Following him inside, I find that the house is nearly as crowded as the front yard. I head up to the master bedroom first to put Earl’s shirt away. I stop in the doorway and watch as a small group of women stand in front of the closet and search through Earl’s clothes. I have an urge to scream at the ridiculousness of this reaction to Earl’s death. You’d think Elvis had died the way they’re acting.
I clear my throat. Everyone looks at me. One lady says hello.
“Hello.” I respond.
The lady nods and everyone goes back to doing her own thing.
“Excuse me. Beth Peters is my cousin. So if y’all would do me a favor...get out of her stuff.”
The lady who greeted me politely picks up her choices and says, “Sweetie, I am so sorry for your cousin’s loss and of course you and the rest of your family. As you can see we aren’t going through your cousin’s things. Just her husband’s.” She turns around and goes back to what she’s doing.
“Okay...apparently I didn’t say this clearly enough. Earl is dead. Beth is his wife. His stuff became her stuff the moment he died. Please get out of her stuff.”
No one is listening although everyone’s moving faster. I take a peek at the hallway outside. Empty. I close and lock the bedroom door. Then I pull out my little friend.
Everything stops when you pull a handgun out of your bra. I don’t know if these women were shocked at the sight of the firearm or amazed that it hadn’t fallen straight through. Either way, the room got real quiet real fast. “I tried to be nice, courteous, and ladylike about this. But y’all don’t seem understand English. At all. Put that shit down. Get your butts out of Beth’s stuff, out of this house, and don’t ever come back.” I got several glares and bad wishes. There might have been a voodoo swear word mixed in for good measure. Everyone dropped their “treasure” and left. Not before I checked their purses and had them open their coats. The cordial woman with the “manners” was last. I checked her purse and her coat. “Now get out.”
“You don’t understand. I know your cousin from way back. Lucy Stubblefield? I’m the secretary at the church that Beth and I attend.” She says, extending a hand.
“You should know better than anyone not to covet anything belonging to your neighbor.” I say.
“She’s not my neighbor. I live on the other side of town.”
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