by Ashton Lee
The pregnant Becca “Broccoli” Brachle, as she was known to the fans of her now-defunct radio recipe show, followed up her husband’s question. “Can you tell us what some of the most popular stolen items are in general?”
The sheriff briefly squinted while trying to conjure them all up. “Well, we do find that makeup, eyeliner, lipstick, high heels, scarves, and things like that tend to get shoplifted a lot.”
Maura Beth sounded a bit skeptical. “So, are you saying that most shoplifters are women?”
The sheriff snickered. “No, men do more than their share. I think crime is an equal opportunity destroyer of the economy.”
“What do the men tend to take?” Maura Beth said, somewhat reassured.
“Electronic stuff. Cell phones, watches, laptops, that kinda stuff. There’s a lotta fencing that goes on.”
Maura Beth continued to press. “Tell us about your most unusual case here in Cherico—that is, if you can.”
The sheriff was laughing heartily now. “Sure can. A few years back, we caught a cross-dresser who was puttin’ together outfits for himself. Shoplifted a girdle, pantyhose, high heels, and such, and I do believe when we caught him he had just about every one of those items on while he was doing some honest, pay-for-it shopping dressed as a woman. Turns out all he really wanted to do was go buy lotsa girlie things without people lookin’ at him like he was crazy. But he told us he needed to get that first round of stuff without all the embarrassment—thus, the shoplifting.” The sheriff winked a couple of times as he surveyed the crowd. “Actually, he made a real handsome woman, if you wanna know the truth.”
Stout Fella’s laugh sounded like a couple of high-pitched hiccups. “Does that cross-dressing fella still live here?”
“Nope, we cut him a break because he was underage. But he still did a little juvie detention center time for all the stuff he stole. By the time he got out, I believe he’d learned his lesson. He and his family moved away shortly after anyway. But before they left, that young man came by my office to tell me he was actually grateful we caught him when they did. Said it gave him the motivation he needed to stop cross-dressing once and for all. At least that was his story.”
Mamie Crumpton, the buxom, opinionated half of the town’s wealthiest spinster sisters, then spoke up in that imperious manner of hers. “All this talk of cross-dressing impresses me as unseemly. I don’t think we have anyone who does that here in Cherico now.”
Voncille Nettles Linwood, the town genealogist and Mamie’s long-time rival, eyed her with disdain. “And how would you know that, Mamie? Have you been peeking into a few closets around town with a flashlight? You could have passed some woman on the street and not even blinked, never knowing that you were actually looking at a man in drag. Maybe that person even stole the tips from The Twinkle.”
“Please, Voncille, don’t start anything,” Locke Linwood said, gently grabbing his wife’s arm.
Mamie bristled, her nose turned up sharply. “Yes. Is this conversation really necessary, Voncille? You always were such a know-it-all. And you run your ‘Who’s Who in Cherico?’ meetings like a mad genealogist. You make things up about our families and think we’re all just going to sit there in our seats and take it like we were a bunch of those impressionable students you taught.”
“Ladies, please!” Maura Beth said, resuming her customary role as peacemaker. “We’re here to let the sheriff guide us, not argue with one another!” Respecting Maura Beth as they did, the two women quickly obeyed and with downcast eyes went thankfully silent. “I appreciate your cooperation very much. Now, Sheriff Dreyfus, will you please continue?”
“I just wanted to emphasize that all of you need to be the eyes and ears of Cherico,” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice following the last exchange. “Over the years, Cherico’s not had too much of this kinda thing—certainly not anything we couldn’t handle. This time, no one seems to have seen or heard anything about the stolen money, and that’s unusual. Yet, those tips just didd’n get up and walk out by themselves. I assure you, they had help of some kind.”
“Did they ever!” Periwinkle cried out impulsively.
The sheriff wrinkled up his nose a couple of times, and his mustache did a passable imitation of a big gray caterpillar wiggling underneath. “Miz Peri—you knew your two customers who left those tips, and after that, neither you nor your waitress were around to see what happened. But we’ll get to the bottom of this sooner or later before it escalates into something worse.”
Once again, Mamie Crumpton joined the exchange with gusto. “This sounds like it could even end up being a tad bit dangerous. You’re certainly right, Sheriff. I don’t recall anything like this before, and I’ve lived here all my life, as you all know. Of course, I had no idea about the cross-dressing thing. But maybe being the person who catches this awful person would be exciting.”
“Now, Miz Crumpton,” the sheriff said, boring into her with his eyes, “we don’t want you or anybody else to take any chances, ya hear? I don’t think the role of vigilante really suits you. As you said, this could be a dangerous proposition, and we don’t want anyone hurt out there. If you or your sister, Marydell, spot something suspicious, you just call us up, and you let that be the end of it.”
“Oh, will do,” Mamie told him as she clasped her hands with a certain thrill evident in her voice.
Then Mr. Place’s mother, Ardenia, waved her hand back and forth. “Sheriff, I just want to say that my son won’t let me get out the house without him. Now how am I s’pposed to help out with him drivin’ me around like that? Could you do me a big favor and talk some sense into him? When he get the hard head like that, I just throw my hands up in the air. Just like his no-good daddy—and good riddance to him!”
Mr. Place’s jaw dropped as a round of snickers and giggles broke out among the members. “Mama, the sheriff doesn’t have time for this. It’s strictly between you and me.”
“I have time for all my constituents,” the sheriff declared, rising to the occasion. “And let me just say that you might be in the best position of all of us, ma’am. The driver’s the one who has to pay attention to the road and such—and that leaves the passengers free to see a lot more. Why, you can keep an eye out that much better that way!”
Ardenia sat back in her chair, adjusting her thick glasses and then folding her arms with a satisfied grin. “Well, I never looked at it that-a-way. Guess maybe I can do my part after all. When you a certain age, no one seem to pay attention to you. You heard what the sheriff say, son?”
“I heard it, Mama.”
The sheriff drew himself up with a great intake of air, adding another few inches to his height. “Well, I’m glad I could help you out, Miz Ardenia. You might be the one who ends up helping us catch the thief.” He nodded her way crisply. “Well, I guess that’s about it, ladies and gentlemen. We believe the eyes and ears of Cherico will solve this thing and get things back to normal. Better to nip this kinda thing in the bud. Do your part and be smart about it. We’re all counting on ya.”
No meeting of The Cherry Cola Book Club was ever complete without potluck dishes to sample, and the talk by the sheriff was no exception. In fact, he was the first in line at the buffet table, and soon everyone was digging into the peeled boiled shrimp and cocktail sauce, potato salad with egg and dill, and caramel pie that various members had contributed; and also true to form—everyone was using the occasion to catch up with each other.
“So, your second trimester is going a lot easier for you?” Maura Beth was asking Becca Brachle. The two of them had managed to find a couple of seats next to each other in the midst of the chatting throng.
Becca’s face was a study in relief. “Oh, very much easier, thank you. I’ve been the Queen of Morning Sickness up until now. My mother was like that, too. But thankfully, that’s all behind me. I feel like I can get to the end of this now, and believe me, I was doubting that for a while.”
“Are you and your Stout Fella stil
l not going to ask your obstetrician about the gender?”
“Justin wants to know in the worst way. I kinda don’t, though. So far, I’ve managed to hold out, but I have to say, he’s wearing me down. It would be easier to buy things in coordinated colors, so to speak. I know, I know—in this day and age you’d think people would’ve moved away from the pink and blue thing. But when you’ve been waiting to get pregnant as long as Justin and I have, you’d be surprised how traditional our thinking has become all of a sudden.”
Maura Beth took a sip of her cherry cola punch and moved on to the inevitable. “What about baby names?”
“Now there, we’ve made a decision,” Becca said, excitement flashing in her eyes. “If it’s a boy, he’s not going to be a junior. We want something brand-new. So we’re going with Mark Grantham Brachle. Grantham was my mother’s maiden name, and I want to honor it.”
“I like the sound of it, too. And if it’s a girl?”
Becca sounded thoroughly resolute. “No Becca, either. I would never tell my mother this, but I’ve never really liked my name. It always sounded so formal to me. So, we’re going to go with Angelica Grantham Brachle, since we just know she’ll be our little angel.”
“Sounds very original!” Then Maura Beth lowered her voice and leaned in, carefully balancing her plate on her knees. “And what’s the latest on the godmother thing, if you don’t mind?”
Almost in a whisper, Becca said, “You’re still the frontrunner. Just keep it on the down low for now. I don’t want your competition to know that I’ve pretty much made up my mind.”
At that point, Jeremy sauntered over with a plate piled high with shrimp. He had been known to tear through a dozen in no time at all. “And what are you two beautiful ladies whispering about? Something about Councilman Sparks, I’m willing to bet anything.”
“You’d lose that bet this time, sweetheart,” Maura Beth told him. “But please, have a seat.”
“Have you spotted something suspicious around town then?” Jeremy continued, pulling up a nearby chair.
“Not me,” Becca said. “I don’t get out much these days. Justin would be the one—I mean, the way he’s all over the place selling real estate to whomever comes down the pike. But I fully intend to pamper myself the bigger I get. You won’t see me straying far from the house.”
Jeremy speared one of his shrimp and dipped it into the pool of pungent bright red sauce near the edge of his plate. “I’m pretty much like you, Becca. I’m out of the loop teaching all day out at the high school; so unless one of my students is the culprit and confesses, I’m not likely to be of much help.”
“Well, I guess that leaves me, then, to help the police and the sheriff out,” Maura Beth added. “I think I might start taking little walks along Commerce Street on my lunch hour. Maybe I’ll just pop in and out of stores or do some window-shopping. Heaven knows, I always need a break from that dark, windowless office of mine. And who can tell? I could get lucky and see something as it happens. Why, I could even be part of the breaking news of the day.”
“Just don’t go superhero on us, sweetie. We want you to stay safe and sound. By the way, how’s the new library coming along?” Becca said, changing the subject with a smile. “I haven’t gotten out to the lake to see it lately.”
“It’s taking shape quite nicely. Those tall concrete pillars are rising from the slab at last. It’s such an exciting time for me, I don’t know what to do with myself. Connie and Doug keep me posted on the latest developments, since they’re only a hop, skip, and a jump away at the lodge.”
Maura Beth sat back for a moment and reflected once again upon the generosity of Jeremy’s aunt and uncle. The McShays had sped things up considerably by donating some of their lakefront property for the construction of the new library—thus preventing Councilman Sparks from keeping the project on that infernal backburner of his. She knew only too well that if there was any way he could scuttle the project even at this late stage, he would try his best.
“What’s the actual timetable for getting into the building?” Becca continued. “I can hardly wait for my little one to get big enough to sign up for summer reading out there. I looked forward to it so when I was a little girl. Anyone can put a child in front of a television set, but taking a child to the library to learn how to read—now that’s some smart parenting and the gift of a lifetime.”
Maura Beth paused to count up the months in her head. “My best estimate is next summer—that is, if we don’t get too much bad weather during the winter. Of course, once the roof ’s on, even that won’t matter. I’m thinking it would be ideal if we could have a grand opening on or around the Fourth of July. We could even have a fireworks display at dusk to get everyone out to the lake to ooh and aah and carry on in general. I mean, can’t you just see it—hot dogs, ice cream, apple pie, sparklers, the works? And people crowded out on the deck of the library to watch it all. It’ll be the start of a new era of participation and support!”
“That’s a spectacular idea!” Connie McShay added. “I really hope the timing works out, and you know you can count on me and Douglas to help you with the planning, of course. You could even use our deck for your staging area if you need it.”
“Thanks. I look at it this way,” Maura Beth said. “If nothing else, the new library will be at least one bright spot on the Cherico horizon.”
When the sheriff had finished his second helping of food and finally left smiling and patting his stomach, Maura Beth took her place behind the podium and reminded the club of their upcoming review of The Member of the Wedding. “We’ve got a little more than three weeks to finish our October read, people. It’ll be our last of the year since we’ll recess for the upcoming holidays. We’ll decide what to read next year at that time. And please remember to check with Becca about your potluck assignments, if you’re someone we always depend upon.”
Becca briefly waved her hand from side to side. “Yes, I haven’t heard from some of you on your preferences this time around. As usual, we don’t want too many entrées and no desserts—or vice versa.”
“I’m halfway through The Member of the Wedding, and I just don’t see any food theme in the story,” Miss Voncille said. “Unless it’s a wedding cake. I mean, our Forrest Gump review was a natural with the shrimp dishes some people fixed. But that little mixed-up Frankie Addams girl in this one—well, she doesn’t eat a thing Berenice Sadie Brown puts in front of her. You can tell Berenice is one of those good, down-home Southern cooks the way she takes the time to shell her peas instead of pouring them out of a can like so many people do these days. She’s the sort of help who’s fallen by the wayside, unfortunately. I always had a good appetite when I was growing up, and I never went through a period like Frankie did where she didn’t fit into anything. And I can’t imagine not scrubbing my elbows and then getting all my hair cut so short you look like a boy. What Frankie really needs is the tender, loving care of a mother.”
“But she doesn’t have one. That’s the whole point, Voncille,” Mamie Crumpton pointed out with a haughty stare. “Her father is widowed and works hard, so she’s on her own all the time. Aren’t you paying attention to what you read, or is that too much to ask?”
Maura Beth stepped in once again. “I appreciate your comments, ladies. You’re both obviously very involved with the plot, and that’s terrific. But maybe we should save these insights for our actual review. And there doesn’t have to be a food theme for us to read any work of literature, you know. I realize how important the potluck dishes have become to everyone. They’re a big part of the club’s success. Today’s little feast was a great example. Sheriff Dreyfus raved about everything, and I really thought he was going to help himself to thirds. But references to food are not why we select our books. Anyhow, you can still fix those biscuits of yours if you want, Miss Voncille. I know everyone loves them.”
“I sure do, and I’ve even put on a few pounds eating them since we got married,” Locke Linwood added, pointi
ng to his waist.
“I’ve already told Becca I want to bring my world-famous chocolate pudding this time,” Mamie said. “I sprinkle lots of slivered almonds on top for a little change of pace. It was Mother’s basic recipe, of course, but I decided to tweak it a little. Isn’t that right, Sister?”
For once, the timid, mousy Marydell Crumpton spoke up for herself, surprising everyone. “As I recall, the almonds were my idea.”
“Why, they most certainly were not. Now what on earth has gotten into you, Sister dear?”
“I beg to differ. The crunch was my idea, and you know it. One day in the kitchen I commented to you that I thought the pudding had gotten too predictable and needed a little kick. Then I went to the pantry and rummaged through it until I found the almonds.”
“I don’t remember it that way!” Mamie insisted. “I was the one who poured them on top first!”
Maura Beth’s jaw dropped, and everyone else in the club was frowning in disbelief. No one had ever heard Marydell say anything in reply to her dominating sister other than yes. And now here she was, fighting for the floor and respectably holding her own.
The exchange escalated when Miss Voncille joined in with a gleeful expression. “This is rich. The Crumpton sisters arguing over pudding and almonds. I never thought I’d see the day!”
Mamie heaved her chest mightily in Miss Voncille’s general direction. “This is none of your all-fired business, Voncille. I claim the slivered almonds, and that’s the end of the story!”
