Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Time to put on my detective hat.
“Hey, Davey, have you ever watched The Lord of the Rings?”
Davey cocked his head curiously. “No, I tried to, but I have the attention span of a gnat. Isn’t that movie over three hours long?”
“Uh…yeah, maybe. I saw it a while ago when I was in my Viggo Mortensen phase.”
Davy gasped in delight. “Oh, my God! Yes! Dreamboat!”
“Unusual name, too. Do you know anyone named Viggo?” Nice segue if I did say so myself.
“Viggo?” He squinted as if deep in thought. “Nope. Don’t think I do. I met a guy named Lancelot at a club in Montreal last month. He had a Quebecois accent that made him twenty times hotter than he actually was and—”
“A-hem. There’s a line, Davey dear,” the older woman behind me tsked.
Davey blushed a shade of pink he’d have been mortified to know clashed with his auburn hair. “Sorry, Mrs. Galbraith. What can I get for you?”
I stepped aside and waited for Mrs. Galbraith to order before striking up a friendly conversation with the town’s busybody and retired principal of Wood Hollow High. Something told me Davey had been a regular in her office during his high school years. I’d lived here for eight years and had established a good relationship and reputation with most of the residents, but in some ways, I knew I’d always be considered an outsider to people like Mrs. Galbraith.
There were things most townsfolk just didn’t know about me, and trust me, I wanted to keep it that way even if it put me at a disadvantage.
Take Mrs. Galbraith for example. She hadn’t been my principal, she didn’t know my parents or my brother, she didn’t know the name of my first pet, first girlfriend, first boyfriend, and she had no embarrassing tales from a misspent youth to lord over me. In short, I represented the influx of newbie residents who’d settled in Wood Hollow, bought property, started businesses, taught their children, and took jobs at the mill and the depot. Old-timers were wary of us.
And they didn’t love that the tables had turned. Now I coached Mrs. Galbraith’s grandkids and yep, I was the one who’d had to reprimand six-year-old Jake for throwing a rock in lieu of a football at a teammate.
“How’s your day going, Mrs. Galbraith?” I politely inquired.
“Well enough,” she replied, pushing her glasses up her aquiline nose. “I sampled your apple fritter the other morning. It wasn’t bad.”
High compliment indeed. “Thank you.”
“But I wasn’t crazy about the flavor of the jam-filled donut. Cherry, was it? It tasted rather artificial. I was under the impression that you were an au-naturel baker.”
See what I mean?
“Yes, I am. All natural ingredients, no additives. I’m sorry you didn’t care for the cherry filled, but you might enjoy the raspberry. I made them fresh this morning myself.”
Mrs. Galbraith hummed and somehow managed to look down her nose at me even though I was six-foot three and had her by a solid foot. “I just may take you up on that.”
“I hope you do.” I swiped my latte from the counter, disappointed I’d missed my chance to eavesdrop on the loggers. I smiled at the pinch-faced principal. “Have a great day, Mrs. Galbraith.”
“Thank you, Mr. Navarro. And by the way, the name Viggo is uncommon in this area, but I seem to recall a Virgil Segal from Pinecrest. Perhaps this is the man you were looking for?”
“I-I…I wasn’t looking for—” I shut my trap and lifted my to-go cup. “I should go. Have a good one.”
Okay, that was a bust.
I should have left it alone, but I was on a roll.
I popped into Fox’s Drug Store, one of the original establishments on Main Street. Mr. Fox was a quirky octogenarian and a relic from a bygone era. He hadn’t changed his prices in at least ten years, and unfortunately, he hadn’t raised wages for his employees and couldn’t figure out why no one was happy working for minimum wage. It was his favorite gripe.
“Ah, it’s the donut man. How’s business, Dexter?” He barreled on before I could respond, bracing a gnarled hand on the glass-case display featuring comic books and bubble gum. “Busy here. Those darned plastic Easter eggs are selling like hotcakes. I had to reorder the pastel candies the kids all like, too. The marshmallow ones.”
“Peeps?” I suggested, scanning the claustrophobic shelves loaded with everything from toothbrushes and birdfeeders to M&M’s and charcoal lighter fluid.
“That’s right. Not to my taste, but what do I know? Things were different in my day. I’ll tell you one thing, the cost of living was nothing like it is today. I heard you’re charging five dollars for a donut. That’s highway robbery, Dexter. High. Way. Robbery!”
“I—no. I sell two for five dollars, and they’re specialty donuts.” I also gave discounts for large orders, but I hadn’t come by for a lecture.