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Jo wandered in, frowning.
“What’s the matter is that I have never been so sick about this town in my life. And that’s saying something.” Poppy twisted the cap off with a hiss and took a long pull.
Jo and I shared a look and kept quiet, knowing she wasn’t close to opening the floor for questions.
“Doug fucking Windley headed a small mob in the park harassing vagrants, which on its own is bad enough. But every single one of them had a holstered gun around their waists. Even Marjorie.” Poppy spat the name with as much vitriol as Jo ever did. And Jo hated Marjorie’s guts.
“So,” she continued, “a bunch of us were in Bettie’s Biscuits and saw the commotion, so we headed over there while Bettie called the sheriff and tried to calm the assholes down, but they only got bigger and louder. Somehow I ended up speaking for all the vagrants—”
“Of course you did,” Jo said fondly.
“Of course I did! And Pastor Coleburn worked with everybody trying to help the homeless gather their things and get them to the church while Doug and I barked at each other. And when the sheriff showed up, know what he said?”
“Oh, no,” I said.
“He said he’d arrest anybody found in the park after nine at night, but didn’t say shit about Dave Jackson waving his loaded pistol around a public park with children in it. Goddamn I’m mad.”
“Is everyone all right?” I asked.
She nodded with the bottle to her lips, lowering it when she swallowed. “No thanks to them. Pastor Coleburn got everybody rounded up and out of the way and put together a temporary shelter, but it’s not going to work for long.” Under furrowed brows, her eyes fell to the ground. “There’s got to be something we can do, something bigger than this. Not sandwiches, not clothes. These people need real, actual help. They need a place to stay, medical attention, therapy. Job assistance. They need a home.”
I turned the words over in my mind, and I could see them tumbling around Jo’s too.
“A homeless shelter?” I asked. “But where? Pastor Coleburn is already doing what he can.”
Something dawned on Poppy, and she rose, her face lighting slowly. “We build one. Lindenbach, I mean. We can build one, or convert something that already exists. They want to get the homeless off Main Street? Find them a place to stay. Do some outreach, see if we can get a legitimate free clinic running, see if we can’t call in some psychologists willing to come to town.”
Jo frowned. “Poppy, I don’t mean to sound like a naysayer, but how do you figure we can do all this? The amount of organization, money, time … I’m just not sure how it’s possible.”
“It has to be possible. Someone has to have a building we can use for the shelter. If we can set up a clinic inside and rally volunteers? Maybe we could start a fund, establish it as a nonprofit.” She snapped. “What about Keely Brumer? Isn’t she a doctor now in Austin?”
“Yeah, but why would she come back here to get paid next to nothing to work for charity?”
Poppy’s face quirked in thought. “I don’t know. But there has to be someone. We’d need a whole crew of people. I just don’t know how we’d pay them.”
“If only we had a million dollars,” a smiling, deep voice came from behind me.
Grant sauntered in, sliding in next to Jo to kiss her waiting cheek.
“So what’s this I hear about charity?” he asked.
Briefly, Poppy explained. And by briefly, I meant she ranted for a few minutes while Grant listened patiently. He’d learned how to handle Blum women like a seasoned professional, baptized by fire, thanks to Jo.
He was also richer than God.
“So,” he recapped, “you’re looking for housing, medical care, and social workers?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is there anywhere in town to house them that already exists?”
“What about the old motel?” Jo suggested.
I shook my head. “No way the Broomfields would let us use it for a homeless shelter. I don’t even think they’d sell it to you, Grant, despite the size of your wallet. Not if they knew what we’d use it for.”
“What about building something here? On the farm?” he suggested.
We blinked at him.
“This farm is twenty acres—what if we built something in that back corner off 1098? We could fence it off, make a separate entrance. Build a facility for the kitchen, laundry, showers, and medical facilities, a common area. I was just reading about a place in Oregon that built a bunch of tiny homes to house the homeless, and it was a huge hit. Plus, I might know a guy who’d be willing to invest.”
Poppy’s face was once again a spotlight. “Grant, don’t you mess with me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You would fund this?”
