Page 5 of Pumpkin Patch Peril (Brook Ridge Falls Ladies’ Detective Club #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

The darkness inside the barn was absolute—the kind of thick, suffocating blackness that made you question whether your eyes were actually open. Four elderly women stood frozen like statues, afraid to move lest they walk into a pitchfork or tumble over a wheelbarrow.

“Well,” Ida whispered into the void, “this is cozy.”

“Don’t move,” Ruth hissed. “There are sharp things everywhere in here.”

“I can’t see my hand in front of my face,” Helen added, though nobody could verify this claim since nobody could see anything at all.

Mona took a tentative step forward and immediately collided with what felt like a hay bale. “Oof! This is ridiculous. We’re four grown women, not cave explorers.”

“Technically, we’re four grown women trapped in a barn like characters in a bad horror movie,” Ida pointed out helpfully. “All we need now is ominous music and someone with a chainsaw.”

“That’s not helping, Ida.”

They shuffled around in the darkness for several minutes, bumping into each other and various farm implements.

Ruth managed to walk face-first into a hanging rake, which swung back and nearly took out Helen.

Ida stepped on something that squeaked—whether it was alive or just a rusty hinge, nobody wanted to investigate further.

“Wait a minute,” Helen said suddenly, her voice brightening with the tone of someone who’d just remembered something important. “We have phones!”

“Phones?” Mona asked blankly.

“Flashlight apps! We all have flashlight apps!”

There was a moment of profound silence as this revolutionary concept sank in.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Ruth muttered. “Sometimes I think we really are as addled as people assume.”

The sound of fumbling ensued as four elderly women attempted to locate their phones in the darkness. Purses were rustled, pockets were patted, and several creative words were muttered under various breaths.

“Got it!” Ida announced triumphantly.

A brilliant white light suddenly blazed to life, temporarily blinding everyone in the immediate vicinity.

“AHHH!” Helen shrieked, throwing her hands up to shield her eyes. “Point it down!”

“Sorry!” Ida swung the phone wildly, creating a strobe effect that would have been impressive at a nightclub but was considerably less helpful in a barn full of sharp objects.

“Not in my face!” Ruth protested, stumbling backward into a wheelbarrow.

Three more lights flicked on in rapid succession, creating a chaotic light show as each woman tried to orient herself while simultaneously being blinded by everyone else’s phones.

“This is like a very confused disco,” Helen observed, squinting against the glare.

“Point them all down at the ground,” Mona instructed, taking charge of the situation with the authority of someone who’d organized church potlucks for forty years.

They managed to coordinate their flashlights into something resembling useful illumination, casting four overlapping circles of light on the dirt floor. The barn looked different in the harsh LED glow—more mysterious, full of deeper shadows and strange angles.

“There’s the door,” Ruth said, pointing her light toward the massive double doors that had so recently sealed their fate.

They made their way carefully across the barn, stepping over tools and around hay bales like a geriatric commando unit. When they reached the doors, Mona put her shoulder against them and pushed.

Nothing.

“They’re stuck,” she announced, though this was fairly obvious to everyone.

Helen joined her, and together they pushed against the heavy wooden doors. “Something’s blocking them from the outside.”

“Or someone,” Ida added ominously.

Ruth examined the doors with her phone light, looking for a latch or handle on the inside. “No way to open them from in here. These old barn doors were designed to keep livestock in, not to provide convenient escape routes.”

“Well,” Mona said with forced cheerfulness, “this isn’t the first time we’ve been locked in somewhere.”

“The garden shed,” Helen said immediately. “Last spring, when we were investigating the missing tulip bulbs.”

“And we got out using the contents of our purses,” Ruth added, warming to the memory. “Emergency preparedness, that’s what Ida called it.”

“I prefer to think of it as being comprehensively equipped for life’s little surprises,” Ida said, already rummaging in her oversized patent leather handbag.

“Right then,” Mona announced, setting her phone down to provide general illumination. “Emergency purse inventory. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

They arranged themselves in a circle on the barn floor, their phones providing a circle of light like a campfire made of technology. One by one, they began emptying their purses with the systematic thoroughness of archaeologists excavating a particularly eccentric civilization.

Helen went first, producing items with the commentary of a museum curator: “Reading glasses, magnifying glass for really small print, kazoo, glitter, chalk…”

“What’s the chalk for?” Ruth asked with interest.

“In case we need to draw a body outline.”

Ruth continued the inventory: “Tablet, charging cable, portable battery pack, key to an old motel that went out of business—don’t ask why—glass doorknob, emergency whistle, and...” She held up a small spray bottle. “Pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray?” Mona blinked at her friend.

“The retirement center offered a self-defense class. I thought it was prudent.”

Ida’s turn produced the most eclectic collection: “Hand lotion, throat lozenges, three napkins with various pastry remnants, a cinnamon roll from this morning, two packets of crackers from the airline—that was from 1987, probably shouldn’t eat those—a small flashlight that I forgot I had, spare batteries, a compass, dental floss, safety pins, a rubber doorstop, and.

..” She held up what appeared to be a whoopee cushion. “This.”

“Ida,” Helen said slowly, “why do you have a whoopee cushion in your purse?”

Ida shrugged. “You never know what it will come in handy.”

Mona’s collection was more modest but equally revealing: “glue gun, Keys, wallet, phone charger, notepad, several pens, antacid tablets, aspirin, band-aids, a small sewing kit, and...” She held up a metal object with obvious pride. “Multi-tool. Pliers, screwdriver, scissors, can opener, the works.”

“Between the four of us, we could probably build a small aircraft,” Ruth observed, surveying their assembled supplies.

“Or at least break out of a barn,” Helen added.

Ida was already examining the door hinges with her phone light. “These hinges are old but sturdy. If I can work something from Mona’s multi-tool in here...”

“Wait,” Mona said, holding up a hand. “Before we start dismantling farm equipment, maybe we should try the obvious solution.”

“Which is?”

“Calling for help.”

“Good idea!” Helen said brightly and immediately cupped her hands around her mouth. “Help! We’re Trapped In Here! Somebody Help Us!”

Her voice echoed through the barn with impressive volume for someone her age.

“Not that way,” Mona said, holding up her phone with a slight smile. “With our phones.”

“Oh.” Helen looked slightly embarrassed. “That makes more sense.”

Ruth was already scrolling through her contacts. “Should we call 911? Or maybe—”

Suddenly, they heard the scraping sound of something heavy being moved away from the doors. Everyone froze, phones in mid-dial.

The massive barn doors slowly slid open, revealing a rectangle of afternoon sunlight and a very confused-looking Brenda Mossberry.

“What in the world are you ladies doing?” Brenda asked, taking in the scene before her: four elderly women sitting in a circle on her barn floor, surrounded by the complete contents of their purses, with enough equipment to outfit a small expedition.

“Would you believe we were conducting a very thorough investigation?” Mona offered weakly.

“In the dark?”

“We encountered some... technical difficulties,” Helen said diplomatically.

Brenda examined the heavy wooden doors more closely. “Why do you have the doors closed?”

“We didn’t close them. They slammed shut,” Ida said.

“And they were locked!” Ruth added.

“It wasn’t you closing the door because you didn’t know we were in here?” Ruth asked.

“No, I just got home and heard someone screaming, so I came down.”

“That was Helen,” Ida said. “The door drop bar was down and we couldn’t get the doors open. That could only be done from the outside.”

Brenda frowned, then her eyes widened. “Someone locked you in on purpose!”

“But why would someone lock us in?” Ida asked with a puzzled expression.

Brenda’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “To keep you from unmasking them, maybe? That’s exactly something Gertrude would do—trap potential witnesses so she could cover her tracks. You know, maybe this is getting too dangerous for you all. If someone were willing to lock you in here...”

But her words only seemed to steel their resolve. Ida straightened her shoulders. “All the more reason to catch this thief.”

“Exactly,” Mona agreed firmly. “No one traps us and gets away with it.”

Brenda looked thoughtful as the four ladies reassembled their portable survival kits. “Well, if you’re determined to continue, who am I to stop you?”

As the four ladies reassembled their purses, Ruth looked around the barn thoughtfully. “Brenda, how would someone actually move a five hundred pound pumpkin out of here? It’s not like you can just pick it up.”

“Well,” Brenda said, “I used a tractor with a front loader to get it in here. Only way to handle something that size safely.”

“So the thief would need a tractor too,” Helen said.

“Had to,” Brenda agreed.

“But how would someone get a tractor here?” Mona asked, stuffing her multi-tool back into her purse. “Gertrude’s farm is five miles away by road. She couldn’t just drive it down Main Street at midnight without someone noticing.”

“That’s true,” Brenda said slowly. “If I were going to steal a giant pumpkin, I’d probably trailer the tractor to Mason Road, down near the back forty. Then drive it across the field, nab the pumpkin, and drive back the same way. Much more discreet than taking the main roads.”

The four ladies exchanged meaningful glances.

“Mason Road runs along the back of your property?” Mona asked.

“Right along the edge between my property and Knowles. There’s an old farm gate back there that I never bother to lock. Easy access to the fields if you know where to look.”

“And,” Ruth said slowly, “tractor tires would leave tracks in soft ground.”

“Especially after Sunday night’s rain,” Helen added. “The ground would have been perfect for preserving tire impressions.”

Ida shouldered her purse with the satisfied air of someone whose detective work was paying off. “Guess we’d better go look for tractor tracks.”

Brenda nodded toward the back of her property. “Mason Road’s about a quarter mile through the field. If someone brought a tractor in that way, we should be able to follow the trail right back to where they parked.”

“Lead the way,” Mona said. “Ruth, you might want to leave the car here. This sounds like a job for sensible shoes and detective work.”

“As long as we don’t get trapped in any more enclosed spaces,” Ruth muttered, but she was already pocketing her car keys with the determined air of someone ready to solve a mystery.