Apple Pies and Poisoned Lies at the Cider Falls Festival.

Book 0: Cider Falls Orchard Mystery

by Traci Hall

Genres: Cozy Mystery; Mystery; Amateur Sleuth

Synopsis

For lovers of everything cozy and fall time, USA Today bestselling author Traci Hall brings all the autumn vibes to a brand new series featuring a family of Washington State apple orchard owners who become entangled in a murder investigation…

In the foothills of Washington’s Cascade mountains, the Smith family’s Cider Falls Orchard is at its busiest amid the bustling autumn season—but when murder enters the mix, one bad apple may have spoiled the whole barrel . . .

If you care for the land, the land will care for you.

 

For generations, that’s been the Smith family’s motto. Between hayrides, apple picking, bonfires, and tasty apple treats, their Cider Falls Orchard provides an autumn bounty that draws locals and tourists alike. And now, Mcintosh “Macki” Smith—named after an apple variety, just like her siblings—is home too, after a bad breakup.

 

Macki is glad to be on hand when her parents are sidelined by an accident, and she’s even been persuaded to enter the Cider Falls Festival’s prestigious baking competition with her famous double crust apple pie. But someone has taken the contest to deadly serious levels . . .

 

It seems there are plenty of surprising motives for murder, especially after Macki learns that a crooked developer wants to buy and demolish the orchard—which makes her parents’ accident increasingly suspicious. But serving up the real killer will put her in unexpected danger, because someone in this picture-perfect town finds murder as easy as pie . . .

Release date: August 25, 2026

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Second week of September

Cider Falls, WA

“Is that you, Macki Smith?” Lisha Felling beelined to the booth in the diner Macki shared with her sisters, Jazz and Ambrosia.

Macki had nobody to blame but herself for being in this predicament. Her sweet tooth, and the temptation of Hunter Phipps’s apple-blueberry crepe with homemade whipped cream, had lured her from the family farmhouse where she’d been serving self-imposed penance.

“You know it is,” Jazz replied in a dry tone as Lisha reached them.

“Hi.” Macki inwardly braced for the confrontation sure to follow.

Macki’s once-upon-a-time best friend wore a pretty, floral sundress that brought out the gold in her hazel eyes. Her light brown hair hung in two long braids over her shoulders, making her look like a teenager instead of a twenty-eight-year-old woman.

Though they were the same age, Macki immediately felt frumpy and wished she’d done more than splash water on her makeup-free face. Her thick hair, escaping its messy bun, tickled her cheek.

Hunter, stationed behind the café’s counter, picked up a pitcher of iced tea and walked toward their table. “Hey, Lisha.”

Lisha blushed and lowered her lashes, giving him a shy smile. “Morning.”

Hunter owned Cosmic Café in quaint downtown Cider Falls, population 1,000. The sandy-blond boy Macki had gone to high school with had filled out in all the right places—not that she had any business noticing. After the worst breakup in history, she’d crawled home to her family, wanting to hide away until she was a hundred.

“More tea?” Hunter topped off their glasses.

“Thanks!” Baby sister Jazz, a put-together twenty-two, took a dainty sip. They were having a late breakfast and Macki had prayed she’d squeeze in between the omelet dawdlers and the lunch crowd without bumping into anyone she knew. Best laid plans.

She’d been in Seattle for the last three years and things around Cider Falls had changed a lot. What hadn’t changed? Hunter’s crepes. The man had a gift that had been worth the risk. There was a teensy hint of cinnamon in the fruit filling. Putting her fork down with reluctance, she tilted her head toward Lisha.

“Hi, Lisha!” Ambrosia enthused.

Her sisters, brunette and green-eyed just like Macki, were polar opposites when it came to their personalities. Jazz, a champion horse woman, was ultra-reserved and managed the stables at the orchard. Ambrosia, twenty-four, was their marketing guru and exuded positive energy like lethal rays of sunshine. Macki supposed she was the middle in temperament, despite being the oldest of the five Smith siblings.

Lisha pulled a chair from a vacant oval dining table and placed it at the edge of the booth before sitting down. “I’m so excited to see you.” She dimpled at Macki. “It’s been forever, and we used to be so close.”

It had been ten years this September, during the annual Cider Falls Festival. Macki remembered exactly why they were no longer friends. The memory of Lisha kissing Macki’s boyfriend because Macki had won the apple pie contest and Lisha had wanted revenge still stung. It was Lisha’s betrayal that had hurt the most.

Hunter’s eyes widened at Lisha joining the sisters uninvited. He’d perceived that Macki wasn’t into catching up and had given them space to converse. No doubt gossip about Macki’s shameful return at the end of May had already made the rounds.

“Today is a teacher planning day, so the kids don’t have school. I’m on my way to pick up my paycheck from Sips, the coffee shop where I work on weekends? I recognized you through the window and had to pop in. I won’t stay.” Lisha held up her hand. “I want to apologize for being such a jerk. It was totally my fault because I was stupid with jealousy. It was your fourth blue ribbon in a row.”

Macki reached for her napkin and smoothed it over her lap, wishing Lisha would hurry so she could finish her cooling crepes. Of course, patient Lisha was a schoolteacher. She was an only child and had envied Macki and Amber their siblings, so had played with them. On purpose.

“Fifth,” Ambrosia said in a sweet but no-nonsense way.

Lisha waved her fingers in front of her face, perspiration glistening on her brow. “It wasn’t right. I guess it’s on my mind because the festival is around the corner and Mom mentioned that since you were back, it might be nice to make amends. You probably don’t even remember what happened …”

Lucy Felling had been a mother figure to them all, and it made sense that she’d be behind Lisha’s apology.

Macki quickly sipped her iced tea to swallow the anger in her throat. “I remember. When your best friend stabs you in the back it’s not something one forgets.” She’d decided not to compete after that and had baked for the joy of it … then she’d lost her mojo for even that, while in Seattle. Could she be any more pathetic?

Lisha’s pale skin mottled with red like an Envy apple, which was somehow fitting. “I am very sorry. You never returned my phone calls, or Michelle’s, or Stacey’s. You even ignored Amber Carrington.”

Macki flinched at the painful reminder of her part in the saga, though at the time freezing them out seemed like survival. “We weren’t that tight—not like you and me.”

As children, their parents had taken turns carpooling the five girls from Cider Falls to Chelan for school thirty minutes each way. Lisha, Macki, and Stacey were the closest, then Michelle and Amber. Amber, like Macki, was descended from a co-founder of their town but that didn’t make them besties.

In 1870, Jonathan Smith and Lord Robert Carrington had pitched their efforts together to create the town of Cider Falls, which included orchards as well as farms, though in 1900, the Carringtons had switched from apples to grapes. This had brought financial success and an elevated air of importance, to Macki’s way of thinking. Amber was the worst and used to talk with an English accent though she’d never been out of the US. Macki had lost track of her supposed friends when they’d dispersed to different colleges.

Macki felt a sharp pain in her ankle from Ambrosia kicking her discreetly under the table. Her sisters knew the truth about Lisha’s wayward lips. However, the town was way too small to carry a grudge against anyone, and so the incident had been tossed behind them like a rotten apple core.

“Will you accept Lisha’s apology?” Ambrosia asked. She had a diamond stud in her nose, and her short brunette hair was mermaidblue at the tips. Jazz’s locks were a sheet of ebony silk to her shoulders and the only piercings she had were in her ears.

Lisha blinked at Macki with what seemed to be sincere atonement.

“I …”

Hunter watched the exchange like an episode of Battle Camp, his hold on the pitcher of iced tea tightening. Jazz thinned her lips. She was all about good sportsmanship so would probably encourage acceptance, as would Ambrosia, for the sake of their community.

“All right.”

Lisha jumped from her chair to hug Macki, who stiffened.

“Too soon?” Lisha perched back. “It’s been a weight on my shoulders for so long.” She placed her hand over her heart. “Thank you.”

Hunter tilted his head and smiled at them, winking at Macki. “Too bad this confession made your breakfast go cold. I’ll make you another crepe.” He headed into the kitchen, which had a swinging half-door.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt you girls.” The hem of Lisha’s sundress brushed the linoleum of the café floor as she straightened her posture in the chair. “Were you strategizing for the festival?”

The Smiths sponsored the apple pie contest every year, from advertising to the hundred-dollar prize money. No matter how tight things were around the orchard, the festival went on. Community mattered. There was something magical about this geographical section of Washington state where many families were multigenerational and had held on to their orchards or farmland as a point of pride.

Like her pie crusts used to be. Her stomach knotted as she fretted over where she’d gone wrong.

“Nope,” Jazz said. Her sister was the forgiving type but not the forgetting. “The apple-blueberry crepe is Macki’s favorite. So, if you’re done with your apology, we’d like to continue our breakfasts.”

Jazz had a fruit parfait left after consuming her scrambled eggs and a bagel. Ambrosia, finished with her avocado toast, was about to start on her fresh berries.

“Right.” Lisha shifted on the chair and held Macki’s gaze. “I realize this might seem out of the blue, but nothing would let the town know we’re on speaking terms again better than you agreeing to compete this year.” She curled the edge of her braid over her finger, a sure sign of nerves. “You know, a redo of the apple pie contest.”

“No.” Macki gripped the glass of iced tea, immediately tense. “I don’t compete anymore.”

“That was so long ago, Mack,” Ambrosia said. “Lisha just apologized. Why not add another blue ribbon to the others you’ve earned?”

Lisha’s back went rigid at the subtle dig. “Once word gets out that Macki Smith is in the competition, it’s sure to bring in other contestants and Macki won’t be a shoe-in. Amber Carrington, me, and Penny Ackerson have all won in the last ten years. Phoebe too.”

“I don’t care about the contest,” Macki said. Phoebe LaCroix had been competing since Granny’s old reign. Who was Penny? Amber was a talented baker, as was Lisha. “Whatever happened to Stacey?”

“She moved to San Diego.”

Macki had always admired Stacey’s skill at crimping the crust around the edges of her pies. “Is she baking still?”

“No. She’s an elementary school teacher like me and Michelle.” Lisha offered a determined smile. “Will you participate?”

What on earth was wrong with this woman that she couldn’t accept no for an answer? “I said no, Lisha. I don’t compete anymore.”

Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed, hinting at the old competitive Lisha. “Are you afraid you don’t have what it takes?”

Macki was terrified, yes, not that she would ever share that with Lisha. She would rather be stung by a thousand bees than lay her heart bare again, no matter how many apologies came her way.

Luckily Hunter left the kitchen with a fresh apple-blueberry crepe that he deposited in the center of the table, swiftly picking up the other that she’d only eaten part of.

“This was very considerate of you, Hunter.” Macki would need a box to go. “Thanks.” Lisha had ruined her appetite.

Jazz tilted her chin toward Lisha. “You should probably scoot before Macki doesn’t talk to you for another ten years.”

“What’s your deal?” Ambrosia asked the seemingly dense schoolteacher.

Lisha winced. “I would like to prove once and for all that I can win a blue ribbon, with you, Macki, being one of the competitors. Amber and Penny feel the same. Hunter’s been tapped to be a judge for the apple pie contest.”

“That’s true.” Hunter crossed his arms. “Lisha, please let Macki enjoy her breakfast.”

At his rebuke, Lisha released the tip of her braid she’d been coiling.

Ambrosia swiped a fresh berry through the homemade whipped cream. “Macki is a yes for the competition.”

“What?” Sweat broke out along Macki’s spine as she stared at her not-so-sweet sister.

“It might be really good for you,” Jazz the traitor said. “Let’s ask Granny and find out what she thinks.”

“Score!” Lisha stood and grinned at Hunter. “You’ll have a tough time choosing a winner, but I sure hope it’s me.”

“Is that all you really wanted, was for me to compete?” Macki asked in surprise. “Did you even mean your apology?”

“I did, Macki.” Lisha practically floated toward the exit. “I can’t wait to tell Amber and Penny the fabulous news. Ambrosia, be sure to put that on your social media!” She left and the glass door closed behind her with a clang.

Macki glared at her sisters. She took a bite of her delicious crepe but the idea of competing after all these years had her stomach rolling.

“Why did you do that to me?” Macki nudged the plate from her.

“What’s the big deal?” Hunter asked. “It’s just an apple pie contest. You are a baker. It can’t be about the hundred bucks.”

“It’s not,” Jazz said.

“It’s the blue ribbon,” Macki said. “It makes normal people nuts.”

“How so?” Hunter asked.

“One year a nice old lady broke into our kitchen and attempted to steal the apple pie recipe because the Smiths, if they enter, always win. After the fiasco with Lisha as a teenager, I talked it over with Granny Honeybee and decided not to compete. She used to win all the time too but didn’t like the envious whispers. Friends are more important than a blue ribbon.” Macki had ended up alone despite her choices. “Besides, I don’t really bake anymore.”

“You can back out with honor,” Jazz said. “You were clearly coerced.”

“That’s true.” Hunter glared out the window.

“Who is Penny?” Macki asked.

“Penny Ackerson moved here a few years ago,” Hunter explained. “She’s a little older than me and made no secret about wanting her pies in my café. She’s had a rough time, emotionally, with her recent divorce.” He shrugged. “I’ve tasted her apple cobbler and it wasn’t that good.”

“I still think you should do it.” Ambrosia didn’t retreat from the line of fire. “For you to know that you have what it takes.”

“Isn’t baking like riding a bike?” Hunter asked.

“It isn’t even close to riding a bike!” Macki couldn’t believe her ears.

“What I’m trying to say”—Hunter shifted toward them—“is that once you learn it, it will come back to you …”

“I’m aware of what you meant. The answer is still no. Hunter, will you please pack this up for me? I’m not hungry anymore.”

“All right. Sorry about all of this but honestly, I can’t wait to taste your pies. They’re the stuff of legends.” Hunter stuck his hand in his half apron pocket. “The winner gets to showcase their pies in my café for the fall season.”

“That’s a terrific prize,” Macki said. “I had no idea, as Mom’s handling everything for the festival like always. I’ve been picking apples. This time of year, there seems to be a million things to do and not enough people to do them.”

“Dad told us he saw you at the top of a tree, fearless as ever,” Hunter said. Junior, his father, had been hired to pick fruit at the orchard July through December since before Macki was born. Hunter’s mother, Holly, helped him manage Cosmic Café. The Phippses were a tight family.

“It’s simple hard labor, which is perfect for my state of mind these days.” Macki wadded her paper napkin, ready to get back to work.

Hunter looked curious, but the front door opened before he could ask what she meant. He nodded at a couple Macki didn’t know. In the old days she would have at least recognized everyone. She’d been away at college for six years, then in Seattle spinning her wheels for another three on her dream pop-up bakery business, Crust to Crumble—an epic fail because her apple hand pies weren’t consistent.

Another waste had been her fiancé, now ex, Gary Pullen. She couldn’t take his cruel words anymore and realized it was better to be embarrassed by the breakup than marry a creep.

The one thing that she hadn’t lost was her master’s in agriculture business administration. She and Gary had met in college over hard cider and darts, and she’d quickly fallen in love with him, believing his manipulative lies. When she thought of how Gary had encouraged her to drop out, she was glad she’d stayed with her studies despite him.

Gary had a point though. A woman who couldn’t bake a pie crust shouldn’t be in the baking biz. And she certainly shouldn’t be entering contests.

“Sit anywhere,” Hunter said to the couple. He ducked into the kitchen and returned with a cardboard takeaway container. “Here you go. Breakfast is on me, Smith ladies. Welcome home, Macki. I really hope you compete and that I see you before the festival!”

Macki boxed up the crepe and whipped cream. Today was Friday and the festival was two weeks from Saturday. What could she do in two weeks to improve her baking?

If the last three years in Seattle had been anything to go by, not much. Well, maybe she could come down with the swine flu or something disgustingly catchy to get out of it.

After laying a large cash tip on the table, Macki opened the door for her sisters, following them out of the café.

Smith Orchard was one and a half miles away from town center, and a leisurely thirty-minute walk on this very pleasant late-summer morning. Aqua skies, soft breezes, the sweet scent of apples in the air couldn’t be denied, no matter how blue her mood. She had to get over herself.

“Don’t be mad,” Ambrosia said. She put on heart-shaped sunglasses in hot pink. Her tank top was rainbow colors over a teal skirt.

“It wasn’t cool for you to toss me under the bus like that,” Macki said. “Either of you.”

Jazz’s sunglasses were stylish black, like her capris and silk top. Her gladiator sandals were black leather and made for walking. “I suggested discussing it with Granny once I saw the terror on your face. Sorry, sis.”

“I am too,” Ambrosia said. “It’s just because I love your pies. What are your feels about what happened with Lisha?”

“I’m a little mad. She only apologized so I would agree to compete.” Macki exchanged her phone in the side pocket of her purse for her sunglasses in tortoiseshell. Lisha would have no problem trouncing her. Why, oh, why had Ambrosia said she’d do it?

They passed the cement fountain that spurted water into the air in graceful arcs.

The business section of Cider Falls was a four-block grid around a park, with the fountain in the center. Cosmic Café was directly across from the fountain, on Blossom Street. The Cascades Hotel was at the end of the block to the right and Sips Coffee House was across from it. Blue Heron, the bar owned by the Martinez family, was kitty-corner from Cascades. There were several small shops, including an ice cream parlor that Macki couldn’t wait to try.

When she was feeling better.

Jazz patted Macki’s arm in commiseration, the trio crossing at a break in traffic on the paved two-lane road. The main intersection was at Chandler and Vine, with a traffic light and a gas station. The Smiths acreage to the left was mostly apples and the Carringtons, to the right, grapes.

Grapes did almost as well as apples in this special microclimate, as did cherries and blueberries. The volcanic ash in the soil offered nutrients that bolstered quality and flavor. The mountains provided a windbreak that protected the trees and vines.

“Lisha seemed sincere. What took her so long to apologize?” Ambrosia asked as they strolled toward home.

“To be fair, she did at the time, but I just couldn’t get over it. I was a bratty teenager too, I guess,” Macki said. Her feelings had been hurt.

In the distance a turquoise lake shimmered in the sunshine. The water around them was clear and pure—truly one of a kind. The people from here felt a responsibility to the land and avoided major developments whenever possible.

“Well, it’s good to let it go then,” Jazz said. “Move forward. I’d still like you to kick her butt, and Amber’s too. The Carringtons can be so … extra.”

Bob and Felicia Carrington had four kids—Whitney, who managed the winery with her mom; Owen, their only son, who worked on the property with his dad; Amber, who baked the high-end snacks for the winery; and the youngest, Brooke, who often competed in the same horse circuits as Jazz.

“In case you missed it, I haven’t been baking.” Macki had quite simply lost her touch.

Jazz gave an elegant sniff. “Of course we noticed.”

“You can practice,” Ambrosia said with her customary confidence. “I loved your pies. Even better than Mom and Granny’s.” She put her finger to her mouth, emerald eyes dancing.

“How can you remember that?” Macki thought her sister was just being nice.

“I do. It’s something special that is just how you make them,” Ambrosia said. “Right, Jazz?”

“Yep. My favorite was the triple-layer apple pie you made while you were still in college.” Jazz rubbed her stomach. Her baby sister was taller than her and Ambrosia, who were around five foot four. Jazz was five foot seven and all lean muscle from her years riding horses. Ambrosia was a yoga fanatic who watched every single calorie she put in her mouth.

Macki’s curves had gotten curvier since her return home. Gary had developed a rotten habit of watching her eat every morsel. Why not have a piece of pie with ice cream and caramel sauce? And cake? If she could locate which of her teeth was the actual sweet tooth, she would pull it out.

If only.

Her one friend at the condo she’d lived in with Gary had been Logan Foster, the security guard for the luxe high-rise. It had been humiliating to return the key and be taken off the list, dragging her suitcase behind her. Logan’s words on her way out were, “What took you so long?”

The sisters followed a winding clear stream that led through tall apple trees, this variety the McIntosh, where she got her name. They were full of ripe fruit and her arms ached as she knew what she’d be doing later. Picking. Picking. And … picking.

“Are you sorry we went for breakfast?” Ambrosia asked. “I’d hoped to cheer you up with crepes but that didn’t happen thanks to dumb ol’ Lisha. You’re right. She just apologized to get you to compete.”

“It’s okay.” Macki would warm up the crepes she held in the to-go container for an afternoon snack, and talk to Granny about it, in case there was an honorable way to withdraw. It wasn’t like she’d officially signed up. There was an application process and small entry fee.

“Isn’t Hunter cute?” Ambrosia fanned her skirt. “He was totally checking you out.”

Macki peeked at her sister over the top of her sunglasses. “If you’d mentioned a setup, then I wouldn’t have gone. No more men for me, Ambrosia, got it?” Yes, Hunter was cute, but Macki was in a holding pattern until she figured her life out. A part of her had always suspected she’d be back here, at home. However, she truly thought she’d be married to Gary and have children of her own.

Well, she was here, and now, what next? She’d think about it after harvest in December. Free labor during the summer wouldn’t be turned down by her family. Her master’s degree had to be good for something. She could polish up her résumé and send it out around the first of the year so as not to be a burden.

Her parents weren’t pushing for her plans, but the argument when she’d graduated from college and not come home had never been resolved. Like many family squabbles, it was swept under the carpet.

Jazz nudged her arm into Ambrosia’s. “I didn’t know that was your ulterior motive or I wouldn’t have agreed to breakfast. Leave Macki alone. If she wants to sulk and gain twenty pounds let her. Those crepes are worth it.”

Had she been sulking? Jazz was right to call her on it. “I’m done pouting!” Macki peered around Ambrosia, who had been walking in the middle, to address Jazz. “I was, you’re right, but I am officially finished wallowing.”

“I’m glad,” Jazz said. “Gary was an idiot, not that you asked. He thought he was too good for us.”

“That’s really great to hear, sis.” Ambrosia gave a little skip, as if her positivity just couldn’t be contained. “That you’re ready to move forward. I didn’t like Gary either.”

Macki’s mouth gaped but she snapped it closed. She hadn’t considered getting her family’s opinion. Another mistake to add to the growing pile.

“Ask Granny to watch you practice your pies,” Jazz advised. “Sometimes it helps to reevaluate your basic steps with a spotter.”

“Good idea.” Macki swooshed at a bee buzzing around her container of food. “I don’t want either of you to get your hopes up about this competition. I haven’t baked, successfully, in years.” The more she’d tried, the worse it got.

“I’m not worried,” Ambrosia said.

“Because you are gonna win,” Jazz said.

Her sisters both had incredible competitive streaks. As the oldest, Macki was often the mediator, and she preferred that role to being in the thick of it.

“I haven’t gained twenty pounds.” Macki defensively smoothed one hand over her hip. Her denim shorts were snug. If Ambrosia’s style was boho, and Jazz’s classic, then Macki was denim and flannel all the way.

Ambrosia grinned at Macki. “You’ve been working outside so you’ve needed the calories.”

“You look great with curves,” Jazz said loyally.

“Practicing pies doesn’t equal dieting, right?” Macki placed her palm on her heart. “I’ll need taste testers besides just me.”

Jazz raised her hand, as did Ambrosia. They reached the apple storage barn, which was a hive of activity. Their one-eared barn cat, Steve, meandered toward them but then stopped and flared his tail, his eyes at half-mast. They could come to him and pet him if they wanted, but why should he do all the work?

Macki had saved Steve from an owl when he’d been a kitten, and she adored him. He loved the Smiths too but loathed being inside the main house. That meant pet carriers and the vet—so no thanks. He was a wild soul snatched from death’s talons. She gave him a piece of crepe and scratched behind his ear.

The cowbell clanged from the bunkhouse. It was now eleven thirty, and the farmhands who lived on the property would take a quick lunch break. Pedro, Manuel, and Sammy each had their own room. Pedro had lived on the orchard Macki’s whole life with Manuel almost as long. Sammy, the newest hire, had been with them for five years.

Cortland, second oldest Smith sibling, had converted a barn into a studio. He’d moved out of the farmhouse at twenty, and their parents, Darla and Harrison, hadn’t argued. The youngest, Crispin, was in LA to be a screenwriter, with no desire to retur. . .