Boo Hiss - Softcover

Gutteridge, Rene

 
9781400071432: Boo Hiss

Inhaltsangabe

When a soccer field complex springs to life seemingly overnight in the sleepy community of Skary, Indiana, and the local coffee shop begins offering computer access along with its suddenly overpriced beverages, goosebumps start popping up all over town. Has soccer mom Katelyn Downey hatched a diabolic plot to turn their slow-paced town into a den of hip suburban iniquity–or is this the perfect solution to the community’s financial woes?

Even as concerned residents take sides over their town’s future, many are dealing with changes of a more personal nature. Novelist Wolfe Boone can’t seem to find the right niche for his post­—horror writing efforts, and his new bride Ainsley–known for executing complicated events with penache and perfection–is bewildered by her inability to control something as seemingly simple as scheduling a pregnancy. Frustration turns to envy when her wacky friend Melb discovers, to her utter terror, that she and husband Oliver are expecting a baby.

Through its quirky characters and winsome humor, Boo Hiss offers unexpected insights into the various ways people respond to change and demonstrates that growth often occurs amid the most difficult–and hilarious–circumstances.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rene Gutteridge is the author of five novels, including Boo, Boo Who, Ghost Writer and Troubled Waters. Trained as a screenwriter, she also has been published extensively as a playwright. She graduated Magna Cum Laude from Oklahoma City University and served as director of drama for First United Methodist Church in Oklahoma City for five years. Now a full-time writer, Rene lives with her husband, Sean, and their two children in Oklahoma City.

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Chapter 1
“ALL RIGHT FOLKS, let’s calm down.” Mayor Wullisworth looked like he was patting the air as he tried to get everybody to sit down in the crowded community center. Martin Blarty stood a few feet away, attempting to take a pulse on why this crowd was so agitated.

It was a soccer field, for pete’s sake. Sure, it was a little mysterious, but it wasn’t like it was a crop circle or anything. And they’d had their share of those, until 1984, when a farmer named Bill Dunn had confessed to the prank, though he claimed he’d been possessed by alien serum when he’d done it. Rumors flew when Bill disappeared one night, leaving an empty farmhouse and all his belongings behind.

Turned out he was in Vegas, but it did make for some good headlines for a while.

“Where did it come from?” The woman’s desperate and dramatic voice hushed the crowd and everyone looked at the mayor.

Martin bit his lip. The mayor was known for his inability to mock concern or compassion, especially for those he called EGRs, or Extra Grace Required. Martin had dealt with the town’s EGRs for years, decades, and sometimes even generations. Martin’s attempt to coach the mayor on how to respond to questions that lacked sensibility had finally taught him that it was really the mayor who lacked sensibility, so Martin just let it drop.

“Well,” the mayor began, “we’ve just learned that the government has a top secret military plan to take over the country via soccer fields.”

Grumbling ensued.

Martin slid up next to the mayor and turned the mike away from him. “What the mayor is trying to say is that though we don’t know why this soccer field has seemingly popped up in Skary overnight, we’re sure there is a reasonable explanation for it.”

“What could be a reasonable explanation?” a man asked. “We don’t even have a soccer team.”

True. “Listen, we’re going to find out why the soccer field is there, folks. It may just take some time. But rest assured, it’s nothing to panic about.”

He could remember one other occasion when the town got up in arms like this, when they decided to change a street name. A century ago, someone had mistakenly named two streets in Skary Maple Street. One was on the west end, one on the east. It never confused the residents of Skary because what you were talking about determined which Maple Street you meant. You never used West Maple if you were going to the grocery store. You never used East Maple if you needed your car repaired.

But back when they were a tourist town, some tourists would get confused. One man ranted, “This is worse than Atlanta and their Peachtree Street fiasco!” The man was also irritated that they didn’t give tours of Wolfe Boone’s home, so Martin had disregarded it as misplaced
anger. But, he decided, there was no reason why they couldn’t give one of the Maple streets a new name.

No reason at all, except for the fact that the town nearly rioted over it, and nobody who lived near one of the Maple streets wanted it changed. So the two Maple streets remained, and everyone was happy.

“It came overnight,” Mr. Runderfeld said with a grunt, clacking his cane against the floor. “I drove by there the day before, and that soccer field wasn’t there. The next morning, it was. You got a fancy explanation for that?”

Martin stepped on the mayor’s foot, a sign he would be doing the rest of the answering. “I’m sure there is a good explanation, Mr. Runderfeld. Maybe the person who owns the land wanted a soccer field.”

“Who owns the land?” someone shouted.

“I’ll look that up in the records, and we’ll figure this out. But folks, let’s just rest assured that there is nothing strange going on, all right? It’s true we’ve never had a soccer complex or anything close to it in our town before, but there’s no reason for alarm. Now if a nuclear testing site popped up overnight, that would be cause for alarm.” Nobody else was laughing, and Martin’s chuckle faded. “Anyway, I’m sure there’s other business to address here today.” He looked into the crowd. “Anybody have any other concerns?”

Silent glaring answered. Then, at the back of the room, he saw someone raise a hand. “Yes?”

A teenaged boy with curly, greasy, unkempt hair mumbled something that nobody could understand.

“Could you speak up, please?” Martin asked.

The kid nodded, but went back to mumbling, this time adding gestures.

Martin waved him up front. “Why don’t you step behind the microphone so we can all hear you?”

With a slump worthy of osteoporosis, the kid padded his way up to the front of the room. Half an eye was showing when he faced the crowd. Martin recognized him as the kid that worked at the bookstore.

“Hey,” the kid said like he was waving to his surfer buddies. A couple of toastmaster sessions might do him some good. “I’m Dustin, and I’ve lost my pet.”

“Great!” Martin enthused. This was exactly the kind of thing community meetings were meant for, and a perfect distraction for the crowd, as the citizens of Skary were always suckers for lost pets. “Why don’t you tell us about your pet. Give us a description, and I’m sure somebody will be able to help.”

“Well, it’s sort of brown and black, I guess. A little yellow mixed in. With black eyes.”
Martin glanced at the crowd. By the “oohs” and “aahs,” he could tell they were already starting to forget about the soccer field.

“What kind of breed is it, young lad?” Mr. Runderfeld asked.

Dustin’s sulky face lit up with pride. He scooted his hair out of his eyes. “It’s a rosy!”

“Is that a kind of Chihuahua?” someone asked.

“Boa,” Dustin said.

“Boa?”

“Constrictor.”

The room was so quiet, Martin could hear the water heater hissing behind the wall. “Dustin, I’m sorry. I think there’s some confusion here.

Are you saying you lost a…a…”

“Snake.”

Someone screamed in the back of the room.

Dustin looked surprised. “Oh, please, don’t be afraid. Boa constrictors are not dangerous.”

Martin needed to get this situation under control quickly. He stretched a grin across his face and said, “Well, Dustin, we’d be more than happy to help you find your pet. What is your cute little pet’s name?”

“Bob.”

“Bob. Okay. Bob.”

“Well, it’s kind of confusing. You can call him Bob, and that’s totally fine. But Bob is kind of special.”

Martin could hardly find the words to ask what made Bob the snake special, but he managed a weak, “Why?”

“Well, Bob has two heads.”

Another scream.

Martin felt himself grow pale along with the three already pasty looking old ladies sitting on the front row, but he kept the grin tight on his face. “Two heads?”

“Yeah. He’s a two-headed snake. A bicephalic. Pretty rare, actually.
See, Bob is the more dominant of the twins. His brother’s name is Fred.”
“Bob…and Fred.”

“Yeah. They’re like Siamese twins. They share a body, and have separate necks, and two separate heads. I’ve had...

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