Part 1 – Inspiration 

The oven timer clattered. Evelynna DeLancy, wearing a black cocktail dress and a white apron, splattered like a Jackson Pollock canvas, rushed to slide a golden glistening chicken out of the oven followed by six steamy whole potatoes. She got to work carving and stuffing the jackets with sour cream and chives. All the while, humming Elvis’s “Let’s Play House” with a bubbling pot of sliced carrots over a blue flame on the stove. 

The front door clicked shut. Tom DeLancy, still in uniform, hung his peaked cap on the coat rack, set down the wicker basket he’d carried in, and loosened his black necktie. 

“Honey, I’m home,” he announced from the foyer.

“Welcome home Baby,” Evelynna sang from the kitchen. Tom followed the smell of savory herbs toward the sound of her voice. 

“What a shift,” he sighed. “Where’s my kiss?” Evelynna obliged him and asked, “where’s my report?” 

“Huh? Oh,” Tom snickered, pulling a single glass jar of rhubarb jam out of his jacket pocket and setting it next to the roasting pan. 

“Kathy walked into the station like the Queen of England delivering gifts to the baby in the manger.” Evelynna snorted. 

“Asked me to direct her to ‘Chief DeLancy,’ I pointed to my badge and said ‘You’re looking at him.’” Evelynna was cackling. 

“And then what?” 

“Her shoulders stiffened. Cheeks flushed. Neck blushed. She set the basket on my desk then apologized for the mix-up. Turned to get out of there so fast she knocked her hat clean off her head,” Tom replied over the sounds of his wife howling. He had a good laugh himself. 

“Basket’s in the foyer,” he explained, wiping his eyes. 

A crackling sound drew their attention to the family room. 

“Sorry hunny, I forgot to turn off my radio this morning.” 

“It’s fine, I like hearing what you and the boys are up to throughout the day,” Evelynna said, setting three plates on the table. 

“Careful you don’t turn into Tiddle here by the radio all day,” Tom chuckled, sitting down and helping himself to a drumstick. Evelynna thought for a moment. 

“She has a radio too? What’s her husband do for work,” asked Tommy, plopping in the chair across from his dad. 

“Yeah. Smith says her husband’s a trucker,” Tom answered, mouth partially full with chicken. 

“A lot of them are into CBs now.” 

“Is that so,” Evelynna muttered, eyeing the little police scanner atop the record player in the family room. 

Part 2 – The Game

The next morning Tom went to work and Evelynna busied herself tidying the house. Her eyes kept falling on Tom’s scanner. Some of Tom’s belongings were still packed in a box on the floor next to the record player cabinet, including an old walkie-talkie from his Chicago patrol days. Evelynna knew enough about how to operate it from watching Tom. She changed its batteries and fiddled with the buttons until she was fairly certain it was programmed just below the Milford police bandwidth, with just a long enough range to reach across the street. 

“Mom, what are you doing,” asked Tommy. His arm was loaded with books and a brown paper bag containing his lunch dangled from the other hand. Evelynna was leaning against the back of the couch with the radio and peering out the window. 

“A test,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the window. And then a car turned onto their street, “Ah-ha!” Evelynna cried, pressing the button on the radio. With her best Soviet accent, she spoke into the microphone. 

<<Boris, it’s Katya. I am turning on Mason Drive in black car. Give signal if you have visual on target.>> The scanner behind them crackled. Officer Peterson was issuing a speeding ticket across town. 

“Watch the window on that pink house,” Evelynna said pointing. They watched and waited in silence. Then they saw the purple curtains flail open for a second before snapping shut when the black vehicle rolled by the little pink house. 

Tommy laughed all the way out the door to greet Graham Embleton for their walk to school and a wide grin slowly spread across Evelynna’s face. She raised the radio to her lips again. 

<<Boris, do not let pedestrian see you, they could blow entire mission!>> 

Evelynna waited only a few seconds before Mrs. Tiddle’s curtains twitched again. 

This was going to be fun. 

Evelynna continued her work tidying up the living room, perking her ears whenever she heard the scanner crackle. Officer Smith was off investigating a vandalism complaint by the ice cream parlor. Evelynna peered out the window with the radio, waiting for another vehicle to turn in. 

<<Boris, I drive with green truck now. Have you found the target?>>

Evelynna decided to wash up the breakfast dishes and wait a bit, then the scanner cracked again. 

<<Peterson, can you swing by Mason? Look for anyone out of place. I got a report from Prudence Tiddle. Odd radio activity in the area. Something about Soviet spies and a target.>>

Crack, <<10-4 Chief.>>

As she was wiping out her last juice glass, a black and white patrol car slowly crept along the road. Mrs. Tiddle’s purple curtains shimmied. Evelynna smirked. This was too easy—she wanted a challenge. 

<<Peterson to base, I’m clear on Mason, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just a woman walking a small dog. I’m headed to Hillside for speed detail.>>

Crack, <<10-4 Peterson.>>

Evelynna wiped up the counter and grabbed the radio.

<<Cops are out Boris. Use care. I leave important information with mail carrier. Say code word “Meow” and he tell secret.>> 

Part 3 – The Score 

With the housework done for now, Evelynna poured a steaming cup of mid-morning tea and set a chair on the front steps with today’s issue of The Chicago Sun Times. A merry whistle from down the street told her the mailman was exactly on time. Mrs. Tiddle’s curtains quivered. The Vances’ terrier, Apollo, barked somewhere inside the brown house next to the Tiddles’. 

Evelynna sat behind her newspaper with her leg crossed and sunglasses on. She peeked around the side of the paper as the mailman dropped a letter in the Vances’ box and Apollo yowled behind the door. The mailman kept whistling his tune. 

Mrs. Tiddle’s curtains swayed and then her front door cracked open. Evelynna watched intently from the sidelines.

“Morning, Mrs. Tiddle,” said the mailman handing her two white envelopes and one brown.  

“Meow,” said Mrs. Tiddle in a low voice. She was dressed, but her hair was still in rows of pink curlers. 

“Pardon?” The mailman glanced around, as if searching for a cat. Apollo barked once.   

“Meow,” she said louder. Evelynna stifled a laugh in her shoulder, the newspaper was shaking. The mailman took a few tentative steps back.

“Alright, ma’am, you have a nice day,” he said, hurriedly moving toward the next mailbox, no longer whistling. Mrs. Tiddle slunk inside clutching the envelopes to her chest. Evelynna sipped her tea, reading a Peanuts strip with Lucy holding a football for Charlie to kick. 

She was in the middle of ironing when Tom walked through the door just before five, eyebrows furrowed. He must have left work a little early and he slipped his usual pleasantries. Evelynna floated into the foyer, arms crossed over her chest, her face matching his concern when she asked him what was the matter. 

“Did you notice anyone acting oddly today? Hear anything strange? Mrs. Tiddle reported hearing Soviet spies on her scanner,” Tom explained. 

“No,” Evelynna shook her head, feigning innocence. “Nothing of the sort. Just Mrs. Tiddle meowing at the mailman.” 

“Meowing?” Tom repeated, surprised. Then his eyes fell on the walkie-talkie laying on the side table and snapped back to his wife who was now standing with her hands crammed into her apron pockets. 

“Honey, you didn’t—”

Evelynna slipped on her cat-eye sunglasses. 

“We’ve been compromised, Boris,” Evelynna said with her Soviet accent and a smirk.