Page 5 of One Hundred Humbugs

“Alright, Uncle Peter,” Ruby sighed, “let’s see what kind of time capsule you’ve dropped me into.”

She crawled down Main Street, taking in the sights. On one side: a corner store that wore its history on its sleeve, its faded sign hinting at decades of stories. Next to it, a pharmacy with a blinking sign declaring “The Doctor Is In,” a veterinary clinic, and a diner proudly proclaiming itself as “Maisey’s.”

Across the street, she spotted a sheriff’s office, Bishop’s Brewhouse—a place that, given the size of the town, was likely just some guy named Bishop brewing hooch in his bathtub—along with Bishop’s Bait and Tackle and a bakery simply labeled “B’s Bakery.” Ruby decided “B’s” must stand for “Bewildering,” given its strange proximity to a bait shop.

“This town has more B’s than a spelling bee,” Ruby muttered, pulling into a parking spot in front of the pharmacy where she was supposed tofind a Doc Parker.

She sat, gathering her courage. “Okay, Rubes. You’ve dealt with Lake Shore Drive during rush hour. You can handle a small-town pharmacist.”

The bell above the door rang as she entered, the sound cheerful despite the sterile smell of rubbing alcohol that hit her as soon as she stepped inside. The interior was an odd blend of modern pharmacy essentials and small-town general store clutter. It was nothing like the sleek, efficient CVS on every Chicago corner.

Behind the counter sat a man who looked to be in his seventies or eighties, his nose buried in a newspaper. His thick, white mustache, which could easily rival Tom Selleck’s, twitched as he glanced up at her entrance.

“Excuse me,” Ruby said as she approached the counter. “I’m Ruby Whitaker, and I’m supposed to meet someone named Doc Parker?”

The old man’s eyebrows shot up, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Well, well. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up. Peter’s niece, gracing us with her presence.”

“You’ve been expecting me?” Ruby asked, surprised.

Doc’s mustache twitched in what might have been a smirk. “In a town this size, honey, we expect the sun to rise, the corn to grow, and Peter Larkin’s niece to eventually turn up. I’m Doc Parker.”

“Oh,” Ruby said, taken aback. “Well, nice to meet you. The lawyer said you’d have the keys to Uncle Peter’s place?”

“That I do,” Doc replied, rummaging under the counter. “Peter also made me promise to give you the grand tour of Aspen Cove. God help me.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “The things I do for that old coot, even after he’s gone.”

Despite his grumbling, Doc heaved himself up from his chair and flipped the “Back in 5 minutes” sign on the door. “Come on then, let’s get this over with. And don’t say I never did anything for you.”

As they walked outside, Doc’s commentary blended snarky observations with fatherly advice. “That there’s Cove Cuts,” he said, gesturing to a hair salon. “Marina runs it. She gives cuts so good they ought to be illegal—but lucky for her, she’s married to the sheriff. Word of advice: don’t mention Chicago pizza around her unless you want an hour-long lecture on why New York-style is superior.”

Ruby tried to hold on to her big-city skepticism, but there was something about Doc’s gruff humor and the absurdity of it all that—dare she say it—was undeniably endearing. This world was far removed from the fast-paced, often impersonal interactions she was used to in Chicago.

“And if you’re hungry, B’s Bakery has the best muffins in town, thanks to Katie. But for the best meal ever, head over to Maisey’s for the blue plate special. Just don’t tell my Lovey I said that—I’d hate to hurt her feelings.”

Doc pointed to a cozy-looking establishment across the street. “That there is Bishop’s Brewhouse. You can find me there every afternoon at four for my daily beer. Can’t get a figure like this drinking Diet Coke,” he added, patting his belly.

As they headed back to her car, Ruby took in the town’s holiday display—twinkling lights strung across storefronts and wreaths hanging on every door. Doc handed her a set of keys that looked like they could have been forged in the days of the Gold Rush.

“And for heaven’s sake,” Doc added, his tone softening, “if you need anything—and I mean anything—you come see me. Peter would haunt me till my dying day if I didn’t look out for you. Not that I’m volunteering to be your surrogatefather or anything, mind you. I’ve got enough on my plate keeping this town from falling apart.”

Ruby was oddly touched by the gruff offer. “Thanks, Doc. Can you point me in the right direction to Uncle Peter’s place?”

“It’s just up Pansy Lane,” he said, pointing down a side street. “Can’t miss it. It’s the one that looks like Mother Nature is trying to reclaim it for the forest.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “Sounds ... delightful. I’m guessing there’s no HOA here like back in Lincoln Park.”

“Peter always said he was just ‘cultivating wilderness,’” Doc said, amused. “You might want to bring a machete.”

As Ruby climbed back into her car, Doc leaned in, his expression softening. “Listen, I know this isn’t what you expected. It must feel like you’ve landed on another planet after Chicago. But give it a chance, will you? Aspen Cove has a way of growing on you.”

“Like mold?” Ruby quipped.

“More like a persistent ivy,” Doc winked. “But in a good way.”

As she drove down Pansy Lane, each house looking more Norman Rockwell than the last, Ruby had the distinct impression that she’d stepped into another world. Finally, she spotted it—a house that looked like it had seen better days, sometime around the Lincoln administration. The porch sagged like it was tired of standing, and the paint peeled like it was trying to escape. But the yard ... the yard was a riot of green, plants of all kinds growing in a chaotic tangle that seemed to defy the drought-stricken landscape around it.

“Well,” Ruby sighed, killing the engine, “home sweet home. Or at least, somebody’s idea of it.” She glanced at herphone, relieved to see one bar of signal. “Thank God. At least I’m not cut off from civilization.”

She walked up to the porch, each step creaking ominously. As she fitted the key into the lock, a strange feeling washed over her. It wasn’t quite excitement, wasn’t quite dread. It was ... possibility.

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