“Speak of the devil,” Agnes said.
When Violet and Ethan had gone three steps, Ethan turned back and said, “Anna Ruth, come join us. It’s a table for four and there’s only two of us.”
“Ethan!” Violet hissed.
“It’s just being polite, Mother.”
“Didn’t you hear the gossip?”
“No, I was too busy taking care of your fight, and you were asleep when Clayton finally left.”
“They said that you are in love with her and that’s why you and Catherine broke up.”
“That explains a lot,” Ethan said.
* * *
“You are going to be good. I mean it. No more public scenes,” Marty whispered to Agnes.
“There will be plenty of time to be good when I’m dead. I have to seize every moment in this life, but I promise I won’t throw the first punch,” she whispered back.
Then Agnes said loudly, “We were discussing these zoning laws, weren’t we? I’ve been thinking about making my famous fudge to sell to the public. If you girls can make a buck with red beans, your mamma’s famous pepper jelly, and turnip greens then I should be able to make a quarter with my fudge. I make other kinds than chocolate, you know. And it has so many wonderful uses.”
Marty was glad that she was sitting between the two old women. Maybe she and Jack together could separate them if food or dishes started flying.
“Hey, guess what? John, my boss, isn’t married,” Cathy blurted out to get Agnes on another subject. “I thought his wife was Maggie Rose. He talked about her all the time, but I found out that’s his dog. She’s this cute little Pomeranian. I could just put her in my purse and bring her home, but the inspectors would have a conniption if we had a dog in the house with the café.”
“All bitches don’t have four legs,” Agnes said.
Violet took that comment like a slap to the face and made a motion to push her chair back, but Ethan laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t make a scene.”
Marty wrapped her arm around the back of Agnes’s chair and dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Be still.”
“So what does your boss look like, Cathy?” Darla Jean asked.
“He wears glasses, has blond hair that is too long, wears a baseball cap backward, and cooks in cutoff jeans, a company T-shirt, and flip-flops. Real laid back and nice as he can be to me. Makes some fine barbecue. Y’all should come out and have some.”
“We’ll have to get a party together and do that,” Jack said.
Violet hissed something toward Ethan and he removed his hand. She stood up and deliberately held her skirt to one side as she passed by Agnes on her way to the ladies’ room at the back of the café. Agnes hid her giggling behind the menu.
“What’s so funny?” Jack asked. “You don’t want to go to the Rib Joint with us?”
“Nothing to do with the barbecue joint. I was just thinking about some right fine fudge,” she said loud enough for Violet to hear.
Trixie whispered in Jack’s ear, “I’ll tell you later. It has to do with the fight.”
His eyes got big. “Oh!”
“You understand now?” Trixie asked.
“Oh, yeah! And I wish I didn’t right here at dinnertime.”
The waitress arrived and everyone at their table ordered the Sunday special: chicken and dressing, mashed potatoes, cranberry orange sauce, green beans, and hot rolls. It came with sweet tea and pumpkin pie for dessert.
“And put it on one bill,” Jack told her.
Trixie leaned over and whispered again, “Have they always been this way?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Mamma says it started when Agnes married Bert.”
Agnes pointed her finger at Jack. “You two stop that whispering. I might be old but my hearing is just fine and I heard my name.”
“He didn’t understand why Violet was so mad at you,” Trixie said.
Myrtle carried out several glasses of iced tea, stopping to put three on Ethan’s table before she brought the remainder to Agnes’s table. “Food will be out in a minute.”
Violet came out of the bathroom, took one look at the tea and at Agnes, and shook her head so hard that her chins had trouble keeping up.
“Myrtle!” she called out. “You get me another glass of tea. This has been tampered with.”
“But it’s not been touched, Mrs. Prescott, I promise. I just set it down there and there ain’t been nobody except Ethan around it. I don’t think he would do a thing to your drink.”
“My son wouldn’t but someone else, and I’m not naming names, would sneak something into it. And she’s just crafty enough to do it,” Violet said.
Agnes fumbled with a bottle of Miralax, transferring it from pocket to purse, purposely missed, and kicked it so it would roll under Violet’s feet.
Myrtle picked it up and looked around.
“It’s mine.” Agnes held out a hand. “Can’t taste it in anything so that’s my fiber of choice.”
Violet shuddered. “Get me another glass. I insist, and when it is here, you can take this one back and dump it.”
“Agnes!” Marty said.
“It don’t hurt to come prepared, and I didn’t say a damn word to her so don’t you look at me like that,” Agnes said.
Chapter 15
Violet took her place behind the podium, called the meeting to order, and asked if there was any old business. She wore a bright red skirt and matching jacket with the customary flag pin on her lapel, a classy scarf knotted intricately around her neck, and the smell of her hair gave testimony to the perm she’d had that afternoon.
Agnes thought she looked sweaty and flustered in spite of the brisk fall weather. Probably because Agnes had made good on her word and brought the fancy-pants Dallas lawyer along like she said she’d do. Violet could just worry and sweat some more. Agnes was there for Cathy and she would have her say if it gave Violet a stroke.
“Is this zoning thing old or new? It ought to be old since it’s like that old dead horse that’s been whooped plumb to death.” Agnes said.
“That would be old since it has been discussed before.”
“Well, I want to discuss it again. I’m thinking about putting in a shop and I want my house and the whole block zoned commercial so I won’t be breaking any laws. My lawyer, Mr. Frank Watson, says that all I have to have is a paper signed by the Council. Do we need to take this to a citywide vote? The television has already been down here and there’s concern everywhere about zoning laws. Small towns like ours are withering up and dying. We should zone the whole damn town commercial so we could get something in here to generate revenue.”
“There are empty buildings on Main Street that could be used. We don’t need to zone our residential property commercial. Do you want McDonald’s right next to your house?” Violet snapped.
Agnes pursed her lips and thought about it. “I don’t give a shit if Long John Silver’s goes in next to my place, and I hate fish. I’d support it if it brought money into our town treasury for things like street repairs and maybe a new jail. There’s potholes in our side streets that could swallow up an army tank.”
Violet ignored her and looked around the room. “Anyone else?”
Trixie stood up. “Could we just get a quick count of the folks here tonight? Those for zoning our block commercial so we can keep Clawdy’s open, raise your hand.”
Anna Ruth did not raise her hand.
Ethan did not.
The rest reached for the ceiling.
“I would like a word,” Frank Watson said. “If there is this much proactive response, then what is this fight about? Sign the paper and let these folks keep Clawdy’s open. I understand lots of folks like their beans and greens and lunch buffet as well as their breakfast. Zone the block commercial and maybe you’ll see some quaint little businesses come into town. Ev
er been over on the eastern border to Jefferson, Texas? They have more than a dozen lovely bed and breakfast establishments in old homes. Couldn’t do it without the zoning. They have built quite a little tourist town there and it generates a lot of revenue. You don’t see potholes big enough to bury tanks in, let me tell you.”
“As chairman of the Council committee on this, I feel that we need more time to think about it,” Violet said.
“You really think that is the smart way to go, do you?” Agnes said. “The people who care anything about the town are in this room and they’ve voted. It’s going to cost the taxpayers to have a formal vote on it, and besides, you know nobody turns out to vote on these things. Unless it’s got to do with the school board or the President of the United States, folks can’t even be paid to come out and vote.”
“Oh, okay, give me the paper. I’ve been authorized to sign the thing if there was enough support for it. I’m sick of hearing about it,” Violet said.
“And I want it fixed so this don’t come up every time you get your panties in a wad,” Agnes said.
Violet’s gold fingernail glittered when pointed at Frank. “Fix it! I don’t want to have to deal with that old bag over this ever again.”
“Thank you,” Cathy said.
Violet shot her a dirty look, but she signed the paper.
“New business?” Violet asked.
“Concession stands for the festival still in my court?” Anna Ruth asked.
“Yes, they are.”
Agnes stood up slowly.
Violet rounded the podium and stood in front of it, chin up, daring her to say a word.
Ethan rose to his feet.
Cathy did the same.
“It’s time for us to go now. Frank has another client he has to see this evening.” Agnes turned her back to Violet, daring her to stab her in the back with the letter opener on the podium. “Thank you, everyone, for helping us out here tonight. My nieces will knock fifteen percent off anyone’s breakfast ticket tomorrow morning from eight to nine for their gratitude. At the Jalapeño Jubilee, they’ll have the buffet open from lunch through supper both, and believe me, their beans, greens, fried catfish, and pecan cobbler are worth stopping by for alone. And they’ve got the best pepper jelly and picante in the whole damn state. Remember now, Ethan, anytime your mamma has a hankering for fudge, you just call me and I’ll be glad to whip up a batch for her. Let’s hear it for a real good vote tonight and getting this thing settled once and for all.”
The room roared with applause.
Agnes left with her lawyer, nieces, spiritual adviser, and Trixie all trailing behind her. She’d never felt more like a queen.
When they were in the church parking lot, Trixie exploded. “Who gave you the right to knock fifteen percent off the breakfast tomorrow or to make us stay open for lunch and dinner at the Jalapeño Jubilee?”
“That will be cheaper than buying a nasty old vacant building full of roaches and rats and remodeling it so you could move the business. People will remember that they got a damn good breakfast for a good price and come back later. It’s a good idea, so shut up your bitchin’.”
* * *
Cathy had not signed a secret paper in her own blood when she was invited to join the Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society. She had not vowed to stand before a firing squad to protect the members of the club. Nor had she held up her hand and recited after Violet that she would put the friendship of the other members, including Violet and Anna Ruth, before all her other friends.
It was not a college sorority but a community club that gave a small scholarship at the end of each school year to a local high school senior girl for college. Cathy had received that scholarship, so when her mother said it was time for her to give back, she’d agreed to join.
Evidently, the rules had changed from the time Cathy had been asked to join and when Anna Ruth had. Because Anna Ruth had a very different idea of what the club meant.
Cathy was flipping through a seed and plant catalog, thinking about whether begonias could survive beside the west side of the front porch next spring. Trixie was looking through a catalog where she bought her ceramic paints at good prices when she bought in bulk. Marty had just gotten a new book with car parts in it that day and she was engrossed in it.
The back door burst open and there was Anna Ruth. No knocking. No calling beforehand; she just stood there with her chin quivering and tears running down her cheeks.
Had her Aunt Annabel taken sick with a dreaded disease and only cobbler or tarts would heal her?
Anna Ruth brushed at her cheeks. “We’ve got to make peace. I would just die if we didn’t have the club, and it’s suffering from all this bickering. I’m here to forgive you, Trixie.”
“Forgive me? You’re the one who was sleeping with my husband,” Trixie said.
“I’m taking the bigger part and forgiving you for slapping me. Now, let’s hug and be friends. Put the past where it belongs and forget about it.” Anna Ruth came at her with both arms open.
Trixie pushed her chair back and backed up. “Don’t you touch me, woman. You might be making everything right with your Maker by forgiving me, but I’m not in a showing-the-love mood tonight.”
Cathy bit back a giggle. Had Anna Ruth been drinking?
“Anna Ruth, you slept with Andy when he was still her husband,” Marty said.
Trixie shook her head emphatically. “You forget anything you want to. I’m going to bed. Cathy, if you let her come up the stairs, I’m calling Agnes.”
Anna Ruth melted into a chair and helped herself to a piece of sweet potato pie. “Oh, Cathy, I tried. What am I going to do?”
“How old are you?” Marty asked.
“Twenty-five.”
“Grow up. You are not a cheerleader in high school. Trixie is not going to be your BFF. And neither am I,” Marty said. “I’m going up to my room. Trixie won’t have to call Agnes if you let her up the stairs. I’ll kick her back down the stairs myself.”
“But you are my friend. You voted for me!” Anna Ruth wailed. “Only you understand, Cathy.”
The heavy stomping down the stairs left no doubt that Trixie was on her way back to the kitchen.
Cathy raised one eyebrow.
Trixie pointed at Marty. “You voted for her!”
“You didn’t.” Cathy gasped.
“Why would you do that? I didn’t even want the damn position, but why would you vote for her? After the fit you threw over Andy and you go and vote for that hussy to be in the club with y’all. Dammit, Marty!”
“Why?” Cathy asked.
“Oops!” Anna Ruth smiled. Granted it was a weak smile but it was there all the same. “Maybe next time you’ll get into the club, but I wouldn’t bank on it, not after what you did to Ethan.”
“You can go to hell.”
“That is rude!”
“And sleeping with my husband wasn’t?”
“He was unhappy, but he couldn’t leave you because you have mental issues like your mother and you also have a drinking problem. I believe him. Any woman that would rather cut up paper as make Andy happy isn’t right in the head.”
Trixie went straight for the cabinet, took out the Jack, and poured two fingers in a water glass before she sat down at the table.
Anna Ruth stood up so fast that her chair hit the floor with a bang. “I thought he was just shooting me a line, but you just proved he was right.”
Trixie held up her hand and giggled. “My name is Trixie. I’m crazy and I’m a drunk. And I cut paper up into little hearts and flowers. I’m disgusting. That’s why my best friend just voted for the likes of you in her fancy-schmancy social club.”
Anna Ruth stormed out the back door without a backward glance.
Trixie laughed so hard that she snorted. “So that’s the story he tells his women,” she s
aid when she could talk. “Mamma has Alzheimer’s. She’s not crazy. And a couple of drinks a week does not make me a drunk. Anna Ruth got screwed in more ways than one.”
Anna Ruth poked her head back in the kitchen. “Don’t talk about me.”
“You are supposed to be gone, not eavesdropping on the back porch. Be careful—I hear insanity and alcoholism are both contagious,” Trixie said.
Anna Ruth came inside but kept her distance. “It sounds like she completely lost her mind. Do you need help getting her to the institution?”
“I think I can manage on my own,” Cathy said.
“My phone number is in the club daybook. Call me if you need me,” Anna Ruth said seriously and disappeared into the darkness for the second time.
Marty opened her mouth as if she were about to say something.
Trixie put up a palm. “Not a word. Not a single solitary word. I’m mad at you and I may not forgive you and tonight you don’t get to say anything at all. I’m going upstairs to read the latest Candy Parker novel. It came in the mail today,” Trixie said.
“You’ll love it. It’s her best yet,” Cathy said without thinking.
“You’re shittin’ me,” Trixie said.
Marty sat down on the bottom step with a thud.
Cathy blushed. “No, it really is better than her last one about the fireman. This cowboy one will make your eyeballs fog over.”
In for a dime, in for a dollar. It was harder to put a cat back in the bag than to let it out. And Cathy had just let the wildcat out of the bag.
“I can’t believe you read Candy’s books,” Marty whispered.
“Why?”
“I never see them in your room or lying around like Trixie’s books.”
Cathy stood up. “My name is Cathy Andrews, and I’m disgusting. I’m addicted to erotic romance. Candy Parker’s are my favorites, but I’ll read any of it. That’s the reason I broke it off with Ethan. I would rather take my e-reader to a back booth of the Rib Joint and read as spend time with him. Until I am willing to toss my e-reader in a trash dumpster to spend time with a man, I will not get engaged again.” She raised her right hand. “So help me, God! And for the record, I do feel sorry for Anna Ruth. But I don’t feel a bit sorry for you, Marty. That was downright mean to vote for that witch.”
The Sisters Café Page 19
