“Well, I for one am sorry to hear that they’re getting a divorce,” Ethel said. The eldest of the group, she had celebrated her eighty-first birthday the month before and wasn’t above claiming the prerogatives of age. She poked her needle through the Double Wedding Ring quilt, which was one of her favorite patterns. Of course, the club could have paid Mrs. Moore, two streets over, to quilt the pieced top on her long-arm sewing machine, which would make short work of it. But while the Texas Stars didn’t agree on everything (on much of anything, as a matter of fact), they agreed that there wouldn’t be any fun in turning the job over to a one-armed mechanical wizard. So they stretched the quilt top and batting and lining over Ethel’s frame and spent several hours each week quilting it by hand.
Luckily, they were all expert stitchers. That is, none of them put in
big, sloppy stitches that had to be surreptitiously taken out after the offending stitcher had gone home. Ethel herself was proud of the fact that she could still see to stitch and that her quilting stitches were every bit as tiny and neat as Hazel Schulz’s, whose eyes were younger by twenty-five-plus years but not nearly as good as hers. The fact that Ethel wore two hearing aids didn’t slow down her stitching in the slightest.
“The divorce wasn’t much of a surprise, though,” she added astutely. “Not after Mrs. Kirk went and got herself a boyfriend.”
Jane Jessup peered at her over the tops of her tortoiseshell reading glasses. “I knew she’d moved out, but I had no idea she has a
boyfriend
. Who is he?” Jane, who was younger than Ethel by five years and three days, lived at 1115 Pecan, between Ethel and the Kirks, and had a big vegetable garden in her backyard, where she grew most of the food she put on her vegetarian table. Of all the Texas Stars, Jane had the greenest thumb—and the bluest hair, arranged in springy curls over her ears. She got it done every Wednesday at Bobby Rae’s House of Beauty, just off the square in downtown Pecan Springs.
“His name is Glen Vance. He’s her boss at the library.” Ethel leaned across the quilt, her blue eyes sparkling. There was nothing Ethel liked better than a bit of extra-juicy gossip. “But it mustn’t go outside this room, girls. It’s extremely hush-hush. I wouldn’t know it myself, except that my niece’s daughter-in-law works at the library. Mr. Vance and Dana Kirk are plannin’ to get married as soon as she gets her divorce.” Because she was hard of hearing, Ethel spoke very loudly—loud enough to be heard on the front sidewalk, if anybody was out there listening. So much for hush-hush.
Mildred Ewell sighed. “Well, poor Mr. Kirk is all I’ve got to say.” Mildred, who was on the pudgy side, lived at 1114 Pecan, across the street
from Ethel and Jane. She was five years younger than Jane and ten years younger than Ethel, but she was already having trouble with her ankles. “He is such a nice young man, so handsome. And always has a smile.” Mildred frowned down at the fat white poodle that trotted into the room with Mr. Wauer’s well-chewed leather slipper in his mouth. (The slipper had outlived its owner by at least ten years.) “Ethel, I wish you’d put that wretched little dog in the kitchen. You know he doesn’t like me. He has never liked me.”
As if to prove Mildred’s point, the poodle dropped the slipper, planted his feet, and growled at her.
Ethel sighed. “I really hate to shut Oodles in the kitchen, Mildred. It makes him feel left out. He loves to be part of the party.” She leaned over, crooning at the dog. “Don’t you, my precious little boy?”
“Poodles have a long memory, Mildred,” Hazel Schulz remarked. Hazel lived on the other side of the Kirks, at 1119. Of the four Stars gathered around the frame, she was the youngest, at fifty-five. “He remembers when you swatted him on the rear with a newspaper that time you caught him pooping in your iris bed.” She picked up a pair of scissors to clip a thread. “He’s had it in for you ever since.”
“That’s right, Mildred,” Ethel agreed. “If you’d be nice to Oodles, he’d be nice to you.”
“That dog doesn’t have a nice bone in his body,” Mildred said fiercely, as Oodles’ growls escalated to a barrage of high-pitched, teeth-bared yaps. “He is a menace to the neighborhood.”
“Do something, Ethel,” Jane pleaded. “We can’t hear ourselves think with all that noise.”
With a put-upon sigh, Ethel got up. “Come on, Oodles. You can take your slipper out to play on the front porch.” She unhooked her cane from
the back of her chair and started for the door. The dog picked up the slipper and followed her out, casting a baleful glance back over his shoulder at Mildred.
“Peace at last,” Mildred muttered under her breath. She wiped her perspiring upper lip with a lace-trimmed hanky. “I despise that dog.”
Jane pushed her tortoiseshell reading glasses up on her nose. “It’s too bad about the Kirks,” she said thoughtfully, going back to the subject. “Mr. Kirk is really very nice. My grandson’s laptop computer got sick with a virus and he came over and disinfected it.”
“How much did you have to pay him?” Hazel asked. “I hear it costs a lot to get those silly things fumigated, or whatever it is they do to kill the bugs. And even then you can’t be sure they’re all dead.” She paused. “Something like bedbugs, I guess.”
“I offered to pay,” Jane replied, “but he wouldn’t take it. I know he owns that computer shop and I would’ve been glad to give him a little something for his time.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and bent over her stitching. “But he said he was just being neighborly.”
“Well, Larry Kirk may be nice and neighborly, but he’s got a woman friend, too,” Ethel said, coming back into the room. She hung her cane over the back of her chair and sat down at the frame. To Mildred, she added. “I hope you’re satisfied, Mildred. Oodles hates being out there by himself. He’s barking at Mr. Kennedy down the street. He’s out there trimming his hedge.”
Jane sighed. “That poor hedge. Mr. Kennedy trims it within an inch of its life. Looks like a square green box.”
“It’s better than being in here, barking at us,” Mildred said, plying her needle firmly. “Really, Ethel, I don’t know how you can stand to live with that constant yap-yap-yap. Such an irritating noise.”
“It’s easy.” Ethel smiled. “I just turn down my hearing aids.”
Hazel picked up her scissors and stared at Ethel. “Larry Kirk has a woman friend? Ethel, I don’t believe it! At least, not in the way you mean. He is such a fine, upstanding young man.”
“What way
do
you mean, Ethel?” Jane asked, arching her silvery eyebrows. “Is he
sleeping
with her?”
Ethel shrugged. “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Whoever this woman is, she always seems to pick the wrong times to drop in. After Mr. Kirk has gone to his shop, I mean. I’ve seen her.” For emphasis, she tapped her thimble sharply against her scissors, once, twice. “Two different times.”
Keeping track of the comings and goings of her neighbors was Ethel’s favorite hobby—next to quilting, that is. A few of the residents of Pecan Street resented her insistent, intrusive nosiness and wished she would stop. But Ruby Wilcox, who lived next door on the east at 1111, pointed out that Mrs. Wauer was a useful adjunct to the Neighborhood Watch (especially since Oodles the Poodle was on guard as well), and most agreed that Ethel was a nuisance, but well-meaning. And harmless.
Hazel Schulz was not one of them. “You have been snooping again, Ethel,” she said reproachfully. “That’s not very nice, you know. People have a right to their privacy.”
Ethel frowned. “Well, I have to wash my dishes, don’t I? And the window over my kitchen sink looks out onto the alley, doesn’t it? I can glance right out my window and see her, sneakin’ down the alley and goin’ through the Kirks’ back gate. In fact, I’d have to shut my eyes to
keep
from seeing her, Hazel, in spite of the fact that she obviously doesn’t want to be seen, which is why she’s goin’ down the alley in the first place.” She sniffed. “And I don’t know about you, but when I see a black-haired lady walkin’ in her high heels down the alley, I take notice.”
Jane took her thimble off. “Now that you mention it, I’ve seen her, too, Ethel,” she said thoughtfully. She wiped her fingers on a tissue and put her thimble back on. “Long black hair, straight, stylish, early forties?”
“That’s the one,” Ethel said, nodding. “A little too much makeup for my taste. And not a happy look on her face.”
“I didn’t see her in the alley,” Jane said. “But I did see her getting into her car the other day—one of those little foreign cars, Hyundai or something like that. She was parked down at the end of the block, in front of the McNallys’. I asked Mrs. McNally who she was, but she didn’t know. She did say, though, that she’d seen her parked out there a couple of times. Just sitting in the car, like she was waiting for somebody.” Her pause was meaningful. “Now that you’ve told us about her going into Mr. Kirk’s backyard, I’m wondering if she was maybe waiting for him to come home.”
“These young people,” Mildred said with a sigh. “Always getting up to monkey business.”
Ethel cackled. “It’s not like you ever did that in
your
younger years, is it, Mildred?”
“Not hardly,” Mildred retorted in an injured tone. “At least, not
that
. We might’ve gone out behind the barn for some neckin’, but that’s as far as it went.” She tilted her head and a remembering smile ghosted across her lips. “Mostly, anyway.”
“I wonder if the Kirks will sell their house,” Hazel said. She squinted at her needle, trying to rethread it. “You know, that garage of theirs is two feet over on our side of the property line. Sam has been having fits about it for years. Sometimes he gets so mad, he could just chew bullets.” She stopped squinting and handed her needle and thread to Jane. “I can’t see to thread this dratted needle, Jane. Will you?”
“Yes, Hazel, we all know about Sam and the property line and the
Kirks’ garage,” Mildred said crisply. “And we all wonder why you and Sam don’t just sell them that piddling little strip.”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Oh, you know Sam. What’s his is his and he won’t give up one single inch of it.”
“Except that the Kirks’ garage has taken two whole feet instead of one single inch, and has for years and years,” Ethel put in. “So let’s not talk about it again, shall we?”
“Anyway, now that the Kirks are getting divorced, they’ll probably sell the house,” Hazel said, taking her threaded needle from Jane and going back to her sewing. “And Sam can blow his cork at whoever buys it next.”
“Maybe Ruby’s sister will buy it,” Mildred said. “You know, she finally left that husband of hers up in Dallas—they’ve had trouble for years and years—and she’s staying with Ruby. I heard she was looking for her own place. The Kirks’ house would be perfect for her, just three doors down from Ruby.”
Ruby Wilcox was also a Texas Star, but since she worked during the day (she owned Pecan Springs’ only New Age shop, the Crystal Cave, and was the part owner of Thyme for Tea), she could only come to night meetings.
“Or maybe Chief Dawson and her sheriff husband will buy it,” Jane suggested. “You know they’re renting Aubrey Drew’s mother’s house, across the alley from me, on Hickory Street. But Aubrey might want that house back, and of course it would be better for us if the chief and the sheriff would stay in the neighborhood. The Kirks’ place would be perfect.” She smiled archly at Hazel. “Except for poor Sam, who couldn’t get too mad at
them
, even if their garage does lap over the property line by two feet.”
“Chief Dawson.” Ethel snorted. “For the life of me, I can’t think why
these modern women don’t use their right names. Their
married
names. Why couldn’t she be Chief Blackwell? She’s married to the sheriff, isn’t she?”
“He’s not sheriff any longer,” Mildred pointed out. “I don’t understand why he quit. There’s been a Sheriff Blackwell in Adams County for as long as I can remember.” She shook her head sadly. “I’m sure his daddy would be disappointed, if he were still alive.”
“I don’t suppose he gave up his guns just because he quit being sheriff,” Jane pointed out. “I heard he’s working as a private investigator, like on TV. Anyway, if anybody tries any funny stuff in this neighborhood, it’s good to have them right here to protect us. When the bad guys see the chief’s car parked in the driveway, they know they need to go somewhere else.”
Hazel smiled wistfully. “I just think it’s so romantic, don’t you? Two law enforcement officers, falling in love and getting married. And Chief Dawson—why, she’s
beautiful
. If you ask me, she could have had a career in modeling. I wonder why she decided to be a cop instead. Doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Wonder if their kids will grow up to be police like their mommy and daddy,” Ethel remarked.
“I don’t think a chief of police should
have
any kids,” Mildred said, and bit off her thread. “She wouldn’t find time to raise them right. And what would happen to the children if she got herself killed?”
“Well, I personally don’t think a woman has any business being the chief of police,” Ethel asserted. “Or a policeman, either. It’s not natural.” She shuddered. “What if she meets some big huge man in a dark alley somewhere? Why, he could
rape
her and she wouldn’t be strong enough to stop him!”
“She’s got a gun, doesn’t she?” Mildred asked tartly. “She’d just shoot
his you-know-whats off.
I
would, if some man tried to put a finger on me.”
“It’s policewoman, Ethel,” Jane said. “She’s not a police
man
, she’s a police
woman
.”
“It’s police
officer
,” Hazel said. “I read that somewhere. They don’t want to be called policemen or policewomen. Officer is what they want to be called.”
“Well, I think the chief and the sheriff should definitely buy the Kirks’ house when it goes on the market,” Jane said. “I personally would feel very safe with them living next door—with or without children.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “It was my turn to bring the refreshments today, girls. I baked some curry and cardamom cookies from a recipe I got from China Bayles, over at Thyme for Seasons.”