Too late.
She couldn’t get dressed in time to go support Trixie in the meeting where Anna Ruth was headed. And she sure couldn’t show up at a town meeting in her overalls. Lord, Violet would stroke out right there in front of everyone.
If Trixie wasn’t home in an hour, Cathy would call the police station and ask what Trixie’s bail was for strangling Anna Ruth until her big blue eyes popped out of her head. Cathy would hock everything, including Miss Clawdy’s and Marty’s Caddy if it was necessary to get Trixie out of jail. She just wished she had had time to get cleaned up and see the fireworks.
* * *
Trixie held a paper plate with three small thumbprint cookies. They weren’t bad, but one bite said they weren’t from Annabel’s kitchen. That night Annabel had brought a dip with horseradish sauce and cream cheese and Trixie hated horseradish. She should have volunteered for refreshments and brought Marty’s pumpkin tartlets. At least people wouldn’t be wrapping them in the cute little purple napkins and tossing them into the trash can like they were doing the thumbprint cookies.
Violet Prescott, Cathy’s future mother-in-law, popped the wooden gavel on the podium twice. The room went silent and everyone proceeded like little windup toys to find chairs. Trixie turned her paper plate upside down in the trash can to cover up the cookies and the horseradish dip that had nearly sent her into a gagging fit. Violet shot a look her way that said she’d best get in her seat, so she hurriedly slid into the last chair in the front row. She looked up at the clock and got another ugly stare from Violet. No one questioned her ability to start a meeting right on time! The first thing a Cadillac citizen learned was Violet was the queen bee in Cadillac. The second was that you never ever crossed Violet. The third was that you never approached her unless she held out the golden scepter—that being her forefinger, which was, honest to God, adorned with a fourteen-carat gold fingernail.
“If everyone is seated, we will begin our meeting.” Violet’s double chin wobbled like a bobblehead doll every time she moved. Trixie bit her lip to keep from giggling. Laughing at the queen could get her in big trouble. She might have to eat that horrid horseradish dip as punishment.
It wasn’t until she was seated that Trixie realized she was elbow to elbow with Anna Ruth Williams. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t kill her. That was against the law. And her ex-husband sure wouldn’t cut her any slack when he threw her in jail. Now that was an interesting idea. Sex in a jail cell with him handcuffed to the bars.
Anna Ruth realized who had sat down beside her and gasped. Trixie kept her eyes straight ahead. There was no justice in the world or it would not be a sin or against the law to shoot a cheating husband’s new bimbo. Finally, curiosity got the best of her and she looked right at Anna Ruth. But the woman’s eyes were on Violet as if she were God.
“This meeting is called to order. Old business?” Violet asked.
No one said a word. Someone did cough in the back row, but he cut it off short when Violet gave him an evil glance.
“Okay, we’ll get right on to the new business. Anna Ruth Williams is representing the City Council tonight and is here to ask us to support them in a decision about zoning. Anna Ruth, honey, come right on up here. You have five minutes and then we’re moving on to the next item on the agenda.” The gold fingernail indicated that Anna Ruth could leave her seat and take her place behind the podium.
Anna Ruth stepped right on Trixie’s toe when she stood up.
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me.”
She pranced up to the front of the room in her tight little pink skirt, matching tight sweater, and pink high heels and threw her blond hair back over her shoulder with a flick of her hand. Freshly manicured pink fingernails with cute little diamond accents glittered under the fluorescent lighting. Lord, she was another Violet Prescott in the making. When the old girl died, she’d probably leave that gold fingernail to Anna Ruth in her will.
“Hello, everyone. As you all know, there are several historically old houses on the three hundred block of Main Street. When the town was laid out, two blocks, the fourth and fifth blocks to be exact, were declared commercial lots. All others were zoned residential so that people wouldn’t have cafés or coin-operated laundries right next door to their beautiful homes. The three hundred block has four houses on the south side that are at least fifty years old and five on the north side of the street that are that old or older. We need to remember that our town is steeped in history. I’m here to ask you to support the Council that the old Andrews home be zoned from commercial back to residential. It’s come to our attention that another business has petitioned for a rezoning on that block, and we simply cannot have our old homes being destroyed.”
Trixie was on her feet in an instant. “Why would you do that? We were given a commercial zone for that corner that was supposed to be good indefinitely. We are a contributing business to Cadillac. Our café brings in tax dollars, and all three partners participate in community affairs.”
“The lawyer for the Council, Clayton Mason, has reviewed the papers, and he says that it does say that you have commercial zoning, but it does not state a time limit. So we either need to zone the whole block or revert your zoning. We either stop it now or pretty soon the whole town will be ruined.” Anna Ruth dabbed at her blue eyes with a tissue she pulled dramatically from under the podium. “I just can’t bear to see those old historical homes with businesses in them. If I’d been on the Council, Miss Clawdy’s”—she sighed loudly before going on—“would have never gotten a commercial license to ruin such an old house in our quaint little town.”
“You have my support,” Violet said. “I always said those old houses on that street are of historical value to the area and should not be made into businesses.”
Trixie was still on her feet. “Everyone in this room eats at Clawdy’s on a regular basis. Why in the hell are you all in such a tizz about the house now?”
“You leave one bad apple in the barrel and pretty soon they’re all rotten. If this keeps on, there could be a McDonald’s buying up one of our precious old houses and razing it for the space to put in a fast food place. How many of you want that right next door with that kind of noise and traffic? And we’d thank you to keep your comments clean, Trixie,” Anna Ruth said.
“I want to talk after she gets her five minutes,” Trixie said.
“Then get your name on the agenda for the next meeting,” Violet said. “Now all of y’all be thinkin’ about what Anna Ruth has proposed, and when we meet again, we’ll discuss it then. I’ll be expecting a vote in November. The people wanting to put a business in the old Shambles’ place need an answer by then. But personally, I believe that we should rezone it back to residential.”
“I should get to state my opinion if she gets to do hers,” Trixie pressed on.
“You are not on the agenda. Sit down, Anna Ruth. I’ll close things.” Violet took over the podium again.
Trixie did not sit down. “I thought we were here to discuss the Craft Fair, not a zoning issue.”
“That’s next week, Trixie. You need to read the memo that Clayton Mason emailed everyone.”
Trixie slumped back into her chair. She hoped that God would strike Violet dead before the next meeting. Hell, she might even help Agnes make her life miserable.
“Now any more new business?” Violet asked.
No one said a word.
Trixie jumped when Violet hit the gavel on the podium and said, “The next meeting will be next Thursday to discuss the Craft Fair, for those who don’t bother to read the memos. We are adjourned.”
Anna Ruth smiled smugly as she walked right in front of Trixie on her way to the refreshment table. Trixie stuck her throbbing toe out and didn’t even try to catch Anna Ruth as she tumbled ass over teakettle, knocking down the chair she’d been sitting in on her way to sprawl out on the floor. Amazing! The woman wore white cotton granny panties!
“Oh, my!” Trixie bent to tug Anna Ruth�
�s tight little skirt down over her thighs. “Those heels are demons to walk in, aren’t they?”
* * *
The house had been occupied by Andrewses since it was built in the ’30s. It was a charming two-story white frame house with big pillars holding up the wide porch, a driveway on the west side, and flowers blooming everywhere Cathy could plant them, but it didn’t have enough parking space to support a business. That’s where Darla Jean first came into the picture. She offered them the use of her parking lot right across the street for a free dinner every so often.
The first Andrews had owned a cotton gin in town. He left the house to his son, a lawyer, who left it to his son, also a lawyer. When those folks were gone, their two daughters, Marty and Cathy, inherited the place and turned it into Miss Clawdy’s Café six months later. Marty quit her job as a full-time teacher at the Grayson County College in Sherman but stayed on to teach adult basic education classes once a week. Cathy quit her job as a home economics teacher in Tom Bean, just south of Cadillac. And just before the café opened, Trixie quit her job at the Cadillac Community Bank to join them.
Getting the right zoning and all the legal papers to put in a business had taken time and money, but now it was not only up and running—it was a thriving business. The only reason Violet and Anna Ruth were so eager to shut them down was that Anna Ruth was afraid Andy would kick her out and go back with his ex-wife. Little did she know that Trixie was still way too pissed at him to take him back.
“I don’t want him for anything but a romp in the hay, Miss Granny Britches,” Trixie said aloud as she angled across Main Street to the café.
She expected to go right to her room and work on her scrapbooking the rest of the evening, but Cathy was waiting on the front porch in one of the rocking chairs. One look at her said volumes. Cathy could never play poker because everything she thought showed on her face.
“Did Agnes die?” Trixie asked.
She could hope, couldn’t she?
“I tried to call but you had your phone off. Was it awful?”
“What?” Trixie asked.
“Anna Ruth was at the meeting, right?” Cathy asked.
“How did you know?” Trixie asked.
“She called me on the pretense of being worried,” Cathy said. “I couldn’t be ugly to her. We’re in the club together. She told me that she was coming to the meeting. I tried to call you but it went straight to voice mail and I didn’t want to crash the meeting by showing up out of the blue, so I kept pulling weeds and deadheading plants and worrying my head off.”
“Well, you might not be in the club together very long, darlin’,” Trixie said. “She was there to propose taking back our rights to a commercial zoning. Another business wants to buy the old Shambles place next to Agnes and now the Council is thinking about sending us back to a residential status.”
The rest of the color drained from Cathy’s face. “No!”
Trixie sat down in the other rocker. “She’s just mad at me and trying to run me out of town. She’s afraid Andy will come back to me for some decent sex. I can’t imagine anyone as prissy as her liking sex, but I guess she does since she was able to talk him into bed in the first place.”
“I don’t think she did as much talking as he did, Trixie. Blame Andy. He’s as guilty as she is, maybe even more so,” Cathy said.
“How’s that? It took both of them,” Trixie asked.
“He was married and she is so young. Now tell me about the meeting. Why didn’t you tell them what you think? I can’t believe you didn’t storm up to that podium and rant and rave.”
“Sorry suckers wouldn’t let me talk because I wasn’t on the agenda. So I tripped Anna Ruth and enjoyed watching her fall on her face. She wears white panties.”
Cathy slapped a hand over her mouth. “You didn’t!”
“I did, but she deserved it. She stepped on my toe and it’s still throbbing. I think it may be broken,” Trixie said.
“I’m so sorry,” Cathy said.
“Hey, it wasn’t your fault and it’s worth the pain to get to deliver the payback. Let’s go in. I need a drink.”
They circled the house and went in the back door. Trixie went straight for the cabinet and grabbed the Jack Daniels.
Cathy was still pale as a ghost when she slumped down in a chair.
Trixie poured an inch of whiskey into each of two glasses. “Tip it up, darlin’, and drink it like a cowboy in an old Western movie. It’ll put some color back in your face. We aren’t going to lose our business. We’ll put Agnes to work for us.”
Cathy shook her head. “It’s not you they’re after. It’s me. Ethan doesn’t want me to work when we are married. I wouldn’t tell him that I’d sell out or quit my job so he and Violet are going after it a different way. If I sell or quit, they’ll drop this thing. If I don’t tell them I will, then they’ll shut us down. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Violet wouldn’t burn us out to get her way.”
Trixie threw back her whiskey and poured another shot. “Could be it’s both of us they’re after. Remember the line in that old movie? ‘They haven’t seen trouble, but it’s coming.’ Well, they’d better not mess with us because we’ve got Marty on our side.”
“And Agnes. Don’t forget her.” Cathy picked up the glass and sipped. She shivered and said, “This stuff is vile. How do you drink it?”
Darla Jean opened the door and stopped in her tracks. “I don’t believe it. I’m going out and coming back inside. Has the devil done claimed your soul, Cathy Andrews?”
“Come on in. It’s just a shot to get her color back,” Trixie said.
“Who died? Oh, Lord, don’t tell me that Agnes done passed on,” Darla Jean asked.
“No one died, but the lines have been drawn. Violet and Anna Ruth have spit on their knuckles, but we aren’t afraid of them. Agnes has a gun so there could be blood on the field.” Trixie laughed. It wasn’t so bad now with two shots of Jack warming her. She replayed the story for Darla Jean.
“They might come after your church next,” Trixie said.
“I don’t think that’s possible since it was a gas station before I inherited it so it’s already zoned commercial,” Darla Jean said. “But if they do, they better get prepared to fight a long uphill battle because I’ve got God on my side and he’s got a lot more power than Violet Prescott.”
Cathy put her head in her hands. “It’s going to be horrible.”
“Don’t tell God how big the storm is. Tell the storm how big God is,” Darla Jean quoted.
“You tell him for me,” Cathy said.
“I’m going. I just wondered how the meeting went.” Darla Jean headed for the door and met Marty halfway across the yard.
“Hey, no leftovers to take home?” Marty asked.
“Let’s sit on the bench and I’ll tell you what’s going on. Cathy is still pale and blaming herself, and Trixie thinks it’s her fault. Neither of them needs to hash it out again.”
Marty sat down on a bench beside the crape myrtle bushes. “Now you are scaring me.”
Darla Jean told her the whole story and then added, “Marty, if you need money to beat this, I’ve got it.”
“Thanks. If it gets deep, I might. We could move the café on the other side of your church. There are plenty of vacant buildings, but it’s the principle.”
“I agree,” Darla Jean whispered. “So if they want war, let’s load up our slingshots and take it to them.”
“David and Goliath.” Marty laughed.
“That’s right.”
“Still makes me mad as hell, though.” She went on inside the house.
Darla Jean wiped the sweat from her forehead and headed over to the church. So the almighty Prescotts did not want Cathy to work at the café when she was married. What on earth Cathy, with her looks, saw in that man was a mystery for sure, and he was a big mamma’s boy to boot. Cathy had to be marrying Ethan because she was afraid her biological clock was about to blow up in her hands. She talke
d more about having a baby in nine months than she did about being in love.
Twins were a strange sort. It wasn’t uncommon for one to be a hellcat and the other a pious saint. And Marty and Cathy proved that point. Marty was a free spirit, a coyote running wild in the plains. Cathy was the complete other side of the coin—grounded, rooted in traditions. And yet, there was something about Marty that wanted a taste of Cathy’s personality and something in Cathy’s eyes that craved a taste of Marty’s wildness.
Darla Jean had never had time for real friends, not until she got acquainted with Cathy, Marty, and Trixie. And even with their faults, she’d gladly give them everything in her bank account if they needed it to keep their café going. And that bank account was even bigger than Darla Jean’s good heart.
Chapter 4
Most of the small towns in the area had been named for either cotton barons or the oil boom, or else their names had something to do with the railroad. Cadillac was right there with them. It had sprung up as a cotton town in the ’30s, then oil was discovered and people started flowing into the town. Its first name was Cornwall and that stuck until sometime in the fifties when rumors surfaced that General Motors was looking at a plot of land between Cornwall and Tom Bean. According to the grapevine gospel, they were going to produce Cadillacs right there in Grayson County. It didn’t take the town council long to petition that the town’s name be formally changed. The plant never materialized, but the new name stuck firmly.
The Prescotts lived between Cadillac and Luella in a lovely old red brick two-story house that had been built at the height of the cotton industry. Violet had dubbed it the Prescott Plantation. Cathy squinted at it from her car window and though it was a lovely home, thought it lacked the wide veranda and the big white pillars that she imagined when someone said plantation home.
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