“The fucking state police,” he murmured, “came in here,stomped all over everything, got everyone riled up, and muddied the investigation.” His face was red, sweat beading at his temples. My always put-together cousin was on the brink of losing it. “And everyone wants my head on a platter because tourism suffered this summer.”
“Fall season’s looking good,” Logan said. “That’s what I heard, at least.” He was hardly plugged into the Maplewood scene, but his support was genuine.
“I’m fielding phone calls from crime bloggers left and right. One even had the audacity to pitch a ‘Maple Murder Tour.’” He closed his eyes and blew out a loud breath. “I’ve had to issue a dozen statements, insisting people stop speculating and trying to monetize this tragedy.”
I set my fork down. “Did it work?”
He glowered. “Of course not. This is fucking Maplewood. People can’t keep themselves from being ridiculous.”
Maybe that was true. I myself had felt out of sorts since that night. Will’s death had put all my beliefs about this place and the life I’d built on shaky ground.
Last season had been a busy one. The weather had turned, making the late-season sap run longer than anticipated. We hadn’t complained. Late-season sap was the darkest, and restaurants and kitchens were always eager to purchase it.
We’d been working around the clock, and the last time I’d seen Will, he had come to pick up the barrels from the night before.
Maple syrup was shelf stable. It could last for years. But fresh tree sap was not. It had to be collected daily and processed immediately or refrigerated. And since we soldmost of our sap to Sugar Moon, they picked up daily and processed at their facility.
The process was more efficient and more lucrative for the farm. Sugaring our own syrup, as my grandparents had done, required working twenty-four seven in the sugarhouse during harvest time with a massive fire going constantly, boiling the sap to the right consistency, then bottling and labeling it. We’d pared back when I was a kid, and Dad had planted more trees and increased our farming operation.
“I’ve been sleeping with my phone on my chest,” Gabe admitted. “Too afraid to miss something big. Everything is a mess.”
“It’s everywhere,” Logan agreed. “Kids are asking questions they don’t even understand and people no longer trust their neighbors.” He roughed a hand over his pulled-back hair. “It’s a coping mechanism. They’re scared.”
“I fucking know that,” Gabe snapped. “But I’m doing the best I can.”
Logan nodded once. We both knew that.
We finished up and paid the bill in silence, the heaviness of the whispers and stares getting to us.
We were two feet from the door, almost home free, when we were stopped.
“Joshua Lawrence.” I pulled up short like I’d hit an invisible wall and closed my eyes, bracing for this interaction, then turned and plastered on a smile.
Bitsy Bramble, Olive Foster, and Gail McNamee sat in the corner booth, each with clean plates and half-full pint glasses in front of them.
The ladies around here sure did love craft beer.
Bitsy wore a cardigan and a judgmental scowl, as usual. Olive was all curls and bright red lipstick while Gail batted her eyelashes at Gabe like he was a movie star.
“Well.” Bitsy clapped once. “If it’s not the mountain man himself! Out and about in town.”
Logan groaned behind me. That asshole was probably planning to take his pocket kitten and run. Not that I’d blame him.
“We hear you’ve got new tenants.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Rented out the cottage. They moved in last weekend.”
“Single mother,” Olive said. “Three children.”
“I visited her on behalf of the welcome wagon,” Gail said, her voice breathy. “Lovely redhead, brave eyes, good manners.” She lifted her chin, scrutinizing me, her friends following suit. “We like her.”
Okay. I guess it was good to know my tenant was well-liked in town. Was that why they’d stopped me, to inform me of their reputation?
Before I could figure out a way to ask them to clarify, Gabe cleared his throat.
Thank fuck. I could always count on him to intervene. He’d had my back since we were kids.
“Ladies. We’ll leave you to your lunch.”