Chapter 4

I finished folding the last towel and placed it on the top of the pile in the laundry basket.  How in the world do four people create so much laundry, I wondered.  I'd discovered that little boys were a much dirtier lot than little girls - and Taylor wasn't even the girly sort.  I hoped that didn't change when she hit the dreaded teen years. Her father had announced that she would not be dating until she was thirty, so I couldn't imagine that the latest fashion would make a big difference to her until she was at least twenty-nine.  Yeah, and monkeys are going to fly out of my butt.  I laughed out loud.

"So now laundry is funny?"  My father-in-law stood in the laundry room doorway, munching on an apple.  "There's nothing funny about Jake's dirty socks, I can tell you."

"No - I was just thinking about Jeff's ban on Taylor ever dating a teen-age boy.  If he has his way, it'll be an arranged marriage with a Nobel laureate."

"I think he's forgotten how the two of you circumvented the rules your daddy set down for you girls."

"Hardly - I think he's more aware of the various ways teenage boys come up with to ignore those rules completely," I answered.  ""I thought you were willing to submit to an interrogation over lunch?"

He took another bite of the apple.  "Well, I was but I'm about starved."

I looked at the kitchen clock.  "I need to go to the market before time to pick up the kids from school.  I'll buy you lunch at Billie Jo's - she has chicken salad on Mondays."

"I know you think you're sneaky for being so smart and all that, but I know you just want to see what you can find out at that hotbed of gossip.  And what not."  He tossed the apple core into the garbage can.  "I never get tired of this lid that opens itself."

I shook my head.  "What not?  What do you mean by that?"

"I mean your friend Billie Jo knows all the gossip.  Hotbed was probably a poor choice of words."  He chuckled and opened the back door.  "If you know what I mean."

Yes, I knew exactly what he meant.  I'll admit that I laughed, too.  Just a little.

Billie Jo Byrd and I have been friends since kindergarten when she pulled the ribbons off my braids and told me that pink was a sissy color and that her mama said it clashed with red hair.  "Pink is only for strawberry blondes like me," she announced.  My five-year-old self appreciated her directness and her fashion advice.  I've never worn pink since.

BJ, as she is affectionately known by everyone who knows her, and not-so-affectionately by the wives whose husbands have been known by her, owns the busy local lunch place: Me Oh My I Love Pie.  You can order just about any sandwich or salad you can think up - there's no menu.  There is, however, a menu for the pie.  She's got apple, blueberry, cherry, raspberry - double crust or single.  Hot or cold, naked or a la mode.  There's cream pies, custard pies - and, if you show up early enough, there's several different kinds of quiche for those diners who missed breakfast but aren't quite ready for lunch.  When the lunch crowd finally dies down, she closes for a few hours and then re-opens at eight as Piney Point's version of a happenin' night spot.  There's lots of cold beer, a lukewarm live band and hot local singles - who may or may not be either hot or single.  Most likely neither one, but then, I don't judge.

Because it's really the only place in town to have lunch - and by that I mean the only place within walking distance of municipal offices, the bank, courthouse and local businesses - everyone goes to Billie Jo's place at least three times a week, if not every day.  The food's good, the prices are reasonable and in Piney Point, it's the place to see and be seen.  Couples meet and fall in love there; spouses break up and sometimes meet to sign their divorce papers over pie.  I think BJ calls that the Heartbreak Special and the coffee is free - $2.75 for pie.  Politicians conduct their business, and sometimes other affairs, there.  Billie Jo has a unique talent for eavesdropping while appearing to be completely oblivious to everyone in the room.  She's our own homegrown Hedda Hopper.  I keep telling her she should write a book; she's afraid of getting sued, or worse.  Add the things she observes and the gossip she overhears to the information she gleans from unwitting informants in, um, other places and she is a veritable font of information, a database of dirty laundry of epic proportions.  About this, I do not exaggerate.  The funny thing is, she keeps the vast majority of these delectable tidbits to herself and everyone knows it.  Billie Jo will only spill her guts to one of the few people she trusts.  One of those people is me.

Pop opened the door and we were met by the intoxicating aroma of hot grease and frying potatoes.  I didn't know about pie, but I was definitely having some french fries - extra crispy, lots of salt.  I caught BJ's eye and waved.  "Come on up and sit at the bar," she yelled.  Pop took a seat at a table full of his cronies and their never-ending game of dominoes.  I wove my way through the maze of tables and hopped up on a bar stool as BJ set a big glass of sweet tea in front of me.

"Well, hey," I said and took a sip.  Perfect - just enough sugar, just enough lemon.  Southern nectar of the gods on ice.  Life is good.

"How the hell are you?" my friend asked.  "I haven't seen you since you and HunkaHunka were here for his interview.  Then all of a sudden, I hear we've got a new police chief and he's gone and moved his nerdy smart-ass wife and two kids to town.  That was almost two weeks ago and this is the first time you drag your prissy self in here for lunch?"  She turned around to bark out what I assumed was my order to the cook.  "Seriously, it is good to see you, Mrs. Burnin' Love.  Or do I have to call you Dr. Ryan now?" 

I made a face at her.  "I'm sorry I haven't called - I was trying to get settled before the kids started school.  We haven't even been to church.  Jake has been having fits over that - he's afraid God will forget who he is.  And Jeff only just got here on Friday.  He was finishing up a case and training his replacement in DC.  It's really good to see you, too.  I can't wait to meet the new Mr. Byrd."  I smiled innocently and BJ burst out laughing.

"He's about to be the ex-Mr. Byrd.  You know that.  I tell you, life was a hell of a lot simpler before I tried to be respectable and started marrying these guys."

"Slut," I said.

"Prude," she replied.

We both shrieked with laughter.  "Lordy, I've missed you," I said.  "Now bring me some french fries and tell me every little thing about everyone you know and don't you dare leave anything out."