Clement Peterson came in the front door whistling and threw his hat on the kitchen table along with the six-pack of beer he’d bought on the way home.

Today was a special day, so he’d splurged on the good stuff from the fancy organic grocer in town.

He opened the fridge to see if there was anything good in there.

There wasn’t.

“You get beer?” Gretchen yelled from the living room.

He could hear Nailed It playing in the background. All of his sister’s favorite shows were ones where there was a chance for people to get humiliated.

“Yeah,” he called back to her.

Normally he tried to get home before Gretchen. He liked having control of the remote and the good spot on the couch.

But tonight he was glad she was there. He had been dying to tell her everything he’d done.

He snatched the six-pack off the table and headed out to join her.

“Ha, I can’t believe you got that girlie stuff again,” Gretchen said, eying the beer as he placed it on the coffee table.

“It’s not girlie,” he told her. “It’s called Framboise, and it’s from Belgium.”

“I rest my case,” she said. “Besides, anything that comes from that frou-frou store in town is all organic, free-range bullshit.”

He scowled at her.

“It has raspberries on the label,” she added, her contempt not preventing her from grabbing the first bottle out of the pack and popping the top against the edge of the coffee table to open it.

“Men eat raspberries,” Clem said, opening his own can. “Besides, this is kind of a celebration.”

“Oh yeah?” Gretchen took her eyes off the beer and straightened up, paying attention to him for once.

“What did you do?” Her mischievous eyes flashed with glee.

He took a big swallow, building her anticipation a little.

“Well, first thing this morning I shot a rabbit, slit its throat, and left it on their doorstep,” he said, grinning at the thought of one of those girls waking up to find it there.

“Gross,” Gretchen said. “Okay.”

“And I painted on their pick-your-own-peaches sign,” he said.

“What do you mean you painted on it?” she asked.

“I turned ‘Martin’s Bounty’ into ‘Martian’s Booty’,” he said, snickering.

“Okay, I get it,” Gretchen said. “I guess.”

“And I went over around dinner time and slashed the tires of their tractor,” he added, waiting for her reaction.

She nodded, but way less enthusiastically than he’d expected.

Maybe she would have been more impressed if she had seen how cool he’d looked decked out in all the ninja gear he’d accumulated over the years. Gretchen had always told him it was a waste of money, but she no idea how quiet he’d been in his tabi boots, or how easily he’d punctured the tractor tires with his tanto dagger.

No appreciation for the finer things in life – that was her problem.

“And then I cut the brake line on it,” he said.

That had been his finishing touch. Cutting the brakes on someone’s actual car might have been going too far. But all that was going to happen with the tractor was that one of them was going to end up driving it into a ditch, or right into the cornfield. That would be epic.

“That’s a little better,” Gretchen said, raising one eyebrow. “What else?”

“What do you mean what else?” he spluttered. “I barely had time to do anything else between that and work.”

“What the hell, Clem?” Gretchen hollered, slapping him with a throw pillow. “This isn’t some senior prank. This is serious. There’s a lot of money at stake.”

Typical Gretchen.

“I’m in charge now,” he stormed, totally losing his cool. “You fucked up with the bees and dad put me in charge.”

“You may be in charge, but you need to step it up or we won’t get rid of them in time,” Gretchen spat. “That guy wants to start construction before winter.”

The phone rang, interrupting their argument.

Gretchen looked at Clem like she was the Queen of Sheba and picking up the landline was beneath her. Whatever.

Clem got up and grabbed the receiver off the cradle.

“Petersons’,” he said into it.

“It’s Dolly,” the woman on the other end said. “Put your daddy on.”

It was funny, all his life Dolly Strickland had seemed like Mrs. Santa Claus to Clem. He never suspected she had a heart of ice.

“He’s at Rotary,” Clem replied. “But, uh, I can report if you want.”

There was a momentary silence.

“Put her on speaker,” Gretchen yelled.

“Yes, dear, put me on speaker so I can hear what your sister has to say,” Dolly agreed, sounding relieved that there was another Peterson around for her to talk with.

Clem might not be a big talker, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get down to business.

He put her on speaker anyway, then placed the receiver on the coffee table and sat next to his sister on the sofa.

“Roman Panchenko called me today about his space casino,” Dolly said, sounding a little shaken. “Do I have news for him?”

Clem swallowed, suddenly getting his sister’s point about his plans being small time.

“I started with some vandalism, intimidation, a bit of property destruction,” Clem said. “I didn’t get caught either.”

“Did they even notice it?” Dolly asked. “I didn’t see any police activity over there today.

Damn. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Listen,” Dolly said. “I told Roman Panchenko personally that your family would help make the land available for his alien-themed casino.”

Clem swallowed. Rumor had it that the Panchenko guy was linked to the mob out in Glacier City. He was no one to be messed with.

“I don’t like to think about what could happen if you fail to follow through,” Dolly said, echoing his own fears. “Do you?”

Clem wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Of course not,” Gretchen said, breaking Clem’s silence. “We’re gonna think bigger.”

“The key with them is money,” Dolly said. “We want to make sure no one goes near those peaches of theirs. Then they won’t be able to afford to hold onto the place and they’ll have to sell.”

“How do we do that?” Clem asked, mystified.

“What does everyone in this town hate?” Dolly asked. “Figure that out, and find a way to link it to their peaches and you’ve got it all lined up.”

“What does everyone hate?” Clem echoed.

“I dunno,” Gretchen said. “This place is getting so fruity lately. Gluten? Tree nuts? Any crap they don’t sell at that fancy grocery store.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Clem said.

“No,” Dolly said. “No, I think you’re on to something here. Gluten-free, free range, non-GMO…”

“What the hell is a GMO?” Clem asked.

“It’s perfect,” Dolly said reverently. “GMOs are genetically modified organisms. If we spread that rumor, it will check out. Those peaches over on Martin’s Bounty bloom way earlier than anywhere else around here.”

“But their peaches have always ripened early,” Clem said. “It’s one of the reasons they’ve always been such big seller.”

“And this year, it will be the reason they fail. Remember, it doesn’t have to be true,” Dolly said slowly, as if he were stupid. “It just has to be enough to scare people away.”

“Holy shit,” Gretchen breathed. “Clem, when we sabotaged the water there were no blooms on those trees. And now there are ripe peaches?”

Clem thought about it. She was right. That did seem too fast. He stared at her, his mind buzzing a mile a minute to work it out.

“How did they do that?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dolly said.

“It just has to scare people away,” Gretchen said, her eyes lighting up with pleasure.

Clem was starting to think he wasn’t going to get a chance to use his grapping hook after all.