So… time to get some police cat training in?
Ugh.
Chapter 6
“Bad business, Scarlett,” said Vesta. “Bad business, this.”
“You can say that again,” Vesta’s friend Scarlett agreed.
The two women were seated in the outdoor dining area of the Hampton Cove Star, their small town’s boutique hotel, and sipping from their respective favorite beverages: a hot chocolate with extra cream in Vesta’s case, and a flat white for Scarlett. Both women might be the same age, but they couldn’t have looked more different, and if an innocent bystander were asked to guess their ages, they’d have pegged Scarlett to be in her late fifties to early sixties, and Vesta in her late seventies to early eighties. Vesta, dressed in her usual tracksuit and sensible white shoes, had that whole Golden Girls look down pat, while Scarlett wouldn’t have looked out of place in the best little whorehouse in Texas, with her thick russet curls, her inflated chest, and her face not revealing a single line.
“You simply don’t expect this kind of violence in a small town like ours,” Vesta continued. “Breaking and entering alone is a rare thing, and this attempted murder of four innocent pets? That’s just wicked.”
“Wicked,” Scarlett agreed wholeheartedly. “Probably some uptown lowlife deciding to hit the suburbs for a change. But he’ll soon discover we’re not as soft on crime down here as he might have supposed.”
“I don’t know, Scarlett,” said Vesta musingly. “I mean, you would expect my son to assemble his troops and hunt this animal down, but instead all he can think about is his girlfriend.”
“Charlene Butterwick? Is that still a thing?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so, in fact.”
“I would have thought that after finding out about your cat-talking trick she’d have run for the hills.”
“No, she’s a keeper, that one. Sticking it out. Which may or may not be a good thing.”
“She’s got your son distracted.”
“Exactly. And a distracted chief of police is the last thing we need right now.”
Scarlett shared a keen look with her friend. “I smell an opportunity for the watch, Vesta.”
“I’m way ahead of you, darling. I’ve already told Father Reilly and Wilbur, and we’re going on our first-ever patrol tonight.”
“This night?”
“This night.”
“Woo-hoo!”
“We’re going to patrol this neighborhood to within an inch of its life. And I’d like to see this heartless animal try and strike again. He’s going to have us to contend with.”
“We’re taking that sucker down!” Both women smiled before themselves, thinking pleasant thoughts about the neighborhood watch’s watchful prowess, then Scarlett said, “We’re not going to patrol the neighborhood in that little red Peugeot of yours, are we?”
“I thought maybe we could ask Alec to borrow one of his squad cars. Seeing as he’s not using them anyway.”
“I like your thinking,” said Scarlett, her eyes lighting up. “Ooh—and maybe we should get us some snazzy neighborhood watch outfits, too!”
“Again, way ahead of you.” And Vesta reached into the shopping bag dangling from her chair and took out what at first glance looked like a beige jumpsuit.
“What is that?” asked Scarlett, giving the thing a look of abject disgust.
“The new neighborhood watch uniform,” said Vesta proudly, and unfolded the thing to show it to Scarlett in all its splendor—or horror.
It was a jumpsuit, or at least that’s what it looked like to Scarlett. “I’m not wearing that,” she said decidedly after giving the monstrosity a glance. “Nuh-uh. No way.”
“But why? It’s got a logo and everything. See?” Vesta pointed to the little logo sewn onto the jumpsuit’s chest. It depicted a stern-looking figure pointing at the innocent observer and saying, ‘I’ve got my eye on you!’ The figure looked a little too much like Vesta to be a coincidence, Scarlett thought. The whole thing was tacky to a degree.
“You can wear that thing, but I’m not wearing it,” she repeated.
Vesta stared at her creation. “What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s wrong with it? We’re going to look like a couple of morons, that’s what. Have you even tried it on?”
“Sure. I tried it on this morning after the UPS man dropped it off. I ordered them online—I even designed the logo myself.”
“Of course you did.”
Vesta’s look of confusion was replaced with one of censure. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s you!”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s clearly you, Vesta.”
“Well, I had to use a model, and so I figured I might as well use myself. Here. Is that better?” And she ripped off the logo and handed the outfit to Scarlett, who immediately dumped it on the next chair, her face showing her extreme contempt for the thing. “I’ve got one for Wilbur, one for you, and one for Father Reilly, too,” said Vesta, as she emptied the bag and placed them all on the table, next to the plate of pretty little pastries.
“No way in hell is Wilbur going to wear that thing—or Francis, for that matter.”
“Of course they will. And look, I even got these for the cats, in case they want to ride along with us.” And she held up four miniature beige outfits, perfect for cats.
Scarlett had to admit they were cute. “Look, I appreciate all the work you put into this, but I’m not wearing that—ever.”
“But—”
“You can look like a ghostbuster if you want, Vesta. I prefer to look like Sigourney Weaver instead. How about that? Three ghostbusters and one hot crime-fighting mama.”
“Ghostbuster?” asked Vesta, frowning. “What’s a ghostbuster?”
“Wear that outfit and you’ll know. Now let’s talk guns. We can’t go out there unarmed—especially if big-city crime has suddenly decided to sweep into town.”
“I’ve got that covered,” said Vesta, her smile returning, and she placed two futuristic-looking gadgets on the table, on top of the ghostbusters jumpsuits.
“What’s that? asked Scarlett. “Water pistols?”
“Stun guns,” said Vesta. “Perfectly legal, too, and they pack a lot of juice.”
“Stun guns,” said Scarlett doubtfully.
“Zap the bad guys with these things and they won’t know what hit them.”
“They’ll know they haven’t been hit with a real gun, that’s for sure,” said Scarlett, picking one up and turning it this way and that. Then she shrugged. “I guess it’s better than nothing. What else have you got?”
“Pepper spray,” said Vesta, “and this.” And she placed something on the table that looked like a cane.
“What’s this?” asked Scarlett. “Is your hip acting up again?”
“It’s a club,” said Vesta proudly.
“It’s a cane.”
“It’s a club! The website said so.”
“Oh, Vesta,” murmured Scarlett. If she sounded disappointed, it was because she was. “I don’t know about this,” she said finally after swinging the club and almost hitting a passing waiter. “If we’re going up against big-city crime, I just think we need big-city firepower.”
“No can do, I’m afraid,” said Vesta. “For one thing, I don’t have a license, and neither do you, and for another, my son would never allow us to carry weapons in his town.”
“Who cares what Alec thinks? We can’t fight crime with our hands tied behind our backs, Vesta.”
“Well, I do have Jack’s shotgun,” said Vesta, musingly. “I keep it in the garden shed.”
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”
“Don’t tell Alec, though, or he’ll confiscate it.”
“I don’t get it. Since when are you so afraid of what your son thinks?”
Vesta sighed. “It’s not just Alec. It’s all of them.” She ticked them off on her fingers: “Chase is a cop, Alec is a cop, Odelia is a private dick, and Charlene is the Mayor. And sometimes I’ve got the feeling they’re all conspiring against me. It’s tough being a weak old lady having to fight off an entire army of law enforcement.”