probably pretty proficient in Goose Pimplese.”
Carolyn Jane called out, “People who think an accent makes you stupid are the ones who aren’t too bright.”
“Here, here, Carolyn Jane.” The crowd applauded.
Wearing a grim expression, Officer Velveeta Witherspoon, obviously on duty and looking stern, pushed through the bookstore door and scanned the crowd. When she spotted Johnny, she went straight to him and said, “Chief, I hate to disrupt the frivolity, but I think you should see this.”
Mama always said . . . You want clear water, go to the head of the stream.
J ohnny made for the door while listening to Velveeta’s report.
“Chief, I’ve been out here taking statements and writing down names of victims, their make of car, all that stuff. I waited as long as I could to interrupt the party, but some of these folks wanna go home.”
Johnny stopped abruptly. “Victims? We got a fatality?”
“No, sir, nothing like that.” She held the door open for him.
Johnny was apprehensive as he followed Velveeta outside, wondering what in the world could be so bad that she’d pull him out of the party. He saw a group of people milling about on the sidewalk. She led him down the block, but he wasn’t seeing anything amiss.
“Officer Witherspoon, I’m having difficulty seeing what’s so gallderned important.”
The parking spaces were diagonal, so it wasn’t until she took him past the first car that he finally saw the problem. They walked down the sidewalk, inspecting all the cars parked at the curb, and he got a fuller picture.
“Well I’ll be John Brown.”
Velveeta’s head snapped around. “Who?”
Johnny ignored her question and paced the block surveying the damage. Everyone in the bookstore spilled out onto the sidewalk to see what had gotten Velveeta so riled up.
A black Chevy Suburban had a neon yellow smiley face; the whole side of a red VW Beetle was painted in black polka dots; a blue Ford Taurus had yellow stripes down the side; the mark of Zorro graced a maroon Honda Civic; a green Ford pickup truck had a peace sign on the door; an offensive word was scribbled on the side of a gold Buick . . . the damage went on and on. The vandal had spray-painted a total of twelve vehicles.
“How could someone have gotten away with this?” Velveeta wondered aloud, quickening her step to keep up with Johnny, who was surveying the damage at a brisk pace.
“Practically the whole town was in the bookstore for a few hours. Those who weren’t there were at home in front of their TV sets with the AC going.” He crouched down on his ankles and inspected one car up close. “It wouldn’t be hard for a person—or persons—to hide if he heard someone coming and then resume his work once they’d gone. Most folks would have come from the bookstore, and it would be easy to hide on the side of or behind one of these cars. He could have had a partner who was a lookout. As long as nobody got in the car he was working on or the one next to it, he kept hidden.”
“But surely someone would have seen him. I’ve been all over the town square though, and I can’t find a soul who did.”
“I was serious when I said practically the whole town was in the bookstore. Who called this in?”
“Nobody. I was cruising by and saw it. I was on the scene when the first victim returned to his car. I’ve been spouting the same spiel to each one. As soon as I’d get done telling one person, another would come along, and then another, and another—” puffed Velveeta.
“I get it, Officer.”
“That’s another reason I waited to come get you. I was too busy telling folks to stay put on the sidewalk, and no, they couldn’t take their cars, and blah blah blah.”
With hands on his hips, Johnny shook his head and pursed his lips, a sour expression on his face. “Officer, who’s on duty tonight? Northington? Woodson?”
“Yessir.”
“Get them over here and y’all take pictures and get fingerprints from every
Carolyn Jane called out, “People who think an accent makes you stupid are the ones who aren’t too bright.”
“Here, here, Carolyn Jane.” The crowd applauded.
Wearing a grim expression, Officer Velveeta Witherspoon, obviously on duty and looking stern, pushed through the bookstore door and scanned the crowd. When she spotted Johnny, she went straight to him and said, “Chief, I hate to disrupt the frivolity, but I think you should see this.”
Mama always said . . . You want clear water, go to the head of the stream.
J ohnny made for the door while listening to Velveeta’s report.
“Chief, I’ve been out here taking statements and writing down names of victims, their make of car, all that stuff. I waited as long as I could to interrupt the party, but some of these folks wanna go home.”
Johnny stopped abruptly. “Victims? We got a fatality?”
“No, sir, nothing like that.” She held the door open for him.
Johnny was apprehensive as he followed Velveeta outside, wondering what in the world could be so bad that she’d pull him out of the party. He saw a group of people milling about on the sidewalk. She led him down the block, but he wasn’t seeing anything amiss.
“Officer Witherspoon, I’m having difficulty seeing what’s so gallderned important.”
The parking spaces were diagonal, so it wasn’t until she took him past the first car that he finally saw the problem. They walked down the sidewalk, inspecting all the cars parked at the curb, and he got a fuller picture.
“Well I’ll be John Brown.”
Velveeta’s head snapped around. “Who?”
Johnny ignored her question and paced the block surveying the damage. Everyone in the bookstore spilled out onto the sidewalk to see what had gotten Velveeta so riled up.
A black Chevy Suburban had a neon yellow smiley face; the whole side of a red VW Beetle was painted in black polka dots; a blue Ford Taurus had yellow stripes down the side; the mark of Zorro graced a maroon Honda Civic; a green Ford pickup truck had a peace sign on the door; an offensive word was scribbled on the side of a gold Buick . . . the damage went on and on. The vandal had spray-painted a total of twelve vehicles.
“How could someone have gotten away with this?” Velveeta wondered aloud, quickening her step to keep up with Johnny, who was surveying the damage at a brisk pace.
“Practically the whole town was in the bookstore for a few hours. Those who weren’t there were at home in front of their TV sets with the AC going.” He crouched down on his ankles and inspected one car up close. “It wouldn’t be hard for a person—or persons—to hide if he heard someone coming and then resume his work once they’d gone. Most folks would have come from the bookstore, and it would be easy to hide on the side of or behind one of these cars. He could have had a partner who was a lookout. As long as nobody got in the car he was working on or the one next to it, he kept hidden.”
“But surely someone would have seen him. I’ve been all over the town square though, and I can’t find a soul who did.”
“I was serious when I said practically the whole town was in the bookstore. Who called this in?”
“Nobody. I was cruising by and saw it. I was on the scene when the first victim returned to his car. I’ve been spouting the same spiel to each one. As soon as I’d get done telling one person, another would come along, and then another, and another—” puffed Velveeta.
“I get it, Officer.”
“That’s another reason I waited to come get you. I was too busy telling folks to stay put on the sidewalk, and no, they couldn’t take their cars, and blah blah blah.”
With hands on his hips, Johnny shook his head and pursed his lips, a sour expression on his face. “Officer, who’s on duty tonight? Northington? Woodson?”
“Yessir.”
“Get them over here and y’all take pictures and get fingerprints from every
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