Neighborhood Watch #2
I grin at Reese. “You are amazing.” Sunlight catches along one cheek and the curve of her smile, and something in my chest pulls tight. She is ridiculously beautiful. I’ve known this face for years, and somehow it still has the ability to knock every coherent thought from my head.
Both of us turn as one of the three older women at the table to our right says, “Do us next! That people-watching thing you two have been doing? You should do it for us!” She’s a silver-haired woman in a bright floral blouse.
The rosy-cheeked woman next to her is looking at us eagerly, and the woman with a neat gray bob has her arms crossed, eyebrow raised in challenge.
I’ve seen the three of them around town a few times when I’m out for my morning run.
They’re usually walking with purpose and talking all at once.
“I didn’t even know we were talking loudly enough to be heard,” Reese says.
The rosy-cheeked woman taps her ear. “It’s the hearing aids. Most people resist getting them, but these babies have volume control. They’re the best eavesdropping tool ever invented.”
The third woman gives a sly grin and says, “It makes it easier to tune annoying people out, too.”
Reese looks over at me. I smile and nod, so Reese says, “Okay, you three. Your names?”
“I’m Marge,” the first woman says, then points to the rosy-cheeked one. “And this is Helen, and that’s Barbara.”
Barbara quickly flips the binder sitting beside her upside down.
Reese gasps. “She hid the evidence.”
“Which means there was evidence to hide,” I say solemnly.
Barbara’s mouth twitches, but she doesn’t say anything.
Reese leans closer to me. “Retired detectives?”
I shake my head. “Too obvious.”
“Private investigators?”
I tilt my head, considering. “Maybe.” I study the three women for another second. “They’re part of a neighborhood investigative network.”
Helen presses a hand dramatically to her chest.
Reese nods immediately. “Yes! They know everything that happens within a three-mile radius.”
“Four,” I correct.
“Right. Four.”
“They have sectors.”
Barbara gives the tiniest snort.
Reese points at the binder. “That’s the case file. No… the neighborhood map.”
“And it’s color-coded.” I nod toward Marge. “She noticed we were people-watching, which means she’s observant.”
Reese points to Barbara. “And she’s in charge of the integrity of the binder, which was why she tried to hide it.”
“Because civilians aren’t cleared to see it.”
Marge laughs so hard she has to dab at the corner of one eye.
Reese continues, pointing to Helen. “And she’s the friendly one.”
I nod. “Absolutely. It’s her job to keep people talking.”
“Without them realizing she’s actually doing investigative work.” Reese points at Barbara. “And Barbara compiles it.”
“Verifies it,” I add.
“Alphabetizes it.” When Barbara raises an indignant finger, Reese amends, “Categorizes it. She’s not a fan of chaos.”
Both Marge and Helen burst into laughter, but Barbara is just grinning like she’s finally been vindicated.
I look over at Reese. She’s so funny, insightful, and always deeply herself. This is why I want her. And why I can’t risk losing her.
I turn back to the three women. “Well? How did we do?”
Helen reaches out and flips the binder back over, revealing a cover that reads Sidewalk Sisters. “We’re a neighborhood walk club.”
Reese’s eyes widen. “That’s…much better than private investigators.”
Marge beams. “Well! You two weren’t nearly as wrong as you could’ve been.”
Barbara folds her arms again. “They were wrong enough.”
“Oh, hush.” Marge waves her off. “We’re not a neighborhood investigative network.”
Helen nods. “At least not officially.”
“We started walking together after we all retired,” Marge says. “Every Tuesday. Then Thursdays. Then we added Saturdays because Helen insisted exercise was more fun if there was pie afterward.”
“There is pie afterward,” Helen says. “That part’s important.”
“And,” Marge continues, “after you’ve walked the same streets for six years, you notice things.”
“We notice people,” Helen corrects gently.
Barbara taps the binder. “And we write down the things worth remembering.”
Reese leans forward. “You really keep notes?”
Barbara looks mildly offended. “Of course I keep notes.”
Marge grins. “Barbara would misplace her own birthday if it wasn’t written down.”
“I have never misplaced my birthday.”
“You forgot how old you were last year.”
“Oh, don’t give me that. Both of you forget how old you are every year. And the binder isn’t gossip. It’s information.”
“Community information,” Helen adds.
Marge starts counting on her fingers. “We know who’s recovering from surgery, who lost a spouse. Whose grandson is home from college.”
“Who just had a baby,” Helen says.
Barbara nods once. “Practical things.”
“And birthdays!” Helen says brightly. “You’d be amazed how many lonely people light up when someone remembers their birthday.”
Marge turns to me. “So, you were right about one thing.”
“The intelligence network?”
“Well…” Marge exchanges a glance with the others. “Let’s just say if somebody new moves into our part of Cloakwood, we usually know their dog’s name before they do.”