“Girl, you got a minute? I’m at the Piggly Wiggly and I just HAD to call you about this mess that went down at Shady Oaks.”

“What now? I’m tryin’ to get ready for work here. Jimmy-Jo! Get over here and take this dog out now! Sorry. Dang dog is gettin’ into everythin’ here late. Please tell me this isn’t another Mrs. Henderson versus the mailman situation.”

“No no, this is way juicier. You remember that Indian lady with all them pretty dresses? Ka-vee-tuh?”

“You mean Kavitha?” Misty sighed, already knowing this wouldn’t end well.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. The one who always smells like amazing food.”

“What about her?”

“So Saturday she’s havin’ this garage sale, right? But Misty, Cave-itha’s sellin’ some NICE stuff. Family photos in silver frames, little kids’ clothes with the tags still on ’em, real jewelry. Like, why-would-you-sell-this kinda nice. I’m watchin’ from my kitchen—”

“Crystal, you know I moved away from Shady Oaks because of people spyin’ on me.”

“I prefer ‘observing.’ And don’t get all high and mighty on me girl just ’cause you live in tourist town now.” Crystal paused, clearly distracted. “Three seventy-nine for a box of Frosted Flakes? Good Lord, that’s highway robbery… Sorry, Misty. What was I sayin’?”

“Beth and the candlesticks?” Misty could already feel this story heading nowhere good.

“Right! Beth with the hair that could survive a tornado. So K-vitha tells her ‘One hundred thirty-seven dollars.’”

“That’s… oddly specific.”

“RIGHT? So I’m thinkin’, where have I heard that number? Then it hits me—that’s exactly what our new lot fees are gonna be!”

“Wait, you think she’s selling her stuff just to pay the fee?”

“Had to be. Poor thing’s probably scrapin’ together every penny. But here’s where it gets good—Beth writes her a check and goes, ‘This won’t clear till Monday.’”

“She said WHAT? Who says that?”

“Hold on, they’re sayin’ somethin’ about meat…”

“Attention shoppers, we have a special on Chuck roast, three ninety-nine a pound—”

“Okay, I’m back. Yeah. Beth straight up tells her the check ain’t good till Monday!”

“Lord, Crystal, that’s exactly the kind of mess I got tired of. Nobody in Branson writes bad checks for garage sale junk.” Misty shouted, “I said come get the dang dog, Jimmy-Jo! I swear, Crystal. These kids is gonna work me to death! Beth really said that? Who does that?”

“I KNOW, RIGHT? So that Indian lady—what’s her name again?”

“Kavitha.” Misty’s patience was wearing thin.

“Right, so Kavitha does that little head wobble thing and puts the check in her purse. Monday comes around and—can you hear me okay? I swear this lady’s cart is squeakin’ like a dying church mouse.”

“So what happened Monday?”

“So I’m havin’ my coffee when I hear this bangin’ on Beth’s door. I peek out and there’s that Ka-vee-tuh girl, cryin’ her eyes out, wavin’ that check around.”

“Oh no. It bounced?”

“Bounced higher than a rubber ball! Turns out the lot fee was due that day and she’s in deep with the park office.”

“That’s awful. Wait. Didn’t you just say Beth told her it wouldn’t clear?”

“Exactly! So either Beth’s the dumbest person alive or—”

“Or she knew it was gonna bounce and wrote it anyway.”

“Bingo. But Misty, it gets SO much worse.”

“Worse? How much worse?” Misty’s voice got flat, like she was bracing for the inevitable.

“Remember that developer who’s been buyin’ up lots? Well, he calls a meeting about ‘community standards’ and guess who becomes the scapegoat?”

“Let me guess—instead of blamin’ the white lady who wrote the bad check, they all turned on Kavitha? Sheesh, Crystal. A nice woman like her and I’ll bet youn’s didn’t even stand up for her didya?”

“Girl, it was like watchin’ a pack of wolves. Daryl starts yellin’ about ‘foreigners changin’ the neighborhood.’ Mrs. Henderson’s wavin’ her cane around. And Beth—the same Beth who screwed over whatshername—starts talkin’ about how she was ‘sellin’ foreign items’ at her garage sale!” Crystal’s voice got smaller. “Maybe I shoulda said somethin’, but—”

“Beth said that?”

“With a straight face! Like candlesticks are somehow un-American if an Indian person owns them.”

“Cleanup on aisle four, we need cleanup on aisle four—”

“I hate comin’ in here. I wish we had a Walmart. Ooh whee! Some kid just exploded a jar of pickles. Lord, the smell of brine and garlic is knockin’ me over from three aisles away. Smells like somebody opened a can of pickle juice and threw it at a pizza. I can hear Mary Beth Anderson yellin’ at Thomas, and Bobby James is cussin’ up a storm cleanin’ it up.”

“Mhmm. That Bobby James always did have a mouth on him.” Misty, checking her watch, screams back at the phone, “Crystal, I have to go to work! Focus.”

“Right, sorry. So Beth’s bein’ a total hypocrite. The whole room goes crazy. People who used to smile and wave at K are suddenly actin’ like she’s personally responsible for the lot fees goin’ up. Ooh, these pears look real nice…”

“What happened to Kavitha?” Misty’s voice had gone cold, irritated with Crystal.

“She got up and walked out. Had more dignity in her pinky finger than the rest of us combined. Next day there’s a ‘For Sale’ sign in her yard.”

“She’s moving?”

“Moved. Past tense. Some family with three screamin’ kids lives there now. They leave trash everywhere and play music till all hours, but nobody says a word about THEM ruinin’ the neighborhood.”

“Of course she did. Poor woman. This is exactly why I left that place, Crystal. Y’all never learn. The rich guy’s pickin’ your pockets while you’re busy hatin’ on the one person who never did nothin’ to you. You’re tellin’ me this story like it’s entertainment, but it’s actually sad as hell. Y’all drove out a good person ’cause you were scared of your own bills.”

“Hey, now, that ain’t fair—” Crystal’s voice turned defensive. “I didn’t do nothin’ to her. I was just watchin’ from my window.”

“That’s the kicker—I heard Beth cryin’ to her husband about how guilty she feels. Sayin’ she wanted them candlesticks so bad she convinced herself the check would somehow be okay.”

“Wait, so Beth DID know it would bounce?”

“Had to. Nobody accidentally tells someone their check ain’t good.”

“And Kavitha’s gone now because of it.”

“The store will be closing in ten minutes—”

“Shoot, Misty, I gotta go get checked out. The worst part? Them candlesticks? They’s at the thrift store. Five bucks! I bought ’em just to see. And honey? They ain’t worth thirty-seven dollars, let alone a hundred and thirty-seven.”

“So Beth paid for junk?”

“Or she knew it and figured she’d sell ’em before the check bounced. Either way, that poor Indian girl’s gone, the fees still went up, and we’re stuck with neighbors who actually DO bring down property values.”

“You know what?” Misty snuffed out her cigarette and picked up her purse after checking her face in the mirror. “Don’t call me with this stuff anymore, Crystal. I moved to Branson to get away from people tearin’ each other down. Find somebody else to gossip with.”

“Misty, don’t be like that. I know it sounds bad, but I ain’t like them other people—”

“It ain’t bad, Crystal? Yeah, It IS bad! And the fact that you don’t see that? That’s exactly why I had to get out of there.”

“Final call for checkout—”

“Wait, Misty, don’t hang up. I gotta go anyway, but—”

“Crystal, I love you, but I can’t listen to this anymore. When you’re ready to talk about somethin’ other than who’s ruinin’ the neighborhood, call me back.” CLICK!

“Misty? …Misty? Damn, she hung up on me.”

Crystal stared at her phone, then at her grocery cart. At the checkout, she wrote out a check for thirty-two dollars and forty-seven cents, her pen hesitating for just a moment before she signed her name.