Death and the Hot Librarian
There’s just something about a small town. Leaving your windows open at night (even the ones on your car, if you’ve a mind to thumb your nose at the rain gods). Smiling and saying hello to whomever you pass by, and maybe stopping to chat for a spell with those who’ve known you--and all your family--forever. Quaint little mom-and-pop soft-serve joints on the roadside. Farmers (or their wives or their kids) selling sweet corn out of the back of a beat-up pickup truck in late summer. All told, just a slower way of life, because there’s really not much need to get anywhere in particular that fast (not that it would take all that long, anyway, mind you). Then again, there’s just something about a small town . The neighbors as aware of all your comings and goings as they are of their own, and plenty of folks with the ability to air every bit of your dirty laundry (if they happen to get a wild hare to do so). Certain expectations to be met, or maybe a dubious family history to be overcome. A