The women laughed. Sherry said, “We’ve come a long way since we used to store ice cream in Ralph Keaton’s caskets, haven’t we, Velma?”
Velma just smiled as she took $2.60 from Sally. Sally took another bite. “I went to Amabel’s cottage, but nobody’s home.”
Helen came in from the back room. “Hi, Sally. Amabel went down to Portland.”
“For art supplies and shopping,” Velma said. “She’ll be back in a couple of days, she said. Probably by Friday.” “Oh.”
She licked at the ice cream, felt the taste explode in her mouth, and closed her eyes. “This has to be more sinful than eating three eggs a day.”
“Well,” Helen said, “if you eat just one ice cream cone a week, what does it matter?” She turned to say to Velma, “I saw Sherry eat three cones last Tuesday.” “I did not!”
“I saw you. They were all double dip chocolate.” “I didn’t!”
The three women started sniping at each other. It was obvious they’d been doing this for years. They knew each other’s red buttons and were pushing them with abandon. Sally just watched, eating her banana walnut ice cream cone. Velma had the last word. Before Sherry or Helen could pipe up, she turned to Sally. “No, we won’t let the men get behind the counter. They’d eat everything.”
Sally laughed. “I’d be as bad as the men. I’d eat the entire stock in one morning.” She finished her cone and patted her stomach. “I don’t feel quite so skinny now.” “Stay here, Sally, and you’ll look all pillowy and comfortable like us in no time,” Sherry Vorhees said.
“I was admiring the town,” Sally said. “It’s so beautiful, so utterly perfect. And all those flowers, every spring flower that will bloom is out and planted and wonderfully tended. Even the cemetery. The grass is mowed, the head-stones are well cared for. I was wondering if you ever forgot anything at all that would make the town look even more perfect?”
“We try to think of everything,” Helen said. “We have a town meeting once a week and discuss improvements or things that should be repaired or brought up-to-date.”
“Whatever were you doing in the cemetery?” Velma asked, as she wiped her wet hands on her apron, the same cute blue floral pattern as the drape.
“Oh, just wandering around after I realized that Amabel wasn’t at home. I noticed something kind of unusual.”
“What was that?” Helen asked.
For a moment, Sally wondered if she shouldn’t just keep her mouth shut. But no, these women were sniping at each other about ice cream, for God’s sake. They knew who had died and when. They’d tell her. Why not? There was nothing frightening going on here. “Well, there were about thirty graves on the perimeter of the cemetery. All those people died in the eighties. All of them were men. There was nothing special on the headstones, just a name and dates of birth and death. The other headstones have personal stuff. There was one in particular, just said BILLY. I just thought it was strange. Maybe everyone got tired of being personal. So many men died, not a single woman. You must have been surprised at that.”
Sherry Vorhees sighed deeply and shook her head. “A terrible thing it was,” she said. “Hal was so depressed that we lost so many of the flock in those years. And you’re right, Sally, it was all men who died. All different reasons for their deaths, but it still hurt all of us.”
Helen Keaton said quickly, “Don’t forget that quite a few of those deaths came from folk living in the subdivision. Their relatives thought our cemetery was romantic, set near the cliff as it is, with the sea breezes blowing through. We let them bury their dead here.”
“Did that poor woman Mr. Quinlan and I found at the base of the cliffs get buried here?”
“No,” Velma Eisner said. “Her husband was a rude young man. He was yelling around that we were somehow responsible. I told him to look at our muscles and do some thinking. As if we could have had something to do with his wife’s death. He stormed out of here.”