My neighborhood is like a small town. Neat and tidy yards surround familar neighbors. Barnes Bridge was a warm and caring place to live. We had raised our families as a community, and now we were growing old together. My son, Stanley Jr was grown, and had moved to Austin. The major events of my life had taken place in the right here. I still love everything about my "hometown". We had lived here for twenty eight years when the Browns arrived.

Brad Brown was a tall strapping man with blue eyes. His cowboy boots, and hat, did seem an affectation to me. Sometimes he had breakfast at the pharmacy. The consensus of the men was that he was a nice guy. Well, he was fairly nice, except when his entourage would appear.

He managed the Cowboy Bartlett band. Some of the neighbors were fans, and they welcomed the local celebrity with open arms. Mr Brown had promised that the Cowboy would stop by at the next block party to sign autographs and meet the neighbors.

Ever so often, on a weekend, the whole band would show up. I was always on pins and needles when the cars started arriving. Too many cars showed a lack of respect(sometimes parked right in front of my house). Then the music would start up. When it got really loud I gave them one warning, after that I used the speed dial to call the local constable. Terry Pike would amble over to the Browns, and I would have sworn, he was joining the party instead of breaking it up.

The Browns refused to keep their yard mowed and edged. As their yard became scruffier, the weeds drifted into mine. I talked to him and he just shrugged. I didn't want to bring it up to Mrs. Brown. She wanted me to call her Gia, and she was too friendly. It seemed like every time I turned around, she was waving, and smiling from next door. To top it off, he bought her an older model yellow Cadillac. It was just awful. I was sure that the car alone would plummet property values.

She drove very fast around the corner and down the street. She was heavy on the gas, and loved the sound of her own horn....Mrs Brown stood out in Barnes Bridge she seemed to be the sore thumb on a perfect hand. And speaking of hands, I thought she had entirely too much free time on hers.

Mrs. Brown was exotic and intense. Perhaps she was a gypsy. She dressed in foreign fabrics and flowing clothes. Her clothes did not really match, they just fit together. She reminded me of a TV actress, just a little too flashy, for my tastes. It was disturbing to watch the men in the neighborhood fawn all over her. Of course, my husband Stanley was not taken in. He never had a bad word to say about anyone. He just smiled and just said "Now Jane you need to: Live and Let Live".

Shameless, if you asked me. She was dark and busy and talked too much. I would never have chosen her for a next door neighbor. At first, I had my suspicians about her visitors. They came at all hours, even when her husband was out of town. One gentleman, in particular, arrived in a limo, once a month. He would scurry in the door and leave in an hour or so. I wasn't really one to gossip or speculate. Stanley warned me to leave it alone, but the words "drug dealer" and "hooker" came to mind.

Our neighborhood was under seige, and the zoning board was well aware of the problem with the Browns. Don't get me wrong, I was not the only one that complained. Over our weekly 42 game, my friends and I talked about the situation.

Bertha Monroe was a retired schoolteacher, Mona Payne was a homemaker, and Peggy Radswell still worked at the city after 25 years. We started our game when our sons had been in boyscouts together years before. Every week with few exceptions we continued to play dominos and visit. We were like a family. There was nothing wrong with that. We had survived disasters and tragedy, surely we could survive Mrs Brown.

It was Peggy, that broke the news that Gia Brown was some sort of medium or tarot reader. Her visitors were apparently paying for her services, all right. Since it wasn't the services I feared, I guess I should have been relieved. But, knowing that a conwoman lived next door was a little hard to take. She had a business license. The situation was unbelievable.

The surgery on my knees was scheduled for March. Time off from work, I was looking forward to, I might add. I was all set to lay back and let Stanley handle all the household chores. The only setback was I couldn't drive for a month. So I determined, I would ride the bus once a week to the library. It was only a few miles. That nice Mr Martin, was the driver. Stanley and I went to church with him and Velma. So it was a mild adventure, but my adventure, nonetheless.

As my knees began to heal, I made my way outside for coffee and to feed the birds. That's when I started to worry. Mrs Brown would peek through the fence. When I went to the front porch, she would appear in her yard. What in the world was going on? I wondered if the little gypsy woman was stalking me.

On Tuesday morning, I hobbled to the bus stop on the corner. Two houses down seemed like miles. Thank God I had brought my little fold out stool. "Always be prepared." I remembered Stanley Jr.'s boyscout years. I smiled at how this motto had stuck with me.

A trip to the library, was going to make my day. At first, I thought I was dreaming when Mrs. Brown stepped off of her front porch. She was dressed conservatively by her standards, but still I was annoyed.

She approached me quickly. "You're taking the bus, Mrs Brown? Is your car in need of repair?" I was trying not to sound annoyed. She raised her eyebrows all the same.

"Mrs Sanderson, I just thought I would take a bus ride with you today." She flashed me a brilliant smile, meant to charm me. But despite her repeated attempts, Mrs. Brown had never seemed charming to me.

My spirits plummeted. Somehow, my little adventure had lost it's appeal. I decided to call it a day. Before I could traipse home in dejection, the bus stopped and Mrs Brown practically pushed me up the metal stairs. It was like she had decided to ruin my day and was trying to do it in a diplomatic way. As soon as I sat down, she slid in beside me. At least she was quiet today. She was not talking too fast in her European accent. Here eyes were darting around as if she was expecting company.

At the intersection of Douglas and Pine Street Mrs Brown nudged me...."I need your folding stool Mrs Sanderson." I bristled, but before I could object she held it in both hands.

Suddenly the bus was swerving. When I looked up there was a man standing over Mr Martin. It was difficult to see what was happening. That nice Mr Martin was holding tight to the steering wheel. I heard a harsh voice, "Drive where I tell you and no one gets hurt."

I looked at my seatmate and Mrs Brown lifted her fingers to her lips requesting my silence. She was only 3 steps from the man with the gun. I had never seen anyone move with such grace. It was like a slow motion event. She raised the stool quickly and brought it down on his head 3 times. The gun dropped right in Mr Martin's hands and the man who had brought it onto the bus appeared to be unconscious.

Well needless to say, I never made it to the library. With the police and the questions and all the hoopla, I barely made it back home in one piece. Mrs Brown gave all the credit to Mr Martin and she patted him on the shoulder and said "Tell Mrs Martin to stop by again sometime."

I determined that I would wait until I could drive, before I would go back to the library. Or maybe Stanley would take me one evening. The police dropped Mrs Brown and I in my driveway. She took my arm and walked me to the front porch. "Sorry about your stool, Mrs Sanderson." The stool had broken on impact with the criminal's head.

Suddenly, I wondered if Mrs Brown was lonely. Her work must be exhausting, and her husband was gone a lot. My heart went out to the woman, "Would you like to come in Mrs Brown, I could make some coffee. It just occurred to me that I never welcomed you to the neighborhood....."