cheek, and then increased her grip on his upper arm. “You’re just a two-bit hoodlum. I’m a professional. Don’t mess with me.”
The boy swallowed hard again. Her wallet, which he’d never gotten into his pocket, dropped to the ground.
“Trixie?” She heard Hank call to her from about twenty yards away and nearing. “Trixie, is this kid bothering you? What happened?”
She whispered to the boy, “Let’s let this be our little secret, shall we?” She retrieved her wallet and turned to Hank. “Well, Officer Hank, I think the poor boy was making a pass at me, bless his heart,” she covered her mouth with her hand as if she were embarrassed, “because he showed me this vile book . . . ”
Hank saw the book for the second time that day, and he reached for his handcuffs. “Hands behind your back, son.”
The kid stepped back. “What for? Carrying a book? She bumped into me.”
“No, I’m gonna arrest you for being a public menace and a stupid idiot to boot.”
“Oh no, Hank. That’s not necessary. I handled it. And he’s right. I stopped too fast and caused us to collide. I’m sure it was all an accident and a misunderstanding.”
The kid’s eyes darted from Hank to Wynona, and he nodded vigorously, gulping once again.
“I’m not letting him get away with it this time. This little punk—”
“Uh, Hank, can I talk to you for a second?” She began to walk away, but when he didn’t follow, she hooked a thumb over her shoulder and said, “Over here?”
Hank pointed to the kid. “Jimmy Dean, you move one muscle and I swear I will shoot you.” He stalked toward Wynona.
She couldn’t afford a big to-do at the police station, and she didn’t want the kid blabbing about their little scuffle, so she sweet-talked Hank into dropping the matter. By the time she was done, Jimmy Dean was the object of much pity. When Hank finally let him go, she called out after him.
“You remember that advice I gave you now, you hear?” she drawled, cupping her hand next to her big red mouth. “Always remember that, and you’ll be armed with the proper knowledge of how to treat a girl.” She waved her fingers at him. “Toodeloo.”
Jimmy Dean turned back briefly, and she made sure her hair was out of her face and her sunglasses were off so he could see the daggers in her eyes.
Mama always said . . . Good looks won’t put food on the table.
S unday after church, Louetta, Pickle, and Martha Maye began putting away table displays in preparation for the party. Ima Jean, Charlotte, and Butterbean filled the empty tables with food. They’d made the checkout counter a wet bar and placed flowers from Lou’s garden in vases all over the store. Lou bustled about handling the occasional customer, putting her special touch on things, and ordering everybody around. She couldn’t have been happier.
“You come back tonight for the party now, you hear?” she said to every customer who came in that day.
“Mama, we’re gonna have everybody in town here if you don’t quit inviting people.”
“What’s wrong with having the whole town? Tessie deserves it.” Lou glanced toward the door, and her face hardened. “There’s one person I won’t be inviting.”
Jimmy Dean sauntered in like he owned the place. He actually had the gall to wink at Louetta.
“‘Scuse me, I have some work to do.” She turned on her heel and disappeared into her office.
About ten minutes later, Martha Maye knocked on the door and came rushing in. “Mama, I gotta call Johnny. We have a shoplifter.”
Lou put her hand over her daughter’s, which had reached for the phone. “Let me guess. Jimmy Dean?”
She pulled her hand back. “How’d you know?”
“That’s how he gets his kicks.” Lou sank into her chair.
“Then why won’t you let me call Johnny? We need to put that little punk in the pokey.”
“It’s a trick, Martha Maye. Don’t fall for it. The little cotton picker is just looking to see who he can humiliate
The boy swallowed hard again. Her wallet, which he’d never gotten into his pocket, dropped to the ground.
“Trixie?” She heard Hank call to her from about twenty yards away and nearing. “Trixie, is this kid bothering you? What happened?”
She whispered to the boy, “Let’s let this be our little secret, shall we?” She retrieved her wallet and turned to Hank. “Well, Officer Hank, I think the poor boy was making a pass at me, bless his heart,” she covered her mouth with her hand as if she were embarrassed, “because he showed me this vile book . . . ”
Hank saw the book for the second time that day, and he reached for his handcuffs. “Hands behind your back, son.”
The kid stepped back. “What for? Carrying a book? She bumped into me.”
“No, I’m gonna arrest you for being a public menace and a stupid idiot to boot.”
“Oh no, Hank. That’s not necessary. I handled it. And he’s right. I stopped too fast and caused us to collide. I’m sure it was all an accident and a misunderstanding.”
The kid’s eyes darted from Hank to Wynona, and he nodded vigorously, gulping once again.
“I’m not letting him get away with it this time. This little punk—”
“Uh, Hank, can I talk to you for a second?” She began to walk away, but when he didn’t follow, she hooked a thumb over her shoulder and said, “Over here?”
Hank pointed to the kid. “Jimmy Dean, you move one muscle and I swear I will shoot you.” He stalked toward Wynona.
She couldn’t afford a big to-do at the police station, and she didn’t want the kid blabbing about their little scuffle, so she sweet-talked Hank into dropping the matter. By the time she was done, Jimmy Dean was the object of much pity. When Hank finally let him go, she called out after him.
“You remember that advice I gave you now, you hear?” she drawled, cupping her hand next to her big red mouth. “Always remember that, and you’ll be armed with the proper knowledge of how to treat a girl.” She waved her fingers at him. “Toodeloo.”
Jimmy Dean turned back briefly, and she made sure her hair was out of her face and her sunglasses were off so he could see the daggers in her eyes.
Mama always said . . . Good looks won’t put food on the table.
S unday after church, Louetta, Pickle, and Martha Maye began putting away table displays in preparation for the party. Ima Jean, Charlotte, and Butterbean filled the empty tables with food. They’d made the checkout counter a wet bar and placed flowers from Lou’s garden in vases all over the store. Lou bustled about handling the occasional customer, putting her special touch on things, and ordering everybody around. She couldn’t have been happier.
“You come back tonight for the party now, you hear?” she said to every customer who came in that day.
“Mama, we’re gonna have everybody in town here if you don’t quit inviting people.”
“What’s wrong with having the whole town? Tessie deserves it.” Lou glanced toward the door, and her face hardened. “There’s one person I won’t be inviting.”
Jimmy Dean sauntered in like he owned the place. He actually had the gall to wink at Louetta.
“‘Scuse me, I have some work to do.” She turned on her heel and disappeared into her office.
About ten minutes later, Martha Maye knocked on the door and came rushing in. “Mama, I gotta call Johnny. We have a shoplifter.”
Lou put her hand over her daughter’s, which had reached for the phone. “Let me guess. Jimmy Dean?”
She pulled her hand back. “How’d you know?”
“That’s how he gets his kicks.” Lou sank into her chair.
“Then why won’t you let me call Johnny? We need to put that little punk in the pokey.”
“It’s a trick, Martha Maye. Don’t fall for it. The little cotton picker is just looking to see who he can humiliate
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