You couldn’t force the truth out of someone, especially when they weren’t ready to hear it themselves.
“What’s happening with your face?” Candy asked.
I finished putting the cash in the register from the last sale and glanced over at her. “What are you talking about, Candy Cane?”
She pointed to her own upper lip. “That thing. Right there.”
“Oh, I’m growing a mustache.” I popped a handful of orange Tic Tacs from the container I kept beneath the counter.
She blinked hazel eyes that looked just like our mother’s. “It’s not really coming in even.”
I knew that, but I was sticking with it. I’d always been so baby-faced that I hadn’t been able to grow a beard when it was the trendy thing. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, I was going for a mustache. Besides, it looked distinguished. Or it would once it started growing.
“Well,” I said, determined to ignore her teasing, “Tom Selleck wasn’t built in a day, baby sister. Give it time.”
Candy cringed. “Yeah, but I still have to see your face until it looks normal. And who knows how long that’ll take.”
“Very funny, butthead,” I said and pulled her in for a headlock.
Candace was three years younger than me. We’d fought like cats and dogs growing up, but I’d missed her when she’d been living in New York for the better part of the last decade. She was a good sister, and we were close.
Now, she squirmed and shrieked with my elbow gripping her head, and I felt a sense of diabolical sibling satisfaction along with gratitude that Candy had finally come home. I eventually released her when a kid ran up to pay for a turn on the farm’s giant bounce pillow.
Once the youngster scurried off with his wristband, Candy punched me in the shoulder.
Then she finished smoothing her hair and said, “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the prices for the u-pick buckets. Why were the numbers on the signage marked out and replaced?”
I fidgeted with the zipper on my vest before admitting, “I saw Grandpappy’s advertising their prices and thought we should stay competitive.”
Her gaze narrowed. “So you lowered them by one penny so it would be cheaper than the farm across the street?”
“Yeah, Candy, I did. They’re our rivals. Can’t win the war if you’re not thinking about the next battle.”
Candy shook her head. “You and Mac are the only ones who consider us competitors.”
While it was true that our farms were very different, you couldn’t ignore the fact that most leafers picked only one orchard to visit when they came to town. Sure, some folks wanted the flash and bells and whistles of Grandpappy’s, with their giant General Store and their corn maze and their hayrides. You could even pay to target shoot with an apple cannon, for crying out loud.
But some people had discerning taste and preferred a smaller family operation that welcomed and educated. Judd’s was just better than Grandpappy’s, and that’s all there was to it.
“Don’t even speak her name,” I warned. “That delinquent.”
“You’re ridiculous. Have you heard anything from the sheriff?”
It had been three weeks since Mac—presumably—vandalized our Apple House, and the sheriff’s office hadn’t done a damn thing about it.
“No, but I still call them daily for an update on the investigation.”
Candy patted me on the shoulder. “Good luck with that, Brady. Hopefully, it was a one-off, and we won’t even need all those automatic lights and security cameras you installed.”
I nodded, but I was ready. If my calculations were correct, there’d be a development in the investigation shortly. Sometimes, you had to draw out your enemy, and I’d made a pretty big move earlier in the day. I had a feeling something would be happening very soon.
I got my answer a few hours later.
It was closing time and I’d just latched the chain across the gravel entrance to the orchard when I spotted Mac barreling down the path from Grandpappy’s, driving a baby-blue side-by-side.
I couldn’t resist my smirk as she crossed the highway and pulled to stop three inches from my shins.
Mac climbed out of the vehicle with a furious expression and marched up to me, holding a white paper in her hand. She extended her arm—pretty far because I was so much taller than her—and held up the printout in front of my face.
