I glanced toward the door. Two men, one with thinning hair and an amazingly long ponytail at the end of it, and one who was limping so profoundly it made my leg hurt just to look at him, stepped into the store. It took only seconds for them to spot Everly and me in the corner. The one with the ponytail grinned at us. Everly looked away. “Just ignore them. They’re just a couple of goons. My uncle will have them out of here fast.”

Right on cue, her uncle barked angry words at them. “You two, find what you need and be on your way. Don’t need you two milling about the store.”

The one with the limp smiled back at Landon Gregor. “We’re just here for some goods, Mr. Gregor. No need to be so inhospitable.” He said the retort in an almost sing song voice as if the whole exchange was merely a joke to him.

Everly drew my attention away from the front of the store by tapping the sandwich. “Eat and I’ll finish sweeping the stockroom so we can get out of here.”

“Right.” I opened the wrapper and took my first bite. My eyes watered, a testament to how good it tasted and how hungry I was. As I gobbled down the chicken salad sandwich, I watched the two questionable looking men fill their arms with beer and snacks. They carried their load up to the counter. More than once, they cast a creepy glance my direction. I feigned extreme interest in my sandwich to avoid their attention. Landon Gregor, who had seemed gentle and polite, morphed into a gruff grizzly bear as he rang up their purchase. His mouth was pulled tight, and he refused to look them in the eye as he grunted out the total. They were obviously two unpleasant characters, people to avoid. Like the Wolfe brothers, as Everly had warned me.

My brief encounter with the Wolfe brothers had been unexpected and alarming, but Jem had helped me up to the road. His sharp turn of temperament, when he heard I was staying, had changed my first impression of him. Now, it seemed, I had more people to avoid. At least I’d found what seemed to be a genuine friend in Everly. And if her chicken salad was any indication of her cooking, then my move to Blackthorn Ridge was looking up.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a blank postcard. I’d had a stack of them printed with Aunt Carly’s address, and she’d pasted a stamp on every one so I wouldn’t have any excuse not to send one each day. The fronts of the cards were vintage pictures of Victorian women in big, frilly hats. My aunt was a hat collector, so I’d decided they were the perfect choice.

I pulled out my pen. “Aunt Carly, I’m in Blackthorn Ridge, and I’ve already met a fantastic person. Her name is Everly and she’s a lot of fun. A good aura, as you would say. I’ll be staying with her. I’ll send you an address when I have it. Carly, I can feel it. This was the right place to start. Kiss Buckley for me and give him an extra rawhide treat from me. I’ll write again. Love, Tash.”

The store owner’s scowl followed the two men out the door. His kind smile returned the second the door shut behind them.

Everly was removing her apron as she walked out from the backroom. “Was it good?”

“Magical, if that’s a possible adjective for a chicken salad sandwich.”

“It’s all about the pickles. This lady, Bernie”—she nodded—“yes, it’s a funny name for a woman. Anyhow, she makes the best dill pickles. Homemade. They are the secret ingredient.” She hung her apron over a hook on the wall. “Are you ready to go? I’ll bet you’re tired.”

“I am.” I held up the postcard. “Mailbox?”

“There’s one on the way home.” She picked up my duffle. “Let’s go, roomy.”

Her uncle waved good-bye, and we walked out. “He’s wonderful, Everly.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky I have him. Especially with my mom always on the mend and all. Sure wish the doctors could figure out why he’s shaking all the time. One actually had the nerve to tell him it was all in his head.”

“That’s too bad. I noticed it right away.” We hopped down the steps. Nightfall had lowered the temperature a good twenty degrees. Late summer was peeling away, and the crackling colors and temperatures of autumn could be seen around the edges. We passed several small shops, including a fabric store and one that looked to be bursting with old books. Alice in Bookland was painted in green and white letters across the window. I stopped to gaze through the dusty pane.

Everly walked up next to me. “This is a cool store if you like to browse old books and newspapers. Alice is this unique old lady who has lived here her whole life. Her husband died in a logging accident about thirty years ago, but she stuck it out. She’s kind of a hoarder.” Everly lowered her voice as if the woman, Alice, was listening. “There is definitely an order to her madness though. She has everything organized by date, even all the books. If you ever want to read about an old news event in this area, Alice is your go to source.”

My heart gave a little skip. “Yes, I would. Can you introduce me?” I tried to push the enthusiasm from my tone not wanting to bring on too many questions. Everly knew I wasn’t just here to file folders at a sawmill, but there were so many things I wasn’t ready to tell her.

“Absolutely.” We walked along a sidewalk that was mostly just patches of cement placed haphazardly in gravel and dirt. Yellow lights flickered over ramshackle porches casting an uneven glow out over the tiny yards. Most of the houses were plain stucco squares with only wood shingle roofs and shutters to give them any character. But the towering lilac colored mountains, dotted with tall evergreens, provided the perfect backdrop to make the shabby little houses look as if they belonged in a painting. Even though it was still late summer and the true cool temperatures of fall hadn’t circled through the town yet, there were thin, white fingers of smoke curling out of some of the brick chimneys, adding to the town’s almost storybook ambience. In this setting, on a quiet night under a cheery blanket of stars, it was hard to understand how someone had come to name it Blackthorn Ridge. It seemed such a grim sounding name for the charming little town.

Everly pointed ahead. “If you keep walking down this street, you’ll come to the end of the town. My mom used to say if you blinked on your way through town, you’d miss the whole darn thing. Milly’s Diner is at the end. She’s the last stop on the way out, and the first stop on the way in—depending which way you’re traveling. Sometimes the southern freeway is blocked with traffic or an accident, and the truck drivers come this way. They always know all the secret shortcuts. The diner is a big favorite of the truck drivers. And for good reason—Milly’s chicken fried steak is the best in the world, at least in my opinion and according to the truck drivers passing through. And those guys would know.”

We stopped before turning the corner. Milly’s had a big neon arrow, the brightest light on the entire street, pointing down at the red roof of the diner. Two eighteen wheelers sat in the parking lot. I briefly wondered if my dad had ever stopped in at Milly’s. He loved chicken fried steak and any other kind of food you could drown in gravy or ketchup.

Everly motioned that we were turning the corner. “Those brothers, the Wolfe brothers that I told you about, they live right next to the diner. According to my uncle, they never bought the house. No one wanted it after the original owner died years ago. It is so close to the diner, the trucks rattle the house when they fire up their engines. And I guess you can smell all the food coming from the restaurant. Which is fine when you’re in there to eat breakfast or lunch, but all day might get kind of nauseating.”

We walked on. “I met them,” I said hesitantly. “I met the Wolfe brothers.”

She stopped. “You did? Where?”

I decided not to go into detail. “They rode by while I was out at Phantom Curve. Jem seemed all right. He asked if I needed a ride.”