Dec 8, 20173 min read

Garden Grove: 5 The Coffee Clutch – Coffee by LV Gaudet

Garden Grove Cover - McNally - front cover

Another round of coffee was poured in the little kitchen for the four women of the coffee clutch.

“I just can’t take it anymore,” Libby Waterbourne moaned. “The beeping and constant noise of the tractors first thing in the morning, I swear they start earlier every day and it goes on all day long.”

“And the garbage,” Mrs. Henderson complained. “Why do they have to just toss their garbage all over the place? Are they men or pigs?”

Mrs. Henderson was new to the group today. She’s a long time resident of the small community, but not well known. Her regal bearing gives her an unapproachable feel and none of the other women have ever given her more than a self-conscious wave in passing. The kind of wave small town people give other small town people whether they know each other or not.

None of them wanted to come right out and admit to her face they didn’t know her first name, and last names are just too formal for a cozy coffee chat. So, they just talked around not mentioning her by name.

“You should see the mess they left in front of my driveway,” Barbara added, “big chunks of mud in the road. I had to move them just to get my car out.”

“Are you sure they aren’t just from your mudslinging with the neighbour, Barb?” Pamela joked.

“Funny.” Barb eyed her levelly. She didn’t think it was funny. She’s had an ongoing feud with the neighbour beside her ever since their kid started walking the dog and letting it poop on her lawn last summer. The kid never picked the dog’s poop up and it drove her crazy.

“Did you hear that old Mrs. Crampchet poisoned the work crew?” Libby asked.

The women all made the appropriate shocked faces and sounds, even though they’d all heard the story already. News like this travels faster than a cold virus in a small town.

“I heard they decided she just put something into the dainties by accident, that she has dementia.”

“If that old Mrs. Crampchet has dementia, then I have six toes,” Mrs. Henderson humphed.

They all glanced quickly at her socked feet even though they knew she meant it sarcastically.

They looked up at her face, wondering what she knew.

The constant growl and beep of construction equipment in the background never ceased. The incessant banging going on at the same time grated on the women’s nerves even more.

Silence fell on the coffee clutch, but it did not last. They sipped their coffee and talked about old Mrs. Crampchet and the skull discovered on the jobsite. They all wondered the same thing, although no one voiced it.

Even though the authorities decided it was just an old relic from the days of homesteaders crossing the prairies, they could not help but wonder if it could really be a long ago victim of Mrs. Crampchet’s pastries. After all, the woman is so old and has lived in her little home her whole life.

They lapsed into silence again.

“I wish there was something we could do to just shut them up,” Mrs. Henderson said suddenly, breaking the silence.

The other women all tried to hide their smirks.

Libby stifled a giggle.

Mrs. Henderson looked around at them, suspicious.

“You know,” Mrs. Henderson said casually, “I heard rumours there’s been a lot of vandalism at the new housing development they’re building.”

She sipped her coffee, looking at the other women over the rim.

Pamela and Libby exchanged conspiratorial glances, trying to hide them from Mrs. Henderson.

“I think it’s a bunch of kids,” Mrs. Henderson continued, “teenagers probably, from the high school.”

“Teenagers,” Pam nodded.

“Definitely teenagers,” Barb agreed,

“You know,” Libby said thoughtfully, “I don’t think the kids have done anything to their port-a-potties yet.”

“That’s good,” Pamela said. “That would be terrible.”

“Messing with a man’s toilet,” Barb agreed, “that would just be too low.”

“Especially after eating old Mrs. Crampchet’s pastries,” Mrs. Henderson added, giving them a knowing look that did not crack her always serious expression.

They all turned to stare at her. She made a joke! None of them could ever imagine this stoic woman would ever crack a joke.

That night four figures skulked around the construction site in the cover of darkness, furtively running from the deep shadows of one hulking piece of equipment to another.

The stoic face of Mrs. Henderson was caught briefly in the pale moonlight as they fled the scene.