Free Slightly Irregular by Rhonda Pollero Page B

people traded quick access to the beach for acreage. I never understood the concept of owning land, especially in Florida. Controlled burns were a regular event since the climate encouraged fast and thick regrowth. Plus, there was the whole snake thing. I don’t care if they play an important part in the food chain, the only way I like snakes is in the form of a wallet, purse, or shoes.
    The closer I got to my destination, the more developed thehome sites. Don’t get me wrong, the place was still rural, but once 710 turns into Warfield Boulevard, the historic aspects of the northwestern part of Martin County are immediately recognizable. Especially the Seminole Inn. It was built in the 1920s and serves as both a B and B and a Sunday-brunch destination.
    I ate there one time, and while it was fun looking at the photos of all the celebrities who’ve visited over the years, it has a buffet, and I’m not big on sneeze guards.
    I groaned when I saw the inn. Not because of the sneeze-guard memory but because I’d missed the turn to the library. If I hadn’t dashed out of the office so quickly, I would have filled out and printed the form to have the USPS release the name of the box holder so I could search for the elusive tenants. But now I was stuck with the library.
    The Indiantown library was a relatively new addition and very state of the art. After I parked next to one of only three cars in the parking lot, I grabbed my bag and the Egghardt file and headed toward the spotlessly clean walkway. The smell of freshly cut grass swirled around me as I was rendered deaf due to the roar of mowers circling the building.
    Inside, I immediately felt two sets of eyes on me. I went to the service desk, introduced myself, and asked about the availability of a computer and printer.
    “Follow me,” the elderly woman said as she came out from behind the desk.
    We weaved through the maze of stacks, ending up in a narrow room with a total of ten computer stations and a fancy, megasize laser printer. The walls were littered with signs warning against using the machines for chat groups, the mandatorytime limits, and the schedule for the computer lab and what to do in case of a computer or printer glitch.
    “Do you need any assistance?” she asked as she leaned over one of the keyboards and typed in some sort of pass code.
    “No, thank you.”
    “Then fill out this form and please return it to the desk when you’re finished.” She left a trail of heavy perfume I didn’t recognize. That was weird. I could normally name a fragrance in one note. Probably some drugstore knockoff.
    I glanced at the sheet of paper, and it required my name, address, driver’s license number—if applicable—and what Web sites—if any—I’d visited. It took me less than a minute to download the USPS form and maybe three to fill it out and print it. While I waited for the printer to spool, I completed the library form and placed it on top of my file.
    With that accomplished, I grabbed up my things and was about to leave when I spotted a shelf along the back wall with a series of city telephone directories. Too bad I didn’t know the name of the PO box holder yet.
    As I left, I thanked the librarian and turned in my computer usage form. The short drive to the post office took me maybe two minutes. Again I parked in a nearly deserted lot. Unlike the library, the post office could use a little updating.
    File in one hand and purse dangling from my wrist, I walked into the post office and went directly to the first of two windows. After about thirty seconds, I cleared my throat.
    No one came out.
    I waited another thirty seconds and called out, “Hello?”
    A large, masculine woman waddled out from the back. Shewas dressed in a uniform that I guessed, based on the strain on the buttons, was about two sizes too small. Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked as she walked, and her scowl pinched her face and two of her three bonus chins.
    “Help you?” she asked