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Harry, “it’s time to buy those hayride tickets.” Hester reached next to the old cash register as Lolly slipped out two large glossy tickets decorated with an illustration of goblins riding on a hay wagon drawn by spectral horses. “Two?” Hester asked.
    Lolly piped up: “We have lots.”
    “I bought my tickets,” Harry reminded Hester, “but I’ll see if I can sell some.”
    “Hmm. So you did.”
    “Shameless.” Cindy Walters laughed as she pointed her forefinger at Hester. “You’ll chain people to the pumpkin stand before you’ll let them go without a ticket.”
    “Well.” Hester blushed, then introduced Cindy. “Harry, this is Cindy Walters from Florida and this little tyke is Heidi.”
    “Hello.”
The schnauzer barked.
    “We met at an environmental conference years ago. Been friends ever since.” Cindy checked the clock on the wall. “I’d better push off.”
    “Oh, stay the night,” Hester offered.
    “If I get into North Carolina I can make Florida the next day.”
    “Wait! You can’t go without buying a Halloween Hayride ticket.”
    “And I want to buy your best pumpkin,” Harry quickly interjected.
    “I’ll have Greg pick out the biggest and put it in your station wagon. How’s the mileage on that?”
    “Good,” said Harry. “Of course, newer cars get even better.”
    “Save where you can so you can help the library.” She grinned. “Our two-year book fund is $175,000.”
    Harry laughed. “Hester, you’re relentless.”
    She nodded. “I know, but this is critical to not just Crozet but the western part of the county. For years Crozet was always the weak sister, but we’re coming up. This library means a lot. Mike Marshall, the Crozet reporter, is coming on the hayride. You know he’ll write about Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. Cindy, don’t you dare walk out of here without a ticket.”
    Mike Marshall was the editor and publisher of the
Crozet Gazette
, so if he covered it, it was news.
    “Hester, I’m touched that you remember my cats’ and dog’s names.”
    “Family.” She exited with Harry. “Greg, pick the biggest and prettiest pumpkin for Harry.”
    “You bet.”
    Cindy walked with them, ticket in her hand.
    Just then Buddy Janss pulled up front, crates of late sweet corn in the back of his well-used pickup. A minute later, he walked toward them.
    Hester turned to Buddy and fired away: “How many acres of late-maturing sweet corn did you plant?”
    “Just like I told you last week and the week before, I planted two hundred acres. And those cool September nights just make the late sweet corn taste like candy. I harvest it twenty days after the first silks appear, I put it in huge tanks of ice water, and I bring it to you.”
    “Mmm?” She raised her carefully plucked eyebrows. “Long, long summer. You were smart to plant so late.”
    “Well, I planted corn every two weeks throughout the summer, but I waited extra long for the Silver Queen. Read my
Farmers’ Almanac
. Better than the National Weather Service.” He grinned, revealing a slight gap between his front teeth, as he winked at Harry.
    “Odd, isn’t it?” Harry agreed. “I find the same thing and I read it every morning.”
    A few cars rolled by. One turned in, lured by the display.
    “A new customer.” Hester beamed as she walked over to welcome the young man.
    Buddy shook his head, smiling. “She asks me the same thing again and again.”
    “Yep.” Harry crossed her arms over her chest. “If there’s one tiny deviation in your story or one of mine from one week to the other, she’s like a chicken after a grub.”
    “Just her way.” He shrugged his massive shoulders.
    “Some people can’t fully trust,” said Harry. “They can like you but they can’t accept what you tell them. They have to see it for themselves or check and double-check, just like Hester. Buddy, can you imagine how exhausting that is?”
    “Never thought about it.”
    “Means you can’t learn from other