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“That’s awful,” Sarah said.
“It’s worse than that. She had closed up the flower shop for me that night and rode her bicycle home. She said that for the first time, she felt uncomfortable at night by herself, like there was someone watching her. She pedaled home twice as fast as usual, and then when nothing happened, she chided herself for being paranoid. But she was right—someone was watching her. They followed her home.”
“I didn’t know the peeper had been to Olivia’s.” Miss Vera’s eyes widened thoughtfully. “What did she do?”
Miss Francine shrugged. “Well, the cops couldn’t help much and she just didn’t feel safe, so she bought a shotgun and had motion-detector lights put up around the house. I think she may go back to driving her car to the shop and only ride her bicycle in the summer when the sun sets later.”
“That’s creepy,” Pepper said. It hadn’t really crossed her mind that the sleepy town she lived in could harbor someone d
angerous. What crime they did have was usually a harmless teenage prank or a drunken brawl. Some days she even forgot to lock her door. She didn’t think something this bad could ever happen here. “I need to keep my curtains pulled. Or finally install some blinds.”
“You should,” Miss Francine agreed. “And I say all single women should invest in strong locks, a big dog, and a high-quality gun. But enough of that unpleasantness. I want to know how Vera got her secret knowledge about the hard body of Grant Chamberlain.”
“It just so happens that the fire station is across the street from Dotty Baker’s place,” Miss Vera explained. “Every Wednesday afternoon, she has me over for tea. We sit on the front porch, eat cake, and watch them wash the fire truck. If it’s warm enough out, some of them will take off their shirts.”
Pepper muffled a snort, thinking about those two leering at the firemen every week under the guise of having tea. “Ever whistle or catcall?”
“Dotty did once,” Miss Vera said with a look of irritation pinching her brow together. “It spooked them. They didn’t wash the truck for two weeks after that. At least, not at their usual time when we were watching. I took them a plate of cookies and apologized for her uncouth behavior. You know, since she had that stroke, she gets away with murder. Stroke, my foot. Her family wishes that was the cause of her big mouth. She’s always been like that. Anyway,” she continued, “they finally went back to washing the truck on Wednesday afternoons again, and I told Dotty to keep her big mouth shut after that.”
Miss Dotty had an appointment for her hair tomorrow. Pepper always enjoyed having her in the chair, but Miss Vera was right: Dotty told it like it was. Usually in the South, ladies danced around the more delicate subjects, especially in polite company, but not Dotty. She just laid it out there when no one else had the balls to say it. It made Pepper laugh.
“And why am I not invited to these tea parties?” Miss Francine asked.
“You’re always working at the flower shop.” Miss Francine made a disappointed noise and crossed her arms over her chest. She owned and operated Petal Pushers, the local florist. You could almost always find her there, working on arrangements for anniversaries or sprays for Hancock’s Funeral Home across the street.
Pepper finished rinsing Miss Francine’s hair and wrapped her head in a fluffy white towel. That was fortunate, because Miss Francine couldn’t hear Miss Vera mutter under her breath to Sarah, “She’s also too judgmental. She’d take all the fun out of it. Old ladies like me have to get our kicks somewhere.”
By the time Pepper had Miss Francine settled in the chair, Sarah had steered the conversation in a new direction. “Have you ever considered dating again, Miss Vera?”
“Posh,” she grumbled with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Honey, I’m too old to start dating again.”
“I don’t think so. You’re still young enough to enjoy going out to dinner or a movie with a gentleman. Someone to go with you on walks through the park. Or maybe a little make-out session in the parlor,” Sarah added with a sly grin.
“Oh, Lordy,” Miss Francine groaned. “Can you even imagine it?”
“I can!” Sarah answered. “Grant Chamberlain might be on the young side for you, but there’s got to be some eligible men in town who would be more suitable.”
Miss Vera shook her head. “I know every man in this town and not a one of them could measure up to my Herman. We had forty-three wonderful years together before he had that heart attack. I think my time to wade in the dating pool is long behind me.”
“I don’t know,” Sarah argued. “You could start by dipping a toe in. I’ve seen Bert Swenson eyeing you at Sunday morning services.”
“Bert Swenson?” Miss Vera nearly choked, a red flush rising to her powdered cheeks. “Are you kidding me?”
“You know,” Pepper joined in, “I’ve noticed he always takes a second serving of your desserts at the community picnics.”
“Well, he shouldn’t,” Miss Vera snapped. “That man has put on at least thirty pounds since Margaret died. He’ll have the sugar diabetes before too long.”
Sarah put the last of the foils in Miss Vera’s hair and set the timer. “Maybe he just needs a good woman to take care of him.”
“Sarah, dear, I have spent my whole life taking care of other people. First my brothers, then my husband, then my kids, then my own parents. Now it’s the grandkids. I miss Herman, but I certainly don’t miss cooking three squares a day. Meat and potatoes. Every night. For forty-three years. Last night, I had a cheese sandwich. The night before, a can of soup. I haven’t washed a skillet in a month and I don’t mind a bit. A new man to take care of? No thanks.”
Pepper smiled, listening to Miss Vera’s tirade. She was protesting a little too much. Perhaps there really was some potential for senior romance in the air.
“Well, you know they’re talking about having a bachelor auction around Valentine’s Day.”
“I heard about that,” Miss Francine chimed in. “The fund-raising committee contacted me last week about sponsoring some flower arrangements and roses for the winning bidders. As though I’ll have spare roses around Valentine’s Day! Even if I did, my suppliers jack up the wholesale prices in February. They’re going to pay or they’re going to get some lovely red and pink carnations.”
Pepper frowned in confusion at Miss Francine’s long-winded complaint. Nearly a year ago, a tornado had whipped through Rosewood, wiping out the high school gymnasium and part of the football stadium. The town had rallied, organizing fund-raisers and even bringing Ivy Hudson, rock star and former resident of Rosewood, back to town for a charity concert. Sarah’s daughter had become a Grammy-winning performer with numerous albums and world tours under her belt. They had easily raised more than enough money to rebuild and modernize the school by having her come back. Pepper ought to know; she’d been on the committee.
