Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“It’ll be a lot damn harder, that’s for sure. Like with everything else, there are loopholes.” Shirley twists her lips. “We also need to make noise. Harrington Group can’t demolish anything until the tenants are out. You go and find out what they know. And head down to the library. There’s something about that building’s history … I can’t put my finger on it, but I remember it having a colorful past. Anyway, tell Alice Grant I sent ya. She’ll help you go through all the newspaper archives. I’ll bet you find some nuggets in there.”
“I’m on it.” It’s a great way to keep my mind occupied. I have no idea where the library is, let alone have a library card, but I keep that bit to myself. Shirley would be disappointed by my ignorance.
She puckers her lips, picking up her hand again. “We need to let the people of Polson Falls know what that weasel Gump is up to.”
“You really don’t like him, huh?” Or most men, for that matter.
“He’s a smug man who acts as though there’s a crown on his head. But it’s election year, and Gump won’t want a bunch of noise.”
“Who are you picking a fight with now?” Harper saunters past. She has a stack of papers tucked under her arm. It feels like she’s always here, working.
“Oh, just the sniveling mayor.” If there’s anyone else Shirley tolerates in here besides me, it’s the director. Even if she still gives the poor woman grief.
“Lord help him.” Harper notices the pastry box but ignores it, shifting her attention to me. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be on a Friday night?”
“You kidding? What’s better than checking bingo cards and getting hit on by Roger?” Route 66 doesn’t come to life until ten, anyway. I lean back in my chair. “Hey, so what’s the scoop on Nancy and her undiagnosed skin condition?”
“It’s no longer undiagnosed, and it’s not contagious, so she’ll be in soon.”
“Oh.” My shoulders sink, unable to hide my disappointment.
Harper regards me with chocolate-brown eyes, so soft compared to her stern demeanor. “What, you thought a rash would keep her out so you could call the numbers?”
“I was hopeful.”
Harper guffaws. “That woman was hit by a car and rolled in the next week in a wheelchair, wrapped in casts. There ain’t no minor itch that’s gonna keep her away.”
“Don’t you think some variety would be good for the residents?”
“Might keep us alive longer. Good for your bank account,” Shirley quips. I can’t blame her. Nancy’s voice is monotone, her energy flat. She’s not friendly either. She annoys easily. Within five minutes of meeting her, she declared that I’m not the right fit for Bonny Acres, and she insisted on training me on how to distribute bingo cards and daubers.
Shirley said she overheard Nancy petitioning Harper to fire me, but I can’t tell if that’s the truth or just Shirley stirring trouble.
Either way, I’m a fucking volunteer.
The only interesting thing about Nancy is her attire—themed home-knit monstrosities that make the ugly Christmas sweater tradition a year-round affair.
“Look, I know Nancy can be a bit prickly, but she’s been a dedicated volunteer for nearly a decade, and bingo is her thing. If you want to call the numbers, you’ll need to negotiate that with her.” Harper flashes a wicked smile and strolls away.
“She’s liable to put arsenic in your tea,” Shirley warns.
“Yeah, I got that vibe.” The last time I dared suggest to Nancy that we swap roles, her glower burned holes in the back of my head all night.
Peering over her shoulder to make sure Harper’s gone, Shirley pops another shortbread into her mouth.
Chapter Six
“What about this plumber, Curt Shapiro?” I shout over the live band, the female singer covering a Stone Temple Pilots song.
Shane shakes his head. “Notorious for overcharging and replacing things that don’t need replacing. Do not recommend him.”
“So, no to Curt Shapiro.” I mark an X beside his name, along with the reason, and accept a fresh pint from the Route 66 waitress, mouthing my thanks. She didn’t have to bother taking my order when she saw me slide into the booth—I’m predictable when it comes to beer.
“You know, you could’ve just stayed working for your uncle if you were going to be vetting tradespeople,” Scarlet notes. “Way better pay.”
“This is just busywork. And Ned needs me more.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s sad.”
“Of course he is.” Dean watches the TV screen above, absorbed in the Flyers game while still carrying on a conversation. “There’s a whole life of memories there. He and Dieter weren’t just business neighbors, they were good friends. Todd and Ned’s son were close in age. They grew up together.”
“But he had to know this was coming. The town just spent all that money upgrading the sewer lines. Everything else around here is changing. Look at this place.” Shane nods around us at the chalky-black, board-and-batten walls and industrial lighting. “It was Luigi’s for decades and when he died, people fought to keep the family restaurant going. But someone new came in, and they turned it into what the town needed, and now it’s packed every weekend.”