A Cherry Cola Christmas (3 page)

“It's not the amount of money, of course. It's the principle of the thing. Plus, that still doesn't solve Cherico's problem,” Periwinkle pointed out. “Word's gotten out about those tips, and it has everyone looking over their shoulder and second-guessing every customer who comes into their stores. Is shoplifting gonna be next? I never thought in a million years that Cherico'd be a paranoid place to live and work. That's just what we need with the holidays coming up in a month or two.”

“Well, there is something constructive we can all do about it,” Maura Beth said after finishing off her wine. “We can attend the special Cherry Cola Book Club meeting I've called this Friday. Sheriff Dreyfus is going to come by and share what he can about crime prevention in the community. He told me over the phone that he wants to set up a gigantic neighborhood watch for the whole town. Sooner or later, whoever did this will make a mistake and get spotted. Nobody was paying much attention before, but that's going to be changing shortly.”

Jeremy took a sip of his coffee and screwed up his features. “I'd say they have to be pretty clever. Or desperate.”

“But why Cherico?” Periwinkle added with a dramatic sweep of her hand. “We're just a small town in the middle of nowhere. Oh, sure, those of us who live here swear by it. But there's not much of value to write home about. Unless you wanna talk about those expensive homes out at the lake like that lodge your aunt and uncle have, Jeremy. But that's about it. I always think of crime as somethin' that happens in big cities, and stealin' tips from tables is strictly small potatoes, isn't it?”

“Apparently someone doesn't think so,” Jeremy said.

“Mama says she wants to come to hear the sheriff tell us all what to do to protect ourselves,” Mr. Place announced. “She wants to do her part to keep Cherico safe, bless her heart. Of course, she won't be getting around much since I won't let her drive by herself anymore—even with her new glasses, her eyesight's getting even worse, and then there's her arthritis that's a lot worse than she admits. Lately, I think she's been hiding some new aches and pains from me. I've spotted her catching her breath across the room on the sofa when she doesn't think I'm looking.”

“Your mother is a sweetheart, and you know it,” Periwinkle said, chucking him on the arm. “Ardenia's really been very understanding about our relationship, Parker. Considering how things were when she was growing up here before the civil rights era, I can see how a white woman and a black man becoming an item might bother her a bit. They say old-school dies hard. But she's been very warm and welcoming to me on my visits to your house.”

“Mama just wants me—she wants us—to be happy now.”

Maura Beth gave Periwinkle a saucy wink. “Is there an official announcement on the horizon?”

“Not just yet. I think we'll keep things the way they are for a while,” Periwinkle told her. “Maybe we'll keep savin' our money for a security camera or two instead of a wedding.”

“Well, you just remember now—I want to be in your wedding if and when it happens,” Maura Beth continued. “After all, you were in mine, and you never looked more beautiful.”

Periwinkle's face lit up. “I have to admit it was pretty special out at the lodge. You and Jeremy did it up right with those original vows that took my breath away—not to mention the sun setting behind you out on the McShays' deck. Y'all just timed it perfectly—right down to the second. And by the way, I still want prints of all of it. You promised me, Maura Beth.”

“It's as good as done.”

“Oh, wait,” Mr. Place added with a little gasp. “Tell 'em all the good news after wading through all this mess about the tips.”

Periwinkle lightly clapped her hands several times. “Yes, I almost forgot. It could be huge news for The Twinkle. Maura Beth, do you remember the text I got a good while back from Waddell Mack, the country singer? He said some friends of his had come through Cherico and eaten here and had recommended it highly to him.”

“I think I vaguely remember something about it, but to be honest with you, I don't listen to country music.”

“Oh, I didn't either—until I married Harlan John Lattimore and kept his books for him all those years before our divorce. I guess I heard more honky-tonk songs than I can count on that jukebox of his out at the Marina Bar and Grill. Honestly, it began to grow on me. Yeah, I know—sometimes it seems a little bit corny. Like, Waddell's latest hit is ‘Don't Sell Me Short When I'm Longin' for You.' But it's kinda catchy—you don't forget it.”

Maura Beth felt it was her duty to smile at her friend's enthusiasm. It was the least she could do. “Well, to each his own.”

“Sure enough. But anyway, I got another text from Waddell Mack himself while you were off in Key West, and he said he would actually be passin' through Cherico on his Christmas tour in early December. Seems he's got two gigs in Mississippi—one in Tupelo at the BancorpSouth Arena and another one in Natchez at the Convention Center down there. Said he's bound and determined to try two places to eat that come highly recommended—The Twinkle right here and Fat Mama's Tamales down in Natchez. I'm so excited!”

“That
is
terrific news,” Maura Beth said. “What an opportunity for you and the restaurant!”

“Idd'n it? And he said he'd be glad to tweet about us before and after; and when I asked him if he'd autograph a picture of himself so I could hang it on the wall, he said he'd be more'n happy to do it. It'll be tremendous publicity for not only The Twinkle but Cherico, too. And right now we could use some a' that!”

“You'll have to be sure and keep me posted on the details.” Then Maura Beth quickly surveyed the table. “So, display of hands. We're all coming to the meeting at the library Friday, right?”

All hands shot up immediately.

“Excellent. Cherico is nothing if not the little town that could.”

3

The Eyes and Ears of Cherico

S
heriff Lon Dreyfus was a man who got right to the point. His frequent talks to civic groups never ran over or caused carefully planned agendas to fall apart—although he made it known that he was always available as a backup should any guest speaker fail to appear. Tall and gangly with an impressive salt-and-pepper mustache that dominated the lower half of his narrow face, he was a towering presence wherever he appeared on or off duty. Few people had ever chosen to “mess” with him, so to speak—not even Councilman Sparks and his City Hall cronies. In fact, the two men and their entourages kept a civil distance from one another, respecting each other's territory in a gentlemen's agreement between those in power in Cherico.

“There are some things I can't tell y'all about because we can't share everything about an ongoing investigation,” the sheriff was saying, standing behind the podium in the library lobby. Before him in a semicircle of folding chairs sat most of the members of The Cherry Cola Book Club, hanging on his every word. One or two were even taking notes.

“But I can tell ya what to be on the lookout for in the future to help nip crime of any sort—especially with Christmas shopping not all that far away. I suspect some of you have already done a little bit of it already. When you're in any of our stores, look for groups of two or three people to start with—that is, if they're strangers. Obviously, if you know who they are, chances are there's nothing going on. But be very suspicious if they're strangers and one of 'em is tying up a salesclerk, and the other two are in a different part of the store. What they're up to is creating a distraction so the others can stuff things into their pockets or purses while no one's paying attention. And that's another thing—really big purses or bags can sometimes be a tipoff that somebody's up to no good.”

Justin Brachle, who sometimes went by the nickname of “Stout Fella” to his wife and most of the club, was quick to respond, raising his hand. “Sheriff, I don't wanna sound like a typical dumb male here, but there are a whole lotta purses out there. For instance, my wife, Becca, has all sizes that she uses for just about every occasion under the sun. I mean, all I need is one measly wallet. We men aren't fussy about that kinda thing. So, how big is really big?”

That brought a wave of titters from all the members, and the sheriff enjoyed a laugh as well. “Good question. Just use your judgment here. If something seems really outta proportion, it might not be a bad idea to keep an eye on whoever's carrying it around.” Then the sheriff 's tone grew more serious. “Now don't get me wrong here, folks. Just go about your daily bid'ness and don't get paranoid. We're not innerested in any citizen's arrests here. Most people out there aren't criminals, but we just want y'all to report anything that seems outta the ordinary or suspicious. You just tell us what you saw and then let us handle it from there.”

The pregnant Becca “Broccoli” Brachle, as she was known to the fans of her now-defunct radio recipe show, followed up her husband's question. “Can you tell us what some of the most popular stolen items are in general?”

The sheriff briefly squinted while trying to conjure them all up. “Well, we do find that makeup, eyeliner, lipstick, high heels, scarves, and things like that tend to get shoplifted a lot.”

Maura Beth sounded a bit skeptical. “So, are you saying that most shoplifters are women?”

The sheriff snickered. “No, men do more than their share. I think crime is an equal opportunity destroyer of the economy.”

“What do the men tend to take?” Maura Beth said, somewhat reassured.

“Electronic stuff. Cell phones, watches, laptops, that kinda stuff. There's a lotta fencing that goes on.”

Maura Beth continued to press. “Tell us about your most unusual case here in Cherico—that is, if you can.”

The sheriff was laughing heartily now. “Sure can. A few years back, we caught a cross-dresser who was puttin' together outfits for himself. Shoplifted a girdle, pantyhose, high heels, and such, and I do believe when we caught him he had just about every one of those items on while he was doing some honest, pay-for-it shopping dressed as a woman. Turns out all he really wanted to do was go buy lotsa girlie things without people lookin' at him like he was crazy. But he told us he needed to get that first round of stuff without all the embarrassment—thus, the shoplifting.” The sheriff winked a couple of times as he surveyed the crowd. “Actually, he made a real handsome woman, if you wanna know the truth.”

Stout Fella's laugh sounded like a couple of high-pitched hiccups. “Does that cross-dressing fella still live here?”

“Nope, we cut him a break because he was underage. But he still did a little juvie detention center time for all the stuff he stole. By the time he got out, I believe he'd learned his lesson. He and his family moved away shortly after anyway. But before they left, that young man came by my office to tell me he was actually grateful we caught him when they did. Said it gave him the motivation he needed to stop cross-dressing once and for all. At least that was his story.”

Mamie Crumpton, the buxom, opinionated half of the town's wealthiest spinster sisters, then spoke up in that imperious manner of hers. “All this talk of cross-dressing impresses me as unseemly. I don't think we have anyone who does that here in Cherico now.”

Voncille Nettles Linwood, the town genealogist and Mamie's long-time rival, eyed her with disdain. “And how would you know that, Mamie? Have you been peeking into a few closets around town with a flashlight? You could have passed some woman on the street and not even blinked, never knowing that you were actually looking at a man in drag. Maybe that person even stole the tips from The Twinkle.”

“Please, Voncille, don't start anything,” Locke Linwood said, gently grabbing his wife's arm.

Mamie bristled, her nose turned up sharply. “Yes. Is this conversation really necessary, Voncille? You always were such a know-it-all. And you run your ‘Who's Who in Cherico?' meetings like a mad genealogist. You make things up about our families and think we're all just going to sit there in our seats and take it like we were a bunch of those impressionable students you taught.”

“Ladies, please!” Maura Beth said, resuming her customary role as peacemaker. “We're here to let the sheriff guide us, not argue with one another!” Respecting Maura Beth as they did, the two women quickly obeyed and with downcast eyes went thankfully silent. “I appreciate your cooperation very much. Now, Sheriff Dreyfus, will you please continue?”

“I just wanted to emphasize that all of you need to be the eyes and ears of Cherico,” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice following the last exchange. “Over the years, Cherico's not had too much of this kinda thing—certainly not anything we couldn't handle. This time, no one seems to have seen or heard anything about the stolen money, and that's unusual. Yet, those tips just didd'n get up and walk out by themselves. I assure you, they had help of some kind.”

“Did they ever!” Periwinkle cried out impulsively.

The sheriff wrinkled up his nose a couple of times, and his mustache did a passable imitation of a big gray caterpillar wiggling underneath. “Miz Peri—you knew your two customers who left those tips, and after that, neither you nor your waitress were around to see what happened. But we'll get to the bottom of this sooner or later before it escalates into something worse.”

Once again, Mamie Crumpton joined the exchange with gusto. “This sounds like it could even end up being a tad bit dangerous. You're certainly right, Sheriff. I don't recall anything like this before, and I've lived here all my life, as you all know. Of course, I had no idea about the cross-dressing thing. But maybe being the person who catches this awful person would be exciting.”

“Now, Miz Crumpton,” the sheriff said, boring into her with his eyes, “we don't want you or anybody else to take any chances, ya hear? I don't think the role of vigilante really suits you. As you said, this could be a dangerous proposition, and we don't want anyone hurt out there. If you or your sister, Marydell, spot something suspicious, you just call us up, and you let that be the end of it.”

“Oh, will do,” Mamie told him as she clasped her hands with a certain thrill evident in her voice.

Then Mr. Place's mother, Ardenia, waved her hand back and forth. “Sheriff, I just want to say that my son won't let me get out the house without him. Now how am I s'pposed to help out with him drivin' me around like that? Could you do me a big favor and talk some sense into him? When he get the hard head like that, I just throw my hands up in the air. Just like his no-good daddy—and good riddance to him!”

Mr. Place's jaw dropped as a round of snickers and giggles broke out among the members. “Mama, the sheriff doesn't have time for this. It's strictly between you and me.”

“I have time for all my constituents,” the sheriff declared, rising to the occasion. “And let me just say that you might be in the best position of all of us, ma'am. The driver's the one who has to pay attention to the road and such—and that leaves the passengers free to see a lot more. Why, you can keep an eye out that much better that way!”

Ardenia sat back in her chair, adjusting her thick glasses and then folding her arms with a satisfied grin. “Well, I never looked at it that-a-way. Guess maybe I can do my part after all. When you a certain age, no one seem to pay attention to you. You heard what the sheriff say, son?”

“I heard it, Mama.”

The sheriff drew himself up with a great intake of air, adding another few inches to his height. “Well, I'm glad I could help you out, Miz Ardenia. You might be the one who ends up helping us catch the thief.” He nodded her way crisply. “Well, I guess that's about it, ladies and gentlemen. We believe the eyes and ears of Cherico will solve this thing and get things back to normal. Better to nip this kinda thing in the bud. Do your part and be smart about it. We're all counting on ya.”

 

No meeting of The Cherry Cola Book Club was ever complete without potluck dishes to sample, and the talk by the sheriff was no exception. In fact, he was the first in line at the buffet table, and soon everyone was digging into the peeled boiled shrimp and cocktail sauce, potato salad with egg and dill, and caramel pie that various members had contributed; and also true to form—everyone was using the occasion to catch up with each other.

“So, your second trimester is going a lot easier for you?” Maura Beth was asking Becca Brachle. The two of them had managed to find a couple of seats next to each other in the midst of the chatting throng.

Becca's face was a study in relief. “Oh, very much easier, thank you. I've been the Queen of Morning Sickness up until now. My mother was like that, too. But thankfully, that's all behind me. I feel like I can get to the end of this now, and believe me, I was doubting that for a while.”

“Are you and your Stout Fella still not going to ask your obstetrician about the gender?”

“Justin wants to know in the worst way. I kinda don't, though. So far, I've managed to hold out, but I have to say, he's wearing me down. It would be easier to buy things in coordinated colors, so to speak. I know, I know—in this day and age you'd think people would've moved away from the pink and blue thing. But when you've been waiting to get pregnant as long as Justin and I have, you'd be surprised how traditional our thinking has become all of a sudden.”

Maura Beth took a sip of her cherry cola punch and moved on to the inevitable. “What about baby names?”

“Now there, we've made a decision,” Becca said, excitement flashing in her eyes. “If it's a boy, he's not going to be a junior. We want something brand-new. So we're going with Mark Grantham Brachle. Grantham was my mother's maiden name, and I want to honor it.”

“I like the sound of it, too. And if it's a girl?”

Becca sounded thoroughly resolute. “No Becca, either. I would never tell my mother this, but I've never really liked my name. It always sounded so formal to me. So, we're going to go with Angelica Grantham Brachle, since we just know she'll be our little angel.”

“Sounds very original!” Then Maura Beth lowered her voice and leaned in, carefully balancing her plate on her knees. “And what's the latest on the godmother thing, if you don't mind?”

Almost in a whisper, Becca said, “You're still the frontrunner. Just keep it on the down low for now. I don't want your competition to know that I've pretty much made up my mind.”

At that point, Jeremy sauntered over with a plate piled high with shrimp. He had been known to tear through a dozen in no time at all. “And what are you two beautiful ladies whispering about? Something about Councilman Sparks, I'm willing to bet anything.”

“You'd lose that bet this time, sweetheart,” Maura Beth told him. “But please, have a seat.”

“Have you spotted something suspicious around town then?” Jeremy continued, pulling up a nearby chair.

“Not me,” Becca said. “I don't get out much these days. Justin would be the one—I mean, the way he's all over the place selling real estate to whomever comes down the pike. But I fully intend to pamper myself the bigger I get. You won't see me straying far from the house.”

Jeremy speared one of his shrimp and dipped it into the pool of pungent bright red sauce near the edge of his plate. “I'm pretty much like you, Becca. I'm out of the loop teaching all day out at the high school; so unless one of my students is the culprit and confesses, I'm not likely to be of much help.”