Part 6 (1/2)

”Well, there you have it,” Anfisa said. ”The problem is with your yard, not mine.”

”But-”

”I must be on my way.”

And so she walked off, with nothing settled between them.

When Willow shared this information with Scott, he decided a neighborhood war council was called for, which was another term for a poker night at which poker wasn't played and to which wives were invited. Willow found herself overwrought at the idea of what might happen once the neighborhood became involved in the problem. She didn't like trouble. But by the same token, she wanted her children to be safe from vermin. She spent most of the meeting anxiously chewing on her nails.

Every position taken on the situation was a turn of the prism that is human nature. Scott wanted to go the legal route in keeping with his by-the-book personality. Start with the health department, bring in the police if that didn't work, turn to lawyers subsequently. But Owen Gilbert didn't like this idea at all. He didn't like Anfisa Telyegin for reasons having more to do with her refusal to let him do her income taxes than with the rodents that were invading his property, and he wanted to call the F.B.I. and the I.R.S. and have them deal with her. Surely she was involved in something. Everything from tax dodging to espionage was possible. Mention of the I.R.S. brought the I.N.S. into Beau Downey's mind, which was more than enough to enflame him. him. He was of the persuasion that immigrants are the ruination of America and since the legal system and the government clearly weren't about to do a d.a.m.n thing to keep the borders closed to the invading hordes, Beau said He was of the persuasion that immigrants are the ruination of America and since the legal system and the government clearly weren't about to do a d.a.m.n thing to keep the borders closed to the invading hordes, Beau said they they should at least do something to close their neighborhood to them. should at least do something to close their neighborhood to them.

”Let's let this gal know she ain't welcome here,” he said, to which suggestion his wife Ava rolled her eyes. She never made a secret of the fact that she considered Beau good for mixing her drinks, servicing her s.e.xual needs, and not much more.

”How d'you suggest we do that, darlin'?” Ava asked. ”Paint a swastika on her front door?”

”h.e.l.l, we need a family in there anyway,” Billy Hart said, chugging his beer. It was his seventh and his wife had been counting them, as had Willow, who wondered why Rose didn't stop him from making a fool of himself every time he went out in public instead of just sitting there with an agonized expression on her face. ”We need a couple our own age, people with kids, maybe even a teenage daughter... one with decent t.i.ts.” He grinned and gave Willow a look she didn't like. Her own b.r.e.a.s.t.s-normally the size of teacups-were swelling with her pregnancy and he fixed his eyes to them and winked at her.

With so many opinions being expressed, is there any doubt that nothing was settled? The only thing that occurred was pa.s.sions being enflamed. And Willow felt responsible for having en-flamed them.

Perhaps, she thought, there was another way to deal with the situation. But wrack her brains though she did for the next several days, she could come up with no approach to the problem.

It was when a letter went misdelivered to her house that Willow came up with what seemed a likely plan of action. For stuck within a collection of catalogues and bills was a manila envelope forwarded to Anfisa Telyegin from an address in Port Ter-ryton, a small village on the Weldy River some ninety-five miles north of Napier Lane. Perhaps, Willow thought, someone in Anfisa's former neighborhood could help her present neighbors learn how best to approach her.

So on a crisp morning when the children were in school and Scott was tucked away for his well-earned five hours, Willow got out her state atlas and plotted a route that would take her to Port Terryton before noon. Leslie Gilbert went, too, despite having to miss her daily intake of dysfunction on the television set.

Both of the ladies had heard of Port Terryton. It was a picturesque village some three hundred years old, set amidst an old-growth deciduous forest that flourished right to the banks of the Weldy River. Money lived in Port Terryton. Old money, new money, stock market money, dot com money, inherited money. Mansions built in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries served as display pieces for inordinate wealth.

There were inferior areas in the village as well, streets of visually pleasing cottages where the day help and the lesser souls lived. Leslie and Willow found Anfisa's former residence in one of these areas: a charming and well-painted gray and white salt-box structure shaded by a copper-leafed maple with a clipped front lawn and flowerbeds planted with a riot of pansies.

”So what're we trying to find out, exactly?” Leslie asked as Willow pulled to a stop by the curb. Leslie had brought along a box of glazed donuts, and she'd spent most of the drive gorging herself upon them. She licked her fingers as she asked the question, bending down to squint through the window at Anfisa's former house.

”I don't know,” Willow said. ”Something that could help.”

”Owen's idea was the best,” Leslie said loyally. ”Call in the Feds and hand her over.”

”There's got to be something less... well, less brutal than that. We don't want to destroy her life.”

”We're talking about a yard full of rats,” Leslie reminded her. ”A yard of rats that she denies exists.”

”I know, but maybe there's a reason reason why she doesn't know they're there. Or why she can't face admitting they're there. We need to be able to help her confront this.” why she doesn't know they're there. Or why she can't face admitting they're there. We need to be able to help her confront this.”

Leslie blew out a breath and said, ”Whatever, sweetie.”

They'd come to Port Terryton without much of a plan of what they'd do once they got there. But as they looked fairly harmless-one of them just beginning to show a pregnancy and the other placid enough to inspire trust-they decided to knock on a few doors. The third house they tried was the one that provided them with the insight they'd been looking for. It was, however, not an insight that Willow would have liked to unearth.

From Barbie Townsend across the street from Anfisa Telyegin's home, they received cups of tea with lemon, chocolate chip cookies, and a wealth of information. Barbie had even kept a sc.r.a.pbook of the Rat Lady Affair, as the Port Terryton newspaper had come to call it.

Leslie and Willow hardly spoke on the drive home. They'd planned to have lunch in Port Terryton, but neither of them had an appet.i.te once they were finished talking to Barbie Townsend. They were both intent upon getting back to Napier Lane and informing their husbands of what they'd learned. Husbands, after all, were intended to deal with this sort of situation. What else were they for? They were supposed to be the protectors. Wives were the nurturers. That's the way it was.

”They were everywhere,” Willow told her husband, interrupting him in the midst of a phone call to a prospective client. ”Scott, the newspaper even had pictures pictures of them.” of them.”

”Rats,” Leslie informed her Owen. She went directly to his office and barged right in, trailing her paisley shawl behind her like a security blanket. ”The yard was infested. She'd planted ivy. Just like here. The health department and the police and the courts all got involved... The neighbors sued, Owen.”

”It took five years,” Willow told Scott. ”My G.o.d, five years. Jasmine will be twelve twelve in five years. Max will be ten. And we'll have Blythe-or-Cooper as well. And probably two more. Maybe three. And if we haven't solved this problem by then...” She began to cry, so afraid for her children was she becoming. in five years. Max will be ten. And we'll have Blythe-or-Cooper as well. And probably two more. Maybe three. And if we haven't solved this problem by then...” She began to cry, so afraid for her children was she becoming.

”It cost them a fortune in lawyers' fees,” Leslie Gilbert told Owen. ”Because every time the court ordered her to do something, she countered with a lawsuit herself. Or she appealed. We don't have the kind of money they have in Port Terryton. What're we going to do?”

”She's sick in some way,” Willow said to Scott. ”I know that, and I don't want to hurt her. But still, she's got to be made to see ... see ... Only how can we make her see if she denies there's a problem in the first place? Only how can we make her see if she denies there's a problem in the first place? How?” How?”

Willow wanted to go the mental health route. While the Napier Lane menfolk gathered nightly to come up with a plan of action that would take care of the problem posthaste, Willow did some research on the Internet. What she learned opened her heart to the Russian woman who, she realized, clearly wasn't responsible in full for the infestation of her property.

”Read this,” Willow said to her husband. ”It's a sickness, Scott. It's a mental disorder. It's like... You know when people have too many cats? Women, usually? Older women? You can take all their cats away but if you don't deal with the mental problem, they just go out and get more cats.”

”You're saying she collects rats?” rats?” Scott asked her. ”I don't think so, Willow. If you want to take the psychological viewpoint, then let's call this what it is: denial. She can't admit that she's got rats because of what rats imply.” Scott asked her. ”I don't think so, Willow. If you want to take the psychological viewpoint, then let's call this what it is: denial. She can't admit that she's got rats because of what rats imply.”

The men agreed with Scott, especially Beau Downey who pointed out that, as a foreigner-or furinner, as he p.r.o.nounced it-Anfisa Telyegin probably didn't know a d.a.m.n thing about hygiene, personal or otherwise. G.o.d only knew what the inside inside of her house was like. Had any of them seen it? No? Well, then, he rested his case. They ought to just set up a little accident over at 1420. A fire, say, started by bad wiring or maybe by gas leaking at the side of the house. of her house was like. Had any of them seen it? No? Well, then, he rested his case. They ought to just set up a little accident over at 1420. A fire, say, started by bad wiring or maybe by gas leaking at the side of the house.

Scott wouldn't hear of that and Owen Gilbert began making noises to distance himself from the whole situation. Rose Hart- who lived across the street and didn't have as much invested in the situation-pointed out that they didn't really know how many rats there were, so perhaps they were getting too excited about what was really a simple situation. ”Willow only saw three: the one she trapped and two others. It could be we're getting too riled up. It could be this is a simpler problem than we think.”

”But in Port Terryton, it was an infestation,” infestation,” Willow cried, wringing her hands. ”And even if there're only two more, if we don't get rid of them, there'll soon be twenty. We Willow cried, wringing her hands. ”And even if there're only two more, if we don't get rid of them, there'll soon be twenty. We can't can't ignore this. Scott? Tell them...” ignore this. Scott? Tell them...”

Several women exchanged knowing glances. Willow McKenna had never been able to stand on her own two feet, even now.

It was Ava Downey-who would have believed it?-who offered a potential solution. ”If she's in denial as you suggest, Scott darlin',” Ava said, ”why don't we simply do somethin' to make her fantasy world real?”

”What would that be?” Leslie Gilbert asked. She didn't like Ava, whom she saw as being after every woman's husband, and she generally avoided speaking to her. But the circ.u.mstances were dire enough that she was willing to put her aversion aside and listen to anything that promised to solve the problem quickly. She had, after all, just that morning tried to start her car only to find that wires in the engine had been chewed up by vermin.

”Let's get rid of the creatures for her,” Ava said. ”Two or three or twenty. Let's just get rid of them.”

Billy Hart gulped down what was the last of his ninth beer of the evening and pointed out that no exterminator would take on the job, even if the neighbors paid to have it done, not without Anfisa Telyegin's cooperation. Owen concurred as did Scott and Beau. Didn't Ava remember what the agent from Home Safety Exterminators had told Leslie and Willow?

”Course I remember,” Ava said. ”But what I'm suggestin' is that we take on the work ourselves.”

”It's her property,” Scott said.

”She might call in the cops and have us arrested if we go set-tin' traps all around her yard, honey,” Beau Downey added.

”Then we'll have to do it when she's not home.”

”But she'll see the traps,” Willow said. ”She'll see the dead rats in them. She'll know-”

”You're misunderstandin' me, darlin',” Ava purred. ”I'm not suggestin' we use traps at all.”

Everyone living near 1420 knew everyone else's habits: what time Billy Hart staggered out for the morning paper, for example, or how long Beau Downey revved up the motor of his SUV before he finally blasted off for work each day. This was part of being on friendly terms with one another. So no one felt compelled to remark upon the fact that Willow McKenna could say to the minute exactly when Anfisa Telyegin went to work at the community college each evening and when she returned home.

The plan was simple: After Owen Gilbert obtained the appropriate footwear for them all-no man wanted to traipse through what might be rat-infested ivy in his loafers-they would make their move. Eight Routers-as they called themselves-would form a shoulder-to-shoulder line and move slowly through the ivy-covered front yard in heavy rubber boots. This line would drive the rats toward the house where the Terminators would be waiting for them as they emerged from the ivy on the run from the rubber boots. And the Terminators would be armed with bats, with shovels, and with anything else that would eliminate the nasty creatures. ”It seems to me it's the only way,” Ava Downey pointed out. Because while no one truly wanted Anfisa Telyegin to have to find her property littered with rats killed by traps, so also did no one want to find rats in their own yard where the creatures might manage to stagger before succ.u.mbing to a crawl-off-and-die-somewhere-else poison, if that's the route the neighbors chose.

So hand-to-rodent combat appeared to be the only answer. And as Ava Downey put it in her inimitable fas.h.i.+on: ”I don't expect you fine big strong men mind gettin' a little blood on your hands... not in a cause good as this.”

What were they to say to such a challenge to their masculinity? A few feet shuffled and someone murmured, ”I don't know about this,” but Ava countered with, ”I just don't see any other way to do it. Course I'm willin' to listen to any other suggestions.”