I had to give the town credit. They at least knew how to throw celebrations, if nothing else. Even if they came with a side of magically and magnificently mystical murder.
On the other side of the event space, I saw Chadwick and Malcolm Dennison hovering near the caramel cornstand. Before I could even process the hope of their being oblivious to my presence, Malcolm saw me and immediately nudged his twin.
Just as I was ready to suggest to Corbin and Bale that we head closer to the unlit bonfire at the center of the festivities, I noticed that the Dennisons weren’t alone.
Chad shifted just enough that I saw the familiar brunette braid and warm cocoa eyes—Beth.
Pushing past Corbin without any explanation, I stormed over to the two of them.
“What are you doing here, Beth?” I summoned the big sister tone that made all little sisters either roll their eyes or prepare to tattle to mom. I didn’t use it often, but seeing Beth socialize with those two idiots set my blood on fire.
She crossed her arms stubbornly before sassing me right back. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
It was Chad who offered the first attempt at an explanation. “Take it easy, we were just asking Beth how she was enjoying Falston so far.”
I locked eyes with my little sister, not giving a shit about whatever either of these two had to say to try mediating.
Beth flipped her braid over her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “I came here with Dad, so take a chill pill, Har.”
Dad is here, too? Just what I need.
“Caramel corn?” Malcolm offered the bag whilepopping a handful into his mouth, chomping on it loudly like a horse gnawing on a carrot.
Two shadows were cast from behind me. It was nice to know who was standing guard there, prepared to provide support if I needed it.
Narrowly ignoring the urge to smack the bag of popcorn from Malcolm’s hand, I reached over and grabbed Beth’s forearm. I half-dragged her several feet away until there was a semblance of privacy from Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.
Releasing her, I spun around and leaned forward toward her. Speaking in a harsh whisper, “You shouldn’t be hanging around those two, Beth.”
“Why not? They were being nice and talking to me. It’s more than you’ve been doing since we moved here,” she snapped.
I reared back my head like she had slapped me. “Is that what this is about?”
She gestured at Bale and Corbin, who shielded Chad and Malcolm’s view of us. “You tell meeverything, but you still haven’t told me aboutthem!”
God, I loved her, but right now things were more complicated than she needed to know about.
“Oh, Bethy-Boo,” the childhood nickname slipped out. “I’m not trying to keep?—”
Screeeeeeeech! Thump-thump-thump.
Feedback from the microphone grated on the eardrums of everybody in a three-mile radius.
“Is this thing on? Can you hear me?” Mayor Dennison muttered into the mic.
After he blew into it uselessly a few times, he was finally satisfied it was in working order.
“Welcome, everyone! I promise you I won’t take more than a few minutes of your time. As you know, in a few moments, we will be drawing the name of the lucky individual who will be participating in our annual corn maze chase!” He waved his hand in the air to drum up more engagement from everybody.
Obligatory applause, hoots, and hollers followed. It wasn’t obvious if you weren’t looking for it, but it seemed that everybody had a nagging sensation somewhere deep inside them. They didn’t share the same excitement as the mayor at the looming annual tradition—an awareness deep within their subconscious of survival instincts hard at work.
Corbin and Bale took this as their cue to huddle in closer to me, which only made Beth stare at them with curiosity and suspicion. Something I was too on edge to address right now.
“Without further ado, I will allow my fellow Councilman, Mr. MacElroy, to do the honors,” the mayor announced before handing off the mic to Falston’s moneyman.
Clearing his throat nervously, he smiled weakly as if public speaking was more uncomfortable than death.
“Thank you, mayor. Ahem. We have the, uh, pumpkin right here.” He turned to the stool where an ordinarypumpkin sat. Mr. MacElroy fumbled with the cut-out stem while trying to maintain a hold on the microphone.
