“I’ll bring some meat pies,” offered Betty.
Capri raised a brow. “As long as they’re not from whatever critter crawled into your shed this summer,” she teased, but only slightly.
Betty cackled. “No promises.”
Betty could be unpredictable when it came to her cooking. Last year’s mystery stew still haunted Capri’s taste buds. Betty laughed, the sound hearty and unapologetic.
“Oh, don’t worry, honey,” she quickly added with a wink. “This year, I’m sticking to beef. Well, mostly.”
The group chuckled, but Capri shot a glance at Dorothy, who gave her a subtle shake of the head, silently warning her not to ask too many questions. When it came to Betty’s culinary creations, sometimes ignorance really was bliss.
Next, Capri headed to Albie Barton’s office. Albie was hunched over his typewriter, the sound of clacking keys filling the room.
“Albie, we need front-page coverage,” Capri said, not wasting time on pleasantries.
“Let me guess, the fry.” Albie didn’t look up, still typing.
“We need to drum up excitement.” She also told him about their idea for the online crowdfunding page and the need to publicize it.
Albie paused, finally glancing at her over his glasses. “I’ll see what I can do. But remember, I have deadlines to meet. I’ll need all the information pronto.”
Capri rolled her eyes. “You write for the Thunder Mountain Gazette, not The New York Times.”
He grinned, his hands hovering over the keys. “Fine, it’ll go out in the morning. Front page. But I get to title it.”
Capri groaned. “As long as it’s not something ridiculous like ‘A Calf’s Biggest Sacrifice.’”
Albie thew his head back in laughter. “Now you’re just giving me ideas.”
Reva, Lila, and Charlie Grace were already at the Rustic Pine when Capri walked in. Pastor Pete, polishing glasses at the bar, raised a brow at their request.
“You want a donation?” Pete asked, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Sure thing! Annie and I will give you a couple of kegs, but only if you girls can beat me in a game of darts.”
Reva groaned. “Pete, you know I’ve got about as much dart skill as a blindfolded cow.”
“And I’m no better,” Lila added. “None of us are very good at this.”
Capri picked up a dart and eyed it confidently. “Speak for yourselves. I’ve been known to score a bullseye on occasion.”
“Even so, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Reva said. “Capri may have talent, but the rest of us suck at darts.” She pointed her finger at Pete. “I suspect you already realize you have little to worry about when it comes to this competition.”
“That’s why it’s fun,” Pastor Pete said, already pulling the darts from behind the bar. “Besides, the stakes are high—free beer.”
Charlie Grace raised a brow. “What happens if we lose?”
Pastor Pete grinned. “You get the beer anyway. But I get to brag about it all week.”
Reva shook her head, laughing as she grabbed a dart. “Alright, deal. But just know, we’re only accepting this challenge for the sake of our beloved Thunder Mountain.”
The girls took turns throwing, missing the board more than once, and Pastor Pete, true to form, didn’t let them live it down. But in the end, they walked out with their kegs secured and a fresh story to tell.
“You do realize we’re never going to hear the end of this, right?” Reva muttered as they left.
“Worth it,” Capri said, smirking. “We’ve got our free beer.”
Capri wandered over to the cemetery, knowing Oma would be there, sitting next to Earl’s grave. As expected, the old woman was perched in her lawn chair with a fresh platter of cinnamon rolls.
“Afternoon, Oma,” Capri greeted, pulling up a nearby stump. “We’re getting donations for the fundraiser.”
