Page 24 of The Cul-de-Sac War

He heard the front door creak on its hinges and muffled voices upstairs.

Mrs. Lewis said, “I don’t care how much trouble the sequined body suits are giving you, Evie. It’s our spades night. If you want to work on costumes, you should address it on the fridge calendar. Honestly, it’s like you don’t respect the schedule at all.”

Chip paused in unscrewing the panel.

The hardwood floor above squeaked. “Mrs. Lewis, tell Evie she can’t sneak off to her basement to work.” He knew that muffled voice. He’d know it in his sleep.

Mrs. Lewis spoke. “She’s right, my dear Evie. Work your fingers to the nub, and you won’t have any fingers left to be my partner. Not that it makes a difference, as we’ll lose either way.”

Evie grunted.

He knew it was Evie, because the first time he heard that grunt he’d thought it came from a wild animal. But no, it was just Evie, sulking and grunting as Bree dragged her into the passenger seat of her car for work most mornings.

Bree and Evie were quite the odd couple. Fascinating. But odd.

A new voice spoke up, just as the rhythmic thud-thud, thud-thud-thud of a tapping foot came from above the joist a few feet to the left. “Forget spades. Can we talk a minute about how I’m going to lose my job?”

“C’mon, guys! Listen to you all!” Bree interjected with all the spirit of a football coach down at half. “It’s game night! Where’s your spirit? Where’s your pinazz?”

“It’s at the Barter,” the woman with the tapping foot replied, “where I also left my hope for a living wage and a bright future.”

“Birdie,” Bree said, “you’ve got the face of an angel and the toes of Ginger Rogers. You’ve been tapping for three days straight, though, so if you don’t sit down and rest your feet this instant, I will pin you down and sit on you. Evie, I brought you General Tso’s chicken. If you want it, you will have to do what normal people do and have conversations. With other human beings. Away from the basement. And Mrs. Lewis, you’re the most positive person in the group right now, so if I lose you, too, I’ll lose everyone. Tell ya what, tonight we’ll take nil off the table.”

“Nil!” Birdie protested. Her tapping foot stopped. “But that’s my only skill! You know how badly I overbid otherwise.”

“Just give in now and cut the deck, Birdie,” Mrs. Lewis said. “I’ve known Bree since she was a little girl, and I’ve never seen her lose her argument when she put her mind to it. She once convinced her grandmother, God rest her soul, to take her out to the flea market, and they came back with a pet flying squirrel.”

“Nana loved Puddles,” he heard Bree say defensively.

“Of course, dear. And Puddles—aptly named for all those puddles it left around her poor house, if I remember correctly—running off through that open window the week you left for school was entirely coincidental.”

The conversation continued as Chip gave the screw one more turn and the wire slipped out from the panel.

A moment later, Birdie spoke and his ears perked.

“I just can’t imagine why Mr. Richardson would think about remodeling the Barter,” she said. “It’s absolutely perfect as is. Maybe expand the dressing rooms—convert that empty room into a second dressing room so we won’t be so cramped—but the auditorium itself? It’s gorgeous.”

“Well,” Mrs. Lewis said, “Clarence has always been a peculiar fellow. Has been since I taught him back in grade school. He must’ve had a new lunch box every other week for the whole year, always declaring whatever new color or cartoon figure it had on it was his real favorite. Not that his parents couldn’t afford for the boy to have thirty-seven lunchboxes.”

“If that’s the case, I’m surprised he didn’t decide to remodel the place earlier,” Bree said.

“He’s not going to shut it down to do it, is he?” Birdie said, her tone pitched high. “Surely he would’ve said so when he told us about changing to Singin’ in the Rain—”

“He’s not going to shut the place down, Birdie,” Bree said. “Theo said it would be done during the break between seasons. But I’m sure we’ll know everything we can when it hits the paper next week. Let’s eat before it all gets cold.”

Chip reached down for the wire cutters as the conversation was buried under the clatter of flatware being pulled from a drawer and dishes being placed on the table. So. The Barter was getting a facelift. He could feel the wheels in his brain starting to turn.

Some minutes later, Mrs. Lewis said, “Oh, I forgot about my young man.”

There was a pause.

“Your young man . . . ,” Bree said, “whom you keep in the basement?”

“Where else would I keep him?” Mrs. Lewis retorted. “You know everything keeps better in a cool, dark place.”

Chip smiled to himself as he continued cutting out the wire.

“You doing okay down there?” Mrs. Lewis called from the open door at the top of the stairs.