Neighborhood Watch

[ardent-muses.livejournal.com]

Big thanks to bluster for her fast and wonderful beta. :)

Neighborhood Watch
c. 2003 Kellie Matthews and Ardent
882 words


"Georgia?"

"Hi, Muriel! What's cooking?"

"Well, honestly Georgia, I am."

"Hot flashes again?"

"Um . . . not exactly. Not that kind anyway. You know those two guys who moved in behind us?"

"In the old Klein house? I'd heard they're cops."

"Well, one of them is. The other one is apparently a Mountie."

"A what?"

"A Mountie. You know. Canada. Red coats. Funny pants. Hats. We saw some on that TV special about Niagara Falls, remember?"

"Oh, sure. Now I remember. What's a Mountie doing here?"

"I have no idea. But that's not why I called."

"Why did you call? Trying to round up the ol' welcome wagon?"

"There's a good thought. But no, that's not it either. I don't think they're just living together. I think they're Living Together."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Muriel. They're policemen. What on earth makes you think that?"

"They're only using one bedroom. You know how their house is the same plan as ours except reversed on the lot, and the master bedroom is in the back and it faces ours? They don't have curtains up yet."

"Muriel! You didn't!"

"I did," she said smugly. "Not only are we back-door neighbors, but they are too."

"I don't believe you said that! I don't believe you did that!"

"Well, I couldn't see everything, the bed's in the wrong place, but I saw enough. And I have to tell you, Georgia, if I wasn't already having hot flashes before, I would be now. Those two are. . . well, let's just say I think we ought to hold this week's bridge game in our bedroom."

"Won't Earl wonder why?"

"Nah. I'll tell him it's so he can watch football on the TV without having to hear us chatter."

* * *


"Muriel? It's me. Get to your back window. Now. They're doing it again."

"They're doing it? And the curtains are open? You know, I'm still mad at Ellen for turning on the light at the bridge game the other night. Darn it, just our luck the dark-haired one's hands were braced against the window-sill at the time, or he might not have seen us."

"Murphy's law, don't you know? But no, they're in the back yard. Working on that dog-door for the garage again."

"Oh my God, you're right! If only he'd take his shirt . . . there we go. And the hose is . . . the hose is on. They're. . . just look!"

"I am looking, Muriel! And I have my binoculars."

"Georgia, hang up and call Ellen. I'll call Marge."

* * *

"Ellen? Georgia here. Get to your downstairs bathroom window."

"Now? What on earth for?"

"Yes now. They're spraying each other."

"With the hose?"

"Well of course with the hose, what did you think I . . . oh. Yes, with the hose."

"Oh . . . my. The blond one just took his shirt off, too. And now they're spraying the dog."

"Benton says it's a wolf."

"You talked to Benton did you? When was this?"

"When I took over my famous lemon-lime Bundt cake yesterday for a welcome gift."

"You shameless hussy! I'm telling Phil."

"Oh no you won't, because you know Phil will tell Earl, because he tells Earl everything, even about his 'little problem,' and if he does, then Earl will figure out why we moved the bridge game. And he'll tell Bernie and Ed."

Ellen giggled. "And we can't have that."

"Nosireebob. Things haven't been this interesting in this neighborhood since the seventies! Wait! Is that Muriel at her back fence?"

"It is. And she's got a pitcher."

"The old iced-tea ploy, eh? Smart girl."

"Someone must've called Flora, I think she's looking out her side-window. The sun is glinting right off that old telescope of Marty Junior's."

"She needs to be more careful. I'll run over there later and remind her about being discreet. Maybe she can put some black paint or electrical tape on the shiny parts."

"I think that might make it a little hard to see through, Georgia."

"True. Maybe some old pantyhose . . ."

"There you go. Oh, darn. They're going inside now."

"Guess they didn't want any iced tea. Oh, hang on. That's my call waiting. . . Hello?"

"Hi. This Ms. Romanow?" The voice was unfamiliar. Male. Native Chicagoan, judging by the nasal accent.

"It is."

"Good. This is Ray Kowalski, from down the block. The blue house. My partner and I were wondering if you wanted to come over."

"Me?" Heavens. Was that squeak her?

"Yeah. We're inviting everyone in the neighborhood for a barbecue. Sort of a combined Canada Day and get-to-know-you thing."

"Oh." She tried not to sound disappointed. "That sounds lovely."

"Great. This Saturday night. Oh, and while everyone's here, we thought we'd have a meeting, too."

"A meeting?"

"Yeah. We thought we'd try to get a neighborhood watch organized, since everyone seems to be pretty interested in surveillance around here." He chuckled drily. "See you Saturday at four. Oh, and bring a salad."

After he hung up, it took a minute to remember to click back over to her other call. "Ellen?"

"Georgia! Is that you? You'll never believe this. I just got a call, myself. That nice Mr. Fraser. . . "

". . . inviting us to a barbecue. And a meeting to organize a neighborhood watch."

There was a moment of silence. "Busted."

"Definitely."

Ellen sighed. "Oh well. It was nice while it lasted."


* * * fin * * *