The pharmacy open house was in full swing. Displays were moved again, this time to make room for the band of pickers and fiddlers, who currently rocked out “The Battle of New Orleans” as patrons circulated. Tables of food and drink were set up near the front counter, heavily weighed down with fresh watermelon, pimento cheese sandwiches, sausage balls, pinwheels, and other classic Southern party food. Wearing a swingy, A-line sundress in a bold cherry print, Riley was enjoying every minute.
The place was hopping. Part of that was due strictly to word-of-mouth and part to the front page article run in this morning’s newspaper. And part, her cynical side reminded her, was probably due to the free food. But the important thing was that people were here. Patrons she knew had moved over to Walg
