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

wanted to knock the disingenuous smile off the kid’s face. “Okay. Let’s forget the beer for the time being. We need to take you down to the station house for questioning. Would you come with us, please?”
    Jimmy Dean took another huge bite of the sandwich. Lettuce spilled out of his mouth, muffling his voice. “Questioning about what?”
    “A few matters of vandalism. If you’ll come with us, we’ll discuss it at the station.”
    “What if I don’t want to come with you?”
    “We have the authority to require that you do,” Velveeta said, leaning over so that the leather on her holster squeaked ever so subtly.
    Jimmy Dean didn’t lose any of his bravado. While one hand jammed the sandwich in his mouth, his other held up a finger indicating the officers should wait for him to finish his lunch. He took another few bites of the sandwich, stuffing his mouth full. Then he stood, wiped his hands on his cargo shorts, and with a still full mouth said, “You gonna cuff me?”
    “You’re not under arrest.” Velveeta frowned and pressed her lips together.
    A glimmer of disappointment crossed his face before he held out an arm. “Ladies first.”
    Velveeta stood straight, her beefy legs taking her to five feet eleven inches in height. With her long, thick arms, size sixteen body, and the several inches she had on Jimmy Dean, she clearly could handle him. She put her hand on his back and gently shoved, indicating that he should go first. “I ain’t no lady. I’m an officer of the law, and you’d best remember that.”
    On the way through the house, Jimmy Dean called out for the butler, telling him to notify his parents, and then he mumbled, “My dad and his associate will get over there, and I’ll be out of this farce fast as Cheez Whiz out of a can.” He looked pointedly at Velveeta.
    “Aren’t you a lucky boy.” Velveeta opened the car door for him. “Watch your head now.” She put her hand on top of his head and none too gently shoved him into the cruiser.

    Hank and Velveeta escorted Jimmy Dean to the only interrogation room the GPJPD had. It was actually a former supply closet and didn’t hold anything but a table and four chairs, with barely enough room to pull the chairs out from the table. But it was better than the old interrogation room that doubled as the break room. Chief Butterfield said it was hard for suspects to take the officers seriously when they were staring at cheese puffs and Hawaiian Punch in vending machines.
    Jimmy Dean’s father, Louis P. Howe, was the head of a law firm with offices on Main Street, just down from the town green. It wasn’t far from the police station, so just as Jimmy Dean had predicted, his father and associate were waiting when the three of them arrived. They let the lawyer talk to the client while Louis P. requested a conference with the officers and the chief.
    “What’s all this nonsense about, Chief?” Louis sat in a chair and tugged at the sharp crease in his pants before he crossed his legs. He appeared nonchalant but had an air about him that suggested he was wound tighter than a three-day clock.
    Johnny stood beside Louis’s chair, peering down at him, and said, “This nonsense , as you call it, is about your son vandalizing public property with spray paint on top of vandalizing the school the other day.”
    Louis’s expression did not change as he scanned Johnny’s entire body. “Seriously? You got us down here on account of some art?”
    “Vandalism is a crime, sir. We take all crimes seriously.”
    “Slow day in the junction, I see,” he mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard. “And just because you think he vandalized those windows, you took the giant leap that he surely must be responsible for whatever transpired with some spray paint?” He looked down his nose and said condescendingly, “Come on, Chief. You’re smarter than that.”
    “We have a witness who shared some interesting information. So I’m not leaping