by G M Barlean
Naomi’s words were loud—loud enough for every guest in proximity to hear. Gasps escaped the crowd like balloons hissing air.
“Young lady, are you carrying a weapon?” Chief Danby took a formidable stance and glanced at the pocket of my dress. “Perhaps a jackknife?” He reached toward my pocket.
I exploded. Naomi’s scrawny neck needed my fingers around it. I lunged, wanting nothing more than to choke the lies out of the conniving backstabber.
Chief grabbed me by my shoulders and put me in a hold I couldn’t wiggle free of.
I screamed, “You bitch. You filthy bitch!” The chief held me up off the ground, my feet kicking in the air. Then he put me down and twisted my hands behind my back. I cried out in pain.
“Oh, no. Stop,” Mari begged. “None of this is necessary.”
Too late. The chief had already begun to push me toward the gate. “Time for you to cool off in a jail cell,” he bellowed.
More gasps escaped the crowd.
Accusing eyes glared at me. Hands covered appalled mouths, and judging stares bore into me. People backed away in disgust, as though I were rabid and foaming at the mouth.
Maybe I was.
It’s the way I felt.
I’d come into this party knowing in my gut I was walking into a place I had no business being. But I left knowing one thing very clear. Someday I would make Naomi Waterman Talbot pay for what she’d done.
Chapter 9
The stuffy room couldn’t overcome the chill of the threatening tone of Debbie’s story. Gloria shivered. “I can’t deny it. At this point, I don’t like Naomi, either.”
“I know, right?” Betty put up her palms and nodded. The other women all bobbed their heads in agreement.
Gloria understood why someone would want to teach the shallow, self-absorbed witch a lesson. But murder her?
None of this information had ever come to light before. These were great insights into the emotions that led to whatever had happened between these women and Naomi. And as far as writing a book went, these were the colorful characters Gloria had been looking for. She would listen as long as it took. But for today, she had to go.
“Gals, I’ve been here a few hours and it’s time for me to go, but it’s been enlightening.” Gloria stood and began to gather up her things.
Tanya’s eyebrows peaked with concern and she cradled the cup of coffee in her hands. “When are you coming back?” She seemed a little needy, but also motherly.
Gloria’s heart warmed to her and she searched the old woman’s face for anything similar to her own. “How about I come every Tuesday and Thursday at two o’clock? I’ll try to stay until four thirty or so. That sound okay?”
The women looked around at each other and nodded happily.
“Don’t forget,” Tanya said with a grin. “Maybe I should text you a reminder on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.” She dipped her hand into the pocket of her ivory sweater and produced a smart phone. Gloria didn’t even try to hide her surprise.
“Didn’t think I had one of these, did ya?” She winked.
Josie laid a hand on Tanya’s arm. “Oh, Tanya, Gloria won’t forget. She wants this story. It’s gonna make her famous.” The old gal gave Gloria a heart-squeezing smile.
Josie was right about her not forgetting, at least.
On her drive back to Rosewood, Gloria remembered her own mother complaining about a woman in their neighborhood. “Gold digger” and “snob,” were words she had used in connection with the particular name. Maybe every neighborhood had one or two women abusing positions of power. Lording their money over others and bossing the world around. Funny thing was, her mother really hadn’t ever been the type to gossip or speak ill of anyone. It’s why she remembered her saying it. People like Naomi had a way of getting under one’s skin.
Gloria chuckled as she thought about how angry the old women’s faces had been. All scrunched up, twisted old mouths, and furrowed brows. This Naomi had to be more than a socialite power monger to make these women so mad they still carried anger to this day.
From what Gloria could tell, the women all seemed like normal, intelligent people. Even Debbie. Maybe especially Debbie. Her outbursts and rough exterior were like a little drama inside the bigger show. Gloria was going to enjoy getting to know her.
She pulled up to the driveway of her little house. Twelve hundred square feet of low-maintenance living. One potted plant on the front porch, barely alive. Gotta water that, she thought, but knew she’d forget.
She showered, put on some yoga pants, went to the kitchen, and started digging through her cupboards. Brown rice, a can of black beans, and some diced tomatoes would do the trick, but meat would be nice. Not even as much as one can of tuna.
The fridge didn’t hold any more promise. A head of lettuce and a bottle of mustard—not even a piece of bologna haunting the meat drawer.
Time to get some groceries. She grabbed her house keys, locked the door behind her, and took off at a jog down the few blocks to Hinkle’s Food Haven.
As she ran along the street, she gave little waves to folks already sitting out on their front porches for the evening. She flipped open her cell phone. Five thirty—after supper for most of the senior set. She lived in a neighborhood chock-full of elderly folks. It was like having a dozen grandmas at your disposal. She was the only one in the neighborhood who moved above the speed of cold syrup. And these old folks thought she was plain crazy for jogging.
Gloria saw Mabel Piper sitting at the end of the block. The old woman had bad vision and couldn’t see folks from her front porch, so she dragged her aluminum lawn chair right up to the sidewalk by the street and plopped herself there. Didn’t miss a thing that way. Mabel made it her personal business to know everything about everyone, especially Gloria, it seemed. And right now, Mabel was waving like someone bringing in a plane for landing.
“Gloria, what are you doing? Running away from someone?” Mabel’s chins shook as she laughed at her own joke. Three odd curlers clung randomly in her hair and she fussed at them with plump fingers.
Mabel always had an extra lawn chair for the potential guest. “Sit down.” The loose weight under Mabel’s arm wiggled as she shook the armrest of the extra aluminum chair.
“Can’t tonight, Mabel.” Gloria panted a little as she jogged in place. “Gotta get to the store. Out of groceries. Haven’t had supper yet.” Mabel put a lot of stock in taking meals on time. The old woman had once scolded Gloria about making sure she ate nutritiously. Like her own mother didn’t remind her enough. Gloria hoped her empty stomach would appease the old gal.
“Out of everything? Did you forget to do your marketing this week?” Mabel’s expression showed an absolute lack of understanding.
“I guess I did. Just got busy.” Gloria still jogged in place, waiting to be dismissed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Mabel. She just wasn’t in the mood for an inquisition today. Especially on an empty stomach.
“Too busy to think of eating? Well, land sakes. Never heard of such a thing. Get on out of here you skinny thing. You need to eat more. And stop all this crazy running. It’s not healthy. Jumbles up your reproductive organs is all that does.”
As Gloria jogged away, Mabel hollered out, “Buy meat. You need protein. And vegetables. Don’t forget vegetables!”
Later, Gloria cut up a hot dog into her rice, beans, and tomatoes. She suspected this wasn’t what Mabel had in mind when she suggested she eat more meat.
She washed up her few dishes, then began to review the tapes from the afternoon. She paused to think about all the old people staring out at the world from their front porches in her neighborhood. Gloria realized these people might have light to shed on this whole Thorns of Rosewood issue. Maybe she’d have to sit down and chat with Mabel to see what she remembered.
Then it occurred to Gloria—tomorrow she could visit the old-man table.
Seemed every town had an old-man table at some eatery or coffee shop. This one happened to b
e at the truck stop on the east edge of town. Plenty of gossip was passed around at those tables. And endless cups of coffee. How old people could drink so much coffee, she’d never understand. They drank it like their lives depended on it. And hot—they demanded it be hot. Like they’d lived too damn long to tolerate lukewarm liquid.
Gloria had inserted herself into the old-man table conversation her first week in Rosewood and made it a priority ever since. It’s where she found leads for some of the paper’s best stories. The old men had welcomed her and done what they could to rattle her at first. Told some tall tales. Still did. But she could tell by their winks and exaggerated expressions which stories had merit and which ones were meant to send her off chasing her tail. She’d come to love those old guys.
Tomorrow she’d ask them about the Thorns of Rosewood and see what they had to say. They’d talked about them before, but this time she would pay closer attention. She had a feeling it would be worth the price of coffee.
It was called The Last Stop if you were heading out of town going east. Coming in to town going west—The First Stop. The timeworn diner sat on the east side of town right on the highway, directly across from the hospital. Everyone joked that it was a good thing since the food was a heart attack waiting to happen.
Most of the waitstaff at the Last/First Stop were older women who had been working there since the place opened back in the late sixties. Except for Tildy Hoffman—Tildy ranked as the youngest waitress of the group at only fifty-eight. But she moved as quick as a forty-year-old and had an attitude capable of handling not only truckers but also the smart alecks at the old-man table. The old men often proved the more difficult of the two.
Tildy dropped a tray down onto the table Gloria and the old men occupied. Cinnamon rolls jumped on the plates as they rattled against each other. “I can’t believe you boys haven’t ordered a cinnamon roll yet this morning. These are the last four.” She left the tray on the table, hustled over to the coffee station to grab a carafe, and came back to pour them another round. She filled all the cups full to the point of running over—one of Tildy’s trademarks. Customers came as much for Tildy’s show as for the chicken-fried steak the joint was known for.
“But, Tildy, I probably shouldn’t have a roll. I’m watching my figure, you know,” said Chevy. His eyebrows danced and he reached out to poke Tildy in the ribs.
Chevy was the tallest of the bunch. The ladies’ man in his younger years, Gloria suspected. Old smooth talker had sold cars back when he was still a workingman.
Tildy pushed his hand away and pointed a threatening finger at him. “You’re buying rolls. No arguments, and I mean it. And you all better leave me a decent tip today. This fifty-cent crap ain’t gonna pay for my retirement.”
Tildy unloaded a plate with a cinnamon roll in front of each of the old men, and they all looked as though they knew better than to argue.
After Tildy stormed away, Gloria ventured her question. “So, what do you fellas remember about Naomi Talbot?”
Delbert whistled.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked the retired dentist with bushy eyebrows and slouching shoulders but darn straight teeth.
“She was a hot one,” Bart answered for Delbert. Cinnamon-roll frosting clung to his mustache. Bart loved sweets, as his round belly attested.
“Oh yeah, smokin’ hot,” Wayne added. Wayne was sometimes quiet, other times a comedian. He had the deepest pockets of the bunch and owned a few apartment buildings in town. He was well respected, which only made his statement about Naomi being smokin’ hot funnier.
Gloria shook her head. Old perverts.
“I remember Naomi’s husband, the judge, didn’t seem nearly as upset as he should have been. Wasn’t even him who questioned his wife going missing. He seemed satisfied to assume she left him.” Wayne popped the last bite of roll in his mouth and licked his fingers.
“Could hardly blame him what with how she’d cat around on him,” Delbert added.
“You know, I had a shot at her once.” Chevy leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“In your dreams.” Delbert poked Chevy in the shoulder.
“Not a chance.” Wayne shook his head.
“You finally went senile,” Bart added.
Gloria waited for them to finish their chorus of insults. “So what did you guys think of the Thorns of Rosewood?”
The old men quieted down and the conversation from there became more hushed… reverent.
Bart twisted his coffee cup in its saucer. “Josie Townsend was a real good teacher. She actually helped my boy understand math. Never thought I’d see that happen. I got nuthin’ bad to say about her.”
Wayne nodded. “I always liked dealing with Betty Striker at the law office. She knew her stuff. Good gal. Always a lady.” He slurped his steaming coffee.
“Debbie Coleman had a tough row to hoe. She grew up rough. Her, I wouldn’t have put it past.” Delbert played with a packet of sugar but avoided eye contact.
“Well. I can’t even imagine Tanya Gunderson killing a fly, let alone a human. Even if it was that mean woman,” Chevy added. “And don’t forget their friend, Mari Gestling. The girls claimed Naomi murdered her. That’s why folks figured they went after Naomi to begin with.” He downed the last of his coffee and motioned to Tildy to bring him a refill.
“So, do you think they killed her or not?” Gloria asked outright.
Wayne shook his head. “Nah. They couldn’t have. They wouldn’t have known how to even go about something like that.”
“I don’t know. How hard is it to kill someone?” Delbert shrugged.
“Harder than you think.” Bart stared solemnly into his cup.
The table fell silent for a moment. Bart was a veteran. “There wasn’t any proof. That’s why they were let go, wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes, yes. That was why. I remember that.” Delbert agreed and nodded.
“I think for the most part, we all would say those gals were innocent.” Wayne smiled at Gloria and stirred sugar into his hot coffee.
But Gloria noticed Delbert’s almost imperceptible shrug. Opinions were still split, like she suspected it had been back in the day. It only reinforced her desire to learn the rest of the story.
Chapter 10
Thursday, around twelve thirty, Gloria started to watch the clock. Tanya had sent her a reminder text, but she hadn’t forgotten. There’d be no denying Gloria was eager to hear more of the story and to spend more time with the four women.
When she arrived, they were all waiting for her in the sunroom. The yellow walls beckoned, as did the old women’s smiles.
“Hello, ladies.” Gloria greeted them.
“We have cookies!” Josie pointed at the plate on the table and clapped her hands together. “Oatmeal raisin.”
Gloria would have to mention peanut butter was her favorite and see if wishes really could come true.
After settling in, eating a cookie or two, and making some small talk, Gloria brought out her notepad and pen. “Are you ready to tell me more of the story? I believe Debbie was being hauled off to jail, last we talked.”
Debbie nodded, but Betty looked to be preparing to do the talking.
“Yes she was, and it was our job to spring her,” Betty said and cleared her throat.
“That’s right. We had to save our Debbie.” A cookie crumb fell onto Tanya’s sweater. She searched for it to no avail. Josie picked it off for her.
Gloria’s heart warmed.
She sat back and grabbed another cookie as Betty reached back in time.
Back at the Reception with Betty—1950
We were still at the reception, and I wanted to get the heck out of there so we could go help Debbie. I hurried everyone along. “Go, go… before Naomi turns on us.” But it was too late.
Naomi reached out and grabbed Mari’s arm.
“Wait, Betty,” Mari said to me as she slowed, then stopped.
“Ignore her,”
I begged as I clutched Mari’s hand to tug her along.
“Just wait,” Mari insisted. She turned to face Naomi. For a smart girl, she was certainly a glutton for punishment.
We paused by the gate. I knew talking to Naomi was going to make more problems. I knew Naomi had nothing but more ill will to spread. Damn Mari’s good manners.
“What is it?” Mari asked, stiff but gracious. Always gracious.
Naomi placed her hands on her stomach and stared into Mari’s eyes. Her attempt at a Madonna-like expression didn’t fool me. I could hardly stand the sight of her act. What kind of show was this going to be?
“I’m so glad you’re being such a good sport about everything, Mari.” Naomi waved back toward Doug. He stood several feet away, talking to other guests. “I mean, you had some kind of little crush on him, didn’t you?” She offered sarcastic sympathy with a slight pout of her bottom lip.
I crossed my arms. “Mari, you don’t need to listen to this.”
She ignored me. Her face turned crimson, but she squared her shoulders and raised an eyebrow. “It was a bit more than a crush, Naomi. Doug and I dated for several years.”
“Really?” Naomi threw her head back and laughed at Mari. “Well, Doug hardly mentioned you. It must have been far more serious for you than for him.”
“Yes. Apparently it was more important to me,” Mari said, then began to turn. “Come on, Betty, we should be going.”
But Naomi caught Mari’s arm again and pulled her back. Nothing was ever enough for her. She wasn’t happy until she drove her knife in deep.
“You do realize a man with Doug’s future requires a certain kind of wife?” She twirled the new diamond on her ring finger and it glittered in the sunlight. “I mean, his father is an attorney. Doug will be an attorney. As his wife, I’ll be part of high society.” Her stiff smile hid her teeth but not her intentions. “It’s the kind of thing people with money understand. You really wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”
