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followed behind, noting that Gillian had a barrel-shaped torso carried about by a pair of trim and shapely legs. Her billowy tent shirt and tight purple leggings emphasized the fact that she was as wide in the waist as she was in the hips. On top of the oversized shirt, Gillian had arranged two flimsy shawls in bright purple and blue with strands of sparkling silver threads running through them. These hung far down her expansive back and followed in her wake like two kite tails. Gillian was like a walking rainbow with her orange hair, aquamarine eyes, sapphire shirt, and purple leggings. James had never seen anyone like her before. She reminded him of pictures he had seen of hippies dancing at Woodstock, except that all of those hippies were waif-thin and Gillian, with the exception of her legs, was not.
    Gillian rang the doorbell. Inside the house, Lindy called out, “Come on in!” so James and Gillian obeyed. Lindy met them in her tiny front hall carrying a bowl of potato chips. James eyed them hungrily.
    “Chips?” Gillian immediately frowned. “I thought we were starting a diet.”
    “These are baked, not fried. And anyway, we haven’t decided which diet we’re doing so we’re just having sandwiches for lunch.” Lindy turned her friendly smile toward James. “Lucy and Bennett are already here. I’ve just laid out bread and lunch meat on the kitchen counter, so we’ll fix ourselves sandwiches and then get down to brass tacks.”
    As James walked into the kitchen, a short and stocky black man with a toothbrush mustache and close-cropped hair stopped spreading mayo on his bread and held out his hand to James. “Bennett Marshall, U.S. Postal Service carrier. Pleased to meet you.”
    “You too. James Henry, uh, librarian.”
    Bennett cocked an eyebrow. “But some of your mail reads ‘Professor,’ doesn’t it?”
    “Ah . . . yes it does.” James looked over Bennett’s shoulder at a pear-shaped woman wearing a plaid flannel shirt over black pants, which were clearly straining against her wide hips and thighs. Her shirt looked oversized, as if she were trying to hide a large chest, but the shape of her ample breasts was as apparent as two loaves of bread extending out of a plastic grocery bag. She was busy folding three slices of turkey on top of a piece of bread and did not notice James studying her. She had shoulder-length hair the color of melted caramel and when she eventually raised her eyes to meet his, James was rather astonished by their unusual shade of blue. They reminded him of bachelor’s buttons, his mother’s favorite flower. James felt the something stir inside as he gazed at Lucy, but he quickly looked away so that she would not know what he was feeling.
    “I was a professor,” he finally answered Bennett’s question, grinning shyly at the woman who he assumed must work for the sheriff.
    “James Henry, this is Lucy Hanover.” Lindy pointed back and forth at the two of them with a knife covered in mustard. “Behave yourself or she’ll have to arrest you.”
    “Hi,” Lucy said, raising her plate in greeting. “Don’t listen to Lindy. I’m just an assistant over at the Sheriff’s Department. I don’t even own a pair of handcuffs,” she teased and then grew quickly serious. “I’d sure love to be a real deputy someday, but I’ve got an uphill road to climb before that can ever happen.” She looked at the window as if seeing herself in the sheriff’s brown and beige uniform and then turned back to James with a dazzling smile. “We’re glad you joined our group, James.”
    “Thanks.” James made himself a ham and cheese sandwich and then sat down next to Bennett at the kitchen table. The space was small, but it gave the group’s gathering an immediate feeling of comfort and coziness.
    Gillian sat down at the table, picking up one of Lindy’s pink flyers, which had been wadded into a tight ball and tossed next to a ceramic napkin dispenser. “What’s this?” she