Chapter 9
Joanne touched the button to start her Prius then carefully checked her mirrors, camera, and outside surroundings before easing out of the parking spot. Because it was electric, it didn’t make much noise. She had startled more than a few pedestrians when they didn’t hear her coming, so she was extra vigilant, especially in the Y parking lot where there were lots of small children.
She hummed softly to herself as she pulled out onto the main road. She never turned on the radio unless she was on the highway, which wasn’t very often. One less distraction to detract from her focus on the road.
Beverly had been in quite a snit that morning. Joanne smiled, meeting her own eyes in the rearview mirror. People assumed that since she was always smiling, she must be the nicest person in the world. That was true to a point, but there was something deliciously satisfying about striking a blow to someone when they didn’t expect it and you could feign innocence the whole while. It was a terrible habit she’d developed when she was just a child. Her mother had always insisted that she “be nice” and “act like a lady.” It was fun sabotaging her two older sisters, never receiving blame and a few times even watching them get punished for something she’d done.
A classic had been the time she put salt in the sugar bowl. She watched as her father put the usual two heaping spoonfuls into his coffee cup and stirred it around. He took a huge gulp from his cup, then sprayed it all over the table.
“Someone put salt in the sugar bowl!” he raged.
Her sister Karen began laughing hysterically, as Joanne knew she would. Joanne patted her father’s shoulder and said, “Oh, Daddy, are you okay?”
Her father ignored her but pointed a thick finger at Karen and said, “You’re grounded for a week!”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Karen protested.
“Don’t lie to me, young lady!”
“But I didn’t do it!” shrieked Karen.
“Two weeks!”
Karen was the middle child and constantly whining about how spoiled Joanne was. There was some truth to that, but Karen had no idea Joanne was also her advocate. Karen played field hockey in high school, but had a particularly heinous coach, who also taught World Geography. It didn’t help that his daughter was on the team the exact years that Karen played. He treated many of the girls like trash but Karen in particular. To her credit, Karen stuck it out. Joanne watched week after week as Coach Wayne yelled and screamed and abused those girls.
Joanne couldn’t remember exactly how the idea came about, but once it was in her brain she couldn’t get rid of it. She went to the phone book and looked up Coach Wayne’s address. Easy. The second part was a bit trickier. She knew that her friend Sofia’s brother kept a stash of Playboys under his bed. She had to finagle an invitation, grab one of the magazines to copy down the subscription information, then put the magazine back. The final part was easy. She took some babysitting money and went to the post office for a money order for the exact amount of the subscription. She mailed off Coach Wayne’s request for a one year subscription.
The stunt didn’t stop him from abusing the girls on the team, but it clearly made his home life a living hell. About two weeks after Joanne had dropped her envelope to Playboy Magazine in the mailbox in front of the post office, Coach Wayne’s wife stopped coming to the games.
Yes, manipulating could be fun. Joanne wasn’t purposely torturing Beverly. She truly liked Bob. Back in the day she had worked in the accounting department at an investment firm. They were both numbers people. They liked the same music. They liked the same movies. The fact that it annoyed Beverly was just a bonus in an old friend’s kind of way. Beverly reminded her of her older sisters, always underestimating her. Sometimes it felt good to even the score a little bit. Sometimes it felt good to let a little bit of her vigilante side out.
She thought about discussing these tendencies with Miss Deborah, but quickly decided it was best left alone. First of all, there was no need to change. She only dished out what people deserved. There was the saying that revenge was a dish best served cold. Joanne was hungry for it hot, cold, or frozen solid. It’s not like she was a true vigilante or anything. She had (almost) nothing in common with Charles Bronson in Death Wish. She just didn’t appreciate it when people didn’t act right. Secondly, the reason she was going to Miss Deborah had nothing to do with that. Sometimes she just felt a bit melancholy and didn’t want to go whining to her sisters or her friends about it. She was the perky one. She was the happy one. She was the go-to gal if someone else was feeling down in the dumps and needed cheering up. That’s who she was.
She pulled into the driveway of her garden home and hit the button on her garage remote. It was a section of a subdivision with small houses and small yards known as a “lock and leave.” The subdivision took care of the yard maintenance so you could lock up your house and leave anytime you wanted without worrying about the yard. Joanne didn’t leave very often except to visit her daughters. She was more interested in the no lawnwork part than the leaving part. The two car garage felt like a waste, but that’s how the floorplan came and it was nice to have the double driveway when it was her turn to do dinner.
The style, inside and out, was “modern farmhouse.” Joanne was okay with it. The whites and grays and wood floors provided a neutral pallet for her to go just a little crazy with bright colors. It suited her. Anytime she saw one go up for sale she let Mary Louise know. Joanne could not understand why she wanted to stay in that sprawling house with so much land to take care of. She was particularly hopeful that Chester Evans, her nextdoor neighbor to the left, would pack up and leave. He was not a nice person who had an equally un-nice dog named Winston who frequently got out and used the entire street as his toilet. About a week after Joanne moved in she discovered that her small front lawn was usually the first stop on Winston’s poop parade. She knocked on Chester’s door to politely ask him to keep better track of his dog and he politely told her to go pound sand up her ass.
Joanne watched and waited. Even though the HOA took care of the yard work, Chester would still go out with his own lawn edger after the crew had been there. He raked up any stray grass left behind and did a scouting mission each morning, looking for any weeds who dared show their faces in his perfectly manicured flower beds. That’s where she would hit him.
It was entirely possible that Chester had cameras around his property in addition to the video doorbell. Joanne had to be careful. She hummed to herself as she went surfing on the Internet to find the perfect recipe. Vinegar, just a little bit of salt, and a bit of dish washing liquid. Then she went to Walmart and purchased a Super Soaker Barracuda Water Blaster (for ages 6 and up). For once her insomnia was an advantage. In the wee hours of the morning she filled up her Super Soaker with the secret recipe and slipped out her back door. She shot a steady stream in two places in his backyard, then quietly snuck out the side gate and did the same in his front yard. Game on. She repeated the process for three nights, trying to hit the same areas, then waited. The secret recipe worked, with no danger of harming Winston even though anyone would agree that he was an evil dog and some harm might be deserved. She peered out her front window, coffee in hand. Chester stood in his front yard toeing one of the large yellow patches, scratching his head. He did not look happy. Joanne smiled.
She waited a week, then chose a few new spots to target. She watched Chester yell at the yard men. She did feel just a tiny bit bad about that. She saw him in his front and back yard spraying and spreading and aerating and fertilizing. Oh the joy it gave her.
After two months she put the Super Soaker away. She hadn’t yet decided whether or not she was just giving Chester a break or if she was done with Operation Yellow Patch. Time would tell.
She was glad that Mary Louise was going to Coach Deborah for many reasons. Most importantly Mary Louise needed someone to talk to. Anyone could see that. That bitch of a daughter was certainly no help, running off to Seattle like a love sick cow. Friends could only do so much, especially with a wall that could survive a nuclear blast encircling Mary Louise. Miss Balmy Calmy acted like she had it all together, but Joanne knew people. It was a special skill.
The second reason she was glad was because Coach Deborah is the one who had fixed up Mary Louise with Bob. Mary Louise clearly had no romantic interest in Bob but Joanne sure did. Why hadn’t Coach Deborah asked if Joanne wanted to be fixed up? She’d have to ask her at their next session. And if she didn’t like the answer, there was a certain little dog who might accidentally wind up with some Nair rubbed into her wiry brown fur.
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