Say it Again, Sam
Chapter One
On a map, the township of Shelbyville, Michigan, resembled a
startled face. Blue Lake and Pretty Lake, each very nearly round,
formed a pair of staring eyes, set wide by the dense woods between
them. The pinched lobes of Little Glory Lake sufficed for a nose,
and just below it, Heart Lake was carved out like an open,
astonished mouth.
Or, if you didn't have much imagination, Shelbyville township looked
like five lakes and a hell of a lot of trees just above the
forty-third parallel and a few miles east of Mecklin, the county
seat.
The population of Shelbyville was 1,245 souls, give or take a soul
or two. In June, July, and August, though, that figure swelled,
almost doubling with the influx of tourists, or what the townspeople
called "the summer folks." And the summer folks tended to get in a
lot more trouble than the residents.
It was summer now, and Constable Sam Mendenhall was responding to an
early-morning call about more trouble. He walked into the post
office carrying the coffee he'd picked up at the Gas Mart, wondering
why the postmistress had summoned him instead of the feds.
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