Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2)
Page 32
Road’s End is home to only 147 souls—149, counting Mel and me—and most of them haven’t ventured outside Road’s End since Truman was in office. With few exceptions, Mel and I are the only ones not yet collecting Social Security. Folks seem mesmerized by us. As a result of our youthful vigor, we’re pressed into duty for everything from chasing chickens out of our house, mending their fence repeatedly—more of an act of self-defense than kindness—to mediating between residents who think former Road’s Ender Bill Manning died from natural causes and those who are sure he was murdered by his sister Winnie Wyandotte. And that was just the first week.
I hadn’t met Emma River, either. That came during the second week, which made me yearn for the good old days when chasing petulant poultry from my house seemed the worst thing that could befall me.
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