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the people who made the place special, or so Lexie swore. Like many small-town dwellers, she viewed the people who lived here as her family. What Jeremy kept to himself was the observation that “family” often included a couple of crazy aunts and uncles, and this town was no different. People here gave the term character an entirely new meaning.
Jeremy drove past the Lookilu Tavern-the local after-work hangout-the pizza place, and the barbershop; around the corner, he knew, was a massive gothic structure that served as the county library, where Lexie worked. As they edged down the street toward Herbs, the restaurant that Doris, Lexie’s grandmother, owned, Lexie sat up straighter. Ironically, Doris had been the reason Jeremy had come to this town in the first place. As the resident town psychic, she was definitely one of the aforementioned “characters.”
Even from a distance, Jeremy could see the lights blazing from inside Herbs. Once a Victorian home, it seemed to dominate the end of the block. Strangely, cars were parked up and down the street.
“I thought Herbs was only open for breakfast and lunch.”
“It is.”
Remembering the little “get-together” the mayor had thrown in his honor on his previous visit-which had included almost everyone in the county, it seemed-Jeremy stiffened behind the wheel. “Don’t tell me they’re waiting for us.”
She laughed. “No, believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around us. It’s the third Monday of the month.”
“And that means?”
“It’s the town council meeting. And after that, they play bingo.”
Jeremy blinked. “Bingo?”
She nodded. “That’s how they get people to come to the meetings.”
“Ah,” he said, thinking, Don’t pass judgment. It’s just a different world, that’s all. Who cares if no one you know has actually ever played bingo?
Noticing his expression, she smiled. “Don’t knock it. Can’t you see all the cars? Nobody ever came before they started playing bingo. They offer prizes and everything.”
“Let me guess. It was Mayor Gherkin’s idea?”
She laughed. “Who else?”
Mayor Gherkin was seated toward the rear of the building, wedged behind two tables that had been pushed together. On either side were two people Jeremy recognized as members of the town council; one was an emaciated lawyer, the other a portly physician. At the corner of the table was Jed, who sat with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. The largest man Jeremy had ever seen, Jed had a face that was mostly hidden by a beard and a wild mane of hair that made Jeremy think of a woolly mammoth. It was fitting, Jeremy supposed, for not only was Jed the proprietor of Greenleaf Cottages-the only lodging in town-but he also served as the local taxidermist. For a week, Jeremy had slept in a room at Greenleaf surrounded by the stuffed and mounted versions of a variety of creatures known in this part of the world.
It was standing room only; people were crammed around tables with bingo cards spread out before them, frantically stamping the appropriate boxes as Gherkin spoke into the microphone. A cloud of cigarette smoke hung like fog, despite the whirring fans above. Most of the people were clad in overalls, plaid shirts, and NASCAR ball caps, and it seemed to Jeremy that they’d pulled their outfits from the same bin at the local five-and-dime. Dressed head to toe in black-the preferred wardrobe of New Yorkers-Jeremy had the strange sense that he suddenly knew how Johnny Cash must have felt when he stood onstage crooning country-western songs at the county fair.
Above the roar, Jeremy could barely hear the mayor speaking into the microphone. “B-11 . . . N-26 . . .”
With every number called, the crowd grew louder. Those who weren’t lucky enough to have a table were propping the cards against the windowsills and walls; baskets of hush puppies were being mowed through as if the townsfolk needed grease to calm their nerves in their rabid quest for victory.