Surviving Lavonda

By Julie Renee Beal

It's just a visit to the in-laws. What could go wrong?

 

While the feisty and fearless Lavonda McBride sails through life without a care, Jillian, her sensible, conscientious daughter-in-law, and unwilling sidekick, desperately tries to keep a lid on the chaos Lavonda leaves in her wake. As Jillian is once again dragged into one of Lavonda's crazy escapades, will they make it through unscathed, or will Lavonda's flirtation with danger finally catch up to her?

 

Lavonda and the Coyote

Surviving Lavonda, Book 1

 

Something's getting Lavonda's chickens and Lavonda is determined to put a stop to it.  Can Lavonda save the day or will she find herself outfoxed?  

 

Lavonda and the Maidens of America's Revolutionary Patriots

Surviving Lavonda, Book 2

 

Nothing can stop Lavonda once she sets her sights on something.  But this time, she's being outflanked.  Can Lavonda turn the tide or will the battle be lost for good? 

 

Lavonda and the Meerschaum Pipe

Surviving Lavonda, Book 3

 

When Lavonda talks Jillian into a spontaneous vacation, Jillian's plans get tossed out the window.  Can Lavonda make good on her promises or will everything go up in smoke?

 

If you love lighthearted, laugh-out-loud small town cozy mysteries cast with quirky characters and daring adventures, come along with Lavonda and Jillian as they tackle three unpredictable situations that take them from the barnyards of Texas to the sunswept beaches of Southern California.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Renee Beal
• Release date: Sep 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223957270

Book preview

One

W hen did you say your parents are coming? I asked, with those familiar mixed feelings of excitement and dread.

I don’t know, sometime Thursday. You’ll have to call Mom and see what their plans are.

My dearest husband, kindest man on the planet, has known since birth, or at least since the age of five years old, there is no definitive answer to any question involving his parents, whether it be directly, indirectly, tangentially, in this universe or in a parallel universe. I, on the other hand, grew up with the words ‘Plan Ahead’ stenciled on the ceiling above my crib. Those two words were a mantra, spoken so fervently in my childhood home, I believed they were the key to preventing all manner of turmoil and havoc. And, truly, they served me well, until I married. For twenty-nine years, no effort of planning ahead has made one dent in the utter chaos that comes in the wake of one Lavonda Lacey McBride.

I picked up my cell phone. With anyone else, a quick text would suffice. But over the years I have learned the inherent danger in texting one such as Lavonda. Some circumstance, personal interaction with a sibling or a stranger or a goat, a dream, or any one of innumerable variables known only to Lavonda can imbue a text with layers of meanings of which the sender is completely unaware. By the third volley, the initiator of the text could have unwittingly added accelerant to a burning ember of pique, enflaming the sensitivities of the matriarch and incurring a maelstrom of bewildering responses. I shudder as a flashback hits me. No, it’s best to call.

Hi, Mom? Are you guys still coming tomorrow?

Russ is, but I’m not. I have a coyote problem I need to deal with. A coyote keeps getting my chickens. You know I bought some new chickens?

I don’t know if I was told about this particular purchase, there have been so many, but I am very familiar with the McBride chronicles of chicken procurement and the ensuing cycle of events, which typically ends where it started, with the purchase of more chickens.

First, the purchase of chickens creates a multifaceted spending spree of many things chicken and non-chicken. By employing unique accounting methods, ones I was not taught during my formal training at the illustrious T.M. Davis School of Accounting, Lavonda is able to apply income from any source, real or perceived, against any expenditure within four months of chicken procurement to such an extent the expenditure is considered to have never actually occurred. Although an income item is typically recorded only once at the time of receipt, Lavonda is able to determine it received as many times as needed in a remarkable ‘five loaves and two fishes’ methodology such that chicken farming is pronounced a miraculous endeavor of great capitalist achievement at every month end. I have, as yet, been unable to apply these same accounting principles with equal success to my own financial undertakings, leaving me to conclude these rules only work when applied to the inner workings of organic poultry farming.

For example, the acquisition of chickens usually initiates the filling of the refrigerator with excessive amounts of produce from the local grocery store. When the produce goes bad, as it inevitably does when there are only two people in residence, neither of whom eat a lot of fruits or vegetables, it is tossed out to the chickens. The chickens eat the decomposing fare, along with a variety of high-quality chicken feed, and produce sterling and tasty organic eggs which are then sold for $7.00 a dozen at The Home and Garden Center. The expense of the produce and chicken feed is offset by the income from the eggs thereby making the expense nonexistent. This same income is then used to offset many other expenditures, such as pool supplies, hair and nail appointments, and new clothes, thereby erasing them from existence as well.

One year the purchase of chickens prompted the purchase of a new SUV, with the old one taken in as trade-in. When I asked Didn’t your car payment go up? the answer I received was No, because my new SUV can haul more chicken scratch than my old one. Although factually, the answer to my question was ‘Yes’, the car payment did go up, by applying another unfamiliar, but ingenious rule of accounting having to do with hauling capacity, the unquestionable answer, as phantasmic as it may be, was ‘No’. Setting aside all formal training and immersing myself in the murky underworld of chicken financing, I was able to understand and appreciate the application. By hauling more chicken scratch in one trip, you can reduce the number of overall trips needed to the feed store. Fewer trips to the feed store means less money is spent on gasoline. The increase in car payment is thereby offset by the decrease in gasoline expense thus making the payment increase nonexistent.

Once the purchase of chickens has occurred, enormous amounts of time and energy are devoted to the care and protection of the chickens. There is a whole matriarchal approach to this subject as well that I will save for another day. Invariably, the chickens die from various means, one of which is apparently coyotes.

I asked, Are you sure it’s not one of the dogs? I thought the cocker spaniel was bad about killing your chickens.

Sammie? Yes, he was bad about killing my chickens when I didn’t put his shock collar on, but I know it’s not Sammie this time because I gave him to my friend Barbara last week. Her dog died and she was so lonely and wanted another dog and Sammie needed a lot more time and attention than I could give him. Now he is in a home where he is the only dog and he gets loved on all the time. He is even allowed to sleep in her bed. So, no, it’s not him this time.

Ok, I said. I guess you decided it wasn’t the guy who did the tree work for you that was coming back and stealing your chickens.

Well, I think he did come and steal my best chicken, but no, it’s a coyote.

Having run through the more likely reasons for the chickens’ demise, I said, I guess I don’t understand how a coyote is getting to your chickens. I thought they went inside a coop when the sun went down and the door automatically closed them in. How is the coyote getting into the chicken coop?

Well, the door quit working a while back. I think it needs a battery for the solar mechanism that closes the door. So, the chickens don’t roost in there anymore. They roost everywhere, even out in the woods. I have to hunt for eggs all over the place. Would you believe I even found eggs under the Foosball table over by the wood pile?

In all these years I’ve never seen a Foosball table at my in-law’s house. My brain silently runs through a series of questions, ‘Why do you have a Foosball table?’, ‘Where did it come from?’, and ‘Why is it outside, next to a wood pile?’

Instead of giving voice to these questions, I asked what I thought may be an offensively obvious question. Have you ordered a battery for the door? Wouldn’t it be better for the chickens and easier on you if they roosted in the coop like they used to?

I needn’t have worried. Our brains work so differently.

No, she said. Two years ago, a snake was getting in and eating all the eggs. I finally caught him at it and killed him with my rake. There was this huge lump in the middle of his body that looked suspiciously like the antique door knob that went missing off of my chicken coop. I took my knife and cut him open and I was right! It was my antique door knob. No, I don’t want a snake getting my eggs. The chickens will be fine roosting in the woods.

Wait. I thought the chickens were being killed by a coyote because they were roosting in the woods. My brain hurt.

Lavonda continued, So, anyway, I’ve got to take care of this coyote so I won’t be coming. But I’ll put the hanging clothes you left the last time you were here in Russ’s car tonight since he’ll probably leave when he gets up in the morning and I won’t be awake. I don’t know why the man gets up at 4 a.m. I don’t think I even go to sleep until then. Oh, and I promise, I didn’t get into your clothes.

You may be wondering about that last statement. There is a reason for it. The year my son, Craig, graduated from high school was the one time I decided to pay a professional photographer for a series of family pictures. I am a frugal person, and since two thirds of my family of three are incapable of smiling naturally and looking like normal people when posing for a picture, I always believed paying for professional pictures was a complete waste of money and could potentially cause a permanent rift in our harmonious household. A looming empty nest and the stunning family portrait in my new neighbor’s living room was the lethal combination that caused me to embark on this treacherous endeavor. Eliciting the photographer’s name from my neighbor, I called and made an appointment. After explaining the unique challenges my family would present, she assured me she was up to the task. She showed me how she could take the head or an arm off of a person in one picture and put it on the body of the same person in a different picture and you couldn’t even tell it wasn’t like that originally. All she needed was one decent head shot of each person. Confident my family members could produce at least one normal facial expression in the two-hour session, I selected the Philbrook Gardens as our setting and paid my deposit. Given the outdoor setting, the photographer suggested we wear coordinating neutral tops. Not being much of a shopper, I was thrilled. Doubtless we already had something in our closets of neutral hue.

As it turned out, there was nothing in our closets worthy of this upcoming historical event. As I searched through our local shops, it quickly became apparent this was not the year for neutrals. Not to be deterred, I drove to the next town over. I located a tan long-sleeved shirt for my husband, John, and a brown polo for Craig at the second department store I tried. With rebounding optimism, I focused on finding the one perfect blouse to complete a flawless coordination. After searching for what felt like every store in a thirty-mile radius, I walked into TJ Maxx and there on the display dummy was a stunning cream-colored, three-quarter length sleeved, crochet blouse with an ivory tank lining. It had just a bit of shimmer and the perfect amount of stretch to be flattering to the figure.

With the target identified, I went into stealth mode. Cutting my eyes to the left and to the right, I darted to the display. Having searched the nearby clothing racks for the blouse without success, I crossed my fingers and hoped, as I disrobed the dummy, that it was wearing my size. To my great relief, my quest was over. I had gotten the last one.

Later, laden with my purchases, I arrived at home and called my family to conference. Having informed them of what I had done, and seeing their horrified expressions, I assured them all would be well. They had two weeks to come to terms with the approaching picture day. I promised not only would I not be critical of their picture posing efforts, but if they promised to cooperate, have a good attitude, and do their best, after the photography session was over, we would go to a fancy restaurant and each order whatever we wanted. It would be a wonderful family outing.

Having successfully mollified my family with the promise of food, I moved on to the next subject of torment, new clothing.

As I pulled our coordinating outfits out of the shopping bag, I speared John and Craig with my best stink eye, underscoring the importance of my next utterance. I held the prized articles aloft. These are for picture day. These shirts are not to be worn until then; I do not want them messed up. After picture day I don’t care. Actually, I did care, but sometimes you have to exaggerate the contrast in order to emphasize the importance of a concept. Seeing I had effectively made my point, and noting the waning interest in the subject by the conference attendees, I adjourned the meeting.

I hung the hallowed garments in the closet for safekeeping and congratulated myself for once again successfully planning ahead.

The great thing about planning ahead is that once you have all the details taken care of, you can relax and enjoy anticipating the upcoming planned event, confident you have thought of and thwarted all potential disruptions. It also frees you up to deal with unexpected, or chaotic developments, like a surprise visit from family, with poise and grace.

My in-laws arrived that night at the ball field for Senior Night with minutes to spare. John and I were in high spirits, walking out with Craig, standing proudly with our senior while the cameras flashed. Later, we made our way home, already yawning and ready to climb into bed though we waited until Russ and Lavonda drove into the driveway so we could help unload their luggage.

Usually, unloading their car for a weekend visit entailed about four suitcases, two hanging bags, dog, dog food, dog toys, doggie piddle pads, makeup bag, hair product bag, cartons of eggs, a cooler of food, something broken for John to fix, and a bag of clothing for me to try on. Although I have learned over the years to always expect the unexpected with Lavonda, she once again surprised me. I was alarmed to see she had brought only one small carry-all and her makeup bag. I was immediately on guard. What could this mean? Although I tried to consider the implications of this startling development, it was late and I was too tired to work it out. So, we said our good-nights and agreed we’d see each other in the morning.

It would be a lazy morning. I quietly got up, put the coffee on, and spent a few minutes thinking about how many blessings I enjoyed day in and day out as I watched the brew drip into the pot. Halfway through the brewing, I snuck a cup of the potent restorative and set about cooking breakfast.

Normally when I have guests, I do my best to accommodate their wants and needs, including meals and mealtimes. However, after twenty years of unsuccessful attempts, I finally decided it was impossible to plan breakfast to accommodate my in-laws and I wasn’t a bad daughter-in-law for giving up. You see, my in-laws rise whenever the spirit moves them. Sometimes the spirit moves Russ to get up and go to McDonald’s at 4 a.m. Many times, the spirit moves Lavonda a little too early, usually into the bathroom, after which she will climb back into bed and wait for the spirit to move again closer to noon.

I did what I normally do on a Saturday morning. I cooked my dearest husband his favorite breakfast, timing it to be on the table around the end of his second cup of coffee and, hopefully, before he clicked the order now button on any of the daily deals offered on his laptop screen.

It just so happened that on this particular morning, everyone was up and on the premises. I gave a five-minute warning to anyone interested in eating food while it was still hot. The culinary skill of cooking each part of a meal to culminate simultaneously for a successful meal presentation is an ever-present struggle in my efforts to produce edible sustenance for my family. However, I have cooked scrambled eggs, sausage, and biscuits so many times now, it is rare for me to mess it up. I am so successful with this particular menu I sometimes make it at dinnertime for the sole purpose of avoiding the stress of gastronomic failure.

Lavonda found some yogurt and fruit in the refrigerator and made herself some toast, saving her scrambled egg for the dog. We sat and enjoyed the meal and the fellowship as only family can do.

While I cleaned up the dishes, Lavonda and I chatted about what we might want to do that afternoon. Lavonda informed me she didn’t feel like wearing what she had brought. The niggling concern regarding the dearth of luggage once again prickled the back of my mind as my chaos antennae quivered, detecting tremors of activity.

In Lavonda’s world, the selection of an outfit is paramount, ensuring the day will unfold according to what has been pre-imagined for a wearer of such an ensemble. One’s apparel reinforces one’s inner dialogue while delivering important subliminal messaging to others. So, I wasn’t particularly surprised Lavonda had decided the outfit she brought would not meet the criteria of the day’s consciousness. However, I was taken aback when she asked if I had anything she could wear. Now, my mother-in-law is not a large woman. However, she is much larger in the matriarchal bosoms than I.

Mom, I can’t think of anything in my closet that would fit you, but you are welcome to go look. I was certain nothing I had was voluminous enough to cover her endowment. Once again, I underestimated Lavonda.

Look what I found!

I turned from loading the dishwasher to see my beautiful, new, cream-colored, crochet, picture-taking blouse with that just right amount of stretch, stretched across the vast abundance. Any grace and poise I may have had vanished in an instant as I yelled, Take it off! Take it off right now!

My mother-in-law eventually forgave my terrible outburst; however, she’s never forgotten it. Even in the midst of a coyote crisis she remembered.

Well, I said, I hate you’re not coming. It’s Food Truck Thursday tomorrow night downtown and The Gooseberry Merchant has a lot of fun new merchandise. And I know how much you like to shop at The Cozy Nook bookstore. But, I understand, I hope you get that coyote.

Oh, I will, she said. I’ve got my shotgun and I’m going to sit outside however many nights it takes until I get him. Well, I’ve got to go, love you.

I closed my eyes and shivered. Lavonda. With a shotgun. At night. Lying in wait for a coyote. What could possibly go wrong?

Two

As I hung up the phone, I attempted to allay my growing concern by reminding myself of all the crazy things Lavonda had done over the years without inflicting permanent damage on herself or others, however, I only ended up thinking about how narrow those escapes had been. The more I tried to reassure myself Lavonda would once again avert any potential catastrophe in waiting, I could only picture a battered and exhausted guardian angel who might not be up to this latest venture.

For the better part of the evening, I tried to convince John, the most patient man on the planet, how an intervention was needed to save his mother from an undefined, yet looming disaster. Having a firm grasp of the Lavonda security threat levels, he determined this situation was concerning enough to warrant categorizing it as a general risk, however, this meant no personal action was needed at this time. Although I have complete confidence in his judgement, I still tossed and turned all night, worried something terrible would happen.

When Thursday morning peeked through the curtains without an emergency phone call during the night, I decided I would let John enjoy spending the weekend with his dad while I would drive to Texas, find out what was going on, and hopefully, put my mind at rest. The decision made, I got up, dressed, and grabbed a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. I quickly skimmed through my work email, responding as needed, and set my out of office auto notification. There was nothing on the immediate horizon I couldn’t address the following week. Although I loved working as an accountant when I first graduated from college, over the years I had morphed into a hybrid data analyst and custom software quality administrator with a bit of end-user testing thrown in the mix. It allowed