“Okay, then.” He stood and offered me his hand. “If you hear anything, and I mean anything, come straight to me. Not to Gabe, not to your brother. Right here.”
I nodded.
“And please don’t do anything stupid.”
“Define stupid.”
He leveled with a weary look. “Be careful.”
As I stepped into the reception area, Olive was arranging more freshly baked cookies on the table.
“Take some, sweetheart,” she said, pinching my cheek.
Her smile turned into a scowl when Nolan appeared behind me. I had no idea what he’d done to get on her bad side, but Olive had a knack for finding trouble.
On my way out, I paused at the corkboard, noting the handwritten note that saidJustice for Willbut with one glance back at Nolan, I headed out.
It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and Main Street was busy, though nowhere near as crowded as it should have been.
Ahead, Nora came out of the apothecary hauling a crate of lavender, and Etienne was wiping down his outdoor tables and opening the umbrellas.
This was my town. I had devoted my adult life to protecting it. But more and more, I worried there was no coming back from this.
Chapter 14
Jasper
By the time we pulled up to the Maplewood Farmers’ Market, I already knew it wasn’t a real emergency. The radio dispatch had saidPossible medical—female down, unknown cause.
But there were no crowds screaming, no frantic waving. Just the usual Saturday chaos: the scent of kettle corn, a banjo on the busker stage, and someone shouting about dairy ethics. Two cheese stalls faced off in the center aisle like rival gangs in matching gingham.
On one side: Curd Your Enthusiasm, manned by Basil Pelletier—neat hair, smug smile, and an apron ironed within an inch of its life.
Across the way: Cheddar Off Dead, where Lola Prentice was holding a cheese knife like she was ready to throw it.
And between them, dramatically sprawled on the pavement in a faint worthy of daytime television, lay Olive Foster—second in command of the Maple Street Mafia—fanning herself with a coupon flyer.
“Good Lord.” I stepped out of the ambulance and nodded to Chris, who grabbed the equipment bag. “Not another cheese war.”
“Think we need the stretcher?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Gimme a minute.”
Bitsy Bramble rushed toward us, wringing her hands. “We werethis closeto another 2019 incident, Jasper. I told Olive to faint before the wheels started rolling again.”
“Wheel—”
“She means actual wheels of cheese.” Marigold Shaw approached on her mobility scooter, only stopping when the front wheel hit my boot. “You remember.” She raised her heavily painted-on eyebrows.
I nodded. Everyone knew about the 2019 incident. It was still spoken about in hushed tones. The police department held an annual moment of silence in remembrance at their department cookout every summer.
I keyed my radio. “Dispatch, this is medic two. We’re on scene at the farmers’ market. No active emergency. Appears to be a fainting spell. I’ll update shortly.”
“Copy that, medic two,” came the dry reply.
I crouched beside Olive. “Olive, can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered open like she was auditioning for community theater. “Oh, heavens. My heart simply couldn’t handle the tension. Basil accused Lola oftemperature tampering.”
