“Annabel.” I yank my gaze from the blue-eyed devil in the room. Rudy Quinn stands near the head table where the town council convenes, dressed in his perfectly pressed police uniform, the badge on his chest glinting under the fluorescent lights.

“Heya, Rudy.” Everyone knows Rudy. His daddy is the district attorney. Plus we went to Blue Falls High near about the same time. He’s at almost every event I have to cover for the paper. He’s a bit on the awkward side, and on the round side, and pleasant enough, but it’s hard to exit a conversation with him once it gets going. He’s like sweet tea in the South: abundant and always available and too much makes your teeth ache.

“Covering the meeting for the paper?” His accompanying smile is wide and friendly.

I nod. “As I do. Anything good on the docket tonight?”

“Oh, you know how it is. We’ve had increased calls to the station about unidentified vehicles around town. Chief wants me here because we know it’s gonna be a topic. He wanted me on hand to help reduce the paranoia and assure the public that there have been no increases in crime in conjunction with the sightings, no reports of any theft or the like, and we have things under control. We’ve increased units patrolling through town and are on the lookout for anything suspicious. He knows I’m the best person for the job, the voice of reason, so he’s been sending me out on overtime almost every night this week. I’m really the best at—”

“Right. Yes. Of course you are.” It’s so rude, but I have to nip it in the bud or I could be stuck up here all night. He opens his mouth but I speak before he can. “Good luck. I’d better find my spot. Catch you later.”

“Yeah, I’ll catch you later,” he calls after me. “Maybe we can get a drink or something after.”

I step lightly through the senior citizens crowded around the front.

All the regulars are here. Mr. Gepson with his toupee and spiral notebook, pencil worn down to the nub. Elaine Kilgarriff dressed in her pastel pink summer dress and hat even though it’s November. Mrs. Johnson with her ancient tape recorder—which is so old I don’t think it even works anymore and yet she brings it every time.

I make my way toward the back of the room, avoiding where Mr. Jude Parker was last spotted.

Which is a mistake because he’s moved. He’s now standing at the back, against the wall, right next to my regular spot.

It’s like he knew where I would be setting up. But how?

I almost turn around and find somewhere else to stand. But no. Righteous indignation fills me. This is my town. I’m not going to let him intimidate me. I don’t care what he does.

I continue to the back of the room, giving myself a silent pep talk as I make my approach.