from her, since Tess had her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud.

“Nellie Baker.”

“Mmm mmm, look at her.” Lou shook her head. “She’s so buck-toothed she could eat an apple through a picket fence.”

“And last but not least, Frona Walker.”

“Aw, it’s not right to say what I think of poor Frona.”

“Lou, you can’t stop now. This is the last one,” Tess begged.

Lou took a deep breath, put her hand up to partially cover her mouth, and whispered, “She’s so ugly they had to tie a pork chop around her neck to get the dog to play with her.”

“And the winner is . . . Julia Cole.”

Lou leaned over Tess’s lap and whispered, “I know Julia’s mama is so happy. She was so ugly when she was born, her mama used to borrow a baby to take to church on Sunday.”

“Lou, you outdid yourself this year. Excellent work.” Jack patted her on the back, as the audience dispersed.

“I don’t understand,” Tess said, confused. “Why aren’t these women more . . . beauty queen-like?”

“Well, now see, there’s your problem. You’re thinking Miss Goose Pimple Junction’s a beauty contest. No, honey. This contest isn’t about how you look, it’s about who you know. Social prestige and power. That’s why I don’t mind making fun of the girls. There’s not a one was in it on account of their beauty or brains or talent, like a contest should be. It’s all political now. It’s just a crock of . . .  ”

“Mama!” Martha Maye interrupted. “Little pitchers have big ears.” She hitched her head toward Butterbean.

“Oh yeah, sorry, honey. Anyway, it’s all in good fun. Well,” she said, looking past Martha Maye. “Hidee, Henry Clay. I figured you’d be around.”

Henry Clay Price had quietly walked up to the group and was standing right behind Martha Maye. He had a wide smile on his face and a campaign button on his shirt that said, “Henry Clay Price for Governor.” Martha Maye turned, saw him, and promptly wrapped him in a friendly hug.
 
“Henry Clay. How long’s it been? It’s so great to see you.”

Henry Clay’s face turned bright red, but he looked extremely pleased to see Martha Maye, too. “What are you doing here, Martha?”

Lou jumped in and said, “It’s nice to see you, Henry, but we were just headed up to the watermelon seed spitting contest. Martha Maye, you and Buttabean are coming, too, ain’tcha?”

“Mama, y’all take Butterbean and gwon ahead, I’ll catch up directly. I wanna talk to Henry Clay a minute.”

Tess looked at Jack. He leaned into her ear and said, “She said go on ahead, and she’ll catch up directly.” He enunciated the words.

Tess nodded.

They all strolled off, leaving Martha Maye and Henry Clay behind. As they walked, Lou brought Tess and Jack up to date on her daughter and the candidate for governor.

“Martha Maye and Henry Clay — isn’t that cute how that rhymes?” She shook her head. “Anyway, they grew up together. He’s been sweet on her long’s I can recollect. They even dated, against my better judgment, the summer she was home before her last year in college. But it was right about then that she met Lenny, and he swept her off her feet and away from Henry Clay.” Her face grew hard. “That Lenny could charm the dew off of honeysuckle, let me tell you.”

“Did Henry Clay ever marry?” Tess asked.

“Oh, yeah. But his wife ran off with the mailman. Or something like that. I think it broke his heart when Martha Maye got married, and he married on the rebound. You wanna hear a funny story about your mama?” She looked down at Butterbean, who nodded her head. “When they were in junior high school, Henry Clay came up to her one day, out on our driveway. He handed her a note that said, “Will you be my girlfriend?” Well, she didn’t know what to do, so she said, ‘Wait a minute, I gotta go ask my mama.’ And in the house she ran. She asked me what she should do. I told her to tell him she already had a boyfriend. So she went running back out and told poor old Henry Clay, ‘My mama said I’m already seeing somebody and I can’t see two boys at once.’”

Everyone laughed at Lou’s story, and Tess said, “He seems like a nice enough fellow.”
“Henry Clay’s a banker, aspiring to be the governor. He’s made a good living for himself. He just worries me a little about getting on with Mart. He’s a nice boy, but he don’t have the sense God gave a chigger. He’s got too much book-smarts, and not enough common sense. And he’s a typical politician.” She stopped and looked at her granddaughter. “Buttabean, you wont a sno-cone? Hare,” she gave the girl some money, “go gitcherself one. It’s hotter ‘n a fritter out here.”

Just as Butterbean skipped away, Buck headed for their group and Lou scowled. “Now that’n’s one who could give Lenny a run for his money. Beauty’s only skin deep, but ugly goes all the way to the bone.” She sounded meaner than Tess thought was possible out of Lou. “I don’t have much use for either of them.”

“And a marvelous fourth of Joo-lye to y’all,” a jovial Buck said.

Then, just as soon as the cloud had come on her face, she brightened again, as Butterbean rejoined them, already sporting blue lips from the blueberry sno-cone she was sipping. “Let’s stop by and take a look-see at the baking contest. They shouldoughtta have the winners by now.”

“I noticed you took my suggestion and entered a pie, Miss Tess,” Buck smiled down at her, and Jack moved closer to her.

“Good idea, Louetta. Buck, if you’ll excuse us.”

They went to look at the myriad display of baked goods. Lou didn’t know that Tess had entered her apple pie. When she saw Tess’s name next to the blue ribbon, she exclaimed, “Well, butter my butt, and call me a biscuit!”

“I won?” Tess was shocked. A big smile came over her face, reality sinking in. “I won!”
“And look here, Granny, your peanut butter cookies won, too!” Butterbean said, with a blue mouth.

“And your fudge,” Jack said, moving down the line, “and your coconut cake, Lou. You two gals cleaned up!”

After reveling in their victories, they watched Clive and Earl battle it out in the watermelon seed spitting contest, with Earl being the victor. The next event was one for fathers and daughters.

“What do you say, Butterbean? Want to sneak in with me?” Jack asked.

They watched as some of the fathers in town, and Jack as a substitute father, donned goggles and had their faces lathered with shaving cream. The children were given squirt guns, and at the count of three, the race was on to see who would be the first to squirt their daddy’s face clean. Jack and Butterbean didn’t win, but they had a ball.

Just as Jack predicted, as they made their way through the crowd that day all of the ladies fawned over him, young and old. Tess was introduced over and over again, to some women who were clearly jealous, and others who were glad to see him “with such a nice girl.”

At dusk, Jack grabbed Tess’s hand and led her away from the heart of town and the crowd of people to a grassy hill where they’d be able to watch the fireworks alone. Tess protested, but Jack was persistent. She wasn’t sure the other night had been a good idea. Maybe she’d let her guard down because of the martini, but she pledged anew to keep her distance from Jack. There was still that matter of him cheating on his wife.

As Jack settled onto the cool grass at the very top of the hill, Tess towered over him. “Jackson Wright! What are you doing?”

Lying down, he put his hands behind his head and scowled up at her.

“I do believe you could start an argument in an empty house, Mary Tess.”

“Jack, what are we doing up here? People will think we’re being anti-social.”

“You wanted to spend time alone with me,” he said, now looking up at the sky with a serene look on his face.

“What?” she screeched.

“Well, that’s what you said . . . ”

“I said no such thing and you know it!”

“Oh. Maybe it was me who wanted to spend time alone with you, then,” he grinned, reaching out to pat the grass beside him. “Come on in, pretty lady. The water’s fine.”

“Jackson, I can’t believe — ”

“Shh, shh . . .  now just simmer down. Stop arguing and sit down and relax.” He looked up at her. “Please?”

Nothing was said as she sat down next to him, bringing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“How’s the book coming?” he asked, scooting toward her.

“I haven’t had much time to work on it lately. Between the bookstore and researching Lou’s family . . . ”

“Hey! I meant to ask. Did you look any further online? Did you find anything?”

“Yes and no.”

“Yes and no?”

“Yes, I looked, and no, I didn’t find anything,” she explained.

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s our next move?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Do you still think we shouldn’t approach Lou about it?”

“Yes, I have a hunch it’s still too painful for her even all these years later.”

“Hmmm. Maybe we could discreetly talk to Martha Maye. She might know something.”

“That’s a good idea.” Tess was genuinely enthused at the idea.

“Yep, I’m full of good ideas.” Again, he moved closer to her until their thighs were touching.

Just then a burst of vibrant white crackled and popped in the sky, raining down twinkling embers as it dissipated. They heard a thwomp thwomp thwomp sound signaling a second round of fireworks would follow the first, this one more brilliant and colorful. Tess couldn’t decide whether to look at the sky or at Jack. They were equally spectacular.

EZZIE SAYS . . .

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Kindle Countdown for Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

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About the book:

Goose Pimple Junction is just recovering from a kidnapping and a murder, its first major crimes in years, when trouble begins anew. Life is turned upside down in the quirky little Southern town with the arrival of several shifty hooligans: A philandering husband intent on getting his wife back, another murderer loose in town, a stalker intent on frightening Martha Maye, and a thief who’s stealing the town blind of their pumpkins, pies, and peace. Together, they’re scaring the living daylights out of the residents and keeping the new police chief busier than a set of jumper cables at a redneck picnic. Suddenly, he has his hands full trying to apprehend a killer, stop a stalker, and fight his feelings for the damsel in distress. 

Just Released: Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction

About the book:

Goose Pimple Junction is just recovering from a kidnapping and a murder, its first major crimes in years, when trouble begins anew. Life is turned upside down in the quirky little Southern town with the arrival of several shifty hooligans: A philandering husband intent on getting his wife back, another murderer loose in town, a stalker intent on frightening Martha Maye, and a thief who’s stealing the town blind of their pumpkins, pies, and peace. Together, they’re scaring the living daylights out of the residents and keeping the new police chief busier than a set of jumper cables at a redneck picnic. Suddenly, he has his hands full trying to apprehend a killer, stop a stalker, and fight his feelings for the damsel in distress.

Heroes & Hooligans is the second book in the Goose Pimple Junction mystery series.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Marry in haste, repent in leisure. ~Southern Proverb


Lenny drove to his neighborhood bar with the windows wide open and Johnny Cash blaring on the radio, but he was oblivious to both. He was thinking about the phone conversation he’d just had with his ten-year-old daughter Carrie. It made him crazy the way her mother’s family called her “Butterbean.” What kind of a name was that for a child? But today he was crazy for a whole new reason. Jealousy and anger tore through him faster than small-town gossip. His daughter had spilled everything, and just when he thought he’d finally gotten a break, she said, “Mama kinda had a boyfriend but not anymore.” And: “Mama was kidnapped, but she’s back now.”

He pulled into the parking lot of the bar thinking, Boyfriend? We literally aren’t even divorced yet and she had a boyfriend? He pounded his fist against the steering wheel. He knew she’d been cheating on him. And now she’d done it right in front of their daughter. No doubt about it, he was going to have to do something about this Martha Maye situation.

Pulling into a primo spot at the front door, he looked up at the old rusty sign that had been over the entrance for years: TEETOTALERS AIN'T WELCOME HERE. He winced at the loud screech announcing his car door opening, followed by the same screech when he slammed it shut. He glanced around the parking lot and saw the same cars that were there every night. His feet crunched on the gravel as he walked, and he remembered waking up three months earlier and slowly realizing his wife and daughter weren’t there.

The familiar bacon and coffee smells were gone. Cartoons weren’t blaring on the TV. His wife’s clothes were missing, along with his daughter’s, her teddy bear, and her dolls. The bookshelves were dotted with bare spots where Martha Maye’s favorite knickknacks and paddywhacks had been. And then he saw the note on the kitchen table that said she was divorcing him and that he shouldn’t try to find them. The realization that she’d left him in the middle of the night and taken their daughter seared through him like a red-hot poker.

Pretty stealthy for a woman who could literally be outwitted by a jar of marshmallow fluff. If she thinks she can literally run out on me and then humiliate me by going out with some scumbag before we’re even divorced, she has another think coming. I’ll show her. I’ll put on the charm and win her back.

Country music blasted as he opened the door, turned his head, and spit in disgust. She literally can’t be let her out by herself. Just look where it got her: kidnapped and almost killed.

His daughter had told him they’d been staying at his mother-in-law’s house. He should have figured. He’d always known Louetta to be a meddlesome old biddy. She lied to me when I called looking for my wife and daughter. She aided and abetted a woman leaving her husband. She allowed nefarious suitors to court my wife. Both of them must have literally stopped to think and forgotten how to start again.
And then there was his no-account, good-for-nothing brother who, upon learning of the impending divorce, wanted to know if Lenny would mind if he dated Martha Maye. Boy, I’m gonna slap you so hard, when you quit rolling your clothes’ll literally be outta style. My baby brother and my wife. Yeah. Over my dead body. How could he even ask such a thing? Both of them were nothing but a bunch of backstabbing traitors.

He hitched up his jeans under his overflowing beer belly, swaggered into the bar, and ordered a Colt 45. The jukebox was playing, “I Want a Beer as Cold as My Ex-Wife’s Heart,” and he thought that was pretty darn perfect for his life at the moment.

Looking around the room, he spotted a hot blonde giving him the eye. He sucked in his gut—a move that didn’t yield the desired result—and looked back, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. She brazenly smiled back at him.

How dare Martha Maye leave me? I can literally get any woman I want. And two on Saturday.
A football star in high school, homecoming king, and voted best looking his senior year, Lenny was used to women coming onto him, not leaving him. He put the bottle to his lips and downed half of it.

That woman was literally lucky to have me. Sure, I’ve put on a little weight, but only in the gut. I practically have to fight women off with a stick. Looking around the room again, he saw female eyes on him from several tables in the room. Yessirree, sir, I still got it.

Lenny started to lift his bottle to his mouth again but halted midway when two men sat down heavily on barstools on either side of him; they looked capable of eating their young. Both men were muscular and tough. One was as tall as a telephone pole. One was as short as a gnat’s tail. The taller man had black eyes under bushy eyebrows, and the other man wore aviator sunglasses on a flat, wide nose. He pushed the glasses to the top of his head to give Lenny his best glare.

“We’ve been looking all over Hell and half of Georgia for you, boy.” Eyebrows scooted his stool in close, crowding Lenny.

“Shoot.” Lenny’s hand automatically moved to his ankle holster, checking for his knife. “That don’t surprise me none. You literally couldn’t find oil with a dipstick.”

“Solly says he’s had about enough of you,” Eyebrows said.

“Yeah,” Mr. Gnat joined in, “he’s had about enough of you.”

Lenny snorted. “You can tell Solly to blow it out his butt,” Lenny said boldly, more boldly than he felt. He shelled a peanut, popped it in his mouth, and threw the shell into Mr. Gnat’s face.

“Solly says not to let you off the hook this time.”

“Yeah, not to let you off the hook.” Mr. Gnat’s left eye twitched.

“What’s with Mr. Echo over here?” Lenny pointed his thumb at the short man.

The telephone pole ignored him and said, “Solly says you’ve screwed him over for the last time.”

“Yeah, the last time.”

“I didn’t screw him over the first time.” Lenny drained his bottle. He felt like his mouth was full of cotton. “Solly wouldn’t tell the truth to save his life from dying.” Lenny tried to stand up, but the men had him penned in.

“You can’t talk about Solly that way.”

“Yeah, not that way,” Mr. Gnat echoed.

Eyebrows looked behind Lenny to his friend. “This boy has the mental agility of a soap dish, Joey.”

“Yeah, a soap dish.”

Lenny leaned in real close to Joey, who said, “Whatta you think you’re doing?”

“Just wondered if I got close enough if I could literally hear the ocean.”

“Boy, what you need is an education,” Eyebrows said.

“Yeah, an edj-ee-cation.” Gnat strung the word out.

The men grabbed Lenny’s arms, lifting him off his stool. The song on the jukebox had ended, and Lenny heard the crunch of peanut shells as the men propelled him toward the door.

“Boys, y’all best not be messing with me,” Lenny snapped, trying to break free.

“That’s mighty big talk for a punk like you.” They stepped aside as someone came through the door, and then they threw Lenny through it. He landed on the ground but sprang right back to his feet, his dukes up, ready to fight.

Eyebrows was fast. He knocked Lenny to the ground again with a left hook. Joey followed up with two kicks to the ribs.

Lenny pulled himself into a ball, both to protect himself from further harm and to have better access to his ankle holster. But Joey saw the knife and kicked it away as Lenny drew it from his pants leg.

The men both grabbed Lenny by an arm again, pulling him upright, and Eyebrows punched him in the gut, causing him to double over. They double-teamed him and left him on the ground bloody and beaten, as cars whizzed past on the road in front of the bar.

Right before Lenny passed out, he thought: Tomorrow I’ll pack up and head for Goose Pimple Junction to reclaim what’s rightfully mine. I’ll literally be a devoted husband and father and get my family back. I ain’t gonna let that woman leave me. Nobody leaves Lenny Applewhite.

About the author:

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.

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