Page 15 of Pumpkin Patch Peril (Brook Ridge Falls Ladies’ Detective Club #1)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Hartwell property looked exactly as unwelcoming as it had during their previous visit.

The farmhouse needed paint, the fence posts were crooked, and the entire place had an air of defensive hostility.

Gertrude’s prized vegetable garden stretched along the front yard, each plant marked with small signs warning against trespassing.

“There she is,” Ruth said, spotting Gertrude working among her prize-winning pumpkin vines. “And judging by her body language, she’s about as thrilled to see us as a fox in a henhouse.”

Gertrude Hartwell straightened up from her gardening with the slow, deliberate movements of someone preparing for confrontation. She wiped her hands on her overalls and walked toward their car with obvious reluctance.

“What do you ladies want now?” Gertrude called out before they’d even finished parking. “I thought I made it clear yesterday that I don’t appreciate being accused of theft by a bunch of amateur busybodies.”

Mona climbed out of the car and fixed Gertrude with the look that had cowed three generations of family members and countless retirement center staff. “Gertrude, we are not busybodies. We are conducting a legitimate investigation into a serious crime, and your cooperation would be appreciated.”

Helen stepped forward with her most professional demeanor.

“Gertrude, as I mentioned, I have a background in journalism. I’ve covered enough crime stories to know that the best way to clear your name is through documented evidence.

May I ask you a few questions about your whereabouts on Sunday evening? ”

“My whereabouts?” Gertrude’s voice rose defensively. “I was right here on my own property, tending to my own business, unlike some people I could mention.”

“Can anyone verify that?” Helen continued smoothly, pulling out a small notebook with practiced ease. “Family members, neighbors who might have seen you?”

“I don’t need anyone to verify anything,” Gertrude snapped. “I showed you my pumpkin yesterday. It’s bigger than Brenda’s ever was. Why would I steal a smaller pumpkin when I’ve got a prize-winner right here?”

“That’s exactly why we need your help,” Helen said, switching tactics with the skill of someone who’d interviewed reluctant sources for decades. “If you’re innocent—and we certainly hope you are—then helping us document that benefits everyone involved.”

Gertrude crossed her arms, her weathered face skeptical. “How do you figure that?”

“Well,” Ida said, approaching with her phone ready for photography, “someone stole Brenda’s pumpkin using a tractor. We’ve photographed tire treads from the crime scene. If we can photograph your tractor tires and prove they don’t match, then you’re completely cleared of suspicion.”

“Scientific evidence,” Mona added with authority. “No more speculation, no more accusations, no more visits from us asking uncomfortable questions.”

Ruth leaned against the car door with studied casualness. “Unless of course you have some reason to avoid having your tires photographed. In which case, I suppose we’d have to wonder what you’re hiding.”

Gertrude glared at Ruth, then at the others, clearly torn between indignation and pragmatism. “You’re saying these photos would prove I didn’t do it?”

“Exactly,” Helen confirmed in her most reassuring interviewer voice. “Think of it as clearing your good name through documentary evidence. Once we establish your innocence, we can focus our investigation elsewhere.”

Mona stepped closer, giving Gertrude the full weight of her most commanding presence. “The choice is yours, Gertrude. Cooperate now and put this matter to rest, or continue to be a suspect in an ongoing investigation. Which would you prefer?”

Gertrude held Mona’s gaze for a long moment, and the others could practically see her will crumbling under the force of that legendary look.

“Well,” Gertrude said finally, her resistance deflating, “I suppose if it gets you ladies to stop suspecting me of pumpkin theft, it might be worth the trouble. But I want it on record that I’m not happy about any of this nonsense.”

She led them toward a weathered barn, where her tractor sat parked beside various pieces of farm equipment. The machine looked well-maintained despite its age, with large agricultural tires that showed plenty of wear.

“There’s my tractor,” Gertrude announced with lingering indignation. “Take all the pictures you want. You’ll see these tires never set foot on Brenda Mossberry’s property.”

Ida immediately began photographing the tire treads and tracks from multiple angles, paying careful attention to the distinctive wear patterns and tread design.

“These are perfect,” she murmured, checking each image for clarity and detail.

“Clear definition, good lighting, excellent contrast for mathematical analysis.”

While Ida worked, Helen positioned herself to continue her interview. “Gertrude, in your experience, how long would it take to transport a large pumpkin by tractor from one farm to another?”

“Depends on the distance and terrain,” Gertrude replied, apparently warming to the technical discussion.

“Cross-country through fields? Maybe twenty minutes if you know the routes. But you’d need proper equipment—a front loader or a trailer.

You can’t just toss a five hundred pound pumpkin in your lap. ”

“And someone would need to know the area well?” Helen pressed gently.

“Course they would. You can’t just go blundering around farmland in the dark. Too many fences, ditches, soft spots that’ll bog you down.”

Ruth was scanning the surrounding area when she noticed the dark sedan, now positioned with a clear line of sight to their location. “Ladies, our fan club is back. Same car, same careful distance.”

All four women turned to look where Ruth was pointing. The sedan was indeed clearly visible, no longer making any pretense of concealment.

“Fan club?” Gertrude asked sharply, following their gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“That dark sedan,” Mona said reluctantly. “It’s been following us all morning.”

“Following you?” Gertrude’s tone shifted from annoyance to alarm. “What did you ladies get yourselves mixed up in?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” Ruth said honestly. “But it seems this missing pumpkin might be more important than we originally thought.”

“A pumpkin?” Gertrude stared at them incredulously. “Someone’s following you over a missing pumpkin? If I were you ladies, I’d be careful. Some of your suspects might not be stable. Take Doris, for example.”

Mona frowned. “What about Doris?”

Gertrude glanced around, then hesitated. “Well, it’s not really for me to say, but let’s just say she’s made some very dark threats against people that cross her.”

“We’re almost finished anyway,” Ida assured her, taking the last few tire tread photographs. “These should give us everything we need for a comprehensive comparative analysis.”

“And when will you have results?” Gertrude asked, her tone suggesting she wanted this entire situation resolved immediately.

“I’ll need several hours to process the images and run the comparative measurements,” Ida replied with scientific precision. “But I should have preliminary findings by this afternoon, with full analysis complete by evening.”

Mona fixed Gertrude with another authoritative look. “The sooner we clear this up, the sooner everyone can get back to their normal routines without suspicious cars or unwanted visits.”

As they prepared to leave, the dark sedan began moving again, positioning itself to resume surveillance. The subtle cat-and-mouse game had evolved into an open monitoring operation.

“Gertrude,” Helen said, slipping into her professional mode one final time, “if you see anything else suspicious, or if anyone comes around asking questions about us or this investigation, would you contact Ruth immediately? This could be important for everyone’s safety.”

“I might,” Gertrude replied, though her tone had softened considerably under Mona’s continued influence. “Assuming you prove I had nothing to do with this pumpkin business.”

“We will,” Helen promised, though her attention was focused on documenting the sedan’s license plate number for her notes.

Ruth started the engine with characteristic directness. “Well, ladies, looks like our little agricultural investigation has graduated to the big leagues. Anyone else feeling like we might be in over our heads?”

As they pulled away from the Hartwell farm, their mysterious tail fell in behind them with almost professional precision. The game of amateur detection had suddenly become much more serious, and none of them were quite sure what they’d gotten themselves into.