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  “Good morning, everyone.” Preacher Timothy strolled into the store and waved the small black bible in his hand that had seemingly become a permanent part of his arm. Dressed in a black suit and white shirt, the gangly man looked more like a mortician in an old western movie than a modern-day man of the cloth. “You have quite a congregation here, Lou,” he teased while excusing himself past Alton and Ruben.

  Porter strolled to the front of the store.

  Preacher Timothy’s face turned stony at the sight of Porter.

  The tension became almost palpable.

  Preacher Timothy turned to Louise. “I’m heading into the city to pick up the bronze etching for Aubrey’s memorial ceremony this weekend. Would you like me to pick up anything for you?”

  Taken aback by the sudden onset of intense anxiety coagulating the air, Louise drew a blank screen in her mind. Couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t need anything from Tumble City, even if only a new package of squeaky balls for Ben. She shook her head and forced a fleeting smile. “No, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Really? Ben must be in the dog house today,” Preacher Timothy said with a broad smile that dissolved as quickly as it materialized. “I’ll swing by later with Aubrey’s plaque.”

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  With self-righteous pride, he thrust his nose in the air, clutched the small black bible to his chest, and retraced his steps out the door.

  TING-A-LING.

  Louise couldn’t contain a sigh of relief.

  Alton, Ruben, and Dot looked to her, clearly seeking an explanation for the bizarre encounter.

  She widened her eyes and flicked up her shoulders. Everyone in town loved Preacher Timothy. Everyone except Porter Barr.

  Louise had no idea what had transpired between the two to cause such animosity. Porter never attended religious services, and Preacher Timothy never interacted with Porter, not even during Town Days. So how, why, and where the obvious friction started was anyone’s guess.

  Porter set the beer onto the counter. “That man’s a fraud. Be careful.”

  Fraud? Louise didn’t know how to respond. Why would Porter make such a bold, negative statement about Preacher Timothy? Though curious, she chose not to ask for an explanation and simply rang up his purchase.

  Porter paid for the beer with a debit card and thanked Louise. He navigated around Alton and Ruben without acknowledging them or excusing himself.

  “Looks like you have quite a party planned,” Alton said to Porter. “You have your hands full. Let me get the door for you.”

  TING-A-LING.

  Porter acknowledged Alton with a stiff nod.

  “Have a nice day, sir.” Alton held the door open and gazed at Dot.

  “Uh, Porter’s my ride, so I guess that’s my cue to go too.” Dot glanced at her wristwatch, then made eye contact with Alton and Ruben.

  They, too, consulted their wristwatches.

  “We’ll see you around, Dot,” Ruben said with a slight bounce of his brows.

  “Jen just pulled a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.” Louise eyed the handsome young men and pointed back at the little eating area. “Have a couple of cookies on the house.”

  Alton quirked his lips and shook his head. “Thank you, Mrs. T., but we’ll have to take a rain check.”

  “What’s your rush? I thought you were visiting.”

  “We’re on a mission, Mrs. T.” Ruben pranced to the door. “Carpe diem and all that,” the handsome young man shouted.

  “Go for it!” Louise pumped her fists in the air. “Seize the day, boys. Seize the day!”

  Laughing loud and acting like rambunctious college boys, Ruben and Alton bounded down the boardwalk. Seconds later, they disappeared around the corner of the building.

  Chapter Three

  New Wheels

  Louise watched Porter’s truck disappear down the road. Once out of sight, she snatched a can of air freshener, spraying the fragrance around the store.

  As she walked past the storefront’s large window, a silver pickup pulled into one of the two parking spaces Porter’s truck had vacated.

  Though not much of a car buff, the tricked-out Chevy Silverado Z71 grabbed her attention. “Nice ride,” she whispered, not recognizing the vehicle.

  Unexpected visitors had filtered in all morning. She wondered who would waltz into the trading post next. Probably the guy, or gal, behind the wheel of that snazzy truck.

  Her eyes bulged at the sight of who stepped out of the truck. “Jason?”

  A mile-wide grin illuminating his face, she watched the handsome widower saunter into the store.

  Eager to greet him, she met him at the door. “Wow. That truck’s a head-turner. What happened to your Audi?”

  “I figured if I intended to haul around a big dog, a pickup would be more suitable than a sedan.”

  “You got a dog?”

  “I was thinking of Ben.”

  Mouth gaping, she stared at him as warm tingles electrified her body.

  “I want to take the truck on one of the four-wheel-drive trails by the lake and hoped you and Ben would join me. If you don’t have plans for lunch, we could go on a tailgate picnic in the mountains.” He glanced down at the floor then back up. “Our last meal together before I leave for that conference in Tumble City this evening.”

  The three months had gone by quickly since Jason said he’d be gone on business the second week in June. He hadn’t left, and she already missed him.

  “A tailgate picnic sounds fun.” Louise glanced at her wristwatch. “I’m covering for Rachel until one. After that, Ben and I would love to join you.”

  Milt extended his hand to Jason as he walked up. “I’ll make the sandwiches, just tell me when you want them.”

  The men shook hands, and Louise grinned. “Thank you, Milt.” She eyed Jason. “Will 1:30 work for you?”

  “Perfect. I’ll pick up you and Ben at your house at 1:30.”

  Milt looked at Louise. “I’ll have the sandwiches ready by one so you can take them with you when you leave.”

  “That would be great, Milt. Thank you.”

  “Ham and white cheddar with all the fixings cradled between two thick slices of homemade wheat bread okay?” His attention cut between Louise and Jason.

  “Better than okay. Sounds delicious,” Jason said, as he and Louise nodded in unison.

  “Since I’m not invited on the picnic,” Milt cocked his head and grinned at Jason, “if you have a few minutes now, how about showing me your new wheels?”

  TING-A-LING. The shopkeeper’s bell drew their attention to the door.

  Dressed in uniform, Police Chief Pete Frampton waltzed into the store. He gave Jason, Milt, and Louise the once-over. “Did I miss a meeting?” Plainly joking and not expecting an answer, he pointed with his chin to the fancy truck parked in front of the store and focused on Louise. “That truck’s got temporary plates. Is that your way of surprising me with a new duty vehicle, Lou?”

  “Hilarious, Pete.” Louise scowled. Part of her felt terrible for denying his request for a new SUV. But a more significant part felt indebted to taxpayers to spend their money with prudence.

  “It’s mine, Chief,” Jason said as if confessing to a crime.

  “Planning to haul a travel trailer or—”

  “Just a big black dog and his beautiful mom.” Jason draped his arm around Louise’s shoulders and gave her a little squeeze.

  Louise beamed.

  Milt and Pete laughed.

  “So what brings you into the Tumble Lake General Store today, Pete?” Louise asked.

  He pointed at the storefront window. “Did you happen to notice Porter was carrying something super heavy in the back of his truck?”

  “Sure did,” Louise answered with a sigh and quirk of her lips. “Whatever it was, he had it covered and tied down with a tarp. You’d have to be Ant-Man to catch a glimpse of what was in that bed.”

  Pete tw
isted his mouth. “What did he want?”

  “Beer.”

  “Beer?” Jason repeated.

  “That was my reaction too. Porter said his distant cousin, who after meeting her must be really distant, was visiting and didn’t like his homemade brew because he didn’t offer a lite version.”

  Milt crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Those Barrs are shady characters. I agree with Lou about this supposed cousin—”

  “Dot. Her name’s Dorothy Shumway, but folks call her Dot,” Louise interjected.

  “Anyway, she appears too well-groomed to be related to the Barr’s we know, smell, and don’t trust.” Milt bumped his shoulder into Jason’s. “Fair warning, though. You might have a little competition.”

  “Milt!” The heat of embarrassment swept across Louise’s face.

  “Competition?” Brows crimped, Jason’s attention shifted between Milt and Louise. “I’m obviously missing something.”

  “Porter has a Godzilla-sized crush on Miss Louise.” Milt pursed his lips and puffed out his cheeks, suppressing a guffaw.

  Chief Frampton shifted his weight to one leg and scrutinized Louise. “Is Porter harassing you?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She rapidly shook her head. “Porter’s always been a bit of a flirt, even before Tom’s murder. I just ignore him.”

  “He invited her to his place to sample a new beer he named after her,” Milt blabbed.

  “Then you also heard me decline his offer.”

  “Something about a new medication—”

  “I totally made that up.”

  Milt flicked his eyebrows. “Convinced me.”

  “But did it convince Porter?” Pete asked. “Lou, I want you to let me know if he or any of the Barrs give you trouble.”

  Louise rolled her eyes. “Yes, Daaad.”

  “I didn’t say that because—” he cut himself off, glanced at the floor, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Trust me, Lou. That’s all I can say right now.”

  The air clotted.

  Louise read between the lines. She surmised Pete, as the Tumble Lake police chief, had been made privy to something involving the Barrs. Perhaps a federal investigation of some sort which he was not at liberty to discuss.

  “I will, Pete.” She patted his forearm with one hand and pressed her hand over her heart with the other. “Thank you for all you do to keep our little town safe.”

  “I saw Alton and Ruben cruising by in their baby blue retro T-bird with the top down,” Pete said. “I thought those boys graduated last year and wouldn’t be back with the Forest Service again.”

  “You’re right,” Louise confirmed. “They said they’re not working for the Forest Service and just visiting.” She wanted to mention the vibes she picked up that Alton, Ruben, and Dot knew each other. But kept her suspicion to herself. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the confidential information Pete might be withholding.

  “Interesting.” Pete gnawed the inside of his cheek. “I wonder who or what they’re here to visit?”

  Milt clapped his hands together and eyed Jason. “I’m ready for a tour of your spiffy new truck.” He turned to the chief. “Wanna join us?”

  “Sure. I’m always eager to brush up on the advances made in vehicles over the last decade.” He smiled and winked at Louise.

  “Maybe next year, Pete.”

  “I’ll remind you of this conversation when I submit my budget in the fall.”

  “Maybe I won’t get re-elected, and the new mayor will approve the purchase of another vehicle for you.”

  “No one’s running against you,” Pete noted. “And if someone did, you’d still win in a landslide.”

  “It’s only June. The filing deadline for the November election ballot is the last Monday in August. There’s still plenty of time for someone to challenge me.”

  “Maybe one of the Barrs will throw his hat into the mayoral ring,” Milt joked.

  “Hopefully, by then, Tumble Lake will be rid of the Barrs once and for all.” Pete’s face blanched, clearly realizing a bit of information slipped that shouldn’t have.

  Rid of the Barrs once and for all? What did the chief know that she didn’t? Though intrigued, Louise refrained from pumping him for details. Intending to save face for Pete, she responded as if interpreting his words as wishful thinking rather than a slip of the tongue. “So true. Tomorrow is promised to no one.”

  “Speaking of elections,” Milt said, “this town could have been named Barr Lake.”

  “Barr Lake?” Pete repeated, his eyes wide.

  “I haven’t heard this Hatfield’s and McCoy’s tale in eons,” Louise chuckled. “Tom said when he retired, he would write a book, documenting the stories his father and grandfather used to tell.” She hung her head. “But he never got the chance.”

  Jason crossed his arms over his chest and focused on Milt. “What’s this about Barr Lake?”

  “Two hundred years ago, the Tumbles and Barrs were friends. The kind of friends we’d describe as besties today.”

  Disbelief on their faces, Pete and Jason looked at Louise for confirmation.

  “It’s true.”

  “In Pennsylvania, both families were wealthy and politically active,” Milt continued. “Yet they yearned to explore the country and stake their claims on the expanding territories west of the Mississippi River.

  “Then one morning in the early spring, after months of planning, a group of two-hundred left Pittsburgh in a wagon train to head west.”

  Louise smiled. Milt relayed the story exactly as she remembered Tom telling it.

  “The friendship soured between the Tumbles and Barrs shortly after the settlers were asked to choose a name for their newly established town.”

  “You’re talking about here. Our town. Right?” Pete asked.

  “Yes. The settlers were asked to suggest names for the town. Randall August Tumble, my great-great-great-great grandfather…” Milt scratched the side of his head. “I’m not sure if that’s too many greats or not enough.”

  “We understand it was an ancestor,” Jason said, a hint of impatience in his tone.

  “Well, Randall suggested the town be named Tumble Lake. Edgar Barr became a smidge miffed and said the name should be Barr Lake.” Milt sighed. “Long story short, when put to a vote, the settlers chose Tumble Lake by a landslide.”

  “And that’s when the feuding began,” Louise added. “I remember Tom saying Edgar accused Randall of tampering with the election results. Insulted, Randall called Edgar a sore loser and initiated a recount of the votes. Despite the recount showing the same results, Edgar still believed Randall had manipulated the votes in his favor.”

  “Mind you, in the early 1800s, only adult men were permitted to vote,” Milt noted. “So we’re talking about less than one-hundred slips of paper needing to be counted.”

  “And the rest is history, as they say,” Louise wrapped up. “Considering the lake, town, and neighboring city were named after the Tumbles, it’s apparent which family triumphed in this Hatfield and McCoy-like rift.” She contorted her lips into a scowl. “I believe the Barrs continue to hold a grudge against the Tumbles til today.”

  “Which is part of the reason we suspect Porter might have murdered Tom,” Milt added, taking the words right out of her mouth.

  Chapter Four

  Welcome to the Barr Ranch

  Porter drove the scenic highway, winding around Tumble Lake toward his cabin.

  “I’ve never been farther west than the Ozarks.” Dorothy gazed out the windshield. “The mountains are magnificent.”

  She poked her finger into Porter’s beefy shoulder. “You have the hots for Lou, don’t you?”

  “Miss Louise is a mighty fine woman. Well-educated. Strong-willed yet compassionate. A natural leader.”

  “How old do you think she is?”

  “Probably older than she looks, but age doesn’t matter to me.” Porter placed his hand over his heart.
“It’s what’s inside that counts.”

  Dot snickered. “It doesn’t hurt that she looks pretty darned good on the outside too.”

  “I haven’t decided if I like the stripes in her hair.”

  “Streaks. They’re called streaks.”

  “Whatever.” He kicked up a shoulder.

  “Does she always streak her hair pink?”

  “Sometimes bright blue or neon green.”

  “Lou and I hit it off right away. I like her and hope to see her a few times while I’m here.”

  Porter cleared his throat and shot a sideways glance at Dorothy. “Why are you here, really?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t give me any of that malarkey about wanting to help expand our business.”

  “But your brewery—”

  “Brewery?” He vigorously shook his head. “The brewery is off-limits. It’s none of your business. Besides, you don’t even like our beer.” His face tightened and reddened. “Who do you think you are, waltzing in here to horn in on our business? Forget it. We’re not interested in your help, or anyone else’s, to expand our brewery business.”

  Oh, snickerdoodles. “I-I’m sorry.” She shifted her weight in the leather bucket seat and turned her head toward the passenger window. “I just thought—”

  “Thought? We haven’t heard a peep from our relatives back east in decades. Then one day, out of the blue, you’re interested in getting to know your distant relatives and helping them expand their business.”

  Dorothy felt his eyes drilling into the back of her skull.

  “I find that odd. More like suspicious. Don’t you?”

  She sucked in a deep breath, turned her head, and looked at him. “Grandma made me promise I’d seek out our relatives. It was something she wanted to do in her later years, but lung cancer killed that dream and her too. So I’m fulfilling her wishes.”

  “Why us? Why now?”

  “I don’t know,” she giggled. “I felt inspired to start with the relatives living farthest away and work my way back home.”

  “Who’s next on your stop?”

  “Haven’t decided for sure, but probably the Rawlins in Colorado.”