Page 18 of Pumpkin Patch Peril (Brook Ridge Falls Ladies’ Detective Club #1)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Helen grabbed the brass fireplace poker, testing its weight with the efficiency of someone who’d clearly given this scenario previous thought.

Ruth snatched up Mona’s prized ceramic umbrella stand, a hefty Victorian piece that could definitely cause some damage.

Ida, ever practical, selected the heavy crystal fruit bowl from the sideboard, dumping the decorative autumn gourds onto the carpet with a series of soft thuds.

Mona herself wielded the delicate rose-painted teapot from their earlier coffee service, raising it above her head like a floral weapon of mass destruction.

“On three,” she mouthed silently, positioning herself directly in front of the door.

Ruth and Helen flanked the entrance like a SWAT team, if SWAT teams typically carried umbrella stands and fireplace accessories. Ida crouched behind the dining table, crystal bowl at the ready, prepared to launch a devastating surprise attack.

The knocking came again. Three raps, pause, three more.

Mona held up one finger. Then two. Then three.

She yanked the door open with dramatic flair, teapot raised in a threatening arc, ready to deliver justice with fine bone china.

“Freeze! We’re armed and—oh.”

Standing on the doormat was a small, round woman in her sixties, flour-dusted hands clutching a large wicker basket, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at the arsenal of domestic weapons pointed in her direction.

She wore a cardigan covered in appliqué pumpkins and had the expression of someone who’d just realized she might have made a serious tactical error.

“Please don’t hit me with the teapot!” Doris squeaked, raising her hands in surrender while trying not to drop her basket. “I just came to confess!”

The four ladies slowly lowered their makeshift weapons, staring in complete shock.

“Doris?” Mona practically shrieked, nearly dropping her teapot. “You’re our stalker?!”

“What? No!” Doris protested, waving her hands frantically while backing away. “I mean, yes, I was following you, but stalker sounds so... criminal!”

Ruth pointed her umbrella stand accusingly. “You’ve been the one in that creepy sedan! Following us around town like some kind of... of...”

“Amateur spy!” Helen finished, brandishing the poker. “We thought you were a professional! Or a foreign agent!”

“Or one of Ruth’s sketchy ex-boyfriends!” Ida added helpfully, still clutching her crystal bowl.

“Ladies!” Doris squeaked, looking genuinely terrified. “Please! I can explain everything! I learned surveillance from YouTube!”

“You learned surveillance from YouTube?” Ida asked incredulously, abandoning her battle station behind the dining table.

Doris looked slightly proud despite her nervousness.

“Quite educational, actually. Though most of the tutorials assume you’re investigating cheating spouses, not amateur detectives with mathematical analysis skills.

I even borrowed my nephew’s car because it’s a dark sedan. They say that’s the best kind of car.”

Helen lowered the poker but kept it in sight. “Why were you following us?”

“Because I panicked,” Doris admitted. “After that horrible scene with Brenda at the pie contest, everyone knows we had words. When her pumpkin went missing, I realized how guilty that would make me look.”

“So you decided to monitor our investigation?” Mona asked.

“I thought if I knew what evidence you had, I could prepare some kind of defense. Though I wasn’t sure what kind—my experience with criminal procedure comes entirely from watching Matlock reruns.”

“But you said you were using your own pumpkins for all that baking,” Mona said slowly.

“Every last one of them,” Doris confirmed with growing confidence. “I deliberately used up my entire pumpkin harvest because I was planning to teach Brenda Henderson a lesson about insulting my gourds.”

The ladies leaned forward with interest.

“What kind of lesson?” Ruth asked.

Doris reached into her basket and pulled out a photograph of an impressive blue-gray squash that looked substantial enough to feed a small army.

“This kind of lesson,” she said proudly. “Blue Hubbard winter squash. Twenty-three pounds of dense, sweet flesh that makes Brenda’s watery giant pumpkin look like amateur hour.”

“That’s beautiful,” Helen said admiringly.

“After Brenda called my gourds ‘shrivelly little things’ and suggested I should use canned pumpkin,” Doris continued, her voice growing stronger, “I decided to show her what real expertise looks like. This Blue Hubbard will win the specialty squash category while demonstrating that culinary excellence matters more than raw size.”

“So you’re not competing against Brenda directly,” Ida observed.

“I’m competing against her philosophy,” Doris said firmly. “Quality over quantity. Traditional methods over flashy spectacle. When my Blue Hubbard takes the ribbon while her stolen pumpkin sits empty-handed, everyone will understand which approach produces superior results.”

Ruth looked up from studying the photograph. “Wait—you said ‘stolen pumpkin.’ You don’t think she’ll recover it?”

Doris’s confident expression faltered. “Well, I assumed... I mean, it’s been missing for days...”

“Doris,” Mona said carefully, “do you have any idea who might have actually taken it?”

“I’ve been so worried about looking guilty myself, I haven’t really considered other possibilities,” Doris admitted. “Though Laura Jenkins has been quite vocal about Brenda’s pesticide use. And there was talk at the feed store about Tom Knowles having contamination problems.”

“We eliminated both of them,” Helen said. “Tire tread evidence.”

“Tire treads?” Doris looked impressed. “No wonder I was terrified of your investigation. That’s remarkably thorough for amateur detectives.”

“Ida’s mathematical analysis,” Ruth explained proudly. “Neither Tom nor Gertrude’s tractors match the crime scene evidence.”

“So we’re back to square one,” Mona said with frustration. “No viable suspects, and the competition is this weekend.”

Doris looked around at their evidence-covered dining table with genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry I wasted your time with all the surveillance drama. I should have just come forward and explained about the Blue Hubbard from the beginning.”

“No harm done,” Helen said diplomatically. “Though next time, maybe call ahead instead of mysterious surveillance?”

“Definitely,” Doris agreed. “My nerves aren’t built for espionage work. Mr. Whiskers is much better at covert operations than I am.”

“Mr. Whiskers?” Ruth asked.

“My alpha cat. He’s got excellent reconnaissance skills, though his intelligence reports are primarily food-related.

” Doris stood up, gathering her basket. “I should let you get back to your investigation. I hope you find Brenda’s pumpkin—competition isn’t nearly as satisfying without a proper opponent. ”

As Doris prepared to leave, Mona’s phone rang. The caller ID showed Brenda’s name.

“Brenda?” Mona answered, putting it on speaker.

“Ladies, please tell me you have good news,” Brenda’s voice was strained, nearly desperate.

“The competition is the day after tomorrow. I’m supposed to deliver my entry to the pavilion for pre-judging by eight AM, and I have nothing to show them.

People keep asking me about my pumpkin, and I’m running out of excuses. ”

The four ladies exchanged worried glances. They could hear the panic in Brenda’s voice.

“We’re making progress,” Mona said carefully. “We’ve eliminated several suspects—”

“Eliminated?” Brenda’s voice cracked. “I don’t need suspects eliminated, I need my pumpkin found! Do you realize what this is going to do to my standing in the community? I’ve been bragging about this entry for months!”

After Brenda hung up, the room fell into uncomfortable silence.

“One more day,” Ruth said quietly. “Thirty-six hours.”

“We’ve failed her,” Helen said, looking around at their evidence-covered dining table. “All this investigation, and we’re no closer to finding that pumpkin than when we started.”

After Doris left, the four ladies sat in contemplative silence, processing the unexpected resolution to their stalker mystery.

“Well,” Ruth said finally, “that was convenient.”

“Too convenient?” Helen asked, her journalist instincts kicking in.

Mona looked up from gathering their evidence. “You don’t believe her?”

“I want to believe her,” Helen said carefully. “But think about it—she shows up right after we’re discussing having no suspects left, provides a perfect explanation for her suspicious behavior, and conveniently eliminates herself from consideration.”

“Plus,” Ruth added, “she could be lying about the Blue Hubbard. Maybe she doesn’t have one. Maybe she made up the whole story after stealing Brenda’s pumpkin.”

Ida looked up from her calculations with interest. “That’s actually statistically possible. Guilty parties often volunteer information to appear helpful while misdirecting investigations.”

“But how would she move a five hundred and twenty pound pumpkin?” Mona asked. “She’s not exactly built for heavy lifting.”

“She probably knows someone with a tractor. Half the county has them,” Helen pointed out.

Ruth was already pulling out her iPad. “What if her car got damaged trying to transport something that size? That would explain why she needed to borrow another vehicle for surveillance.”

“Or,” Ida said thoughtfully, “maybe she had help. Accomplices we don’t know about.”

Mona studied their evidence spread across the table. “So do we believe her story about the Blue Hubbard revenge plan, or do we think she’s a very clever thief trying to throw us off her trail?”

“Both scenarios are plausible,” Ruth admitted. “Though I have to say, the Blue Hubbard explanation felt genuine. Her passion for traditional baking methods seemed real.”

“Criminals can be passionate about their cover stories,” Helen pointed out.

“True,” Mona said. “But if she is lying, and she’s not the thief, that leaves us with...”

“Laura Jenkins,” Ida finished. “Our last remaining suspect.”

“The scarecrow-armed environmental activist,” Ruth said skeptically. “She seems even less capable of pumpkin theft than Doris.”

“Unless she had help too,” Helen suggested. “Environmental groups can be surprisingly organized when they’re motivated.”

“True. And she does have that charm bracelet,” Mona added. “Maybe she has access to machinery through her bee conservation work.”

Ida was already making notes. “We need to investigate Laura Jenkins more thoroughly. Interview her directly instead of just observing from a distance.”

“Assuming Doris is telling the truth,” Ruth said. “If she’s not, we’re wasting time chasing the wrong suspect while the real thief—possibly Doris herself—gets away with it.”

“So what’s our next move?” Helen asked.

Mona looked around at her friends with determination. “We approach Laura Jenkins, but we keep Doris on our radar. If her story about the Blue Hubbard doesn’t check out, we’ll know she’s playing us.”

“And if Laura Jenkins seems innocent too?” Ruth asked.

“Then we’re back to square one with a much bigger mystery than we thought,” Mona said grimly. “But at least we’ll know we’ve eliminated our obvious suspects through proper investigation.”

“Tomorrow we talk to Jenkins,” Helen declared. “Time to find out if our last suspect is innocent, guilty, or just another red herring.”

“And hope that somewhere in all this, we actually find Brenda’s pumpkin,” Ida added practically.

“Before the competition,” Ruth reminded them. “Because if we don’t solve this by Saturday, Brenda’s chances of winning are finished regardless of who took it.”