Sunday, November 4, 2007

Stevie Joe and Ray - Part 1

Big things are afoot in Junebug Holler. So big, in fact, that I’m going to have to break this story down into smaller bits. Please bear with me.

Saturday, November 3, 2007 – Part 1

Fall is in full swing her in Junebug Holler. The leaves are all bright and yellow and crimson, and Junior has taken to passing out indoors. So, after a rousing breakfast of dry wheat toast and decaf coffee over at the Junebug Café and Internet Lounge, I elected to take a leisurely stroll through our sometimes-lovely little town.

I was not alone in my desire to spend some time outdoors on such a nice day. Jimmy and Juanita were watching the comings and goings of our local citizenry while sitting out on the bench down in front of the post office. Dickie Jensen was smartly dressed and carrying his “Bomb Iran Now!” sign whilst marching right down the main drag. Even Mrs. Stevie Joe got into the act by walking, rather than driving, down to Emma’s Beauty Parlor. As Mrs. Stevie Joe is not normally known for great physical activity, this was the rare sight indeed.

Right on the edge of town, just before you get to Mitchell’s Grove, is Fanny Frenchak’s Home in the Holler Bed and Breakfast, and what a beautiful place it is. Fanny has great talent in interior decorating, and the rooms at her place are something to see. Each has a unique theme from the Jungle Room to the Streetcar Named Desire Suite. Unfortunately, Junebug Holler is not exactly a tourist mecca. Fanny only gets a dozen or so guests a year which is a darned shame given the effort that she puts into the place.

Yet, on this fine fall day, there was indeed a car parked right in front of Fanny’s place. Looking to all of Junebug Holler like a spaceship from Mars was a beat-up old black Porsche 911 with New Mexico plates. Well, I figured that folks were going to notice that.

Naturally, I had to run back over to Trudy’s to get the latest gossip. If anyone in town was going to know what was going on, it would be Trudy. As proprietress of the Junebug Café and Internet Lounge, Trudy hears all the best rumors. While the information may not always be reliable, it’s always good.

So, back at the scene of the morning’s dry wheat toast, I asked Trudy, “What say ye?”

To which she replied, “What say me about what?”

“Why, the mysterious stranger in town, of course! What’s the poop?” I asked her.

“Still a mystery. Fanny ain’t talking.”

“Ain’t talking? Fanny? Are you sure? It’s not like her to keep quiet about anything,” I insisted.

“Well, you can ask her yourself because she’s walking right in the door.”

I turned to see plump little Fanny Frenchak squeeze through the door, look up to see me, spin on her heels, and walk right back out without missing a step.

“Now, wait here just a minute, Fanny!” I cried after her, but it was no use. She was gone, and it was quite clear that she was not up to sharing gossip.

More to come soon,
Stevie Joe Parker

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