Loose Lips by Rae Davies Page B

myself
under that lighting to be reminded of just how little sleep I’d had
in the last few days.
    In the middle of the room, an array of
folding chairs and white metal stools were arranged in a circle.
Sitting on an old display case was a sign–in sheet, plastic cups
and a plate of cookies.
    I helped myself to two snickerdoodles and
glanced around. Aside from Eve, Phoebe, and myself, there were
three other women already seated in the circle. One was the cheese
lover.
    Hoping she wouldn’t recognize me, I walked
forward to be introduced.
    Tonight she’d gone formal. Her “Believe in
Cheese” shirt had long sleeves.
    “Laura,” she said after I’d introduced
myself. “I own the dairy store on Cedar.”
    I hadn’t realized there was a dairy store on
Cedar, but I smiled and nodded as if I shopped there daily.
    A round woman with red hair barely looked up
from her knitting. “Sally.”
    The last woman, of obvious Native American
descent, repeated the name.
    I waited, wondering if she thought I was
deaf.
    “No.” She pointed at herself. “I’m Sally
too. We both are.”
    “That must be confusing.”
    She shook her head. “No, I told you, I’m
Sally too.” She pointed at the knitter. “She was here first. So,
I’m two.”
    “Oh.”
Two
.
    Phoebe plopped down in a chair, plastic cup
of pinot grigio in her hand. “Where’s Kristi?”
    Sally the knitter looked up. Seeing Phoebe’s
wine, she raised a brow. “She’s bringing someone. I don’t know who,
but she said she’d be on our side.”
    “Side?” I asked.
    Before anyone could answer, a shorter,
chunkier version of Phyllis walked in, short hair with enough poof
to keep it from being practical, slacks, dress shirt, and
heels.
    Ballsy Bev, the TV news’ answer to Daniel,
followed behind her.
    The bite of cookie I’d been about to swallow
caught in my throat and I choked.
    Laura, who’d been walking by with a full
glass of wine, pounded on my back.
    “Reporter,” I croaked.
    Laura shifted her gaze to Bev. “Crap.” Then
guzzled down her wine. After glancing at Phoebe, she turned away
and stomped back to the makeshift bar where she refilled her cup
and stayed.
    I looked around, weighing the cost/benefit
of deserting my research and heading for the door. Unfortunately,
there really was no escape without passing by the reporter.
    Instead, I decided to follow Laura’s lead. I
moved to the bar.
    “This,” Kristi announced, “is Bev Painter.
You might recognize her from the Channel 8 news.” Her smile was
huge and gloating.
    Phoebe lowered her cup. “We know who she is.
She’s been harassing all of us.” She glowered at the reporter.
“She’s a stalker.”
    “Phoebe,” Kristi admonished. “Bev goes to my
church.”
    “They’ll obviously let anyone in,” Phoebe
mumbled and drained her cup. She didn’t, however, get up for a
refill. She held the red plastic cup in her hand, squeezing it ever
so slightly until I heard the plastic pop.
    Sally One jumped.
    Eve stood, then sat, then looked around. Her
hands moved the entire time, grasping and ungrasping each
other.
    Sally Two seemed to be the only woman
unaffected by Kristi and Bev’s arrival. She leaned back in her
metal folding chair and waited.
    Laura bumped me in the side with her elbow
and held out a full cup of wine. I took it.
    “Bev,” Kristi announced. “Wants to hear our
side. I explained why the protest was necessary and how much we
just wanted to help those poor deluded girls, but with the death...
Well, we can use a bit of sympathetic press.”
    She glanced around as if expecting the women
to rush forward with... I wasn’t sure what.
    She cleared her throat. “I’ve also explained
that from here on, we will be taking a
different
, more
sensitive tactic.” She eyed Laura and then Phoebe as she said
this.
    Laura snorted.
    I took a sip of the wine and tried to
disappear against the glass store–case.
    Like a teacher sensing the one student who
most doesn’t want to be