rampant, evolving sexuality that had been so repressed for years, she hadn’t even known it existed within herself. It was certainly not a topic for discussion at a scrapbook crop.
Did DeeAnn just say she had gotten a gun? Vera thought.
“Yes. I went and learned how to use my gun. It’s in my purse. I have a permit for it. I’m not listening to any of your liberal nonsense, Annie. I’m almost as liberal as you are—but not with a goddamned killer on the loose in Cumberland Creek.”
“I’m just saying that it seems a little drastic. Yes, there’ve been two murders, but they seem related. You don’t have red hair, you don’t live in the hollow, and you aren’t eighteen. It seems to me the last thing we need in Cumberland Creek is another woman carrying a gun in her bag,” Annie said. “How many times has Bea almost shot someone by mistake?”
Sheila’s stifled giggle escaped, sending them all into fits of laughter.
Chapter 24
Beatrice loved Sunday mornings so much better since she had stopped going to church twelve years ago. Church was always more of a social and community event for her because she was never a believer in the traditional sense. Oh, she believed in God, all right, and knew God as well as anybody could. But she had a different view of Him and certainly a different view from what the local Baptist church claimed. Some folks thought that meant she was an atheist, and she’d even heard the whispers at Dolly’s old beauty shop. She was that weird non-believing quantum physicist. But if only they knew that the mystery of the universe was always its beauty, and the more she studied it, the closer to God or Spirit she felt.
Sundays in Cumberland Creek were glorious days because most people were in church. Between the hours of nine and eleven, one could walk the whole of the town without seeing anybody, which suited Beatrice, who was not a woman for small talk and gossip. So as she stood on her porch, waiting for Vera, she took in the quiet of her growing town.
Trouble was, with the growth came more problems than just annoyances, like lines at the grocery store and post office. Why, before all of this recent nonsense, Cumberland Creek had little crime in its history, with no murders in thirty or so years.
She wrapped her scarf around her neck and ears and relished the rustling sounds of the crumbly fallen leaves blowing in the breeze. She couldn’t believe that Friday would be Halloween already. She couldn’t wait to see Lizzie dressed up like a pea pod. How cute was that going to be? Just a year ago, she never would have imagined enjoying Halloween as much as she did now. For that matter, enjoying life as much as she did now. So much of that had to do with her granddaughter. Unfortunately, she barely remembered Halloween with Vera. She recalled an angel costume—or, wait, was that a ghost? Bah. Who knew? It was too long ago.
Beatrice loved having Vera in her life. But she didn’t have many specific memories of Vera’s childhood. The memories, some of them were just one big—albeit happy—blur. She remembered more about her work and her husband than she did about Vera. She took very few pictures. It wasn’t like today—everybody had a camera, and mothers, especially the scrapbooking ones, always took these little digital cameras everywhere. They didn’t want to miss a move and not be able to chronicle it.
Last year Beatrice handed Vera all the scrapbooks she had kept of her daughter for years, even with how busy she was as a young mother. She surprised herself that she had so many of them.These scrapbooks were mundane compared to what people did these days. They consisted of pictures snapped of Vera during special occasions, like birthdays and graduations. And then the dance recitals had taken over. Even so, Beatrice had managed to put something together, even during her busy career years, albeit without stickers, fancy cutouts, and glitter.
Vera’s car pulled up to the curb,
Did DeeAnn just say she had gotten a gun? Vera thought.
“Yes. I went and learned how to use my gun. It’s in my purse. I have a permit for it. I’m not listening to any of your liberal nonsense, Annie. I’m almost as liberal as you are—but not with a goddamned killer on the loose in Cumberland Creek.”
“I’m just saying that it seems a little drastic. Yes, there’ve been two murders, but they seem related. You don’t have red hair, you don’t live in the hollow, and you aren’t eighteen. It seems to me the last thing we need in Cumberland Creek is another woman carrying a gun in her bag,” Annie said. “How many times has Bea almost shot someone by mistake?”
Sheila’s stifled giggle escaped, sending them all into fits of laughter.
Chapter 24
Beatrice loved Sunday mornings so much better since she had stopped going to church twelve years ago. Church was always more of a social and community event for her because she was never a believer in the traditional sense. Oh, she believed in God, all right, and knew God as well as anybody could. But she had a different view of Him and certainly a different view from what the local Baptist church claimed. Some folks thought that meant she was an atheist, and she’d even heard the whispers at Dolly’s old beauty shop. She was that weird non-believing quantum physicist. But if only they knew that the mystery of the universe was always its beauty, and the more she studied it, the closer to God or Spirit she felt.
Sundays in Cumberland Creek were glorious days because most people were in church. Between the hours of nine and eleven, one could walk the whole of the town without seeing anybody, which suited Beatrice, who was not a woman for small talk and gossip. So as she stood on her porch, waiting for Vera, she took in the quiet of her growing town.
Trouble was, with the growth came more problems than just annoyances, like lines at the grocery store and post office. Why, before all of this recent nonsense, Cumberland Creek had little crime in its history, with no murders in thirty or so years.
She wrapped her scarf around her neck and ears and relished the rustling sounds of the crumbly fallen leaves blowing in the breeze. She couldn’t believe that Friday would be Halloween already. She couldn’t wait to see Lizzie dressed up like a pea pod. How cute was that going to be? Just a year ago, she never would have imagined enjoying Halloween as much as she did now. For that matter, enjoying life as much as she did now. So much of that had to do with her granddaughter. Unfortunately, she barely remembered Halloween with Vera. She recalled an angel costume—or, wait, was that a ghost? Bah. Who knew? It was too long ago.
Beatrice loved having Vera in her life. But she didn’t have many specific memories of Vera’s childhood. The memories, some of them were just one big—albeit happy—blur. She remembered more about her work and her husband than she did about Vera. She took very few pictures. It wasn’t like today—everybody had a camera, and mothers, especially the scrapbooking ones, always took these little digital cameras everywhere. They didn’t want to miss a move and not be able to chronicle it.
Last year Beatrice handed Vera all the scrapbooks she had kept of her daughter for years, even with how busy she was as a young mother. She surprised herself that she had so many of them.These scrapbooks were mundane compared to what people did these days. They consisted of pictures snapped of Vera during special occasions, like birthdays and graduations. And then the dance recitals had taken over. Even so, Beatrice had managed to put something together, even during her busy career years, albeit without stickers, fancy cutouts, and glitter.
Vera’s car pulled up to the curb,
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