“Well, Hazel Marie,” I said, firming up my voice to encourage her, even as I thought that she’d used up a whole week’s worth of new words, “we’ll just have to do something about that.”
“But what? They’ve already applied for permission from the zoning board, and they’re acting like they’ve gotten it or at least expect to get it.” Hazel Marie suppressed a sob. “They went behind our backs with that, too.”
“What’s this group’s name?”
“Homeless Teens, or Teen Home, Incorporated, or something like that.”
“Well, my goodness,” I said, “I’ve already contributed to two nonprofit groups this year that’re looking after the homeless. Wonder what they did with it if another group had to be formed. Who’s on the board?”
“I don’t know,” Hazel Marie said, sounding hopeless, “except I know the chairman or the president or whatever it is.”
“Who is it?”
“Madge Taylor.”
“Madge Taylor!” I was so taken aback that I all but shouted the name. “Well!” I said with a huff of indignation. “We’ll just have to see about that.”
Chapter 3
That woman! I might’ve known she’d be involved in some way. Madge Taylor had come to town some ten or so years before—a widow with a young son, called Sonny, who now, with long hair, wispy beard, poor posture, and no ambition, was the culmination of every mother’s dread. Madge, to her credit, was devoted to him, smilingly brushing aside any concerns as he slouched his way through some kind of existential phase—whatever that was.
But Madge didn’t let Sonny slow her down, for she was the ultimate do-gooder, always trying to get other people to follow through on the ideas she’d dreamed up. Now, I don’t mind doing a little good here and there, and I occasionally spread it around quite thickly. But I do it when I’m of a mind to do it, not when somebody else expects me to facilitate some wild and woolly idea she’s had.
Instead of ranting about the Taylor woman, though, I calmed myself down enough to tell Hazel Marie that it wasn’t over until it was over, and it seemed to me that it had just started.
“What does Mr. Pickens say about it?” I asked.
“He doesn’t know yet, but I just know he’s not going to like having juvenile delinquents next door.”
Yes, I thought to myself, and he’s not going to like his property values going down either, but I didn’t say that to her. She was concerned enough already.
“Well, look, Hazel Marie,” I said, “do you know how far along they are? I know you said something about checking on the zoning, but are they still looking at the house or have they actually bought it?”
“Jan Osborne told me she heard that somebody’s just closed on it. She lives on the other side of the Cochran house at the end of the block, and, Miss Julia, she is just beside herself about this. You know she’s a single mother—divorced, I think—with a thirteen-year-old daughter who’s as pretty as a picture, and she’s developing early, too. Can you imagine a houseful of boys living next door to her?”
“Oh, my, that would certainly be cause for concern for her mother. But, Hazel Marie, if they’ve already closed on the Cochran house, that means they had enough money for the down payment—and I wonder where they got it. Nobody’s approached me to contribute anything.”
“Well,” Hazel Marie said, sniffling a little, “they did me. Madge caught me right after church a few Sundays ago when both babies were crying, and she said she knew I’d want to contribute because Lloyd had been homeless at one time, and she knew that I wouldn’t want another child going through that.” Hazel Marie swallowed hard. “I gave her five hundred dollars, and J.D.’s going to kill me.”
“Oh, my goodness. Well, just don’t tell him.”
“If I’d known they were going to use my donation to ruin my own neighborhood, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Of course not. Don’t worry about it, Hazel Marie, but it just goes to show the kind of gall that woman has.” And it also went to show how piercingly accurate Madge Taylor could be in laying on the guilt. Hazel Marie was the perfect victim for her insinuations.
“Now, listen, Hazel Marie, let me ask around and see what I can find out. What did you say the name of the group is?”
“I’ll have to look in my checkbook to see who I made a check out to. Hold on a minute.” After more than a minute, she picked up the phone and said, “Homes for Teens, Inc., though Madge wanted me to put Homes 4 Teens, but I’d already written it the other way.”
“That sounds like her—being as cute as possible. Well, Hazel Marie,” I said, feeling that I’d just found the plow to put my hand to, “one more question. Will they be taking in little boys—toddlers and so on? Or school-age children?”
“No’m, it’ll only be boys aged fourteen to eighteen, about the age of her boy—which is strange because you’d think she’d already have her hands full with him, bless his heart. But, Miss Julia, you know they’ll be playing that loud music at all hours, and slamming doors, and yelling, and screeching off in their cars. And you know J.D.—there’s no telling what he’ll do with all that going on.”
“Let me see if I can find out anything more, Hazel Marie.
