Read Online Sweet Jiminy by Kristin Gore - Free Book Online Page A

fuschia palm trees.
    â€œWho are you?” he inquired.
    He wasn’t as friendly as Jiminy had hoped he’d be.
    â€œI’m Jiminy Davis, Willa Hunt’s granddaughter. I’m interested in learning more about Fayeville, and Jean Butrell suggested I talk to you. She said you’re kind of the town historian, published and all.”
    Walton had written several books about the region. He looked more intently at Jiminy, before shifting his gaze to scan the pool.
    â€œI can’t talk now, I’m on the job. Stop by Grady’s Grill this evening and we’ll chat.”
    Jiminy nodded. It didn’t seem as though he was going to say anything more to her, so she turned to walk away.
    â€œYou have your grandpa’s eyes, you know,” Walton said.
    Jiminy paused and turned back.
    â€œReally?”
    No one had ever told her this before.
    â€œSpittin’ image,” Walton nodded. “You must break your grandma’s heart.”
    Â 
    Roy Tomlins always took his lunch break on the benches of the courtyard lawn, and he generally stopped by Grady’s Grill for his post-work beer. He liked the feel of Grady’s—the sawdust on the floor, the ashtrays on every table, the counter lined with bottles of local hot sauce. He liked that it was generally filled with men he knew, with men he’d known all his life.
    They were dying off now, the men of his generation. There were only a handful of them left, and they were vastly outnumbered by the women. Old women live forever, Roy mused. His wife would likely outlast him by decades, continuing to be a waste of space long after he was gone. Roy hated feeling overwhelmed by women, hated the way they banded together when their husbands died off. There was no helping the situation though. This was what it had come to. At least now that Roy had grasped the reality that the guys were on their way out, he felt a new appreciation for their company.
    â€œEvenin’, Grady.”
    â€œEvenin’, Roy. People still sending letters?”
    Grady liked to tease that the postal service was on its last legs now that so many people had electronic ways to communicate. Grady himself didn’t email anyone. He still sent letters and occasional care packages to his son and daughter on the West Coast, which Roy knew because Roy monitored everything that crossed his counter.
    Of course Roy was well aware that opening someone else’s mail was a serious criminal offense, so he only did it when he was really curious. He kept a steamer in the closet of his office to make it easy, and then he’d seal the envelopes back up good as new. Working in the postal office was an excellent way to keep tabs on the town, a role that Roy took extremely seriously. He considered himself a patriot, first and foremost, and was therefore positive that his watchdog actions were justified, even necessary.
    The bell over the door announced a new arrival as Roy was trying to make out the label on a hot sauce bottle in the shape of a naked woman. He turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. It was Walton, which he should’ve expected.
    â€œEvenin’, Walton. Save any lives today?” Grady asked.
    â€œNot yet,” Walton answered.
    Walton took his regular seat at the table by the window and began rolling one of his cigarettes. He took pride in only smoking homegrown tobacco. And he restricted himself to smoking only one cigarette a day, mainly because he’d been a doctor for so long and felt he had to keep up appearances. He ate an apple a day also, and hoped that the two canceled each other out.
    â€œHowdy, Walton,” Roy grunted.
    â€œEvenin’, Roy.”
    Noticing how hard Roy was studying the Some Like It Hot Sauce, Grady grabbed it and handed it over.
    â€œWell, I’ll be,” Roy exclaimed, running his fingers over the plastic breasts. “This really local?”
    â€œYep,” Grady affirmed. “Some guy