Purrfect Cover. Purrfect Patsy. Purrfect Son

Chapter 18

“This is pretty pointless if you ask me,” said Scarlett.

“Nobody asked you so be quiet,” riposted Vesta.

“I think Scarlett is right,” said Father Reilly. “Just driving around like this doesn’t seem to make any sense.”

“Driving around like this keeps the bad guys away,” said Vesta.

“I don’t see any bad guys,” said Wilbur Vickery. “Do you see any bad guys, Francis?”

“No, I don’t,” said Father Reilly, craning his neck as he glanced around.

“That’s because we’re patrolling,” said Vesta. “If we weren’t patrolling these streets they’d be crawling with bad guys. It’s just like the light in the fridge, see.”

“The light in the fridge?” asked Scarlett, looking at her as if she’d just lost her mind.

“You don’t see the light going out in the fridge, do you? Because the light only goes out when you close the door, and when you open the door to look, it flashes on again. And then when you close the door, it goes out—BUT YOU DON’T KNOW IT GOES OUT!”

Vesta’s fellow watch members were quiet for a moment, as they considered this intriguing piece of information, then Father Reilly said, “So in this comparison, the bad guys are the light in the fridge? Or the bad guys are the lack of light in the fridge?”

“Oh, who cares!” said Vesta as she took a turn. They were cruising along the quiet and deserted streets of their neighborhood in her little red Peugeot, and she suddenly wished she’d be able to buy the watch a proper car, just like she’d already told Scarlett about a million times. A nice big car. A van or maybe even one of them fancy Escalades. A car that made the bad guys quake in their boots when they saw them coming.

Father Reilly yawned. “How long do you want to keep doing this, Vesta? I need to get up early. I have a sermon to write.”

“So you actually write your own sermons?” asked Scarlett. “I always thought you made those up on the spot.”

“No, I write all of my sermons,” said the priest, a little stung by this comment. “And it’s hard work, too, as I have to insert small passages from the Scriptures.”

“Just download that stuff from the internet,” grunted Wilbur. “Plenty of sermons there.”

“I am not going to download my sermons off the internet,” said Father Reilly. “My parishioners—”

“Your parishioners would never know the difference,” argued the shopkeeper.

“Well, I beg to differ,” said the father a little haughtily.

“Look,” said Vesta suddenly as she pointed at a nearby shrub.

“Buxus Semptervirens,” said Father Reilly, nodding appreciatively. “Also known as Boxwood. I instructed the church gardener to plant it in our church garden. A very hardy plant. It likes its soil to be kept moist but—”

“I’m not talking about the plant, you old fool,” said Vesta. “I’m talking about the guy hiding behind it!”

They all stared intently at the Boxwood now, and lo and behold, suddenly a face emerged from behind the shapely shrub, lit up by the high beam of Vesta’s aged little car.

“Let’s go get him!” Scarlett cried excitedly.

So the members of the watch all got out of the car and descended upon the scene, eager to bag their first bad guy for the night.

Vesta had taken her deceased ex-husband’s old shotgun from the garden shed, Scarlett was carrying a stun gun, Father Reilly had brought a billy club, and Wilbur? He’d brought along the baseball bat he liked to keep next to the cash register at the store.

The hoodlum, when they approached him, didn’t even attempt to make a run for it. Instead he simply cowered in fear and cried, “Please don’t hurt me. You can take everything I have but please don’t hurt me—I have a wife and kids—and a dog!”

Vesta frowned at the man. “Ted? What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

For it was indeed Ted Trapper, her very own neighbor.

“Vesta? Is that you?” the mild-mannered accountant asked, his voice betraying his extreme elation. “I thought you were a couple of gangsters eager to hit on me.”

“We’re not gangsters, Ted,” said Scarlett. “We’re your neighborhood watch, here to protect you from harm. Make sure you feel safe at all times.”

Ted, who didn’t look like he felt safe at all, nodded a few times in quick succession. “Oh, hello, Father Reilly—I hadn’t seen you there. Wilbur.”

“Hello, Ted,” said Father Reilly warmly. “We’re very sorry for scaring you like that.”

“It’s fine,” said Ted, getting up with a little help from the good priest. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured I might as well take Rufus for a walk.” He gestured to the shrub, where his big sheepdog Rufus now came peeping out—he looked as terrified as his owner.

“Great watchdog you’ve got there, Ted,” said Wilbur with a grin.

“Yeah, Rufus isn’t exactly the world’s greatest hero,” said Ted as he called his dog to him and Rufus now reluctantly appeared. He sniffed Vesta’s hand, then in turn sniffed Father Reilly, Wilbur and Scarlett, before sinking down onto his haunches, his tail happily wagging and giving an excited bark. The watch had been vetted and approved.

“What a waste of time,” said Vesta once they were back inside the vehicle and cruising those Hampton Cove mean streets once more. “That’s what I mean about getting ourselves some designated wheels for the watch. Then when people see us coming they’ll know it’s us and wouldn’t feel the need to go and hide in the bushes.”

“And who’s going to pay for this designated set of wheels?” asked Scarlett.

“Not me,” said Wilbur. As a Main Street shopkeeper he was being solicited for all kinds of projects all the time, and he’d long ago learned always to say no, lest his meager profit margins were eroded even more.

“And not me, either,” said Father Reilly when all eyes turned to him. “Contrary to what you might think being a local church leader isn’t the road to riches.”

“Yeah, and my pension doesn’t stretch that far either,” said Scarlett.

“I thought you were going to ask your son for one of his squad cars?” said Wilbur.

“I asked and he said no,” said Vesta. “Says cop cars are for cops only. Silly rule.”

They were silent for a moment, as the Peugeot’s ancient engine cozily prattled on.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea!” Vesta suddenly exclaimed as she slapped the steering wheel.

“Uh-oh,” said Scarlett, earning herself a nasty glance from her friend.

“Why don’t we ask my son’s new girlfriend?”

“Charlene? And why would the Mayor buy us a new car?”

“Because we’re doing her a big favor, that’s why. We’re keeping her streets safe.”

“Local government nowadays doesn’t have any money to spare, I’m afraid,” said Father Reilly with a sad shake of the head. “I asked the Mayor for money for a new church roof and she turned me down. Said I should ask my parishioners to chip in.”

“That’s it!” Vesta cried. “We’ll start one of ‘em online collections! Gofungus!”

“I think it’s called Gofundus,” said the priest with an indulgent smile.

“Go Fund Me,” Wilbur corrected him. “We did one last year for my mom’s new hip. We got enough for three hips, so my sister used the money for a new boob job instead.”

“Do you really think people are going to give money for a new car for the watch?” asked Scarlett dubiously.

“Of course! Who doesn’t like to live in a safe neighborhood? I’ll get on it tomorrow morning first thing. And if we’re not driving around in a fancy big Escalade this time next week I’ll eat my hat.”

“You don’t have a hat,” Wilbur pointed out.

“Then I’ll eat your hat! Or Father Reilly’s!”

“You can eat my hat,” said Scarlett. “I was thinking of buying myself a new one anyway.”

“Wise-ass,” said Vesta with a grin, and suddenly the mood in the car was uplifted to such a degree that for the rest of their patrol, a pleasant atmosphere reigned, and Father Reilly didn’t even bring up the delicate and intricate art of sermon-writing again.