He also had several piles of polyester leisure suits and a complete set of motorcycle leathers. Jake was not a private detective, but he had a private-detective outfit. His perch had revealed who was having affairs with the UPS man, who was eating too much when they thought nobody was watching, who was stealing checks from mailboxes. He sat on the roof through most of the year, sat there for hours, even in winter, when he sat until he could no longer bear it. The space belonged to him, and he furnished it with a lawn chair and a waterproof tub that held his paperbacks, a parasol, and a pile of cassette singles. After five years, he realized that they were gross. He was twelve now, and he no longer spied on his neighbors. From the roof, Jake could see all of the trailer court and parts of the town. Jake had been coming to the rooftop since he was seven years old, when Krystal stopped noticing what he was doing as long as he was in the yard.
Jake found it frustrating to shop for his mother. She wore her hospital scrubs at home, and no jewelry. Krystal had enormous green eyes and glossy brown hair that hung past her shoulder blades, content to be a natural beauty. His mother refused to wear any makeup, despite her thin lips. Unlike Frank, his mother was well known, and as a nurse, she was useful. Jake’s mother, Krystal, found it odd that Frank talked at all, told Jake that Frank was the shyest person in Quinn, the only permanent stranger in a town of 956. The two would talk to each other, while Jake sat in a lawn chair on the roof of his trailer house. At seven o’clock sharp, Frank would play his harmonica and put out cans of food, and the cats would gather and rub up against his legs. The cats were skittish around people, yet they came to his neighbor’s yard each evening. Jake Bailey watched as the feral creatures emerged from the carcass of a 1978 Ford Granada, from the piles of fiberglass insulation beneath the skeleton of a trailer that had been immolated by fire. ExcerptĮvery night, Frank played harmonica for the cats. In the spirit of Empire Falls and A League of Their Own, with the caustic wit of Where’d You Go, Bernadette thrown in for good measure, Richard Fifield’s hilarious and heartwarming debut will have you laughing through tears. But with the help of a local boy named Jake and a little soul-searching, she just might make things right. She’s here to make amends, but nobody wants to hear it, especially her mother, Laverna. Rachel Flood has snuck back into town after leaving behind a trail of chaos nine years prior. A town where nearly all of the volunteer firemen are named Jim, where The Dirty Shame-the only bar in town-refuses to serve mixed drinks (too much work), where the locals hate the newcomers (then again, they hate the locals, too), and where the town softball team has never even come close to having a winning season. Welcome to Quinn, Montana, population: 956.
“ includes barfights and AA meetings, a parade, a wedding, and a black bear, all of which Fifield juggles beautifully.The Wild West earns its name all over again in this lovable chronicle of small-town insanity.”- Kirkus Reviews (starred review) This snappy, sassy redemption story set in small-town Montana is “a wild and crazy debut novel by a talented young writer” (Jackie Collins), filled with an uproarious and unforgettable cast of characters you won’t want to leave behind.
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