The Whiskey Pines Journal – News & Stories from Roxie Maxx

It was a Tuesday morning when Mabel Hutchins discovered her prize-winning orange marmalade had vanished from the church bake sale table, and frankly, the town has not recovered. Neither has Mabel. Neither, if we're being honest, has this reporter.

For context: Mabel's marmalade has won the Whiskey Pines Preserve Competition for eleven consecutive years. Eleven. That's longer than most marriages in this town. That's longer than the hardware store's "temporary" closure sign has been up. This marmalade is an institution.

Sheriff Hank Waverly was called to investigate, which is a bit like calling a plumber to perform heart surgery, but Hank showed up with his notepad and his best "I am taking this seriously" face. He asked Mabel if perhaps she'd forgotten to bring the marmalade.

The silence that followed could have frozen Lake Michigan in July.

"Henry Waverly," Mabel said, in a voice that made three separate bystanders take a step backward, "I have been making that marmalade since before you were a twinkle in your daddy's eye. I carried it here myself at precisely 7:43 this morning. I set it on this table. I went to get coffee. When I came back, it was gone. Now are you going to find my marmalade, or am I going to have to do everything myself, as usual?"

Theories are circulating. Was it a rival preserver? A marmalade-obsessed tourist? The ghost of Old Man Henderson, who always did have a sweet tooth? Several people have suggested checking with the Hendersons in general, but nobody's brave enough to actually do it.

The investigation continues. The bake sale has reported record attendance, as half the town has shown up hoping to witness Mabel stare someone into confession. This reporter will provide updates as the situation develops, assuming we survive.

The doors of the Pines & Needles Crafting Community swung open this week, and if you listened closely, you could hear the collective sigh of relief from crafters across three counties who have been stockpiling project ideas like squirrels preparing for the world's most aesthetically pleasing winter.

This year's theme is "Whispers of the Forest," which sounds very peaceful and serene until you realize it's actually going to result in approximately four hundred pine tree quilts, eighteen arguments about the correct shade of forest green, and at least one person crying in the yarn aisle because they can't find the exact weight they need. (We've all been there. No judgment. This is a safe space.)

Hazel Pike, the colony's Records & Inventory Manager and the only person who actually knows where the good scissors are hidden, has already catalogued over three hundred new fabric bolts, two dozen specialty yarns from a sheep farm in New Zealand, and one suspicious package that arrived without a return address. When asked about the package, Hazel simply said, "We're monitoring the situation," which is Hazel-speak for "I've already opened it, catalogued its contents, and assigned it a shelf location, but I'm not telling anyone what's inside until I'm good and ready."

The community center, affectionately known as the Cathedral of Supplies (and occasionally less affectionately known as "that place where my paycheck goes to die"), has been freshly organized. The notorious locked notions cage has a new combination. Only Hazel knows it. This is not a democracy.

Whether you're a seasoned artisan who can thread a needle while carrying on a conversation about seam allowances, or a complete beginner who still isn't totally sure what a bobbin does but is very excited to find out, there's a place for you here. The coffee is always on. The advice is freely given (sometimes too freely). And someone will absolutely teach you how to fix that thing you messed up, no matter how badly you messed it up.

We've all messed it up. That's how you learn. Welcome to the season.

Dear readers, Roxie writes from her cozy corner at Maxx House, seated at the antique desk that once belonged to her grandmother Roxanne. The winter light casts long shadows across her notebook, and somewhere in the walls, something just creaked in a way that was probably not a ghost. Probably. (It's fine. Everything is fine. This house is absolutely not haunted. Roxie is choosing to believe this.)

The characters of Whiskey Pines have been particularly demanding this week. Roxie has explained to them, multiple times, that she cannot write faster just because they have opinions about their storylines. They do not listen. They never listen. If you've ever tried to explain something reasonable to someone who has already decided they know better, you understand the struggle. Fictional characters are, somehow, worse.

Kenzie has claimed the velvet footstool beside the desk as her personal throne, from which she dispenses unsolicited advice on plot developments, nap schedules, and the suspicious activities of everyone who walks past the window. Her opinions on character motivations are surprisingly astute for someone who also believes the mailman is a criminal mastermind, the neighbor's cat is plotting something, and that Roxie's lunch should be shared immediately.

"The butler didn't do it," she sent this morning, her fluffy head tilted at a knowing angle. "It's always the one who seems the nicest. Also, I would like a biscuit. Two biscuits. The good ones, not the ones that taste like cardboard and disappointment. Don't pretend you don't know which ones I mean."

Roxie pointed out that Kenzie had already received her morning treat. Kenzie pointed out that Roxie was a liar, that her bowl looked empty from certain angles, and that memory is unreliable anyway so who's to say what really happened this morning? The angles were lies. The logic was lies. But Kenzie committed to them fully, because that's what you do when you want biscuits.

Work continues on the next Whiskey Pines mystery, and Roxie can promise readers that secrets long buried are about to come to light. The tunnels beneath the town hold more than dusty bottles and forgotten memories. And if Grandmother Roxanne's spirit has any opinions about how this story should end, she's been uncharacteristically quiet about it. Which is suspicious. Everything in this town is suspicious. Even the nice things. Especially the nice things.

Thank you for reading, for caring about these stories, and for being here. Roxie means that. Even on the hard writing days, knowing you're out there makes the work worth doing. Now if you'll excuse her, someone is staring at her very intently and it's definitely about biscuits.

For the seventy-third consecutive year, the streets of Whiskey Pines will transform into a celebration of autumn, community, and the eternal human need to argue about whose pie is better. The Annual Harvest Festival returns, and if you're new in town, buckle up. It's a lot.

The festival committee, led by the unstoppable force of nature known as Margaret Chen, has been meeting weekly since June. June. The woman started planning fall decorations while the rest of us were still putting on sunscreen. Her clipboard has its own clipboard. Her spreadsheets have feelings. We are all slightly afraid of her, and that's how she likes it.

"We're honoring the past while celebrating the present," Margaret explained, in a tone that suggested disagreement was not an option. "Also, if the Hendersons think their scarecrow is going to beat mine this year, they have another thing coming. I've been taking welding classes."

This year's attractions include the traditional pie-eating contest (open to all ages, abilities, and appetites), the increasingly aggressive scarecrow competition (see above re: welding), and a brand new historical walking tour of downtown's most storied establishments. The tour will include stories about the Prohibition era, which means it will include stories about crime, which means attendance is expected to be high.

Live music on the town green will feature local favorites The Pine Needles, who have reunited for what they're calling "absolutely the last time, we mean it this time, stop asking." Rumors of a surprise guest have been circulating, but Margaret won't confirm or deny, because Margaret understands the power of suspense.

Everyone is welcome. Bring your appetite. Bring your competitive spirit. Bring your folding chair, because seating fills up fast and the ground is cold. Volunteers are still needed for the apple cider station, the corn maze emergency response team (yes, people get lost every year, yes, it's the same people), and general "standing near Margaret looking helpful" duties.

See you there. Wear layers. Don't bet against Margaret's scarecrow.

Della Mae Rourke has opinions about muffins. Strong opinions. The kind of opinions that have ended friendships, started rumors, and once caused a twenty-minute standoff in the cafeteria line. "A muffin," she announced last Tuesday while sliding a tray of golden perfection onto the counter, "is not a cupcake pretending to be healthy. A muffin has dignity. A muffin has purpose. A muffin does not need sprinkles."

Nobody argued. Nobody ever argues with Della Mae about baked goods. This is wisdom passed down through generations at Pines & Needles. Here are four of her finest recipes, shared with her blessing and the firm instruction that "if you mess these up, don't tell anyone where you got them. But you won't mess them up. They're foolproof. I believe in you."

(She actually said that last part. Della Mae contains multitudes.)

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Lakeshore Blueberry Muffins

"Best served when someone needs reminding that mornings aren't all bad. Also good for apologies, celebrations, and Tuesdays."

2 cups all-purpose flour · 3/4 cup sugar · 2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder · 1/2 teaspoon salt · 1/3 cup vegetable oil · 1 egg · 1 cup milk (any kind works, dairy or not, Della Mae doesn't judge) · 1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries

Preheat oven to 400°F. Whisk dry ingredients. Make a well in the center, add oil, egg, and milk. Stir until just combined. Lumps are fine. Lumps are character. Over-mixing is not fine. Fold in blueberries gently, like you're tucking them in for a nap. Fill lined muffin cups two-thirds full. Bake 20 to 25 minutes until golden and a toothpick comes out clean.

Della Mae's tip: "Toss your blueberries in a tablespoon of flour before folding them in. Keeps them from sinking to the bottom like they've got somewhere else to be. Frozen berries work just as well as fresh, and anyone who tells you different is a snob."

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Brown Sugar Cinnamon Crumble Muffins

"Best served when the quilting circle gets competitive, or when you need to bribe someone, or when it's autumn and you're feeling cozy and slightly smug about it."

2 cups all-purpose flour · 1/2 cup packed brown sugar · 1/4 cup granulated sugar · 1 tablespoon baking powder · 1 teaspoon cinnamon · 1/2 teaspoon salt · 1/2 cup butter, melted (or oil if butter isn't your thing) · 2 eggs · 3/4 cup sour cream (or Greek yogurt) · 1 teaspoon vanilla

For the crumble: 1/4 cup flour · 1/4 cup brown sugar · 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon · 2 tablespoons cold butter (or coconut oil, chilled)

Make crumble first by cutting cold butter into dry ingredients until it resembles coarse sand. Set aside. This is the best part. Guard it with your life. Mix dry muffin ingredients. Whisk wet ingredients separately, then combine until just moistened. Fill muffin cups, top generously with crumble. Be generous. You deserve it. Bake at 375°F for 18 to 22 minutes.

Della Mae's tip: "The sour cream is what makes these muffins moist enough to shut up anyone who thinks they make better muffins than you. They don't. These are the good ones."

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Maple Walnut Morning Muffins

"Best served when someone's had a rough night, a rough week, or a rough year and needs to remember that good things still exist. Also just good for breakfast."

2 cups all-purpose flour · 1/2 cup sugar · 2 teaspoons baking powder · 1/2 teaspoon baking soda · 1/2 teaspoon salt · 1/2 cup butter, melted (or oil) · 2 eggs · 1/2 cup pure maple syrup · 1/2 cup buttermilk (or milk with a splash of vinegar) · 1 cup chopped walnuts (or pecans, or leave them out entirely if nuts aren't your thing)

Combine dry ingredients. Whisk melted butter, eggs, maple syrup, and buttermilk. Pour wet into dry, stir until just combined. Fold in nuts if using. Fill muffin cups. Bake at 350°F for 22 to 25 minutes. While warm, brush tops with a little extra maple syrup if you're feeling generous. You should feel generous. Be generous to yourself.

Della Mae's tip: "Use real maple syrup. I will know if you used the fake stuff. I will always know. That said, if fake syrup is what you've got, use it. A muffin made is better than a muffin not made because you didn't have the 'right' ingredients."

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Lemon Poppy Seed Sunshine Muffins

"Best served when the rain won't stop and everyone's getting snippy. These muffins are aggressive optimism in baked form."

2 cups all-purpose flour · 3/4 cup sugar · 2 tablespoons poppy seeds · 1 tablespoon baking powder · 1/2 teaspoon salt · Zest of 2 lemons (or 1 if your lemons are huge) · 1/2 cup vegetable oil · 2 eggs · 1 cup plain yogurt (any kind) · 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice · 1 teaspoon vanilla

For the glaze: 1 cup powdered sugar · 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Mix flour, sugar, poppy seeds, baking powder, salt, and lemon zest. Whisk oil, eggs, yogurt, lemon juice, and vanilla. Combine wet and dry until just mixed. Bake at 375°F for 18 to 20 minutes. Cool slightly, then drizzle with glaze made by whisking powdered sugar and lemon juice until smooth. The glaze is not optional. The glaze is the point.

Della Mae's tip: "Zest before you juice. And zest over the sugar, then rub them together with your fingers. Wakes up the oils. Makes the whole kitchen smell like you know what you're doing. Even if you don't know what you're doing. Fake it till you bake it."

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All recipes make 12 standard muffins. Della Mae does not believe in mini muffins. "That's just a muffin that didn't try hard enough." However, if you want to make mini muffins, Della Mae will not come to your house and stop you. She'll just be disappointed. And you'll know. You'll always know.

Happy baking. You've got this.

Opal Jensen has opinions about kitchen safety. "Most burns," she says, hooking yarn with the speed of someone who's been crocheting since the Nixon administration, "are entirely preventable if people just had proper potholders instead of those flimsy things that might as well be made of good intentions and regret."

This granny square potholder pattern has been passed through the Pines & Needles community for years, protecting countless hands from countless casserole dishes, cookie sheets, and that one time someone forgot the handle of the cast iron skillet gets hot. (We've all done it. No judgment here. That's why we're making potholders.)

Opal has graciously agreed to share this pattern, with the firm stipulation that nobody use acrylic yarn. "Cotton or nothing," she warned. "Acrylic melts. I've seen it happen. I don't want to talk about it." She also wants everyone to know that this pattern is for all skill levels. "If you can chain and single crochet, you can make a potholder. If you can't do those yet, you'll learn. That's what YouTube is for. Nobody gets it perfect the first time. Anyone who says they did is lying."

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Materials Needed

100% cotton yarn in worsted weight, approximately 50-75 yards per potholder (use what you have, use what you love, use those random cotton skeins you bought because the color was pretty) · Size H/8 (5mm) crochet hook, or whatever size gives you a tight, sturdy fabric · Yarn needle for weaving in ends · Scissors

Important: Use cotton yarn only. Acrylic melts when it touches heat. This is not a suggestion. This is physics.

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Abbreviations

ch = chain · sl st = slip stitch · sc = single crochet · dc = double crochet · sp = space

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The Classic Granny Square Potholder

Round 1: Make a magic ring (or ch 4 and sl st to join if magic rings stress you out, Opal doesn't judge). Ch 3 (counts as first dc), 2 dc into ring, ch 2, *3 dc into ring, ch 2* three times. Sl st to top of beginning ch-3 to join. (4 groups of 3 dc, 4 corner spaces)

Round 2: Sl st to first corner space. Ch 3, 2 dc, ch 2, 3 dc all in same corner space. *Ch 1, in next corner space work (3 dc, ch 2, 3 dc).* Repeat around. Ch 1, sl st to join. (8 groups of 3 dc)

Round 3: Sl st to corner space. Ch 3, 2 dc, ch 2, 3 dc in corner. *Ch 1, 3 dc in next ch-1 space, ch 1, (3 dc, ch 2, 3 dc) in corner.* Repeat around. Sl st to join.

Rounds 4-6: Continue the pattern, adding one more 3-dc group per side each round. Your corners are always (3 dc, ch 2, 3 dc). Your sides get longer. This is how granny squares work. It's very satisfying once you get the rhythm.

Border Round: Ch 1, sc evenly around entire square, working 3 sc in each corner. When you get back to the start, ch 12 for the hanging loop, sl st to same stitch. Fasten off.

Finishing: Weave in all your ends. All of them. Yes, that one too. A potholder that unravels into your soup is not a useful potholder.

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Double-Thick Option

For extra heat protection (highly recommended), make two identical squares and single crochet them together around the edges, wrong sides facing. This is the "I actually want to use this near a hot stove" version. Opal makes all her potholders double-thick. "Single layer is decorative," she says. "Double layer is functional. I'm too old for decorative kitchen items."

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Opal's Final Notes

"Your tension might be different than mine. That's fine. Make a test square. If it's floppy, go down a hook size. If it's so tight you can barely get the hook through, go up a size. The potholder doesn't care about the 'right' tension. It cares about being sturdy enough to protect your hands."

"Change colors whenever you want. Every round, every other round, never. Stripes, solids, absolute chaos. The yarn police aren't coming. Use what makes you happy."

"These make excellent gifts. Pair them with a wooden spoon and one of Della Mae's muffin recipes, and you've got yourself a housewarming basket that says you actually put in some effort. And you did. You made something with your hands. That matters."

"And for heaven's sake, make two. One potholder is a tragedy waiting to happen. You've got two hands. Protect both of them."

You've got this. Happy hooking.

Gerald Hoffsteader woke up on Wednesday morning, poured his coffee, shuffled to the front window to admire his garden as he does every day, and immediately dropped his mug. The coffee survived. Gerald's composure did not.

Mr. Pemberton was gone.

For those unfamiliar with Whiskey Pines' most distinguished ceramic resident, Mr. Pemberton is a three-foot-tall garden gnome that has stood sentinel in Gerald's front yard for twenty-seven years. He wears a red hat. He holds a tiny fishing rod. He has a smile that Gerald describes as "enigmatic" and that everyone else describes as "mildly unsettling, but in a charming way."

Mr. Pemberton weighs approximately forty pounds. He is not the sort of thing that blows away in a stiff breeze. He is not the sort of thing that wanders off on his own. He is, Gerald insists, the sort of thing that gets stolen by "someone with a truck, a plan, and absolutely no respect for the sanctity of lawn ornaments."

Sheriff Hank Waverly has been called to investigate his second high-profile theft this month. (See: The Marmalade Incident, which remains unsolved and increasingly tense.) He arrived at the Hoffsteader residence with his notepad, his pencil, and an expression that suggested he was beginning to question his career choices.

"Now, Gerald," he began, "is it possible you moved Mr. Pemberton yourself and forgot?"

The look Gerald gave him could have wilted petunias. "Henry. I have not moved Mr. Pemberton since 1998, when I repositioned him two inches to the left to improve his sight lines to the bird feeder. I documented the move. I have photographs."

He does, in fact, have photographs. He showed them to this reporter. There are many of them. Mr. Pemberton is very well documented.

The crime scene offers few clues. There are no tire tracks (Gerald's lawn is immaculate). There are no footprints (it hasn't rained in a week). There is only a small, sad circle of slightly greener grass where Mr. Pemberton once stood, and a single red thread caught on a nearby rosebush that may or may not be relevant.

The town, naturally, has theories.

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Witness Statements & Community Theories

Edna Kowalski, neighbor: "I saw a suspicious van on Tuesday night. White. Or maybe beige. It was dark. It could have been a large car. Or a small truck. The point is, it was suspicious. It drove past Gerald's house at least twice. Maybe three times. I wasn't counting. I was watching my shows. But I noticed."

Pete Danziger, owner of Danziger's Hardware: "You know who's been buying rope lately? A lot of people. That's not helpful, I realize. But someone bought forty feet of rope last week and paid cash. I don't remember who. I process a lot of transactions. This is a hardware store. People buy rope. I'm just saying, it's suspicious in retrospect."

Margaret Chen, festival committee chair: "I have an alibi for every night this week. I want that on the record. I was in committee meetings. There are witnesses. I have nothing to do with this gnome situation, and I resent the implication that my ongoing disagreement with Gerald about his lawn's proximity to the parade route has anything to do with anything."

Burt Holloway, retired postal worker: "Gnome theft is a known phenomenon. It's called 'gnoming.' People steal gnomes and take them on trips and send postcards. It's a whole thing. I saw it on the news once. In 1994. The point is, Mr. Pemberton could be anywhere by now. He could be in Aruba."

Teenagers from the high school (who asked to remain anonymous but are definitely Tyler Morrison and his friends): "We didn't do it. Why would we do it? That's stupid. Also, even if someone hypothetically did do it as a prank, which we're not saying happened, but hypothetically, where would someone even put a forty-pound gnome? Hypothetically. Asking for a friend."

Mabel Hutchins, still upset about her marmalade: "Maybe now people will take property crime seriously in this town. I've been saying for weeks that there's a thief among us. First my marmalade. Now Gerald's gnome. What's next? Who's safe? This is what happens when investigations stall, Henry."

Gerald Hoffsteader, victim: "I just want him back. No questions asked. You can leave him on the porch. I won't press charges. He doesn't like being indoors. He gets anxious. Please. He's never been away from the garden this long. Not even when I had the lawn re-sodded in 2011. I brought him inside for that and he was miserable. He needs fresh air. He needs his sight lines."

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Anyone with information about Mr. Pemberton's whereabouts is encouraged to contact Sheriff Waverly, who promises to take the matter "as seriously as it deserves." Gerald has offered a $50 reward and a plate of his wife's brownies for information leading to Mr. Pemberton's safe return.

The brownies, this reporter can confirm, are excellent. Solve this crime.

Updates to follow as this gnome-napping develops.

In what may be the most unusual public announcement in Whiskey Pines history, local grocer Earl Lundgren stood on an overturned milk crate outside Lundgren's Market on Saturday morning and addressed a crowd of approximately forty-seven confused shoppers regarding what he called "an ongoing misuse situation that has gotten out of hand."

The situation, as it turns out, involves panty liners. And dusting. And the intersection of the two, which Earl Lundgren would very much like to see dissolved.

"It has come to my attention," Earl began, reading from a prepared statement and sweating visibly despite the mild weather, "that certain members of this community have been purchasing panty liners in bulk. And not for their intended purpose." He paused. He took a breath. "They're using them to dust their furniture."

The crowd murmured. Several people nodded knowingly. One woman in the back said, "They work really well, actually."

Earl pressed on, undeterred. "I have compiled a list of reasons why this practice must stop immediately."

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Earl Lundgren's Official Rationale (Read Aloud From Index Cards)

Reason One: "These products are designed for personal hygiene. They have a specific purpose. That purpose is not removing dust from your grandmother's china cabinet. When the manufacturers designed these items, they did not envision them being dragged across a credenza."

Reason Two: "My inventory system is in chaos. I'm ordering based on projected needs. The projected needs are wrong. I ordered four hundred units last month based on what I thought was a population increase. There was no population increase. There was a dusting increase. I cannot explain this to my regional distributor. I have tried. He thinks I'm lying."

Reason Three: "It's weird. I'm just going to say it. It's weird. I don't want to know what you're dusting. I don't want to think about it when you're checking out. I used to make small talk with customers. I can't anymore. What am I supposed to say? 'Doing some cleaning this weekend?' I know you're doing some cleaning this weekend. That's why you're buying forty-eight panty liners on a Saturday morning."

Reason Four: "The young people who work here don't know what's happening. Tyler asked me last week if there was a 'festival or something' because of the sales volume. I had to explain it to him. Do you know what it's like to explain this to a nineteen-year-old? He hasn't looked at me the same since."

At this point, Doris Pemberton (no relation to the missing gnome) raised her hand from the crowd. "But Earl, they're cheaper than those microfiber cloths. And they're disposable. And they pick up dust like nobody's business. The adhesive strip holds them right to your hand. It's efficient."

Earl closed his eyes for a long moment. "Doris. Please."

"I'm just saying, from a cost-per-dust perspective—"

"I am aware of the cost-per-dust perspective, Doris. That is not the point."

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The Plumbing Concern

The situation escalated when town plumber Hector Ruiz pushed his way to the front of the crowd, visibly agitated. "I need to say something," he announced. "I've been quiet about this, but I can't stay quiet anymore."

Hector, who has been servicing the pipes of Whiskey Pines for thirty-one years, expressed what he called "a growing terror" about the logical endpoint of the dusting trend.

"What happens when they're done dusting?" he asked the crowd. "Where do the panty liners go? I'll tell you where they go. Or where some people think they should go. Down the toilet. And I'm here to tell you, as a professional, as a man who has seen things in pipes that would make you weep: they do not go down the toilet."

He produced a laminated photograph from his back pocket, showing what he described as "a blockage from the Henderson place last spring." Several people looked away. One person left entirely.

"This is our future," Hector said grimly. "This is all our futures. Unless we act."

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The Committee

In a surprising turn, town council member Patricia Okonkwo proposed what she called "a reasonable fact-finding mission" to determine the true scope of the problem.

"Before we panic," she said, "we need data. I move that we appoint a committee to inspect the homes of suspected panty-liner dusters and examine the dust patterns on their furniture. If we can establish a correlation between the adhesive strip imprint and the dust distribution, we'll have proof. We'll know who's doing it. We'll have names."

The Dust Pattern Analysis Committee was approved by a vote of 31-14, with two abstentions from people who said they "needed to leave immediately for unrelated reasons."

Committee members include Patricia Okonkwo (chair), Hazel Pike from Pines & Needles (because, as she put it, "I notice when things have been moved"), retired forensic accountant Murray Blum (who volunteered because he "misses patterns"), and, reluctantly, Sheriff Hank Waverly, who was appointed before he could object and is reportedly "reconsidering his entire life."

The committee will begin home inspections next week. Participation is technically voluntary, but Patricia noted that "refusal to participate will be noted and interpreted accordingly."

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Lundgren's Countermeasures

Unable to wait for the committee's findings, Earl Lundgren announced that he would be taking immediate action at the store level.

"Effective Monday," he said, "I will be implementing a purchase limit. Three packages per customer, per week. If you need more than that for their intended purpose, you can speak to me privately and I will make accommodations. But you'll have to look me in the eye and tell me what they're for. And I'll know if you're lying."

Additionally, Earl announced that he would be moving the panty liner display from Aisle 4 to directly behind the checkout counter, "where I can monitor the situation personally."

"I'm also considering a sign," he added. "Something tasteful. Something clear. I've drafted a few options." He held up a piece of paper that read, in bold letters: THESE ARE NOT FOR DUSTING. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

Doris Pemberton raised her hand again. "Earl, what if I just buy microfiber cloths from the hardware store and this whole thing goes away?"

Earl stared at her for a very long time. "That," he said slowly, "would have been an excellent solution three months ago, Doris. Three months ago. Before I had to stand on a milk crate and say the word 'panty' in front of the Methodist choir."

The Methodist choir, who had been exiting their bus for a bake sale setup, waved uncomfortably from across the parking lot.

"This meeting is adjourned," Earl said. "May God have mercy on us all."

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The Dust Pattern Analysis Committee will hold its first organizational meeting on Thursday at 7 p.m. in the community center. Members of the public are welcome to attend but are asked not to bring dusting supplies of any kind. "Let's just keep this professional," Patricia Okonkwo said. "Or as professional as it can possibly be, given the circumstances."

This reporter will provide updates as they develop. In the meantime, if anyone needs microfiber cloths, Danziger's Hardware has them in stock. Pete says he's "not asking any questions, and frankly, he doesn't want to know."

Whispers in the Pines

The Mystery of the Missing Marmalade: A Whiskey Pines Affair

Crafting Season Opens at Pines & Needles

Notes from Roxanne's Writing Desk

The Annual Harvest Festival Returns

From Della Mae's Cafeteria Window: Four Muffins to Get You Through the Week

Opal's Granny Square Potholders: A Crochet Pattern for Beginners (and People Who've Burned Themselves)

The Case of the Purloined Garden Gnome: Whiskey Pines' Most Baffling Crime

Lundgren's Market Issues Emergency Declaration: "Panty Liners Are Not Dusting Cloths"