Pinnock grunted. “Some dang downstater wanted to run his electrics across my land so he could light up his fancy garage for his fancy antique cars. Why would I want his wires running across my land? Of course I said no.”

I made soothing and agreeable noises. “I see what you mean. Those downstate people are taking over, aren’t they? Changing everything.” I kept quiet about the fact that I was a downstater myself.

“It used to be,” Pinnock said, “you could count on peace and quiet up here except for maybe the Fourth of July. Now there’s nothing to count on.”

“Things are changing all the time,” I said, sighing heavily. “Like the Mattocks moving up to be year-rounders.”

He grunted again. “And people bring more people. Mattock was north early this year, and that was bad enough, but the day after he shows up, there’s even more traffic. A man can’t hear himself think anymore. If this wasn’t family property, I’d pull up stakes and head north. Canada, maybe.”

Many people had said the same thing, and hardly anyone ever actually moved. “More traffic?” I asked. “Like a handyman? Or an electrician?” I didn’t remember Pug saying anything that day on the bookmobile, but that didn’t mean much.

“Don’t ask me,” Pinnock said curtly. “All I know is when I was getting more firewood from my shed that morning, a truck rattles into Mattock’s driveway and out gets a guy with hair so red it was almost orange. He called to Mattock in a voice so loud it scared up a deer.”

“Red hair?” I asked slowly. And a big voice. “Was it a silver pickup?”

“Don’t remember. Don’t care. All I know is I went inside and when I came back out, he was gone.”

I thanked Pinnock for his time, wished him success with the pothole elimination, and hung up.

Bright red hair, a booming voice, and a pickup truck. There were probably hundreds of men in the world who fit that description, but how many were likely to be in this particular corner of the country?

“At least one,” I said out loud.

Because I knew exactly who fit that description.

Ian Breece was about forty, and he and his wife were one of the many local suppliers Kristen used. Kristen’s vow to use only local and only fresh ingredients had stalled her business plan, because fresh was hard in the depths of winter. Eventually she’d decided to be open three seasons (hence the restaurant’s name) and head to Florida in the fourth.