Free Rogues & Rascals in Goose Pimple Junction (Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries Book 4) by Amy Metz

inch of every car.” He began walking again, headed for the crowd of people on the sidewalk. Velveeta scurried after him.
    “Uh, sir, excuse me, but those cars are bound to have a lot of fingerprints. Doesn’t mean they belong to the miscreant.”
    Johnny stopped walking and whirled around, addressing Velveeta. “No, but if the same set of prints are on each car, we’ll have a pretty durn good lead, don’tcha think?”
    She scratched her head and looked sheepish. “I guess so.”
    “Count me in, too, Chief.” Hank walked up behind Johnny.
    “I ‘preshade that, Officer. I really do. You’re a good man.”
    “I got an idea who did this.”
    “You and me both. But let’s don’t go pointing fingers until we have a whole hand.”

    The next morning Hank knocked on Johnny’s door as he entered his office. “Nothing on the prints, Chief. So we’re dealing with someone savvy enough to know to wear gloves.”
    Johnny raised his head from the papers he was reading. “Looks like it. But I don’t reckon you’d have to touch a car to spray-paint it.”
    Hank stopped in front of the desk and nodded at the papers Johnny was holding. “Whatcha got there?”
    Johnny held up the papers and then released them, letting them fall on his desk. “The report on that vic over in Atlanta.” He shook his head. “Don’t read that after you’ve had a meal. Some gruesome stuff was done to that poor man.”
    “Who was he?”
    “Some publisher, although it looks like just a small fry. Man alive, he got carved up into several fries.” Johnny laughed and slapped his thigh then sobered. “Sheriff over there said he’d gone by several different names; seems like he was a small-time con artist preying on innocent people.”
    “Maybe one of his vics did him in then.”
    “Doubtful anyone who isn’t a pro actually did the deed, but they coulda hired someone to do it.”
    “Any leads on the perpetrator?” Hank glanced down at the papers and quickly looked away.
    “Negative. Like I said, they think it was a professional job, although the part that was done with the knives was pretty messy. Seems like a pro would have been more precise. Either way, I doubt they’ll ever find him.”
    “What did they send it here for? Someone like a professional hit man come into town, he’d stick out like a sore thumb. We’d nab him right away.”
    “True enough. I guess they sent it to all police departments within a certain radius of Atlanta.” Johnny picked up the papers again. “I didn’t know the vic, but I sure feel sorry for what he went through. By the time death came, I’ll bet he was begging for the end.” He chuckled. “Get it? The end?”
    Hank groaned. “Yeah, I get it. A publisher who wanted the end . Clever.”
    “I’ll have to remember to tell that one to Jack.”
    “Some folks just aren’t hooked up right, you know?”
    “You see that every now and then in this kind of work,” Johnny said in mock seriousness.
    “I know one man who’s pretty happy this morning.” Hank hitched up his pants.
    “Who’s that?” It came out like, “Whoozat?”
    “Clem Fowler, over at the car shop. He’s had a sudden spike in business.”
    “I’ll say. Those twelve vehicles will keep him out of trouble for a while.”
    Johnny leaned back in his chair and propped his hands behind his head. “So what’s the story with your date last night?”
    Hank could feel his face heat up and was embarrassed by it. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. “Oh, her. She’s just here for a few days. Disappeared last night during all the commotion. I just wanted to show her some Goose Pimple hospitality and whatnot.”
    Johnny raised his eyebrows. “And whatnot?”
    “Aw, shucks, Chief, you know it’s slim pickings around here when it comes to eligible—and palatable—women.”
    “What about Araminta Lee?”
    Hank let out a half-laugh. “She’s stuck up higher than a light pole.” He sank into one of the