Free Runny03 - Loose Lips by Rita Mae Brown Page B

snapped.
    “I wasn’t even born. Hell, you’re so old, Caesura, not only do you remember
that
war, you probably led the Charge of the Light Brigade for the mother country.”
    “Well … well … I never! And on Easter Sunday.” Caesura thumped her parasol on the steps. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Fannie Jump Creighton. I know you’re in on it somehow.”
    “Oh, balls.” Fannie stonewalled her.
    “How dare you.” Caesura cracked Fannie over the head with her parasol.
    “Idiot!” Fannie grabbed Ramelle’s parasol and the two ladies dueled.
    Buster barked and Yoyo’s eyes got big as bowling balls.
    Chester and Pearlie grabbed Fannie Jump, a substantial exampleof the female species, while Popeye and Pastor Neely, robes flapping, grabbed Caesura.
    “This is dreadful. This is just dreadful,” Junior wailed.
    Caesura, shaken as a hen smoothing back its feathers, pointed her parasol at Fannie Jump. “I will have satisfaction.”
    “Now, Popeye, you’ve got to keep this out of the paper.” Junior hung on Popeye’s arm. He was already scribbling. Her weight slowed down his progress.
    Getting nowhere with Popeye, Junior seized Walter. “You can’t embarrass her this way. She was insulted publicly and you know how hard Caesura works for the community.”
    “Junior, I never tell my boys what to write.”
    “Then I am never advertising in the
Clarion
again!” That said, she thumped down the steps, Caesura in tow, just as Extra Billy Bitters, fresh from the Baptist service, bounded up the steps to Mary.
    Louise smoldered.
    “Honey chile,” Cora whispered in her ear, “we’ve had confusion enough for one day.”
    Celeste smiled and sighed. “Mary and Extra Billy find each other more fascinating than we do.”
    “You forget how it feels to be young and in love.” Ramelle beheld her broken parasol, as Fannie, now released, and panting, joined them.
    “Blistering idiot. Caesura Frothingham is truly one of the stupidest women I have ever known. If she had a brain, she’d be dangerous. As it is, she’s marginally amusing.”
    “Now, Fannie.”
    “Oh, Celeste, don’t stick up for her.”
    “I’m not, but—”
    Pastor Neely, not having shaken hands with them as was his custom at the end of each service, came over, his hand extended. “He is risen.”
    “Amen.” Fannie solemnly shook his hand.
    Pastor Neely then met with the Hunsenmeir group. “Louise Trumbull, what a happy surprise to have you on the steps of Christ Lutheran.”

13

    A t six-thirty on Holy Monday the phone rang at the Smith residence. Buster lifted his head off his paws, then put it back down. The phone always rang at six-thirty.
    Juts, making her first pot of coffee while Chessy shaved, picked up the heavy black receiver. “Toodle-oo.”
    “We’re not on the front page, thank God,” Louise said, relieved as she scanned the details of the altercation on the steps of Christ Lutheran Church and the mysterious damage to George Gordon Meade. “Do you have your paper?”
    “Yes, Buster got it. I’m opening it up right now. You’re right.” Then Juts flipped through. “We’re not on the front page. We’re on page two.”
    “Oh, no.” Louise, in her excitement, had read through the front-page story, a war report that was continued on the rear page. She hadn’t opened the newspaper. She quickly read:” ’Buster Smith and Yoyo Smith, an Irish terrier and a large long-haired alley cat, both owned by Mr. and Mrs. Chester Smith, joined the congregation of Christ Lutheran Church on Easter morning. Perhaps moved by Pastor Neely’s sermon concerning the resurrection as a rebirth from our animal selves, the cat and dog contributed to theservices. Yoyo Smith showed herself adept at flower rearranging and Buster Smith was in charge of refreshments.
    “‘The highlight of the service came when Yoyo played the organ. Mrs. Smith declared her cat has always been musical, a fact confirmed by Sevilia Darymple, church organist.