Page 19 of Where It All Began
Eagerly, Phoebe slid over a seat and Elvira laughed. “Next lesson, young grasshopper, always expect the unexpected.”
The lights dimmed, and the milling crowd took their seats, quieting down to a dull roar. A woman in jeans with a gun strapped to her belt strode across the stage to the podium.
“Who’s that?” Phoebe whispered.
“That’s Sheriff Hazel Garfunkle. She’ll run the meeting tonight. Mayor Nordemann—your matchmaker’s husband—is down with bronchitis according to Gordon Berkowicz and a broken ankle according to Farmer Carson. Bruce Oakleigh insists it’s a fishing trip.”
Hazel shook hands with the residents on stage and then settled in to start the meeting. She leaned on the podium with the ease of a lifetime resident surrounded by friends and spoke into the microphone. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get this meeting started so we can all get home. I’ve been asked to remind everyone that, as close as we all are, it’s still illegal to push your face up against your neighbor’s windows and look inside.”
Phoebe snickered, convinced it was a joke, and then silenced herself when hands shot up everywhere in the audience.
“Is this serious?” she hissed at Elvira.
“Oh, yeah. We had an incident last week where a certain busybody got worried that she hadn’t seen the Guzmans outside the house in a while. This is after she read an article in the paper about a carbon monoxide leak that killed four in Iowa. So, she sneaks over in her house dress and peeps in the window on the front porch.”
“What did she see?”
“The Guzmans having sex on the living room rug. At least that’s what they were doing until they saw her plastered up against their window gaping at them.”
Phoebe’s laugh escaped as a raspberry against her palm. The woman in front of her turned around and frowned at her. “Sorry,” Phoebe whispered.
“A lot more questions than I was thinking there’d be for a pretty straightforward ordinance,” Hazel sighed. “All right, we’ll start with you, Clayton.”
A large man with an even larger afro and white silk shirt unfolded himself from his seat. “Thanks, Sheriff. I was just wondering like what if you see smoke coming from inside the house?”
Hazel was obviously a pro at handling Blue Mooners. “In that case, I think it’s safe to look and make sure no one’s inside.”
Appeased, Clayton nodded and sat back down. More hands shot up.
“Tuesday,” Hazel pointed at a woman wearing a tie-dye leotard over black tights.
“Her name’s Tuesday, and she teaches at the aerobics studio,” Elvira said before Phoebe could even ask.
“Yeah, like what if we don’t see smoke but we hear something?” Tuesday twirled the crimped end of her ponytail around her finger.
“Can you give us an example?” Hazel asked.
Tuesday let out a blood-curdling scream that silenced the theater. Phoebe clutched a hand to her chest.
“Right. Okay. A scream like that, I’d start knocking on the front door, and if no one answered, go ahead and look in the windows. Just be sure it’s not the Fitzsimmons kid because he’s got a crazy set of lungs on him and makes everything sound like bloody murder.”
“Thanks, sheriff,” Tuesday said cheerfully and bopped back into her seat.
A dozen more hands raised.
Chapter Nine
“Okay, so I think we’ve gotten this as fleshed out as we’re able to,” Hazel announced. “No peeping unless the house is on fire, someone’s screaming bloody murder, a vehicle has veered off the road and driven into the residence, you witness suspicious activity such as someone else peeping in the windows and then disappearing, and/or you have express permission from the police department or other community leader including but not limited to myself, the fire chief, and the mayor.”
She looked out over the audience, and Phoebe sent up a little prayer that no one else had an amendment. It had taken them half an hour to get through all the “what-ifs.”
Hazel picked up the gavel and whacked it. “Moving on. We’ve got a few citizens who are gonna talk about some stuff. So, give ‘em your ears.”
First up was Sylvia Needleman, dressed in head-to-toe black, who wanted to educate Blue Moon on the dangers of microwaving food. Her shy librarian demeanor completely transformed when she spoke about radiation waves and TV dinners.
Next up was a burly guy in chinos named Bruce who, for a young preppie, was unusually passionate about history. He was trying to drum up votes for an authentic 4thof July celebration with a recreation of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
When it was John’s turn to take the podium, Phoebe sat a little straighter. She was curious what a man of few words would have to say to an entire community. He looked out into the audience and pulled out his piece of notebook paper.
