Poor Bubba. He’s a master of the backyard grill, a wizard with a sack of charcoal and a pair of tongs—but put him in front of one of them fancy Ningrill contraptions, and he looks like he’s trying to defuse a bomb blindfolded.
He’s convinced most indoor gadgets were invented by city folk just to make him look like a nincompoop. Tomtom, bless her, tries to help, but Bubba’s allergic to instruction manuals. If it doesn’t involve fire and a meat thermometer, he's just not ready for it.
Which begs the question—how’s a man that stubborn supposed to lead a murder investigation? Especially when his old nemesis is lounging nearby, practically gift-wrapped for a frame job. The stove isn’t the only thing heating up in Glory Road.
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