Shit. In the past, he’d come out to help on Chainsaw Day, and the two of us had been friends all our lives, but since the murder, he’d pulled back, and not just from me but from everyone in town. Over the last several months, there’dbeen a strange distance between him and the rest of us, meaning his presence was only going to make things awkward.
“What is happening?” I asked as more and more people showed up. With the stress we’d all been under and the scrutiny that had been put on the farm, I really hadn’t thought many people from town would come.
“Chainsaw Day.” Gabe opened his tailgate and plucked a piece of yellow fabric out of a cardboard box, then threw it at me.
I caught it and shook it out, surveying it. It was a T-shirt, and it readLawrence Farm Chainsaw Day 2026on one line, and below it was printedSafety Third.
“Orange,” Gabe said. “For safety.”
“All we’re doing is clearing tree limbs,” I groused. “This isn’t open heart surgery.”
With a chuckle, my cousin shook his head.
Logan, who’d just parked, climbed out of his own truck with a smile. “Shirts? Sweet.” He stripped off his tee and dug an orange monstrosity out of the box, beaming brightly when he’d tugged it on.
“Why are there so many cars?” I grumbled to the three of them. “I wanted help, not to host a town meeting.”
Gabe wandered to the porch. “Can’t it be both?”
“You always fight it,” Jasper said. “But it’s a Maplewood tradition.”
“It’s not a tradition,” I groused, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.
“You sure about that?” Logan stroked his unruly beard. “It’s the last Saturday in September, and like every year, weall showed up with axes and chainsaws to clear branches, take out the dead trees, and clean up the trails before the winter.” He strode up beside Gabe. “We’ve been doing this for years, and that’s called a tradition.” He clapped me on the shoulder.
“And you know how much this town loves a tradition,” my brother added.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to tune out the sound of engines. It was no use. When I opened my eyes, several more vehicles had parked and men and women, young and old, many of whom had brought their own chainsaws and safety chaps, emerged.
“Mrs. Moore,” I said to the octogenarian who’d just popped her trunk. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping.” She held up a chainsaw that looked like it hadn’t been used since the eighties. “I’ve been cutting down trees since I was a girl. This belonged to my Merle.”
An image of Mrs. Moore covered in blood spatter flashed through my mind, making my heart race. I shoved it down hard. Panic wouldn’t help right now.
“Don’t worry. I changed the chain last night. And lubed her up.” Smiling, she hobbled over to Gabe, who handed her a small T-shirt.
“Good work, Mrs. Morris.” Logan beamed. “Lubrication is essential.”
Giggling, the woman wandered over to a small group of elderly people who were pulling the bright orange shirts over their clothing.
Nolan eventually sauntered over, wearing his usual serious expression.
“Don’t worry, Sheriff.” Gabe held up a manilla envelope. “I brought liability waivers.”
“That doesn’t actually make me feel better,” I said.
“As your legal counsel,” he retorted, “it makes me feel much better.”
“And I’ve got a spreadsheet.” Paul held up his laptop. He was the local accountant, a smaller guy usually dressed in Oxford shirts, but he handled a chainsaw like a pro. “I’ll inventory the firewood and make sure it’s distributed.”
Paul could always be counted on to have a system. He treated chaos like a solvable equation. If only we could clone him. I needed more Pauls and fewer Logans if I was going to make it through this day.
Summer thunderstorms always left us with dead limbs and trees that needed clearing, so my dad had started doing this years ago.
We cleared it all, hauled it out with the ATVs, and then cut and chopped the wood. Everyone who helped out took home a portion of the firewood for the winter.
It had started with a handful of us, but like all things in this town, it had grown to wild proportions.