A QUIET LITTLE STREET

Saint Alban's is a quiet town. Usually, at least. At times the local college kids get a bit noisy. But that is usually only if their team wins a big game. This past weekend, their team won a big game. It was so exciting. Now, my street, Devonwood, is probably the quietest of quiet streets. Charlie and I can't hear what our neighbors are up to, and we don't think they can hear what we're up to, either. That's probably why neighbors call out "Hey, Charlie, What's up?" when they see him. And Charlie does the same when he sees them. Or, sometimes they may say "How are you, Charlie?", and he'll reply in similar fashion. Occasionally someone will ask about our son, Chip. Naturally, we ask about their children, too. But very often we ask one another "What's up?". And, our nice quiet street is good that way. We can't hear what goes on in one another's homes, what with the trees, the hedges, a lot of privacy fences and nice, large lawns surrounding our homes.

But this weekend was a bit different. The college team was in a big game. Everyone was excited all day long in anticipation of the game. A big championship. I would absolutely tell you what it was all about, but I'm not quite sure and at this point am hesitant to ask. You know how it is, you go around nodding "yes, yes, very exciting. Can't wait for the game. Go Wildcats" all day long to everyone you see around town. Well, after that, one can hardly ask what the game is all about, now can they? And, after all, Charlie says I'd never catch up. Or maybe it was catch on? But the point here is, that round about eleven o'clock, the game ended and our local school won. Well you can imagine the cheering that went on. I heard that the college kids actually blocked the roads over by the college as they streamed out of their dorms and fraternity houses, hooting and hollering. Well our quiet street is quite a few blocks, maybe a mile, from the campus so we didn't hear any of that. But we did hear our neighbors.

The McWoogle's had a large group over at their house, all to watch the game on their big screen. Now, they have a large French Colonial a few houses up, a bit gaudy but still quite nice. And their guests' cars were lined all up and down the road. Charlie and I were invited over, of course, but Charlie said he didn't want to attend because Victor McWoogle has a habit of slapping everyone on the back every time his team makes a point and that Charlie felt a good game could end up causing him several bruises. Victor McWoogle is a fairly big man, after all. So Charlie and I decided to go out to dinner that night.

Now, we're normally a rather early couple. No late nights for us. But we decided to stay past dinner for a bit of cheer at the pub, joined in some of the fun. I clapped and yelled and cheered, occasionally at the wrong times according to Charlie. But it was fun. And the nicest people over at the pub, too. Everyone was happy and cheery and glad to see one another. Well, we decided to head home after the unfortunate beer incident. We really are just so far from our college days and so very unfamiliar with spilling beer on ourselves. And that man next to me was even more out of practice, from the looks of his face when I spilled a bit of his beer on him.

So we hurried home, in the car that is. Of course, we probably could have walked from our home, but Charlie didn't want the McWoogle's to see our car in the drive. So we headed up Devonwood in our car and were absolutely amazed at all of the cars parked along the road. Charlie says that is what happens when you offer free beer to your friends that are cheap. They park up and down the road. The cheap friends, that is. Why, it was so crowded with cars that we nearly hit poor Conroy Cortnoy as he darted between two parked cars and into the street in front of us. "So sorry, Conroy," Charlie called out his window after he braked, "better hurry back to Victor's or you'll miss the end of the game." Poor Conroy was so distracted that he barely answered Charlie and ended up hurrying away in the complete opposite direction from the McWoogle's, almost dropping the sack he was carrying.

Just as well, though. Within minutes of our arrival home, the McWoogle's door opened up and their guests filled the street, cheering and yelling and singing of Victory. Oh how appropriate, I just realized, that Victor hosted the Victory party. I do say that my journalism career is having a profound effect on my writing abilities.

Well with all of the celebrating going on that night, you can imagine the shock that Betsy Perkins felt the next day when she went down to her kitchen first thing and found that she had a cat. Absolutely stunned, she was. She'd never had a cat before and had no memory of ever going to get this one. She rang me early and asked me to come round, as she knows how well I get along with cats. There are a few strays in the neighborhood and I always leave some food and fresh water out back for them. So naturally I recognized the cat in Betsy's house. "That's Mr. Marmalaid," I told her. He's been round our block now for a few months. Very nice, meows thank you, but won't let me near enough to catch him, bring him inside, you know. "How on earth did you get him in, Betsy?" I asked, just stunned at her accomplishment. And she had absolutely no idea. She and Ned, that's Mr. Perkins, had been across the way at the McWoogle's last night, and she admitted there was, as Charlie predicted, a lot of free beer. Well, that must explain it, we decided. You see, Betsy is really purely a martini gal. It must have been that beer she had. Anyway, Mr. Marmalaid seemed to be enjoying the Perkin's home, having made himself quite comfortable in the kitchen window seat after finishing off some of Betsy's canned tuna.

I wished them well and was about to be on my way when a bit of investigative journalism took hold of me. "Betsy", I asked her quizzically, "is anything missing". Now this was odd because normally Betsy tells me that I'm missing something. We decided to give a look round and I stayed to help. All of the furniture appeared normal and the kitchen looked quite well stocked. But upstairs, Betsy's was horrified to discover that she was missing an emerald cocktail ring. But the worst, for Betsy at least, was when she discovered that the hat she had just purchased for the Malvern Hunt Tailgate was missing. She was about to go running to Ned in despair when he came in from the garage growling that his new golf clubs were gone.

I told Charlie how glad I am that we decided to cheer on the college at the pub, instead of at the McWoogle's house. After all, I'm determined to win the Most Beautiful Hat contest at the tailgates this year and what a tragedy it would have been if I'd lost my new hat at the McWoogle's house. And anyway, we really do have enough cats in our house.

Oh yes, my colomn this week was particularly good. Mr. Petigrew even called it a "doozy".

Dear Veronica,
I think my friend's husband is cheating on her. I always see him leaving the house late at night, keeping the lights out and kind of creeping around. He comes home a couple of hours later acting very secretive. And very quiet. If it wasn't for my binoculars with night vision lighting I'd never be able to see what he's up to. Should I tell my friend?
Neighbor

Dear Neighbor,
Well if your friend has a need for good binoculars, maybe she's a bird watcher, then yes. Definetly tell her. But otherwise, it just sounds as if you're bragging about them.
Thank you for your note,
Veronica

AN UNTIMELY PURCHASE

Spring is here and that can only mean one thing, or a few things really. One of those things is the annual Steeplechase Races at the Malvern Hunt Club. It's a glorious day, as long as it's sunny, warm and the ground is dry. Otherwise it can be quite messy and uncomfortable, but usually it is a glorious day. We host tailgate parties on the grounds, compete in contests for Best Tailgate theme and Most Beautiful Hat. And that is where my mind was wandering yesterday as I was walking along Overlook Road towards the center of town. Well, that and I was also quite excited about the upcoming Lilly Pulitzer cocktail party. But as much as I was looking forward to the Lilly event, on this particular day I was on my way to Lindsey's Hat Shoppe to start my shopping for the perfect hat. I am absolutely determined to win a prize for Most Beautiful Hat this year. Izzy Braithwaite has won the contest the past two years in a row, and Laura Lee Hanson the year before that. They snickered a lot at the hat I wore last year, which is a shame really. I spent so much time adding things to it - some horses and a bit of hay to really get into the spirit of things. But this year I decided to go with the tried and true and start my shopping off at Lindsey's.

So there I was, just walking along Overlook, about at the offices for The Weekly, when I almost ran right into Conroy Cortnoy. I'm absolutely serious. Had he not stood up when he did, I would have flipped right over him and landed on the sidewalk. It's very unusual that he was all bent over the way he was, I could have sworn he was trying to put something into the evening drop box that The Weekly maintains, but when I asked him, he said, "No", he was just looking for a copy of The Weekly. Well naturally I was all too happy to offer to get him a copy, and thrilled to finally tell someone that I am Ask Veronica. Well, yes, I have told some others that I am Veronica. Charlie and Isabel know, as do most of the people who work at The Weekly. And apparently, Mrs. Petigrew is quite a fan of my column. Sue-Nancy Quigley, Mr. Petigrew's assistant, says that she has heard Mrs. Petigrew yelling quite loudly at Mr. Petigrew that he had better keep me as Veronica. It is so thrilling to have a fan.

Anyway, you can imagine how shocked and happy Conroy was to find out that I, Abigail, am Ask Veronica. We decided to stop by The Gryphon for a coffee and discuss it. He had so many questions, dear sweet Conroy, that I almost forgot to tell him how excited I am to attend his tailgate party. He looked so overwhelmed, I let him quickly change that subject and go back to asking me questions about my journalism career at The Weekly. Such in depth questions, too, "Did I have a background in journalism or therapy", "What exactly made me decide to take a job", "Who does the investigative journalism at The Weekly" and "Where did The Weekly come up with the news that the burglar was dangerous"?

I was anxious to discuss The Burglar, as most people in town are now adays. But if I am going to be high profile, I decided that I could not dodge questions about myself. I explained, delicately of course, that I felt it my duty to help support my household. Oh Charlie did not encourage me to find a job, let alone a career. He's always assuring me that things are just fine at his office. But, if a country the size of Iceland and all those big companies in New York can go out of business, then we shouldn't take chances here at home. Conroy sighed and lamented how he wished that Constance would find a career, or get out of the house - his wording was a bit different than mine. Apparently, he's taken a night job and ends up spending more time round the house in the day then I think he's accustomed. Anyway, in my haste to get into the interesting stuff, about The Burglar, you know, I forgot to tell him about my therapy background. I took a very thorough class on aromatherapy at the school night and even have a certificate with my name on it. Just as well, I don't like to brag.

Well it turns out that Conroy knows a lot about The Burglar. He told me that he knew for a fact that The Burglar has not threatened or harmed anyone and is not dangerous, as The Weekly proclaimed in It's headline. Conroy said that on one occasion, the burglar even took one family's dog out for a walk and picked up after him, too. Says the family told him how grateful they were that The Burglar took Bailey, that's the dog, for his constitutional or they would have had quite a mess to clean in the morning. Almost worth the few bits of electronics that he took, they said. The Burglar, that is. Not the dog. Since I've become a career gal, my mental sense of impressions has grown so vivid. I had a sense that The Weekly should hire Conroy. Mr. Petigrew is so obsessed with 'finding out more' about The Burglar that I am convinced, I told Conroy, that he may be allowing The Weekly to print things that are a bit exaggerated. Naturally I suggested it to Conroy. That he work for The Weekly, that is. "I have no writing experience", he kept saying. And we laughed so much when I confided that neither do I. I told him, Mr. Petigrew just hired me on the spot. Didn't even look at my qualifications, which is good because they are not actually true. Mr. Petigrew, I told Conroy, just has a sense about people and he absolutely loves to help people get involved in journalism. He is always trying to help that hopeless girl Veronica get a job. And honestly, I don't think that she is really trying. If Conroy came round the paper and really tried, I just know that Mr. Petigrew would give him a chance.

Well Conroy was so thankful of my encouragement that he read my column right there as we finished our coffee. And he loved it. He said he had no words to describe my advice. Although, he did suggest that if Mr. Petigrew had helped me so much with my career, that maybe I should help Mr. Petigrew with his obsession with The Burglar. Maybe write some of the true things about The Burglar to help The Weekly out.

And so I did. Unfortunately, the same week that I decided to add some Burglar tid bits to my column, The Weekly ran a front page article claiming to have received a hand delivered letter from The Burglar demanding an apology.

Dear Veronica,
We have friends that insist on paying us surprise visits. Not only are they uninvited, but it's hard to get them to leave. They'll stay for hours and monopolize our television and eat our food. We've tried pretending that we're not home but they walk around the house looking in windows and always catch us. What should we do?
Trapped

Dear Trapped,
Well I certainly do not think that you should bad mouth anyone. Even a stranger. It is just not appropriate to say that someone is dangerous when they clearly are not dangerous. Just supposed someone came over to your house and walked your dog for you. That would not make them dangerous, now would it?
Have a lovely day and say hello to your friends for me,
Veronica