Now, in Pearson’s General Store, cards were exchanged and bets were placed. This was nickel-and-dime poker in its most literal sense, and it was a rare evening when any man went home with his pockets more than a dollar or two lighter or heavier. Still, bragging rights for the rest of the week could be gained from a good run of cards, and there had been times when Ben Pearson’s fellow players had chosen to avoid his store for a couple of days in order to let Ben’s triumphalism cool a little.

‘I’ll raise you a dime,’ said Calder Ayton.

Calder had worked alongside Ben Pearson for the best part of half a century, and envied him his hair. He owned a small share in the store, a consequence of a brief period of financial strife back in the middle of the last century when some of the townsfolk had allowed their attention to wander, what with the war and all, and old, careful habits had been set aside for a time in the hope that they might eventually be abandoned entirely. But they’d learned the foolishness of that way of thinking, and the older inhabitants had not forgotten the lesson.

Thomas Souleby pursed his lips and gave Calder the cold eye. Calder rarely went above a nickel unless he had a straight at least, and he’d flipped his dime so fast that Thomas was certain he was holding a flush or better. They always played with one-eyed royals as wild cards, and Thomas had caught a glimpse of Calamity Jane squinting at him from Calder’s hand – Thomas not viewing it as cheating if someone was careless enough to display his hand to all and sundry. It was what had made him a good businessman in his day, back when he was working in corporate acquisitions. You took whatever advantage came your way, and you milked it for all it was worth.

‘I’m out,’ said Luke Joblin.

At sixty he was the youngest of the quartet, but also the most influential. His family had been in real estate ever since one caveman had looked at another and thought, ‘You know, his cave is much bigger than mine. I wonder if he’d see his way to moving out. And if he doesn’t see his way to moving out, I’ll just kill him and take his cave anyway.’ At which point some ancient seed of the Joblin clan had spotted an opportunity to make a percentage on the deal, and perhaps prevent some bloodshed along the way.

Now Luke Joblin made sure that real estate in Prosperous stayed in the right hands, just as his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had done before him. Luke Joblin knew the state’s zoning and land use regulations backwards – not surprising, given that he’d helped to write most of them – and his eldest son was Prosperous’s Code Enforcement Officer. More than any other family, the Joblins had ensured that Prosperous retained its unique character and identity.

‘The hell do you mean, you’re out?’ said Ben Pearson. ‘You barely looked at those cards before you dropped them like they was poisoned.’

‘I got nothing but a hand of culch,’ said Luke.

‘You got nearly a dollar of mine from the last eight hands,’ said Thomas. ‘Least you can do is give a man a chance to win his money back.’

‘What do you want me to do, just hand your money over to you? I got no cards. This is a game of strategy: you gamble when you’re strong, you fold when you’re weak.’

‘You could try bluffing,’ said Thomas. ‘You could at least make some kind of effort.’

It was always like this between them. They liked each other well enough, but the pleasure each derived from the other’s company was directly proportionate to the degree of pickle they could give over the course of an evening.

‘I brought the whisky,’ Luke pointed out. ‘It wasn’t for me, you’d be drinking Old Crow.’

There were murmurs of agreement.

‘Ayuh, this one’s a sippa,’ said Calder, laying on the accent with a trowel. ‘Wicked good.’

Each man took it in turn to provide a bottle for the weekly poker night, although it usually sufficed for two evenings, and it was a point of pride to bring along something that satisfied all tastes to a degree. Luke Joblin knew Scotch better than any of them, and that night they were drinking an eighteen-year-old from Talisker, the only distillery on the Isle of Skye. It was a little spicy for Thomas’s palate, but he had to admit that it was far superior to The Glenlivet, which had been his selection some weeks earlier. Then again, Thomas had never been one for hard liquor, and preferred wine. He gave the whisky a second swirl out of habit, and took a small mouthful. He was starting to like it more and more. It certainly grew on a fella.

‘Maybe I’ll let you off this once,’ said Thomas.

‘That’s generous of you,’ said Luke.

In the end, Calder took the pot with a flush, just as Thomas had anticipated. Thomas was taking a mauling that night. If things kept going the way they were, he’d have to break another dollar.

By unspoken consent they rested for a while. Talk turned to local matters: business dealings, rumors of romances and problems in the town that needed to be addressed. Tree roots were just about coming through the sidewalk on Main Street, and the town office needed a new boiler. A dispute had also arisen over the old Palmer house, with three families seeking to acquire it for their children. The Palmers, a private couple even by the standards of the town, had died without issue, and represented the end of their line in Prosperous. The proceeds of their estate were to be dispersed between various charities, with a portion going also to the town’s central fund. But living space was at a premium in Prosperous, and the Palmer house, although small and in need of some repair, was much coveted. In any ordinary community, market forces would have been allowed to prevail, and the house would have gone to the highest bidder. Prosperous, though, did not operate that way. The decision on the sale of the house would be made according to who was owed it, who had the best claim upon it. Discussions would be held, and a consensus reached. The family that eventually acquired the house would make some reparation to the others. Luke Joblin would get his commission, of course, but he would earn it.

In effect, the poker night functioned as an unofficial meeting of most of the board of selectmen. Only Calder Ayton did not contribute to the discourse. Meetings bored him, and whatever Ben Pearson decided was always fine with him. Old Kinley Nowell, meanwhile, was absent on this occasion, laid up in hospital with pneumonia. There was a general feeling that Kinley didn’t have long left on this earth. Possible replacements had to be considered, and Ben now raised the matter with his fellow selectmen. After some back and forth, it was decided that some younger blood wouldn’t hurt them, and the elder Walker girl, Stacey, should be approached, once the first selectman had given her consent. Hayley Conyer – she didn’t care to be called a selectwoman, didn’t approve of that kind of nonsense – was not one for poker games or whisky evenings. Ben Pearson said that he would talk to Hayley in the morning and sound her out, but he told the others that he didn’t anticipate any refusal, or any problems with the nomination. Stacey Walker was a clever girl, and a good lawyer, and it never hurt to have lawyers on call.

Thomas Souleby wasn’t so sure. He felt sure that Hayley Conyer would object, and she retained a rarely used power of veto when it came to nominations for the board. Conyer was a strong woman who preferred the company of men, and had no particular sense of obligation to others of her sex who might be a threat to her position. She wouldn’t welcome the arrival of someone as young and vibrant as Stacey Walker, and Thomas believed that, in the case of the Walker girl, Conyer might well have a point. He had his own ambitions to lead the board once Conyer was gone, whenever that might be, and had worked long and hard to ensure that he would have as little competition as possible. Stacey Walker was a just a mite too clever, and too ambitious, for Thomas’s liking. While he frequently clashed with Conyer, he would not object to her using her veto to shoot down the Walker nomination. Someone more suitable could be found; someone more substantial, more experienced.