Not!
As afflicted with OCD as Anna Ruth was, she would lick the floor to keep from leaving the faintest whisper of a paper lying about like that, so forget the only perk to having the woman in scrapbooking with her.
“Trixie?” Anna Ruth continued to smile like the cat that ate the canary and didn’t even leave a single feather as evidence. Of course she wouldn’t! It would be clutter.
“Anna Ruth, did Andy tell you that I love scrapbooking?” Trixie asked.
“Oh, no, he never mentions you, but I did have to clean up that hobby room of yours when I moved in so I figured it out. Thought I’d never get all those little bits of paper out of the carpet. Didn’t you ever clean house?”
Molly, the queen bee of scrapbooking in all Grayson County, gasped.
Trixie had a smart-ass remark on her tongue, but she couldn’t ruin Molly’s night, not when the elderly woman had taught her so much about the craft.
“Well, ain’t that nice,” she said, the words saccharine sweet.
Trixie ignored Anna Ruth and fanned out a two-hundred-sheet assortment the size of copy paper in the middle of the table. “I found some lovely paper on sale at Hobby Lobby this past week. I bought two packages. Help yourselves. I’m sharing. I saw the red plaid on top and had to have it for a picture I’m working on it for my mother’s birthday book, but so much of the rest doesn’t go with anything in the book.”
“That is the sweetest thing,” Molly said. “You are always doing something nice for us who don’t get up to Sherman to the store very often. Oh, my! I want that pink gingham check. I’m working on a memory book for my niece’s high school graduation next year and it’ll be perfect for her baby picture.”
Trixie felt a chill pass over her body and looked up to see Anna Ruth glaring at her.
* * *
The Dairy Queen logo in Texas is referred to as the Texas stop sign. It’s where the old farmers and ranchers go for their morning coffee and to gather around the smokers’ tables to talk about crops, politics, and religion. Women met there in the morning for an hour of gossip, and when school was in session, the kids had lunch and hung out after school to flirt and drink half-price soft drinks during happy hour.
The first sign that a Texas town is headed for the ghost town registry is when the Dairy Queen shuts its doors and boards up the windows. Down through history when the Dairy Queen closed, it wasn’t long until the post office and the school were both gone and there are only a few diehards left, waiting to fill their plots in the cemetery.
So far the Dairy Queen in Cadillac was doing a booming business, and their peanut parfait sundaes were on sale for ninety-nine cents on Saturday evening from five to eight o’clock.
Marty arrived ten minutes before the deadline. She was third in line and kept a watch on the big clock above the ice cream machine the whole time. It was one minute to eight when she hurriedly gave the lady her order for the peanut parfait sundae special that night.
“Make that two, and I’ll pay for both of them,” Anna Ruth’s squeaky voice said right behind her.
Marty looked over her shoulder and down into Anna Ruth’s face. She held her hands tightly to keep from smacking the woman. She’d looked forward to a chocolate sundae all day, and now it wouldn’t even taste good.
The waitress set the sundaes on the counter and Marty pulled out a dollar and a few pennies to pay for hers. No way was Anna Ruth spreading all over town that she’d bought Marty a sundae. Trixie would disown her for sure.
She hoped that paying for her own ice cream would keep Anna Ruth from sitting with her in the booth back in the far corner.
Not so!
The brazen hussy sat down across from her and smiled brightly. “I wasn’t teasing. I intended to pay for our ice cream. I owe you for your vote for me to get into the social club.”
Marty hadn’t blushed in years and she sure didn’t appreciate Anna Ruth for making it happen that night.
“I know you voted for me,” Anna Ruth whispered.
“And what gave you that dumb-ass notion?” Marty asked.
“Aunt Annabel saw you put your ballot in right at the end and it was the only folded one in the candy dish. And Violet pulled it out last so Aunt Annabel said it was your vote that got me into the club. I owe you big-time, Marty. I’m just so tickled that you voted for me. I would have never thought you would since…well, you know.”
A piece of folded paper was going to be the undoing of more than thirty years of friendship, and it could even shut down Clawdy’s. Why in the hell had she folded her ballot?
So no one could see the check by Anna Ruth’s name, she reminded herself.
Fat lot of good that did. Now she was in a pickle, and all over a fold in a piece of paper. Shit-fire!
“Don’t worry, I won’t ever tell. What happens in the club stays in the club. Just because I’m a new member don’t mean I don’t know the rules. Aunt Annabel told me exactly what would be expected of me before she even nominated me. But I did want to thank you for your vote. Next time, the ice cream is on me,” she continued to whisper.
Marty nibbled at the beautiful parfait while Anna Ruth rambled on about how excited she was to be in the club and how she intended to make every single meeting. Why, she’d just be tickled as punch to stop by Clawdy’s and take Marty with her since it was right on the way and all. And it would make Violet so happy if Marty came to more meetings.
She had barely come up for air when she looked at her watch. “Oh, honey, would you look at the time? I swear we’ve wasted half an hour just goin’ on about the club, and now I’ll have to rush through Andy’s supper. See you real soon, and remember the next sundae is on me.”
Marty wanted to bang her head on the table just to get the words and vision of Anna Ruth out of it. Jesus would have trouble keeping from strangling the woman, and Marty did not have an ounce of his patience.
“What was she doing here?” Darla Jean slid into the place Anna Ruth vacated.
“Trying to kill me with words. What are you doing out tonight? I figured you’d be getting ready for services tomorrow morning,” Marty said.
“Sermon is ready. Sanctuary is swept and ready. I ordered a hamburger. Want one?”
“No, I got the special.” She pointed toward the half-eaten parfait.
Darla Jean’s cell phone rang, and she held up a finger. “Hello, Trixie… At the DQ. Marty is here too… Okay.”
She flipped it shut and put it back in the pocket of her jeans. “Trixie says we aren’t to leave. She’s on her way.”
“Guess scrapbooking is over.”
Marty barely got the sentence out before her phone rang.
“What’s up, Cathy?”
Darla Jean listened and then said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Darla Jean looked across the table at her. “I’m to go home. I’m to call Trixie and tell her to come home. I’m to bring you. I’m not to ask questions. Looks like big problems. Cathy doesn’t ever sound like that.”
“Number thirty-two,” the lady called out.
“That’s my burger. You walkin’ or drivin’?” Darla Jean asked.
“I drove.”
“I walked. I’ll ride with you and call Trixie on the way.”
* * *
Agnes was sitting at the table, a fork in her hand and what was left of half a pecan pie in front of her, when Marty and Darla Jean arrived. First she’d seen Marty walk toward the Dairy Queen. Agnes couldn’t believe she was walking right down Main Street dressed in her grease-stained sweatpants and shirt. It was an abomination, and besides, why in the hell would a woman want an ice cream when there was half a pecan pie sitting there for the taking?
Then she had seen Trixie leave with that suitcase of paper shit; she knew she’d be gone until at least eight thirty. If Molly could keep her eyes open, that stupid little club she’d
formed that had grown women cutting and pasting paper would keep going even longer.
Cathy had driven off to Violet’s house—thinking of her blood kin about to marry into that family was enough to make Agnes cuss. She prayed every night that Ethan would drop dead of some dreaded disease and his mother would catch it when she kissed his dying lips good-bye, and most of all that it would happen before the wedding.
She and Violet had actually been friends when they were girls, right up until Violet got her under-britches in a wad when she lost Bert Flynn to Agnes. She and Agnes had drawn a line in the Texas dirt and declared out-and-out war on each other. The battle had been going on for more than sixty years.
Darla Jean smiled when she saw Agnes. “Got hungry, did you?”
“Aunt Agnes, you’ll be sick if you eat all that rich pecan pie,” Marty scolded.
“It was eat or cuss, and it’s Saturday night. I got to go to church in the morning and face off with God so I figured I’d eat. You look like shit,” Agnes said.
“Now you’ve cussed so don’t eat all that pie. I don’t want to drive you to the emergency room with a bellyache in the middle of the night.”
“You made me cuss. Why are y’all home anyway? Y’all were supposed to stay out for another half-hour at least. And don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady. I’m old, and I’ll eat what I want and die when I’m supposed to. All this worryin’ about eating healthy is for the birds. I might have the rest of that chocolate cake over there before I go to sleep tonight just to prove it.”
Trixie pushed through the back door. “What is going on that we’ve…oh! It must be important if you called her too.”
“Nobody called me for anything, but I’m staying now that I know something is happening. Is Cathy all right?”
“I’m fine.” Cathy rushed inside. “But thank God you are all here.”
“Did he die?” Agnes asked.
“Who?”
Agnes threw up her hands. “Ethan the fourth!”
“No!”
“Well, damn! Sometimes God takes his own sweet time in answering prayers,” Agnes said.
Trixie dropped her scrapbooking case with a thud and sat down in a kitchen chair with a plop. “Anna Ruth joined my scrapbook club. She’s trying to force me out of town. But that’s not what’s going on, is it?”
“No, I called the summit,” Cathy said. “Marty, darlin’, promise me you will not say anything until you count to ten.”
“Do I need to run across the street and get my shotgun?” Agnes asked.
“Maybe,” Cathy said.
“Oh my God! It’s serious, isn’t it?” Darla Jean crossed herself and looked up. “Sorry about that, God. I didn’t mean to take your name in vain. It just slipped out.”
Agnes shook her head in disgust. “Hooker changed to preacher, my ass. You can’t change a leopard’s spots or think God is listening to you just because you make a cross on them big boobs! God bless! This whole area of town has gone to hell in a handbasket.”
And that’s when the whole room went deadly quiet.
Cathy made sure everyone was seated and had a tall glass of sweet tea before she started, and then she told them the whole story.
Trixie couldn’t even get a cuss word to come out of her open mouth.
Darla Jean’s mouth moved in a silent prayer. She didn’t care what Agnes said. Prayer didn’t hurt and it just might help.
Agnes hadn’t promised anything about counting to ten or holding her temper, either. “That bitch! You can’t marry that spineless piece of shit she produced, Cathy. I won’t allow it. Your parents are dead, and you have to pay attention to me now.”
Marty held up one finger. “One.”
She pushed back her chair. “Two.”
She headed for the door. “Three.”
She slammed it so hard that the coffee pot rattled.
“Four,” she yelled.
They heard the Caddy’s engine fire up and the tires squeal when she backed out of the driveway. A minute passed and then a horrible noise sent them all running out the back door.
Marty was standing beside her prized Caddy with the front end wrapped around the pecan tree in Beulah’s yard. “Ten. Now can I talk?” she asked.
Cathy nodded.
“Andy can ride in a wagon pulled by a mangy jackass, but he’s not putting his feet in my car.”
“But you didn’t have to wreck it. You just got it fixed,” Cathy said.
“And it’ll be fixed by fall again. Me and Jack will have a good time doing it, and Andy will still be a first-class sumbitch. And you’ve got a good excuse for Violet without having to get yourself in hot water with the almighty damned Prescotts.”
Jack came running out of his house to see what the noise was all about and slapped his leg. “What in the hell have you done, Marty? We just got her fixed up.”
“And we can fix her up again, but not in time for the Jalapeño Jubilee parade.”
Chapter 5
Violet Prescott and Beulah Landry were the only two remaining charter members of the Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society, and their word was as good as written in stone and carried on the shoulders of the newest members to every club meeting. In the original charter, it was decreed that only twenty members could be in the club at any given time, and there had only been one amendment since it was written, and that was to allow a one-time addition to the twenty members so that both Martha and Catherine Andrews could be inducted.
The iron-clad rules of the club involved the limit on membership, the fact that members must live within the borders of Grayson County and that the only way a new member could come in was if someone died or moved away. The unspoken ones included dressing up for club, always wearing the pin given at the first meeting by Violet, and staying on Violet’s good side.
Prissy Parsons’ moving away had paved the way for Anna Ruth. Before that, an open spot had been given to Anna Ruth’s Aunt Annabel when poor Edna Smith was laid to rest under an oak tree in the Cadillac Memorial Cemetery.
When Prissy left, Annabel had called Violet and asked if she could put her niece’s name on the ballet and Violet had told her that she’d have to take some time to think about it. After all, Anna Ruth’s mother had been from the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak. Annabel’s brother probably wouldn’t have married the poor girl if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, so it wasn’t a cut-and-dried case. And there was that little bit about her living with Andy, but he was the chief of police, which in Cadillac meant he had standing and could be useful to the club. And at that time the only other name on the ballet was Agnes Flynn, put there as usual by Beulah, who declared that Agnes was her neighbor and things would be very sticky if she didn’t nominate her.
The next day, Violet had decided that it would be un-Christian to punish the girl for the mother’s deeds. She had, after all, married the father and stayed with him unlike Trixie’s mamma, who came home with a baby that had her maiden name.
The club was held the second Tuesday night of every month, and Violet always hosted it at her house. She usually chose a Halloween theme for the October meeting, but with the election just weeks away, she’d gone with red, white, and blue for patriotism. The table was laid with finger foods. Plates were red, cups were blue, and the saucers were white. The centerpiece, sitting between two tall red vases of red, white, and blue flowers, was petit cheesecakes. Some were topped with blueberries, some with cherries, and some left plain, but they were arranged to resemble the flag. Ethan would be the speaker that evening, and Violet had even borrowed the podium from the Cadillac Baptist church for him to stand behind. Clayton would introduce him, of course, and Violet would sit in a chair right behind him, symbolic of her undying support. She’d thought about a second chair for Catherine, but the woman wasn’t in the family yet, and until she was, she’d didn’t really have a place.
Anna Ruth was the first to arrive. She was such a pretty little thing in her bright red slim skirt and matching jacket. Her blond hair was twisted up, and her eyes had just enough makeup to bring out the color.
She came in gushing. “Everything is beautiful, Miz Violet. You’ve outdone yourself. Those little cheesecakes are so fitting with the red, white, and blue floral arrangement. And Ethan is speaking? I’d just be delighted to help with his campaign in any way I could. Remember my name when you need help stuffing envelopes or when you need someone to go door-to-door passing out cards.”
Violet wished just one time that Catherine would show that kind of emotion. If she’d had her way, Ethan never would have asked that woman out on the first date, but Clayton assured her that the Andrews came from old stock and it would be a good thing for his campaign.
Violet hugged Anna Ruth. “Why, now, isn’t that the sweetest thing ever? I’ll write your name down in my book, Anna Ruth, and I will definitely be calling you.”
“I know he’s just swamped with his classes at the school and trying to make every single function right here close to election time. I swear I don’t know how he keeps up with the professor duties at the college and do all that he has do to with the election.”
“Yes, that’s right. And when he is elected.” Violet winked at her. “And yes, I did say when, and not if. I’m sure the college will miss him dreadfully.”
“Oh, I know they will,” Anna Ruth said.
The doorbell rang, and Violet opened the door. “Come right in, Catherine. Could you be a dear and man the door for me tonight? Members can be seated in the parlor for the meeting and to hear our guest speaker. Ethan, Clayton, and I have to go over a couple of the fine points of his speech in his study. Anna Ruth, you can come with me. Catherine will take care of the guests as they arrive.” She draped her arm around Anna Ruth’s shoulders, and together they headed for Ethan’s office.
* * *
Cathy stood beside the credenza and waited for the doorbell.
The Sisters Café Page 8
