A bell tinkled prettily to alert China that the door to the shop had opened. We turned and saw Crystal and Melody Byers, two sisters who’d gone to high school with us.

“Yoo-hoo, China,” Crystal said, as she rushed over to hug my sister, then me. “Brooklyn, it’s so good to see you. We saw you coming in here and thought we’d stop in to say hello.”

“Hey, Crystal,” I said, smiling. “How are you?”

Mom walked over to greet the sisters, then said, “You girls look so cheery today. Melody, that color is perfect on you.”

Melody preened in her golden yellow jumpsuit. It was a good color for her blond hair and lightly tanned skin, but lately when I saw a jumpsuit, it reminded me of a prison uniform. If hers were slightly more orange, she would fit right in at the county jail.

Crystal was my age and we’d been in the same classes all through grammar and high school. Melody was a year younger. Both were pretty, blue-eyed blondes, tall and big-boned, who were strong from years of working in their parents’ orchards, where they grew olives, walnuts, and apples. Thanks to the two Byers sisters, our high school women’s basketball and baseball teams had held the state championship for five years running. The sisters were popular with the girls at school, but most of the boys were afraid of them, probably because the two girls could beat them at almost any sport.

“What are you ladies up to today?” Mom asked with a smile. “Shopping?”

“We’re always up for shopping,” Melody said, and everybody laughed.

“We’re in town on business,” Crystal said, efficiently straightening the jacket of her perky blue seersucker suit. “Just stopped by the chamber of commerce to pick up our very own street-fair permit.”

I knew they both worked in their parents’ booth at all the different street fairs and farmers’ markets in the county. They sold their apples and olives and walnuts, along with all sorts of oils and soaps they made on their farm.

“Are you setting up shop on your own?” I asked.

“Yes.” Melody could barely contain her excitement. “We found this fabulous new line of fruit dehydrators we’ll be demonstrating and selling.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mom said. “Will you be selling the dried fruit, as well?”

“Oh, you mean to eat? That’s a great idea, Mrs. Wainwright,” Crystal said. She looked at Melody with her mouth wide-open. “OMG, why didn’t we think of that?”

“LOL, I don’t know,” Melody said, laughing at their silliness. She gazed back at us. “Crystal uses the dried fruit to make jewelry. She’s a genius. Show them.”

Crystal pulled back her hair and flicked her earring, a shiny, round red disk hanging from a silver post. “Don’t you love it?”

Curious, I looked closer at the glittering red circle. China leaned in next to me. “What is that?”

“It’s a strawberry slice,” Crystal said gaily. “I dry them and shellac them and turn them into earrings.”

China and I exchanged glances. “Wow.”

“Aren’t they chic?” Melody said as Crystal beamed. “Wait till you see her dried-apple necklaces. They’re true art. If you’re around tomorrow, stop by our booth.”

China raised her hand. “I’ll be there.”

“We’ll be selling our other products, too,” Crystal added.

“I’ll come by, too,” I said. I wanted to pick up more of the olive oil–based cuticle cream they sold. The stuff was golden, especially for me and my propensity for paper cuts. Seriously, if they sold this cream at Bloomie’s, the Byers sisters would be millionaires in a few months.

“Girls, I wonder if you could help me,” Mom said, glancing from one Byers sister to the other.

“We’ll try,” Crystal said, and Melody nodded with enthusiasm.

“I’m looking for someone in the area who reloads their own ammunition cartridges.” Mom leaned in to add confidentially, “I’d like to learn how to do it and maybe cut a little something off our annual hunting budget.”

“I didn’t know you hunted, Mrs. Wainwright,” Melody said.

“Oh yes,” Mom said, waving in an offhand way. “Well, not around here, of course. Jim and I take a trip up toward Yuba City every year and do a little dove hunting.”

“Oh, I love dove,” Crystal said, then blinked and turned to Melody. “Love. Dove. Get it?”

“You’re a poet and didn’t know it, LOL,” Melody said, slapping Crystal’s arm.

“LOL,” Crystal agreed, giggling.

“Girls?” Mom said softly.

“Oh,” Melody said, shaking her head to get back on track. “Sure, we know lots of people. Most of the men in our church have reloading presses. The Ogunites go through a lot of ammo every year. It just makes good sense to load your own.”

I’d forgotten that Melody and Crystal were members of the Church of the True Blood of Ogun, a local church whose members believed in honoring the creative spirit of the earth. That was their story, anyway. Most of the members tended to be shameless proselytizers with borderline survivalist mentalities.

A few of Guru Bob’s fellowship members referred to the Ogunite church as a cult because some of its teachings were downright bizarre, but I figured the Ogunites probably felt the same way about Guru Bob’s followers. People tend to mistrust anything they don’t understand.

Years ago, my mother had taken us to the small Ogunite church, a charming wood and adobe structure the followers had built themselves from material found in the canyons and valleys of Sonoma. It was part of their teaching that their place of worship reflected the earth on which it stood. They’d fashioned the stained-glass windows from smooth chunks of glass and minerals they’d found in the Russian River nearby. I was young enough at the time of our visit that I held up my hand, thinking I could catch the rainbow of colors streaming through the windows.

Melody and Crystal had never been blatant about trying to convert any of us, so my sisters and I had always been friendly with them.

“Doesn’t Bennie have a new Lock-N-Load?” Melody asked her sister.

“He’s got everything.” Crystal turned to Mom. “He might be willing to teach you, Mrs. Wainwright.”

“Bennie?” Mom said. “I’m not sure I know a Bennie.”

“You know him, Mom,” China said. “He went to school with London.”

“Bennie.” She thought about it. “Benjamin Styles?”

“Yes, that’s him,” Melody said. “He and his friend Stefan have a place halfway up Moon Valley Ridge Road.”

“Stefan’s cute,” Crystal said, and winked at me.

“Really cute,” Melody said, nodding emphatically.

“Moon Valley Ridge isn’t too far,” Mom said. “I could drive over to see him.”

Moon Valley Ridge Road skirted a wide, rocky canyon that some of the locals referred to as the Hollow. A number of the Ogunites had built homes in the area. There was a fast-moving stream running through the canyon that provided plenty of fish and attracted a lot of wildlife, so many of the Hollow residents prided themselves on living off the land. Me, I liked my Frappuccinos.

Melody wrinkled her nose. “Wouldn’t you rather have Mr. Wainwright load the ammo for you? It can get kind of dirty.”

“Oh no,” Mom said in a rush. “He’s so busy working. And besides, I want to surprise him.”

“You can load ammo yourself, Mrs. Wainwright,” Crystal said, casting a look at her sister. “I do it all the time.”

“She does,” Melody conceded. “Crystal is a wiz at so many things.”

Mom leaned closer to Crystal. “We ladies do it all, don’t we, sweetie?”

Crystal laughed. “It’s true. So I’ll tell Bennie to call you. I see him every morning at church.”

“You would do that for me?” Mom said.

“Oh, Mrs. Wainwright, you’ve always been so good to us.” Crystal wrapped her arm around Mom’s waist. “Of course we would.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Crystal.” She reached over and patted Melody’s arm. “You, too, Melody.”

China grabbed a store business card and wrote Mom’s phone number on the back, then handed it to Crystal.