“I blame you.” Chloe LaRue brandished a fist-sized pumpkin at her best friend, EV Torrence. “I know I never agreed to this.” She added the pumpkin to the growing pile in the back of EV’s rickety pickup bed.

“You love this kind of crap. You live for decorating the town for the ‘hoopla of the month’.”

“Yeah, but not at the butt-crack of dawn.” Chloe’s clenched teeth clipped the words short.

“Can’t have the kiddies losing faith in the pumpkin fairy, now, can we?” EV’s hand snapped up to catch the tiny pumpkin flying toward her head.

“Pumpkin fairy.” Chloe snorted. If it weren’t so early, the mental image of the pair of them in tutus and wings, with wands that disgorged orange globes, would have made her laugh out loud. “Too bad there’s no coffee fairy.” If Chloe had her way, morning people would all fall off the face of the planet and leave her in peace until a respectable hour. EV would be the first to go. She’d miss her best friend, but at least the mornings would be quiet.

EV flipped the driver’s seat forward to reveal a small cooler—one of those that plugs into the cigarette lighter, and can also keep things warm–and pulled out two thermal coffee cups. Chloe nearly pounced on hers, decorated in a pink paisley pattern. “You were holding out on me.”

“It’s the good stuff. Perked in that old enamel camp pot.”

Chloe had emptied the cup and returned it to the cooler before enough caffeine coursed through her system to burn away the fog.

Even at this ridiculous hour, the town of Ponderosa Pines captivated Chloe with its rustic honesty. What passed for downtown was little more than a short street lined with several locally owned businesses. Each building sported either solar panels or small wind turbines—sometimes both—a familiar sight in a town dedicated to eco-friendly, green living.

This mid-September morning, the leaves, taking on the tints of autumn, looked as though their edges had been airbrushed with color. Pale morning sun drew diamond sparkles in the heavy dew that lay on each leafy tip. The pale morning sky that hovered over the town, Chloe knew, would darken to a perfect, robin’s-egg blue over the next hour or so. She sighed and bent to set another small pumpkin into place in a window box full of cheerful mums in full bloom. EV was right: she did feel like the pumpkin fairy, leaving her bounty to decorate the world. The fanciful notion surprised her. What had EV put in that coffee, anyway? Goofy juice?

Chloe’s blond hair spilled out in soft waves from under a bright pink knit hat, framing a heart-shaped face, and full, pouting lips. In the three years since she had returned to the Pines, Chloe had exchanged her jet-set attire for a style more conducive to country living. A puffy vest over a long-sleeved, thermal tee kept her warm in the crisp autumn air, and form-fitting jeans tucked into well-worn faux-leather boots completed the ensemble. Years of traveling the globe had netted Chloe a myriad of colorful accessories, which she used to add a little something extra to every outfit. Today, the vibrant hat—along with a matching scarf and hand-knit boot cuffs—melded the two styles seamlessly.

Looking around the small town of Ponderosa Pines, Chloe once again felt grateful that she had made the inspired decision to settle back into provincial life. Surrounded by friends she considered family, Chloe felt a swelling of happiness and contentment; it would be hard to pick any single thing to be appreciative of this Thanksgiving.

For the first time in her fifty-three years of life, EV took little pleasure in getting the town ready for another event. Since the recent deaths of brothers Luther and Evan Plunkett—one the result of murder—her shining town felt a shade darker; as if the thinnest haze had settled over everything like a layer of tarnish on fine silver.

The town mantra of nothing bad ever happens in Ponderosa Pines had been proved wrong in the worst possible way. Maybe they would have to switch to Ponderosa Pines: it’s been eternity 59 days since our last murder. That thought brought a wry smile to her angular face.

Now that things were getting back to normal—the Ponderosa Pines version of it anyway—maybe the pall would lift, and take some of the load on her shoulders with it. Being considered a suspect in the murder—even by a small contingent of townspeople—had weighed more heavily on her than she wanted to admit to anyone.

This decorating project should have been a distraction, but so far, fell far short of its goal. Her mind was still running through a laundry list of woes when she heard Chloe yell, “Look out!”

Half a second too late, she glanced up to watch an orange boulder of imminent pumpkin death rolling toward her from the top of the pile. It was too late to pivot, so the best she could do was try to catch the thing. It was also too late to calculate the effects of speed and momentum. All she had time to do was pinwheel her arms before it slammed into her like a bowling ball taking down a pin. Taking two stumbling steps backwards to compensate for the force of the blow, EV tripped over a pile of corn stalks and landed flat out, pumpkin and all, right at Dalton Burnsoll’s feet.

How humiliating.

Chloe was there in an instant to help Dalton lift the pumpkin off EV’s chest.

“Are you all right? Oh, my God, EV.” Chloe grabbed EV’s hand while Dalton fell to his knees and ran his fingers over her gently, checking for broken bones.

EV threw the other arm over her face and began to shake, while Chloe and Dalton exchanged concerned looks.

“You have to tell me where it hurts.” Dalton urged as he reached for his phone to call Doc Talbot.

“I think I broke my dignity; help me up. There’s an ear of corn in my…I’m being goosed!” This time her giggle was audible, and Dalton slid his phone back into his pocket.

She made quite a picture; all six feet of her lean frame draped over several stacks of bundled corn stalks, sable hair disordered from the fall.

Reaching down with both hands, Dalton pulled EV up until they stood eye to eye. Growing up together meant that they were well beyond the awkward getting-to-know-you phase when it came to dating. Even so, EV had proved a tough nut to crack. One date had barely put a dent in her armor, but Dalton knew she had forged it in the fire of a serious romantic disappointment. He was no stranger to that kind of pain himself, having recently divorced, but he was determined to try again. With EV. The challenge lay in convincing her to give up her loner status and take a chance on him.

As though she had just realized she was holding hands with Dalton in the middle of town, EV snatched hers back and, in doing so, bumped the tailgate to send another large gourd rolling. “Christine’s trying to pick up the spare.” EV chortled

Chloe’s heart had barely slowed to a normal rhythm. Another round of ‘bowling for best friends’ was not on her list of fun things to do, so she slammed the tailgate shut and wagged a finger at her friend.

“Better watch it, old woman; you could break a hip.” Chloe’s wiggling finger shook a little from the after-effects of the fear that had also bleached the color from her face. Whether EV found the situation humorous or not, Chloe wasn’t quite ready for jokes.

“Christine?” Dalton always felt like he ran a step behind with these two.

“The truck.” When his brow remained furrowed, Chloe elaborated, “Christine—the car from the Stephen King novel—it came to life and started killing people… ”

Dalton shook his head, tuning back to EV, who was brushing herself off and pointedly averting her gaze from his.

Deep crinkles framed the corners of a pair of intelligent eyes, and proved that Dalton laughed often. Dark hair with enough curl to be unruly—and enough gray at the temples to mark his fifty-three years—fell messily over his tanned forehead. Handsome, trustworthy, and solid—qualities EV appreciated, and Dalton had them in spades—despite being determined not to get into a relationship, she couldn’t seem to put a damper on her attraction to him.

“I’m fine.” She shook her hips to prove it. “Tell me you’re not wishing you had that on camera. You’d have it up on YouTube before I hit the ground.” Chloe’s lips twitched. She would have done no such thing. She’d have at least waited until she knew EV was okay before she posted the video.

As Chloe finished tying a bundle of corn stalks around the base of the street lamp out front, Rhonda Erickson turned the lock to open The Mudbucket, Ponderosa Pine’s lone coffee shop. Another jolt of caffeine and one of David’s exquisite sticky rolls studded with pecans sounded perfect, so she dragged a protesting EV inside while Dalton trailed behind.

All smiles, Rhonda maneuvered her swollen belly between tables with most of her former grace; she hadn’t quite progressed to the waddle stage of her pregnancy yet, but it wouldn’t be long now.

“Anyone up for pumpkin spice? It’s the flavor of the week.”

“Ugh, no. I think we’ve all seen enough pumpkins for one day.” Chloe answered quickly before EV started her yearly tirade over the growing number of ridiculous items flavored or scented for fall. Candles and ice cream she could handle. The richly spiced, dark orange breads, cookies, and pies would be enjoyed. She might be tempted to sample the Pop-Tarts; even the potato chips, coffees, and teas weren’t the worst of it. However, when it came to vodka, buttery spread, and beef jerky—she drew the line. What pushed her over the top, though, were the marshmallows. Or, it might have been the chewing gum; or the nuts; or the chapstick—or possibly the pet cologne.

Come to think of it, Chloe didn’t disagree with her; the craze was out of hand.

A very different Rhonda returned with the food than the one who had taken their order—Chloe’s pecan roll was placed next to EV, while EV’s turnover ended up in front of Dalton. Distracted, Rhonda started back toward the kitchen, stopped, and turned back to take a seat at the fourth chair of their table.

“Someone has been stealing from us.” If she had said aliens had landed in the town square, EV would not have been more surprised. Murder notwithstanding, nothing like this ever happened in Ponderosa Pines.

“Stealing?” EV glanced over at Chloe and Dalton to see similar looks of surprise on both their faces.

“Oh, not like money or anything, but we put an old broken table and chair outside by the back door. The next morning, it was gone.” Rhonda’s fingers worked nervously at the strap of her apron. “Plus, I’m sure the scrap bucket we set aside for Mr. Thompson’s pigs wasn’t as full this morning as I thought it was yesterday when I set it outside. We’re not missing anything of value. Has anything like this happened before?”

“No, but I’m glad you told me. I’ll look into it.” In his capacity as Deputy, it fell to Dalton to handle these kinds of things. Since he’d taken the job, it seemed crime rates in Ponderosa Pines had skyrocketed. First a murder, now theft?

Reassured she had done the right thing, Rhonda returned to the kitchen, the bounce returned to her step.

EV scrubbed a hand over her face, knowing that somehow, whether Dalton and his temporary trainer, Nate Harper, were on the case or not, certain residents would expect her to handle this newest mess.

As the daughter of the first owner of property in the town of Ponderosa Pines—not to mention the woman who had almost single-handedly transformed the town from a dying commune to its currently small, but thriving population—EV carried a lot of responsibility. Whenever the town needed someone to encourage growth or handle a minor crisis, they called on EV.

“It’s probably some kids trying to furnish a clubhouse or something. I can ask around.” Chloe suggested. She hoped it was nothing more than kids. Recycling in this town was almost a religion, so the chances of something broken hanging around long were pretty slim. Someone would have come around and asked for the table, or traded something for it if they wanted it bad enough. Either scenario was more likely than a resident stealing from another resident—even teenagers in this town followed the rules of basic etiquette and politeness.

With a new problem to think about, conversation died, and the three of them finished eating.

Forcing her mind away from this new piece of news, EV did her best to ignore Dalton’s sidelong glances. She absolutely refused to process the way holding his hand earlier had felt so right, so safe. One date did not a romance make—at least not in her book. Sure enough, he brought up the subject again.

“You still owe me a night of dancing Emmalina.” Dalton grinned when her eyes narrowed at hearing the name she thought was way too frou-frou to describe herself.

“What? I had a legitimate reason for canceling last week.” Okay, so maybe her excuse had been flimsy. His raised eyebrow and head tilt more eloquently displayed his disbelief than Chloe’s coughed, “Liar.”

“Fine, pick me up tomorrow night at 7:00.” EV treated Chloe to a look that promised retribution. “But for now, it’s time to get back to work.” She pulled a list out of her pocket, “The church and the loaner boxes are the last of it.”

Some of EV’s favorite innovations were the loaner boxes erected all over town. During the summer months, the boxes held books available to anyone who wanted to exchange one from home. In the winter, they held hand-knitted hats and mittens—no exchange necessary. Each loaner box was slated for decoration with corn stalks and a mix of colorful gourds and pumpkins. Festive ribbons would add the finishing touch. There were half a dozen boxes scattered across town, so EV figured it wouldn’t take long to finish them up.

She could not have been more wrong.

The task started out easily enough; the first loaner box was done in a matter of minutes, but at the next, Talia Plunkett hauled EV and Chloe inside for a chat that quickly turned into a complaint session.

“I know it’s only a pile of concrete blocks, but I was planning to use them to make a garden bench for my front beds. I saw the cutest one on Pinterest, and it looked so easy to make. Why on earth would someone steal something so common?”

“We’ll look into it, Talia.” Chloe assured her, while dragging EV out of there before Talia could detain them any longer.

Back in the truck, EV turned to Chloe. “What the hell?”

“I know. It’s a Ponderosa Pines crime wave. I hope that’s the last of it.”

Nope, not even close.

Horis was missing a broken wheelbarrow and an ax handle.

Mr. Zellner described in excruciating detail the search for half roll of rusty, though still perfectly usable, fencing wire that should have been hanging on a nail out behind his barn. According to him, however, the kicker was the insult to the scarecrow in his cornfield. He dragged EV and Chloe out to see.

“Just look at him; he’s nekkid. You ever hear of a nekkid scarecrow? It’s not right. It’s indecent. “What are you going to do about these kids?”

EV covered her snort with a cough and agreed to track down the most likely suspects.

Tank Daniels complained about a missing blanket he’d been using to extend the growing season of a patch of cucumbers he was ripening to the yellow stage for a batch of relish.

Ponderosa Pines residents, whatever their foibles, always pulled together in time of need. None of the missing items were valuable, and in every case would have been given willingly to anyone who had asked for them. So far, each victim appeared unaware of the other thefts, so to them it looked like an isolated incident. But when everyone started comparing notes, this had all the makings of a blowup.

EV’s old truck careened to a stop in front of the Come On Inn, one of two competing bed and breakfast establishments located directly across from each other. Open House, owned by Lottie Calabrese—sister-in-law to the recently departed Luther Plunkett—remained temporarily closed while Lottie spent time with her mourning sister, Talia. In another week, Lottie planned to reopen for business. Across the road, Come On Inn, owned by Sabra Pruitt, was in full operation. Which, for Ponderosa Pines, meant she had a single lodger; some salesperson passing through for the night. All hope of getting the loaner box finished before Sabra saw them vanished when her front door flew open. Wrapped in a colorful shawl, but still wearing a pair of flip flops on her feet despite the cooling temperatures, she advanced toward EV with purposeful steps.

Chloe’s quiet groan went ignored. At this rate, she would be burning the midnight oil if she wanted to get her weekly gossip column ready for editing. None of what she had heard today was particularly juicy, but breaking the news of a rash of thefts had some appeal—as long as it wouldn’t hinder what she was sure was about to become a full-blown investigation.

“You’ll never guess what’s happened.” Sabra leaned an elbow on the hood of the truck, and prepared to settle in for a good gossip session. Out of the corner of her eye, she cast a hopeful glance over the front seat, just in case EV had brought along a jar of crabapple jelly. Sabra had been trying to get EV to tell her the secret ingredient for years. Disappointed at seeing none, she turned back to say, “Someone borrowed,” air quotes, “one of those decorative cast iron pots I keep my plants in out front.”

“Plants and all?” EV asked.

“No, I use plastic liners, so they yanked the plant right out of the pot and left it on the porch.”

The headache that had been threatening since EV’s fall in town bloomed into a full throb as she once again promised to look into it, and hustled Chloe out of there as quickly as possible.

“Do we have to finish this today?” Chloe wanted to go home.

“Might as well. Nothing will change between now and tomorrow.” EV’s tone was dry, her face set in grim lines. “Only way to deal with this is head on.”

“This is true.”