"I have to talk to Billy Boy."

"He's at Math Club," she said, grabbing a gray vest from the hall closet. "They rented out the library for the year-end party."

"I have to tell him something," I said.

"We have reservations at Francois' Bistro. Your father had to stop by the office and is meeting us there."

"Francois'?" Even though conservative Dullsville was as small as a golf hole, Francois' was on the opposite side of town, miles away from the library.

"How about the Cricket Club?" I recommended, suggesting a restaurant closer to Billy's location.

"You want to go to the Cricket Club?" she asked. "I didn't think you liked that restaurant."

"What's not to like? It's popular and fun," I said convincingly.

"That's exactly the reason I thought you detested it."

I bit my black lip.

"I'll call your father from the car. I think he has the restaurant on speed dial," she said as she grabbed her car keys and led us out the front door.

2 Vampire Feast

Like an uninspired artist's brushstroke across a landscape that screams of boredom and unoriginality, so is the typical American strip mall. Dullsville's was no exception, inhabited by an overpriced furniture showroom, a swank shoe outlet, a scrapbooking store, and the same women's clothing shops that populated every other strip mall. Scattered in the middle of the parking lot full of SUVs were several chain restaurants with insufferably long waiting lists, buzzing pagers, and portions the size of Montana.

The Cricket Club, an English pub on steroids, specialized in food and beverages from across the pond. On the dark, overly shellacked wooden walls hung framed pictures of vintage cricket matches and other memorabilia, including authentic jerseys, scorecards, and trophies.