Page 75 of Cherry Picked
“Yes,” Ms. Williams agreed. “Yes, indeed. Working on some… pesky toe closures.” She gave me a beaming smile. “It’s been marvelously uplifting.”
“Putting some good vibes into the mountain,” Phillip Vincent said with an eyebrow wiggle. “For longevity and vitality.”
A woman in the back of the group snorted. “We were putting something insomething, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, god.” I squinted at Helena. “Please tell me you guys haven’t started doing naked things on the mountain where the Mini Nature Scouts could see you.”
The Hookers had been known for topless knitting in the past, but I’d never heard of them doing it outside like this. I envisioned myself on a hike with the kids, pointing out a grove of ancient trees… only for them to get an eyeful of ancientsomething else.
Gene Reddy laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “Not this time, young Sunday. Not this time.”
I blew out a breath. “Did any of you happen to see Gracie Hubbard up there?”
Helena shook her head. “No… but then again, we didn’t go all the way up to the summit. We were… over by Coster’s Meadow and then came the long way back around the old logging trail.”
It seemed strange that they’d headed over that way where the only interesting things to see were the Evola surveyor’s trailer and the town’s large pumpkin patch… which, admittedly, would be in full bloom right about now.
Rather than asking them more details of their pumpkin-patch ritual—because with my luck, they’d answer—I shoved my feet into my hiking boots I’d left in the car and grabbed my spare day pack, checking to see if I had enough water and my first aid kit. I really wished I hadn’t left the stuff sack containing my strong flashlight and radio at home with the rest of my camping gear.
“Awful late to be heading up now,” Helena said with a frown. “And you’re going alone?”
I glanced up from my pack. “I have to check on Gracie. She’s out here by herself and doesn’t have much hiking experience.” I surveyed the thick clouds on the horizon. “Plus, I need to get my signs under cover.”
She pursed her lips and studied me. “Thought you had a date with Simon tonight?”
“A date?” I wrinkled my nose in confusion. I wasn’t surprised she knew about my dinner plans—somehow, Ms. Fortnum knew more about the happenings in Little Pippin Hollow than anyone—but that also meant she’d probably known Jack and I were together beforewehad. “I’m not going on a date with Simon. I don’t think my boyfriend would enjoy that very much.”
“See?” Mrs. Williams jabbed Ms. Fortnum’s arm with her elbow. “Told you Hawk was loyal.”
“To Jack? Of course I am. Simon and I are meeting for a business dinner. He promised to show me environmental studies on Evola’s last couple of big projects,” I explained. “Hopefully that’ll help us figure out what a good compromise would be here in the Hollow. Personally, I’m thinking something smaller, further down on the mountain—”
“Compromise,” Helena sighed. “Hawk Sunday. You kids today with your wacky ideas.”
I rolled my eyes. “The people of the town need the financial boost from increased tourism. You run an inn—an inn where the Evola folks have been staying for months,” I pointed out. “You understand the need for revenueandfor compromise.”
“Hmm.” She sniffed. “If you say so. I think it’s gonna take more than that. But don’t worry, Hawk. We have your back. The Hookers have assembled.”
She’d said that before, more than once. I couldn’t help thinking that if they had my back, they’d have been at the Environmental Committee meeting instead of doing some midafternoon sex ritual, but I appreciated the thought.
I waved goodbye and headed out, concentrating on foot placement as I covered loose, scree-covered terrain as quickly as I could.
When I got to the place where Rock Cut Trail intersected Glassy Creek Trail, I heard the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining yet, and the clouds moving in weren’t particularly menacing—just enough to cool the air as I climbed higher on the mountain.
About a hundred yards before I reached the part of the trail that crossed the historic footbridge, I saw a flash of turquoise behind the tree line—not a color normally seen in nature, at least not around here.
I stopped in my tracks and opened my mouth to call Gracie’s name, but she waved frantically and pressed a finger to her lips, urging me to silence.
What in the world?
At least she looked healthy—she was standing, all four limbs and head intact, waving so wildly her “Peaky4Life” T-shirt rode up to expose the high waist of her hiking shorts… shorts that were soaking wet and plastered to her body like she’d gone wading.
As I approached her, I looked cautiously around for some unseen danger that necessitated silence—an animal, maybe? There were black bears in Vermont, though not generally on the Peak—
“Shit.”I let out a soft curse as Gracie grabbed my wrist and yanked me off the path into her hiding spot.
“Gracie,” I hissed. “What—?”
“Shhhh. Hawk, listen,” she whispered. “The Evola guys… they’re d-destroyingeverything. We have to st-stop them. I have a video, and we need to p-post it all over Instagram—”
