He chuckled. “Ah, I got her to admit her true feelings. What have I done to deserve such a treat?”
I folded my arms and sank down onto the seat. “Just drive. I’ll give you the directions.”
“You got it, milady.”
Twenty minutes later we were turning onto the road that led to the river. It forked about halfway down. The road to the left was for day-trippers and fisherman. The road that veered off to the right was where our commune was located.
Well, notourcommune. The last thing that I wanted to live in was a commune of any kind. Whenever someone said that word, my first thoughts were of hippies and cults. For some very strange reason, I didn’t actually want to be associated with either of those things—especially not the cults.
The road was well paved for about half a mile; then it turned to gravel. We bumped and bounced until we hit a thick patch of forest. When the forest finally receded, the lake came into view, and so did about thirty campers.
They were all old and dingy, looking in need of a good washing. Clotheslines hung from trees, and lawn chairs and grills littered the grass.
It was obvious these folks hadn’t set up shop for the weekend. These were long-term residents.
“Where do they go to the bathroom?” I murmured.
But then I saw that the campers were all hooked into the ground, with tubes and hoses going straight down.
“Looks like they created their own sewer system—somehow,” Rufus said.
As we rumbled into the commune, all eyes were on us. Anyone who was outside stared long and hard. No one waved. This wasn’t like it was when you went into a campground or even Amish country. There, folks would signal a friendly hello with a wave.
Here, we were strangers, and it was obvious from the get-go.
Rufus parked on an empty patch of lawn and killed the engine. “Well, it looks like there’s no time like the present. What’s the name of the man that you’re determined to speak to?”
“Pete Swensen.” I paused. “I’m going to let you do the talking.”
He eyed the dwellers wearily. “From the look of things, that seems like the best idea. They don’t appear to like strangers, much less ones in leather pants.”
I tapped his arm. “Just tell them you’ll give them a free rock concert later. It’ll be fine.”
He smirked. “Let’s go.”
We slid out of the vehicle. I could see the distrust oozing from the residents. They stood with hands clenched, eyes narrowed. Sweat sprinkled my brow, and my stomach knotted. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. Maybe we should just go back home.
But as I was thinking this, Leola Vass exited her camper. She spotted us and gave a big wave. “John, you here to learn more about how to win an apple-picking contest?”
Rufus smiled. “Only if you’re willing to teach.”
Leola had just done us the biggest favor. Without actually saying it, she had bestowed us with her blessing. The people who had been staring with suspicion turned their heads and went about their business.
“Nice people,” Rufus muttered under his breath to me. To Leola, he said, “Miss Vass, you look smashing today.”
She batted her lashes and hitched up her jeans by the waistband. “Thank you so much. But did y’all come for a lesson?”
“No, actually,” Rufus said smoothly, “we’re looking for Pete Swensen. Do you know him?”
“Do I know him? Just about everybody in town does.” She placed a hand on one side of her mouth as if about to reveal a secret. “This isn’t about Crystal, is it?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Well, he’s a mess, but his camper’s right there.” Leola pointed one door down. “He might talk to you or he might slug you. Hard to say.”
“Charming,” Rufus murmured.
We started to turn away, but Leola eyed me and said with ire in her voice, “How’s Malene doing?”
