Mark glanced up and into a dozen curious eyes. There was no way he'd answer that, but there wasn't a good way out of it, either. “My theory is the Gilbertsons are going to come to town for groceries and think the whole place has gone insane, which it has.” “Spoil sport.” “Old fart.” Mark looked around, trying to figure out which one said it, but no one's face betrayed him. “It was three vans, dammit. It's not like an alien invasion.” “Yeah, but you don't know that for sure.” “There was a long haired dude. That's got to mean something. I'm betting the Gilbertsons are involved in some kind of cult.” Mark went back to shaving the neck in the chair in front of him. None of the men in the shop, and there were a lot of them today, wanted to hear common sense. They wanted juicy, untrue details and half-cocked musings.
