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It may not have been comfortable, but sitting on Stumpy Leger’s shingled rooftop gave the three of them a bird’s-eye view of Celia’s backyard as she hung the laundry out to dry. Stumpy’s house was just across the alley from Celia’s, and for fifty cents apiece, Stumpy was more than happy to let them climb on his roof and watch his neighbors with binoculars. He didn’t care why they wanted to spy on Celia, just as long as he had enough to buy a few packs of smokes and have some change left over.
“She just finished hanging her mom’s underwear,” Gertie said, peering through the binoculars. “Those panties look like they’d fit a baby elephant. My mom calls it ‘the middle age spread.’ She says we’re all going to end up like that.”
Ida Belle cringed. “Not me. I’ll wrap packing tape around my butt before I let it spread like that.”
Gertie lowered the binoculars from her eyes. “Sounds like a good idea. And another thing I’m never going to do is carry around one of those luggage-sized purses. Your grandma has one of those, Marge. What does she carry in it, anyway? Half the state of Texas?”
Marge sighed as she crouched next to Gertie. Ida Belle could tell she was still worried about her Aunt Louanne.
“You know she’s one of the best shots in Sinful,” Ida Belle said, rapping Marge’s shoulder with her knuckle. Well, almost the best. That distinction would really go to herself. One of the few things in life she was grateful to her dad for was teaching her how to shoot. But still, Miss Louanne was very good with a rifle. “If anyone can take care of herself, it’s your aunt.”
“I know, but I just got a strange feeling seeing that guy in the General Store.”
“Speaking of strange feeling at the General Store,” Gertie said, turning to glance at Ida Belle. “You sure turned to mush around Walter.”
Ida Belle felt her face heat up. Dear Lord, she wasn’t blushing, was she? “I did not.”
“You ran into a display rack,” Marge reminded her. “I’d say that’s pretty mushy.”
“Did you ever think maybe you and Walter would make a good couple?” asked Gertie.
Ida Belle’s face grew even hotter with Gertie’s question. “I can’t think about Walter. Not when we’re all going to be leaving in a week.” But the truth was, she had thought about him. She’d been thinking about him for weeks, since that day a couple of months ago when they’d both found themselves sharing the bus back into Sinful after their college classes. Even though they’d grown up together, he didn’t run with her crowd. He was more the shy, loner type, working after school and on weekends at his father’s store. Or at least she’d thought he was a shy loner. That day in the bus he’d had her in stitches with his impersonation of the Widow Jones. She’d dated many different guys the past few years but none who made her stomach flutter as it did when Walter’s eyes pierced hers and their fingers touched. Truth was, she wasn’t so sure she liked it. A man who could make you run into things? Now that was a dangerous man.
Ida Belle pointed toward Celia’s house. “What’s that she’s hanging now?” she asked Gertie, hoping that would distract her from the topic of Walter.
Gertie peered through the binoculars. “Gah! Her daddy’s underwear. Why is it old men’s shorts get so saggy? When I get married I’m going to tell my husband to hang up his own dang underwear. And I’ll buy him new underwear every few months so it doesn’t end up looking like that.”
“I might not get married,” Marge piped up. “Aunt Louanne’s not married. She seems to be happy just dating.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Ida Belle said. “I’ve been living under my dad’s rule for years. The last thing I want is another man telling me what I can and can’t do every day.” Or messing with her brain and making her run into things. No matter how cute he was. “Maybe I’ll be a bachelorette and have a bunch of men on the side when I feel like having some fun. Then go home to my own house where I’m my own boss.”
Gertie snorted and looked at Ida Belle. “I don’t know what world you’re living in, because it’s not Sinful. But it does sound pretty good. Especially the bunch of men on the side part.” Gertie brought the binoculars back up to her eyes. “Okay, she’s finished. I see the dress we should take. Light green. Has ‘Celia’ stitched on the back like a warning sign. Looks like it’d fit you perfectly, Ida Belle. Now she’s heading to the back door.”
It was all going according to plan. Once the Princess of Doom left they could get off the god-awful roof and go get the dress. An hour in the sun and some back and forth with an iron would dry it enough in time for the picnic.
Several minutes later, Ida Belle grabbed the binoculars and peered through them. “There’s the station wagon taking off down the street. We go get the dress and leave. Simple.”
Except it wasn’t.
“Wait.” Ida Belle watched as Killer, the Comeaux’s German Shepherd, lumbered out of the dog house in the corner of the yard. “It’s Killer. He was in the dog house the whole time. Now he’s coming out.”
“What?” Gertie snatched the binoculars back from Ida Belle. “Damn. I forgot to get a package of dog biscuits at the General Store. Now what?”
“Maybe Killer’s tamed down since he was a puppy,” Ida Belle said. “Let’s get down there and assess the situation.”
Killer charged at the fence the moment the girls neared it. “We can go get some meat to keep Killer occupied while one of us goes in and gets the dress,” Marge said.
Gertie charged over to the corner of the fence where a sycamore tree shared its enormous branches with both the alley and Celia’s backyard. “All that will take too long. I still need to prepare the picnic and Ida Belle has to make herself look like Celia. You two hoist me up so I can grab onto that branch and climb up the tree. The clothesline is right under one of the longer branches. All I have to do is lean down from the branch and grab Celia’s dress. Killer will never get me. The lines are higher up than he can jump.”
Ida Belle glanced at Marge. Gertie was a bit like her cousin Barbara. She had a way of jumping into things without thinking. Not only that, but she wasn’t exactly the nimblest girl who walked the planet.
“I’ll run home and get some meat,” Marge said.
Gertie placed her hand on her hip. “Are you implying that I can’t do the job properly?”
“Let’s just say you’ll never make it as an acrobat,” said Ida Belle.
“Or a window washer in a high rise,” echoed Marge. “I’d stay away from that profession as well.”
Gertie blew out through her nose like a bull ready to charge. “Since I seem to be the only one brave enough to go in there and we’re running out of time, I’ll need someone to help me reach the branch.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “You might get hurt.”
“You know she’s not going to give in until one of us helps her,” Marge said, joining Gertie. She got down on all fours. Gertie grabbed onto the fence, lifting herself up so she could use Marge’s back as a step stool, flinching as Killer barked and clawed at the fence.
Ida Belle gave her a pleading look. “You don’t have to prove yourself.”
“I’m not proving myself,” Gertie said. “This will be like taking candy from a baby.”
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Gertie grabbed onto the sturdy branch that spread over the alley and pulled herself up. As she crossed over the fence, she looked down and into the teeth and throat of Killer as saliva dripped from his growling mouth. And a thought occurred to her: Like taking candy from a baby was a stupid phrase. Killer was not a Tootsie Roll. And, oh yes, she was going to die today. She looked back at Ida Belle, who was shooting her THE LOOK. The look that said, “I told you so.”
“Are you ready to come back and go get some meat to distract him?” Ida Belle asked.
“No,” Gertie grumbled back.
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Ida Belle pressed her eye to a gap in the wood fence and watched as Gertie, perched on a thick branch above the four-line clothesline, lowered her arm down toward the dress hanging on one of the lines. “Be careful,” Ida Belle yelled. She’s going to fall. She’s going to fall. She’s going to—.
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!”
“She’s falling!” Ida Belle said to Marge.
“Crap!”
“Wait,” Ida Belle said, watching the action. Gertie was sprawled over the top of the four lines. “The clothesline broke her fall.”
Gertie screamed again.
“What’s happening now?” Marge asked.
“Her head is wedged underneath one of the lines, tangled up in Celia’s dad’s underwear.”
“How did that happen?”
“It’s Gertie. You have to ask?”
Marge nudged Ida Belle out of the way and peered through the fence. “Man, that Killer can jump high.”
“I could use some help!” Gertie shouted.
Marge helped hoist Ida Belle up to one of the branches. She crossed over the fence and was now perched on the thick branch above where Gertie lay on the clothesline.
“Yoohoo!” a voice called out. Ida Belle looked over to the next yard. Polly Pitre was standing against her chain-link fence and waving a handkerchief. Her blue, cotton candy hair matched her dress. No one knew exactly how old Miss Polly was, including Miss Polly herself. Given her thin, wrinkled skin, she looked to be at least a hundred and fifty. She lived with her son, Pierre, a confirmed bachelor, though why everyone had to add the word, “confirmed” had always puzzled Ida Belle.
“What are you girls up to?” Miss Polly asked.
“Oh, hanging around,” Ida Belle said. Killer jumped for Gertie and she screamed. Was it Ida Belle’s imagination, or was this jump higher than the last one?
“Well, I can see that.”
“We’re ‘borrowing’ a dress,” Ida Belle said to her. Old Miss Polly’s memory wasn’t all that sharp anymore, so you could confess anything to her knowing a few hours from now she wouldn’t remember it. Besides, she wasn’t a fan of Celia or her family. That much she always remembered.
“Which one?” Miss Polly asked.
“The light green one.”
Gertie groaned. “Could you two chat later?”
Miss Polly continued. “Good choice. It’ll go nicely with your eyes. While you’re there, could you grab me a pair of Mr. Comeaux’s trousers? My Pierre could use a new pair.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ida Belle answered.
“I hate to tell you this,” Miss Polly said, “but that dog can jump much higher than that. In a few more tries, he’s likely to take poor Gertie’s face off.”
Gertie screamed. “I love my face. I don’t want him to tear it off!”
“Calm down,” Ida Belle said. “Looks like your necklace is caught on some snotty old handkerchief. Let me see if I can loosen it so you can get your face out of Mr. Comeaux’s underwear.”
“My lips touched them!” Gertie yelled. “I’ll have to burn them off!”
Killer made another leap, snapping his jaws a couple of inches from Gertie’s dangling hair. “Aaaaahhhhh!”
“What’s happening?” Marge called from the other side of the fence.
“My face is about to be torn off!”
“Miss Polly,” Ida Belle called out, “could you distract Killer with some raw meat from your freezer?”
“Maybe he’d like these dog biscuits I have in my pocket, instead.” Miss Polly held up a giant-sized dog treat.
“You could have mentioned that from the get-go, Miss Polly!” Gertie yelled.
“You’re welcome!” Miss Polly yelled back. “Oh Ida Belle, you might want to mention to Gertie that something, and I’m too polite to mention what, just popped out of her blouse.”
Gertie yelped as Marge broke into hysterics behind the fence.
Miss Polly waved the biscuit and whistled to Killer to come to her.
“You go get the dog biscuit, Killer. Go on!” Ida Belle saw a moment’s hesitation on Killer’s face. He almost looked as if he were deciding between a sure thing and a potentially bigger meal. Or maybe he was trying to decide what exactly that thing was that Gertie was frantically trying to tuck back into her bra. He finally took the sure thing and ran for the fence.
Hooking an arm securely around the branch, Ida Belle reached down and unhooked Gertie’s necklace from the wet handkerchief, allowing Gertie to raise her head above the line.
“Grab the dress and unhook the clothespins,” Ida Belle said. “Then hand it back to me.”
Gertie groaned. She unclipped the dress and handed it back to Ida Belle.
“Okay, now the jeans.”
“What?”
“I promised Miss Polly.”
“I am going to have permanent clothesline gouges on my arms, and I can’t tell you what the lines are doing to other more sensitive parts of my body. And you want me to reach over and get a pair of jeans?”
“Miss Polly is saving your life with those biscuits, so yes, I do.”
Gertie huffed. It seemed to take forever, but she managed to free a pair of jeans from the clothesline and hand them back to Ida Belle. While Killer was enjoying his third biscuit, Ida Belle bent a side branch down to Gertie. “Grab the branch. When I release it, you’ll be pulled up and I’ll grab onto you.”
Gertie followed her instructions and soon the pair were scrambling across the branch toward the fence. Ida Belle tossed the jeans, then the dress, to Marge before she, then Gertie, dropped over the fence and into the alley. They stopped by Miss Polly’s back chain-link fence just as she handed the last biscuit to Killer. The old woman shuffled over to the fence to receive Pierre’s new pair of jeans.
“Would you look at these,” she said, examining them. “Wranglers. Pierre loves Wranglers.”
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The man watched as the old lady plodded back inside her house and the three girls scurried down the alley with the dress. They hadn’t spotted him crouching behind a grouping of trashcans several yards away. Never heard the click of his camera as he snapped photos of them climbing the tree into the backyard. Never once realized that he’d been following them ever since he left the General Store. Or that he was following them now.
They were clueless. And that’s how he liked it.
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“I’m glad you found my plight so funny, Marge,” Gertie said as the three made their way down the alley.
“I didn’t find all of it funny,” Marge said in her defense. “Just the part where you kissed Mr. Comeaux’s underwear and your boob popped out of your bra. Other than that, I thought it was tragic.”
Ida Belle suppressed a laugh, wondering what Mrs. Comeaux was going to think when she found Gertie’s lipstick on her husband’s briefs. A tingling at her neck gave her pause. She wasn’t sure why, but she had the oddest sensation that someone was watching them. She turned around but saw nothing.
“Are you okay?” Marge asked.
Ida Belle nodded. Maybe it was just her imagination.