Page 20 of Pumpkin Patch Peril (Brook Ridge Falls Ladies’ Detective Club #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Twenty minutes later, they had pryed Ida away from her statistics lecture, and Ruth’s Oldsmobile was driving up the driveway to Laura Jenkins’s property, past a weathered mailbox decorated with hand-painted bees and butterflies.

The house was a charming old farmhouse, painted soft yellow with white trim that had seen better decades. But it was the outbuildings that caught their attention—a massive red barn that looked like it could house a small aircraft, and a potting shed that seemed larger than some people’s garages.

“Well,” Ida observed from the backseat, “she’s certainly got plenty of places to hide a giant pumpkin.”

The property was a riot of late-season color.

Perennial gardens sprawled in organized chaos around the house and buildings, filled with native wildflowers, towering sunflowers, and what appeared to be every bee-friendly plant known to botany.

The air hummed with the industrious buzzing of bees and the flutter of monarch butterflies preparing for their southern migration.

They found Laura kneeling in a flower bed near the potting shed, wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat that made her look like a character from a Victorian garden party.

She was carefully dead-heading spent blooms when she spotted their approach, and her expression immediately shifted to cautious recognition.

“Oh,” she said, rising slowly and brushing dirt from her knees. “You’re the ladies from the other day. The ones with the reckless parking situation.”

Ruth winced slightly, but Mona stepped forward with her most diplomatic smile. “We really are sorry about that.”

“And,” Helen added smoothly, “we heard from Merry Bellweather that you have a petition about pesticide regulation that we’d like to sign.”

Laura’s entire demeanor transformed as if someone had flipped a switch from suspicious to delighted. “Oh! Oh, how wonderful! I’m so glad there are people in this community who care about environmental protection.” She practically bounced on her toes. “Let me get the petition right now!”

She hurried toward the house, her charm bracelet creating a soft musical tinkling with each enthusiastic step.

The moment she disappeared inside, the ladies sprang into action like a well-rehearsed reconnaissance team.

“Quick,” Mona whispered, “check the barn windows.”

Helen scurried toward the large structure, trying to peer through grimy glass while maintaining the appearance of casual garden appreciation. Ruth headed for the potting shed, craning her neck to see inside while pretending to admire a nearby stand of fall asters.

Ida, meanwhile, had discovered a butterfly bush the size of a small tree and was practically diving into its purple branches.

“Ida, what are you doing?” Mona hissed.

“Scientific observation,” Ida replied, her voice muffled by foliage. “This bush could hide all sorts of evidence. Very thorough hiding place for—”

“Just what are you doing?”

They all froze. Laura was standing on the porch steps, petition in hand, staring at their obvious snooping with growing suspicion.

“You didn’t really come here for the petition, did you?” Laura said slowly, her earlier enthusiasm cooling rapidly.

Caught red-handed, Mona decided to abandon subtlety entirely. “Laura, we’re looking for Brenda Henderson’s missing pumpkin, and we know about the feud between you two over her pesticide use.”

“You think I stole her pumpkin?” Laura’s voice rose with indignation. “That I would stoop to theft just because I disagree with her farming methods?”

“Actually,” Mona said, reaching into her purse with dramatic flair, “we have proof you were in Brenda’s barn.”

She pulled out the small angel charm and held it up like a prosecutor presenting evidence. “We found this in Brenda’s barn right after her pumpkin was stolen.”

Mona pointed at Laura’s charm bracelet with triumph. “And unless I’m mistaken, you’re missing a wing from one of your charms.”

Laura sputtered, “That doesn’t prove anything! Anyone could have these bracelets—”

“Not with a missing charm, though,” Helen pointed out reasonably.

Mona pressed their advantage. “Things will go much easier if you just admit you stole the pumpkin. If you return it in time for the contest, no one need even know.” She gestured toward the massive barn. “Where is it? In there?”

Laura stared at them for a long moment, and something shifted in her expression. The defensive anger was replaced by something that might have been resignation, or perhaps something more calculating.

“You ladies don’t give up, do you?” she said finally.

The three women straightened proudly. “Of course not,” Mona declared. “We’ve solved many mysteries.”

“Multiple murders,” Ruth added helpfully.

“Several cases of fraud,” Helen contributed.

“One memorable ferret situation,” Ida called from behind the butterfly bush.

Laura’s demeanor changed again, but this time the shift made Mona’s confidence waver. There was something almost predatory in Laura’s sudden smile.

“Fine then,” Laura said, her voice taking on a tone that made all three ladies exchange nervous glances. “You want to see what’s in the barn? I’ll show you.”

Suddenly, Mona didn’t feel quite so confident about their detective skills.

“Well,” Ida said, finally extricating herself from the butterfly bush with leaves in her hair, “maybe we could just take your word for it...”

But Laura was already moving, grabbing Ida firmly by the elbow. “Oh no. I’m going to show you exactly what I’ve been hiding.”

She practically dragged Ida toward the barn, with the others hurrying along behind, their earlier bravado evaporating rapidly. Laura pulled open the heavy doors with surprising strength, revealing a dark interior that could have contained anything.

“In you go,” Laura said, her voice carrying an edge that made Mona wish they’d brought backup.

Or weapons.

Or Jack.

The inside of the barn was dim and musty, filled with shadows that could hide any number of secrets. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mona could make out various shapes covered with tarps, tools hanging from walls, and what might have been agricultural equipment lurking in the corners.

“You’re right,” Laura said from behind them, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. “I was in Brenda’s barn.”

“AHA!” Ida exclaimed, though her triumphant tone was somewhat undermined by the nervous quaver in her voice.

Ruth squinted into the gloom. “I don’t see any pumpkin.”

“That’s because,” Laura said, moving to a pile of tarps in the center of the barn, “I didn’t take a pumpkin.”

With a dramatic flourish, she whipped away the coverings to reveal not a giant orange gourd, but dozens of bags of chemical fertilizer, pesticide containers, and what appeared to be enough toxic agricultural products to supply a medium-sized farm operation.

“That’s what I took,” Laura said with grim satisfaction.

“Every bag of poison I could carry. Saturday night, I knew Brenda would be at the bean supper, so I went over with my posse, and we took every container of chemical death we could fit in our truck. Didn’t touch a pumpkin. Didn’t even see one.”

The ladies stood in stunned silence, staring at the small mountain of confiscated agricultural chemicals.

“So you see,” Laura continued, “while you’ve been chasing me around as your prime pumpkin thief, I was actually conducting environmental protection operations. Those chemicals are going to be properly disposed of instead of contaminating the ecosystem.”

Mona felt her detective theories crumbling around her. “But... but the charm...”

“Must have broken off when I was loading bags,” Laura said matter-of-factly. “These bracelets aren’t built for heavy lifting.”

Twenty minutes later, they sat in Ruth’s Oldsmobile at the end of Laura’s driveway, staring at the peaceful farmhouse and processing their complete failure.

“So,” Ruth said finally, “that was our last suspect.”

“Our only remaining suspect,” Helen corrected morosely.

“We’ve never run out of suspects before,” Mona said, slumping in the passenger seat. “This case is harder than any murder we’ve solved.”

Ida leaned forward from the backseat. “Either there’s someone not on our list...”

“Or we missed one of the clues,” Mona finished grimly.

They sat in contemplative silence, watching bees buzzing around Laura’s wildflower gardens, each lost in their own thoughts about how four experienced amateur detectives could have gotten so thoroughly stumped by a missing pumpkin.

“So what now?” Ruth asked finally.

“Now,” Mona said with more confidence than she felt, “we go back to the beginning and figure out what we missed.”

“Tomorrow is the contest, and we need to figure this out once and for all, even if we have to stay up all night to do it!”