Homecoming in Mossy Creek Page 9

  She glared at me as though I had demanded she turn her firstborn son over to the Mongol Hordes. “Go sit. It’ll take me a while.”

  I didn’t see why. Certainly the new contractor would have needed the old plans to avoid cutting sewer or gas lines. But we sat. And sat.

  A large black and white cat stalked out from between the rows and began to turn figure eights around my ankles. “I’ll bet this place is mouse heaven,” I whispered.

  Peggy leaned over to pet the cat, which promptly tumped over on its back to have its belly scratched.

  “Don’t do that. It’s probably flea-ridden and diseased.”

  “Bigelow is perfectly clean and disease free,” Felicia said. She slapped a long cardboard tube on the counter and brushed a cobweb off her shoulder.

  “Bigelow?”

  “He’s more competent than anybody else named Bigelow I’ve ever met. We have no mice.”

  Mossy Creek Gazette

  Volume VIII, No. Three • Mossy Creek, Georgia

  Homecoming Robbery Attempt Foiled

  by Fast-Thinking Teller

  by Jess Crane

  A man walked into the Mossy Creek Savings & Loan yesterday and slid a hand-written note across the counter to veteran teller, Ann Stroud.

  On the back of a deposit slip, he’d written, “this iz a stikkup. Put all yore muny in this here bag.”

  Trouble was, he’d written it on a Bigelow National Bank deposit slip.

  “Noticing the wrong deposit slip, I studied the young man and assessed the situation,” Stroud said. “That’s when I told him he had the wrong bank.”

  According to the Bigelow County Sheriff Harlan Bigelow, the alleged robber had first gone to Bigelow National Bank. While standing in line waiting to give his note to the teller, he began to worry that someone may have seen him write the note and might call the police before he could reach the teller.

  So, the criminal left Bigelow National Bank and drove into Mossy Creek. After waiting in line for several minutes at the Savings & Loan, he handed his note to Stroud. After reading it, the teller determined that this robber was perhaps “a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

  She told him that because his note was written on a Bigelow Bank deposit slip, she could not honor his demand. He would either have to fill out a Mossy Creek Savings & Loan withdrawal slip or go back to Bigelow National Bank.

  Feeling defeated, the man said he understood and left.

  Stroud promptly called the Mossy Creek Police, but the criminal made it out of town before he could be apprehended. MCPD alerted the Bigelow Sheriff’s Dept. who arrested the man a few minutes later—still waiting in line at the Bigelow National Bank.

  Stroud was given a raise on the spot. “I’m going to donate my raise to the new Mossy Creek High School Stadium,” she said.

  Everybody Knows

  You can never go home again.

  But the truth is you can never leave home, so it’s all right.

  —Maya Angelou

  Jayne Reynolds, Wednesday

  “Where Win?”

  I heard the plaintive question at the same time a small hand tugged on my apron. Glancing down, I had to suppress a smile at the sight of my three-year-old son standing arms akimbo, his lower lip stuck out in a petulant rant. Or as close to a rant as Matt ever got, knock on wood.

  Oh, don’t get me wrong. He could throw a tantrum with the best of children. But he wasn’t whiny or mean or manipulative. Usually just tired.

  As Matt’s question sunk in, I checked my watch. Six-thirty. Only a half-hour until the Naked Bean’s closing time. But an hour past the time when Win said he’d come by to take Matt and Glinda to play in the park.

  “I don’t know, Matt,” I said honestly. “It’s not like him to be late.”

  Win Allen and I had been dating steadily since The Great Mouse Hunt, as we’d come to call it. We fell into place in each other’s lives as naturally and easily as I’d fallen in love with Glinda, the dog Win had found to squelch the mouse population that had exploded when Dan McNeil’s crew had opened up a wall to consolidate the Naked Bean and Beechum’s Bakery.

  “Yip!”

  Think of the Devil.

  I glanced over to Matt and Glinda’s play area in a corner near the new opening connecting the former bakery and the Naked Bean.

  A tiny ragamuffin of a dog, coarse reddish-blonde hair sticking out in all directions, sticky-up Yoda ears, waited indignantly on the mat she and Matt shared in playtime. Fearing Health Dept. retribution, I insisted she be as far away from the food as possible, and she was very good about staying put. However, when Matt left her there, she was not shy about voicing her displeasure.

  How come he gets to go over there and I don’t?

  I shook my head and smiled. I’d been a dyed-in-the-wool cat person all my life, yet here I was, communicating psychically with a dog.

  “He pwomised to push me on the swing,” Matt complained.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I was laughing at Glinda, not you.” I reached down and picked him up. “I’m sure Win can’t help being late. You remember what week it is, don’t you?”

  “Homecoming.” He said it in a parroty, sing-song tone. At three, “Homecoming” didn’t mean much except it was keeping “his” Win away from him.

  “That’s right,” I said. “And since Win is President of the Town Council, he has a lot to do this week. Remember him telling us that on Sunday?”

  Matt nodded, but his lower lip did not un-pout.

  “I’m sure he’d be here if he could,” I said, but as I glanced out the window and saw darkness creeping in, I felt concern creeping in, as well. If Win were going to be even five minutes late, he’d call.

  “He’s okay.”

  I turned to find Ingrid Beechum covering a tray of leftover oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Since Betty Halfacre had baked them earlier in the afternoon, they’d be okay to sell tomorrow morning. After noon, they’d go into the “3-for-1” sale tray. I was not surprised that Ingrid had overheard my conversation with Matt. She possessed bat ears and could hear any conversation she wanted to within 50 feet. “How do you know? Did you hear something?”

  She shrugged. “No, but as you said, it’s Homecoming week. Even though the official festivities don’t start until tomorrow, I’m sure he’s busy putting out fires. This is Mossy Creek, after all.”

  I’d lived here long enough to get her meaning. One thing Mossy Creek had never been accused of was being boring. Too many eccentric Creekites running around. A few of them probably shouldn’t be left without supervision, but we Southerners can’t bear to lock up our beloved crazies.

  “Do not worry, Miss Jayne,” Betty said from the other side of Ingrid. “He still loves you.”

  Shock rendered me immobile. Betty had worked at Beechum’s Bakery—as Ingrid put it—“for donkey’s years.” A half-blooded Cherokee, Betty possessed the legendary Native American reticence. On an average day, I rarely heard her speak more than half a dozen words—all of which were work related. “Need sugar.” “Cake fell.” That kind of thing. For her to voice an opinion with such conviction was totally unprecedented.

  “Oh, close your mouth,” Ingrid said as the bell on the door jingled, signaling a customer coming or going. “You and Win have been dating nearly six months. This can’t be a surprise.”

  I guess my jaw had actually dropped, and I obediently shut it. “It’s just that…”

  “Just what?” Josie McClure had entered just in time to hear. “Ingrid, don’t put those Macadamia Nut Brownies away yet. Daddy asked me to bring him half a dozen.”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “Matt, look who’s here!”

  “And no, I’m not going to eat even one,” she added defensively, placing a hand on her round belly. “Doc Champio
n told me I’d gained another three pounds.”

  “Josie!” Matt raced around the counter.

  Josie’s cousin, young Monica Mitchell, had come in with her. She carried a long, black bag carefully folded over one arm and swung it away from my son’s charging path.

  Despite a seven month baby bulge, Josie lifted Matt into the air, then hugged him close.

  I handed a sugar cookie across to Monica and Josie, hoping to distract them from the conversation they’d overheard. A true Creekite, Josie thrived on town gossip. Not that she passed around anything mean-spirited. Still, she could tell a tale.

  Josie broke her cookie in two and handed half to Matt.

  “What do you have there?” I asked Monica.

  “It’s my formal for the dance on Saturday night.”

  “Especially…” Josie paused for effect, “for her Homecoming Queen dance with King William Bigelow.”

  Monica blushed. “I’m not Homecoming Queen yet. And Willie isn’t King yet.”

  “But he will be,” Josie said firmly. “And you’ll be his Queen.”

  “Just imagine,” Ingrid said. “A Mossy Creek Homecoming King named Bigelow. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Josie nodded. “It just doesn’t seem right, does it?”

  Intellectually, I understood the Mossy Creek hatred of all things “Bigelow.” The feud had started well over a century ago when the Georgia Northeastern Railroad chose Bigelow over Mossy Creek and subsequently, Bigelow became the county seat. Over the years, the feud had been fueled by star-crossed lovers, high school fires, rampaging elephants and just plain cussedness.

  But even though I understood it, I didn’t have the emotional connection to the fight that homegrown Creekites had.

  “Willie is not a Bigelow,” Monica said hotly. “I mean, his name is, but he loves Mossy Creek as much as his mother. That’s why he chose to play his senior year for Mossy Creek instead of Bigelow.”

  Her vehemence surprised me, but I also saw bleakness in her eyes. I glanced at Josie, who gave me a tiny, comprehending nod. So, Monica was in love with Willie Bigelow, the star of the Mossy Creek High School football team and most popular boy in school, but he wasn’t in love with her.

  I studied Monica from a fresh perspective. To me, she’d always been Josie’s little cousin. Having been raised mostly by Josie’s parents, Monica had been pushed along the same Beauty Queen runways as Josie had been, but with more success. Now I realized why. She was lovely, with the same thick, chestnut hair as Josie, but with much more regular features.

  Josie was my best friend and I loved her dearly, but nothing about her face warranted all the beauty contests LuLynn had pushed her into. Monica, on the other hand, had a classic, unspoiled beauty that would take her far. Certainly far enough to win the notice of Willie Bigelow.

  “I hear he’s a fine young man,” I said. “But there are several other fine young men who could be crowned King. Don’t count them out.”

  Monica smiled wanly. “But Willie will probably win. He’s the captain of the football team, and the most popular guy in school.”

  “He’s a really good football player, too, I hear,” Ingrid said. “Does he have any interest in Georgia?”

  Monica nodded. “They’re top of his list.”

  “I approve,” I told her. “Both my husband and I were Dawgs, and I remain a Bulldog fan to this day.”

  “Me, too.” Ingrid set the bag with John McClure’s brownies on the counter for Josie to pick up when she was ready to leave.

  “Why, Ingrid, I never knew you went to the University of Georgia.” I didn’t know that she’d gone to college of any kind.

  “Yep. Home Ec. major. How did you think I became such a good baker?”

  I shrugged. “Didn’t know. I guess I assumed you went to a baking school, or learned on the job. Betty, did you go to the University, too?”

  “No’m,” Betty replied, nodding a Ingrid. “Ingrid taught me.”

  “Well, I’ll be. Ingrid, you constantly amaze me.”

  “As well I should.” Ingrid winked at Monica. “So, Monica, are you gonna show us that dress, or is it a state secret?”

  Waiting to be asked, Monica unzipped the dress bag then looked around for a place to hang it.

  “Over there on the door jamb,” I said, lifting Matt, who’d come back around the counter.

  As Monica carefully settled the fancy hanger on the trim of the opening that had joined Beechum’s Bakery and the Naked Bean, I exchanged smiles with Josie.

  “We went to Atlanta today to pick up her gown,” Josie explained. “It had to be altered. Mama insisted that Monica have a dress that no one around here has seen.”

  Monica slid her hand into the bag and drew out the shimmering, silky folds of a strapless goddess gown. It was a deep green with gold trim.

  “It’s the school colors,” she said unnecessarily. It being the first Homecoming in twenty years, the town was draped in green and gold.

  It was a lovely gown and we all ooohhhed and aaaahhhed with the proper amount of enthusiasm. Even Matt was entranced by the beautiful dress.

  Glinda, too. Before I’d noticed, she moved next to me to gaze up at the gown as if she beheld a fairy princess. She was so cute, I reached down and patted her head, then sent her and Matt back to their play area.

  “So…” Josie pulled me a little aside. “What did Ingrid not consider a surprise?”

  I barely contained a groan. I thought we were long past that conversation. Ever since Josie got pregnant, though, she was even more protective of her friends and family. “It’s nothing. Just something Betty said.”

  “Betty spoke?” Josie exclaimed. “That’s remarkable in itself.”

  “Tell me about it.” I said as I rolled my eyes and headed back behind the counter. We had a lot of work to do tonight.

  “Why is she still here, anyway? Isn’t she usually gone by now?”

  I nodded. “She leaves after the baking’s done, usually mid-afternoon. But tonight we’re making what we’re taking to the bake sale tomorrow. We’ll be here late.”

  “Do you need me to take Matt for awhile?”

  “I don’t know. Win was supposed to have been here over an hour ago, but I haven’t heard from him.”

  “We saw his car over at the dance studio on the way in.”

  “The dance studio?!”

  She nodded. “There were a bunch of cars there. Mac Campbell’s. Amos’s squad car. And a lot of…you know, now that I think about it, they were cars owned by fathers of the football team.”

  “The football team? At the dance studio? What in the world?”

  “I’m sure you’ll get the story when Win gets home,” Josie said. “Now back to what Betty said. What was it? She’s Native American, you know. Many of them have a strong connection to the cosmos.”

  I felt like rolling my eyes again, but I knew better. Josie got a little kooky sometimes with all her feng shui and astrology, but she was right about so many things.

  “Betty told Jayne not to worry that Win has been so distracted this week, that he still loves her,” Ingrid said as she passed by.

  I nearly groaned, but Josie seemed deflated.

  “Oh, is that all?” she said. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Everybody—” I choked. “How could everybody know that when neither Win nor I have mentioned the word? Not even once!”

  “What?” Josie and Ingrid echoed.

  It was my turn for an eye-roll. “You heard me. Neither one of us has said…those words.”

  “But it’s so obvious to everyone who sees you together,” Josie insisted.

  “Even I know it,” Monica said, turning from her concentration on getting the gown back into the hanging bag just right.

  “
So do I,” called Judge Campbell.

  “So do I,” called Yvonne Clay and her mother, Myra.

  The three were the only customers still in the shop.

  “We all just assumed that y’all knew,” Ingrid said.

  “Well, you all can just unassume,” I announced to everyone. I felt trapped and wanted to lash out at someone, but apparently I’d have to strangle the entire town. “The man doesn’t even call when he’s going to be late, for Pete’s sake. How can you possibly say that he—”

  The bell on the door sang across the room and as if he’d heard us talking about him, Win blew into the shop on a blast of cool October air. “Hey! Sorry I’m—”

  He stopped short as he realized that everyone in the shop was staring at him. His gaze darted around to everyone, several times. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I said brightly. “Absolutely nothing.”

  I passed a murderous gaze around the room. One by one, they all caved, clearing their throats and looking away. Josie helped Monica gather her dress bag, then shuffled her out the door, throwing a “Call me!” over her shoulder.

  “Win!” Matt launched himself at the man who’d become a virtual father. Why hadn’t I noticed?

  Win caught Matt and lifted him for a hug. “Hey, buddy! Sorry we missed the park, but have I got a story to tell you!”

  “What?” Matt demanded.

  “I’ll tell you while I whip us up something to eat.” He placed Matt back on the floor, took a moment to pet Glinda, who’d been dancing around his feet, then came over to give me a kiss, as was his habit every time we were apart.

  Feeling everyone’s gaze on us, I gave him my cheek.

  He kissed it, then pulled back with a brow raised and a look that said we’d discuss it later. “You want something to eat?”

  I shook my head. “We’ll be awhile. I’m going to order a pizza for Betty, Ingrid and me.”

  He nodded. “Matt and I are going to have grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

  “Yay!” Matt cried.

  Feeling the excitement, Glinda yipped and wagged her tail furiously.