Page 45 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

Several hands shot up at once—so fast Vivi swore she heard a collective shoulder pop—and suddenly the room erupted into a full-blown bicker-fest over who deserved to work with the kids this year.

"I did it last summer and those little angels still ask for me by name!" the Postmaster, Mrs. Landry, said.

"You bribed them with marshmallows."

"Well excuse me, Karen, for understanding child psychology!" Mrs. Landry shot back.

"That's against the rules."

"Show me the rules, Karen. Show me."

"For the last time, my name is not Karen."

"Could have fooled us with that hairdo and inbred entitlement of yours," Mrs. Landry said. "Next you'll be out measuring Mr. Hodge's lawn again to make sure it's not more than three inches high."

Vivi leaned back in her chair, watching the melee like it was a nature documentary on territorial sparrows. The sheer enthusiasm was impressive but also slightly alarming.

Okay, she noted in her mental field guide to Bridlewood. This town loves kids. Fiercely. Possibly to the death.

"Ring toss!" Dottie shouted from the television; volume turned to maximum. "We're one volunteer short unless we're aiming for pure mayhem."

Vivi forced a polite smile, clipboard trembling in her hands. She told herself she was just observing, just getting a feel for the town—until they got to the pie fundraiser.

"How many pies do we still need for the Pies for Paws pie walk?" Lottie asked.

"We're still short a dozen iced lemon pies, a dozen blackberry pies, and a dozen peach pies."

"Ten pies a piece? That’s practically recreational," Rea said, scanning the room like a hawk. Then her gaze landed on Vivi's and the older woman smiled. "Who's taking on peach pies?"

Vivi's hand shot up before she even knew it.

The General Regent squinted and put a hand over her eyes. "You in the back. Can you please stand and introduce yourself?"

Vivi went stock-still, every muscle locking up like someone had just flipped her internal breaker. No one else had been forced to stand or introduce themselves. Of course not, because she'd apparently volunteered for the Hunger Games version of community service. She regretted raising her hand so fast she could practically hear the screech of her own brakes.

"I can do it," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "My grandma has the best peach pie recipe in the world."

The room froze for a long, tense beat. Then came the chorus of disapproval and tongue-clucking.

Someone sucked a breath through clenched teeth. “Ain’t she that city slicker?”

"I bet she uses frozen pie dough," someone else said.

"No ma'am. It's my grandmother's recipe. No frozen anything." God, she hoped Grandma didn't use frozen dough.

"Any canned peaches in there?" Dottie asked from the screen.

"Not to my knowledge. She was a from-scratch kind of woman."

Maribelle, arms crossed like she was about to cross-examine a suspect, said, "I don't care if your grandma is the Queen of Georgia Peaches herself, if it ain't homemade it ain't coming to our table."

"Now, if I wanted a pie that tastes like a tin," Ms. Kitty said, "I'd go to my in-law's house. Sinful, if you ask me!"

"I understand, ma'am," Vivi said, biting back a grin. "From scratch. Promise."

"Well, honey," Maribelle leaned forward conspiratorially, "you better make it good or I'm personally setting a timer and eating one slice before the fair even opens."

"And I'll be right there with you," Ms. Kitty added. "You mess up the peach pies, and you'll have me to answer to. Don't think I won't cancel you like that Kevin Spacey. You ain’t heard of him since the day the internet called him over."