Page 9 of Pumpkin Patch Peril (Brook Ridge Falls Ladies’ Detective Club #1)
CHAPTER NINE
The short drive to Millfield took them through rolling countryside dotted with farms and orchards. The neighboring town’s square had been transformed into an autumn festival, with white tents arranged in neat rows and bunting stretching between the trees.
“Oh my,” Helen breathed as they parked. “This is quite the production.”
They strolled between the booths, taking in the competing aromas of cinnamon, vanilla, and brown sugar. Families with children wandered from tent to tent, sampling goods and chatting with the bakers.
“There she is over there,” Ruth said, pointing toward a particularly busy booth. “She’s drawing quite a crowd.”
As they got closer to the display, the theme of Doris’s offerings became unmistakable. Everything was autumn-themed, with a heavy emphasis on one particular ingredient.
“Look at that pumpkin pie,” Ida said admiringly, eyeing a golden-crusted beauty that looked like it belonged in a magazine.
“The pumpkin bread looks divine,” Ruth added, pointing to perfectly formed loaves with a golden-brown crust.
Mona’s gaze fell on a tray of frosted cookies. “Those pumpkin cookies look professional quality.”
Ruth stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Doris, do you know that Brenda’s giant pumpkin was stolen?”
Doris frowned, her gaze darting around her booth full of pumpkin baked goods. Mona watched her carefully, wondering if she was worried they were on to her.
“Stolen?” Doris said, though she didn’t sound particularly surprised or concerned.
“Right from her barn Sunday night,” Ida added helpfully. “Five hundred and twenty pounds of prize-winning pumpkin, gone without a trace.”
Doris straightened up, her expression shifting to insulted outrage. “Are you accusing me of stealing it?”
“Now, dear, calm down,” Ruth said diplomatically. “We’re not accusing anyone of anything. But we do know you have a beef with her.”
“A beef?” Doris’s laugh was bitter. “That woman has been making life miserable for every baker in three counties for years. But stealing her pumpkin? That’s not my style.”
“How so?” Helen asked, genuinely curious now. “Has she done things to other people?”
“Too many to list,” Doris said, warming to her subject. “Sabotaged Patricia Miller’s apple pie recipe by telling her the wrong oven temperature. Spread rumors about Mary Wilton’s sanitation practices. ‘Accidentally’ bumped into Bill Fredericks cake display last year, ruining his entry.”
The four ladies leaned closer, their investigative instincts fully engaged.
“That sounds pretty serious,” Mona said carefully.
“Oh, it gets worse,” Doris continued, apparently relieved to finally find an audience for her grievances. She has borrowed recipes without giving credit, undercut the prices of other bakers at the farmer’s market, and even filed false complaints with the health department about competitors.
“And no one’s ever called her on it?” Ruth asked.
Doris snorted. “Who’s going to challenge the woman who wins every competition? Everyone’s afraid of what she might do to their businesses.” She gestured around her booth. “That’s why I started selling in other towns. At least here I don’t have to worry about her sabotaging my displays.”
“So you’re glad someone stole her pumpkin?” Ida asked bluntly.
“Honestly? Yes,” Doris said without hesitation. “It’s about time someone gave her a taste of her own medicine. Everyone knows that for Brenda, losing isn’t an option. She’d rather invent a win than admit a loss, so she does whatever she can to make sure she comes out a winner.”
The admission hung in the air between them, and the four ladies exchanged meaningful glances. Doris seemed to realize she’d said more than she’d intended, because she quickly busied herself rearranging a display of pumpkin cookies that had been perfectly arranged already.
“That’s quite an accusation,” Helen said carefully, her journalist instincts engaged.
“It’s not an accusation if it’s true,” Doris replied, her voice gaining strength again.
“Ask anyone who’s competed against her. She doesn’t just play to win—she plays to destroy the competition.
Last year at the county fair, she told Mrs. Petersen that the judging had been moved to an hour earlier, knowing full well Mrs. Petersen would miss it entirely. ”
Mona’s phone buzzed with a text. She glanced down to see Brenda’s name on the screen.
Ladies, I’m getting desperate. People are starting to ask questions about my entry. Please tell me you have something
Doris’s sharp eyes caught the motion. She leaned over the table, her tone suddenly edged. “What was that? A message from Brenda? Why are you four poking around, asking all these questions? What’s going on here?”
Helen summoned her best reassuring smile. “Oh, just community chatter. Everyone’s buzzing about the competition—you know how it is.”
“We appreciate your time, Doris,” Mona added quickly, slipping her phone into her bag. “Your insight has been very helpful.”
“Hey now, wait a minute,” Doris said, her voice tightening. “Brenda’s not sending you after me, is she? I don’t want any trouble stirred up on account of her.”
Helen shook her head smoothly. “Nothing like that. Just trying to understand the bigger picture.”
Doris frowned, still watching them closely, but the next customer in line tugged at her attention.
Ida suddenly glanced at her watch and gasped. “Oh no! Look at the time!” She checked again to make sure she’d read it correctly, her eyes growing wide with panic. “I have to get to bingo!”
“How much time do you have?” Mona asked, automatically shifting into crisis mode.
“Fifteen minutes to get there, get settled, and organize my probability charts!” Ida said, already speed-walking toward the parking area. “Mrs. Henderson starts promptly, and if I miss the opening statistical analysis, my entire mathematical framework for the evening will be compromised!”