Pumpkin Roll

by Josi S. Kilpack

  The hat hadn’t been carefully laid down and part of the brim was folded beneath it, the point of the hat twisting so as not to be readily obvious. The coarseness of the yarn and the shapelessness of the whole, however, were far too familiar for Sadie’s comfort.

  For several seconds, Sadie attempted to come up with another possibility—a duplicate hat, perhaps—but that did little to quiet her concerns. Finally, she took a deep breath and stood up, staring at the hat and trying not to panic about how on earth it had gotten here . . . in the house . . . in the middle of the hallway . . . sometime between ten o’clock last night and six thirty this morning.

  “Pete,” she said under her breath, realizing she didn’t have to figure this out alone. She took long strides to his door. She knocked lightly, not wanting to wake up the boys in the next room, and then opened the door a few inches. She lifted one foot to enter before remembering their rule about staying out of one another’s bedrooms. She pulled her foot back and stayed in the hallway.

  “Pete,” she said in a loudish whisper, leaning into the room and looking for something to throw that would get his attention but wouldn’t injure him. Everything about the room screamed seven-year-old-boy except for the extra-large body in the bed and the fact that Pete had cleaned the room at some point. All the action figures were perfectly lined up on the dresser, tallest to shortest. “Pete, wake up,” she said a little louder.

  He shot up in bed and looked around the room, blinking rapidly. His hair stuck out in a dozen funny angles, but Sadie barely had time to notice how cute it was.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He was wearing only boxers and a T-shirt, and Sadie looked away for propriety’s sake. She wasn’t sure she was emotionally prepared to know his preference in undergarments.

  “I’m really sorry to wake you so early, but you’ve got to see this.” She held up her hand to block her view as he reached for a pair of jeans thrown over the footboard. “I’ll, um, wait in the hall.”

  She shut the door and leaned against the wall, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks.

  Pete emerged a few seconds later. “What do I need to see?” he asked.

  Oh, right. The hat.

  “Over here,” she said. She headed down the hall, stepping to the side so Pete would have a clear view. Pete did the same thing she’d done: crouched down and looked at the hat from all different angles.

  “We can’t be sure it’s her hat,” Pete said finally.

  Sadie hadn’t said anything about what she thought it was, and the fact that Pete jumped to the same conclusion was quite validating. “I know,” she said, standing a few feet behind him with her arms folded. “But we can be sure it’s not yours or mine or one of the boys.”

  “It wasn’t here when we went to bed last night?”

  “I’m certain we’d have noticed if we’d had to step around it.”

  “We were tired.”

  “Yes, we were,” Sadie said, trying not to be annoyed by him playing devil’s advocate but understanding why he was. “But I typically do notice things like that. For instance, the pants you’re wearing are the same ones you had on yesterday; they’ve got a peanut butter smudge on the left leg from lunch. By the way, when you threw your pants over the footboard last night, your wallet must have fallen out of your back pocket because I saw it halfway under the bed.”

  Pete put his hand on his back pocket and seemed surprised to find it empty.

  “Kalan took off one of his shoes in the kitchen when we got home from the park,” Sadie continued, “but the other one didn’t come off until he got to his room. I forgot to get it out of the kitchen before they went to bed so I decided to leave it there. There are only five glasses in this house; I’m assuming Heather had a set of six but broke one. Everything else is plastic, and there are three green ones and—”

  “Okay, I get it,” Pete said, standing. “You’re observant.”

  Sadie accepted the compliment with a nod. “But for the sake of fantastical explanations, let’s pretend the hat was there last night. We still have some of the same questions. Why? How did it get here? Mrs. Wapple had it on her head when she went back through her gate last night.”

  Pete let out a breath, a distinct wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Let’s check the locks.”

  Sadie was closest to the kitchen so she headed for the back door. Pete crossed the living room to the front of the house. She heard him say “Locked,” seconds before she twisted the knob on the back door. The knob didn’t turn. “This one’s locked too,” she said, turning it a second time to make sure.

  “So, how did the hat get here?” Pete asked when they returned to the hallway.

  “Someone put it there.” It almost seemed silly to say it out loud, it was so obvious.

  “Why and how?” Pete asked, his voice tight.

  Sadie had a brief movie play in her head of Mrs. Wapple picking the lock, putting the hat down, and then locking the door on her way out. It was like a cartoon—not real, not believable.

  Sadie stared at the hat and felt a chill run down her spine as Kalan’s words came back to her. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the words from her mind, but ended up saying them instead. “She’s a witch.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Sadie said, quick and sharp. “I . . . just . . . have no idea how the hat could have gotten here.”

  They stood for several seconds before Pete seemed to snap out of his thoughts. He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “We should take pictures,” he said. “Document the exact position of the hat. We should also look for anything else that might be out of place in the house.”

  “Good idea,” Sadie said. She turned to look at the hat and startled to see Chance standing in the hallway, holding the limp hat by the point so that it hung nearly to the floor.

  He wrinkled his nose and held it up another few inches. “Why is Mrs. Wapple’s hat here?” he asked, scrunching up his nose. “It stinks.” Chance threw it to the side of the hallway where it crumpled into a pathetic heap before he looked at Sadie expectantly. “I’m hungry.”

  Whole Wheat Pancakes

  2 cups whole wheat flour*

  ⅓ cup sugar

  2 teaspoons baking powder

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  1 teaspoon salt

  2 eggs

  ⅓ cup oil (or melted butter)

  2 cups buttermilk or sour milk (for sour milk, add 1 tablespoon white vinegar or lemon juice to 1 cup regular milk)

  Heat griddle to medium. Combine dry ingredients and whisk together. Add eggs and liquids. Mix well. (Thin batter with water if consistency is too thick.) Drop by ⅓-cup portions on hot, greased griddle. Cook about three minutes on one side, until edges begin to look dry. Flip and cook one to two more minutes or until golden brown.

  Makes approximately 16 pancakes.

  *Shawn prefers white flour because it’s not good for him. You can substitute the flour if you want, but you should really eat whole grains.

  Homemade Maple Syrup

  2 cups sugar

  1 cup water

  1 teaspoon Mapleine or maple extract*

  Microwave directions: Combine all ingredients in a 3-cup capacity microwave-safe measuring cup or bowl. Cook 3 minutes. Remove from microwave and stir for 30 seconds for sugar to dissolve.

  Stovetop directions: In a saucepan, bring ingredients to a boil on medium-high heat, stirring consistently. Boil 1 minute, stirring constantly.

  Cool slightly before serving. Store leftovers in an airtight container. (Previously used commercial syrup bottles work great.)

  *For a buttery flavor, add 1 teaspoon butter extract. For a vanilla flavor, add 1 teaspoon vanilla extract. For a tangy flavor, add ½ teaspoon lemon extract.

  Chapter 7

  Sadie distracted Chance with breakfast preparations while Pete put the hat back where it had been and attempted to recreate the state t
hey’d found it in. He took a few pictures with his camera phone, but Sadie could tell he was frustrated that the hat had been moved. After that, he got dressed and went outside, doing a full perimeter check while Chance helped Sadie make her famous whole wheat pancakes with the whole wheat flour Sadie had bought at the City Feed and Supply yesterday. Sadie had thought it was a farm supply store from the name, but it was all about really good people-food. At home, she milled her own wheat, of course.

  By the time she and Chance had finished mixing the batter, the electric griddle was hot and the syrup was cooling. She was helping Chance turn the first set of pancakes when Pete came in through the back door. He took off his shoes and rubbed his hands together to warm them up.

  “Nothing,” he said, removing his jacket and throwing it over the back of a chair. “No tool marks on the doorknob, no footprints, nothing out of place.”

  “What are tool marks?” Chance said, looking up at his grandfather.

  Sadie and Pete shared a silent look.

  “Those look done to me,” Sadie said, turning her attention to the pancakes. “What do you think, Chance?” She took the spatula and lifted one up in order to peek at the bottom. It was barely brown.

  “Not done yet,” Chance said with an air of authority. “I think it needs ten more minutes.”

  “How about two?” Sadie said, returning the pancake to the griddle.

  Chance shrugged as though giving in so that Sadie wouldn’t feel bad. “Okay.”

  “And do you know what’s really yummy on whole wheat pancakes besides homemade syrup?” Sadie asked.

  “What?”

  “Peanut butter.”

  Chance’s big blue eyes went a little bigger. “I love peanut butter!”

  “So do I,” Sadie said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s find it and set the table while these pancakes finish cooking.”

  “Okay!” Chance nearly shouted, scrambling off the chair Sadie had pulled to the counter.

  Sadie opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out an empty grocery sack while Chance looked through another cupboard for the peanut butter; Sadie knew the peanut butter was in the pantry, but she needed him distracted. She handed the bag to Pete, who was standing at the edge of the linoleum with his hands on his hips still looking at the hat. “Why don’t you bag it and tag it, Detective,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

  He attempted a smile as he took the bag, but she knew better. “A little later—after the boys are up and Kalan is at school—I think we should head across the street, return the hat, and have a little talk with our neighbor.”

  “Do you think she broke in?” Sadie asked in a low voice so that Chance—who was still looking for peanut butter—wouldn’t overhear.

  “What else are we supposed to think?”

  He held Sadie’s eyes, and she said exactly what he wanted to hear—nothing. At least for a few seconds.

  “Should we call the local police?” she asked.

  Pete shook his head. “They won’t take a stray hat seriously. But we should stop at the hardware store and buy an eyebolt.”

  “What’s an eyebolt?”

  “The chain-type locks like they have on hotel room doors. They’re far more effective at keeping people out than they get credit for. A swing bolt would be even better.”

  “What’s a—”

  “I found it!”

  Sadie turned around to see Chance holding up the jar of peanut butter from the pantry in triumph. “We better get those pancakes off the griddle,” she said, hurrying back to breakfast. She looked at Pete over her shoulder as she helped Chance flip the now-overcooked pancakes. “I’ll follow your lead,” she said.

  Pete attempted another smile, but his look was heavy. She turned back to the pancakes, spooning out another set when she realized she’d been able to read his expression perfectly. That meant he wasn’t trying to block her from his thoughts and emotions as he had often done during the hard situations they had faced in the past. What she saw in his face, however, caused Sadie’s throat to tighten. There were three little boys in this house—three vulnerable little boys—and something strange was taking place. The safety and sanctity of this home—the one place that should be the safest place in their world—had been violated. And Grandpa was in charge.

  “I’m going to check on the other boys,” Pete said as he turned toward the hallway.

  “Good idea,” Sadie said, watching him disappear and knowing he’d take the opportunity to have a look around the interior of the house as well.

  Chance was ready to put a fresh batch of pancake batter on the griddle. Sadie gave him another squeeze, as much to borrow some of his naïve optimism as anything else, and helped him check to see if the pancakes were ready to turn—which they weren’t. She took a deep breath to calm herself and wondered how a day that started like this would play out.

  Pete returned to the kitchen with a sleepy-looking Fig and Kalan in tow; they’d obviously slept through the morning’s excitement. When Sadie handed him a plate of pancakes, he whispered that nothing in the house seemed to be disturbed, which didn’t surprise Sadie at all. Jared and Heather didn’t own many valuables, and whatever intent had led to the hat being left in the hallway did not feel connected to theft—other than the theft of security. Sadie thought it might have been easier to have had something tangible taken.

  Pete and Sadie acted as normal as possible throughout the rest of breakfast so as not to alert the boys—especially Kalan, who had shown the most interest in Mrs. Wapple from the start. Thankfully, Chance said nothing about the hat, going on and on about how wonderful peanut butter was on the “whole weed” pancakes instead. The other boys agreed; breakfast was a hit.

  Pete drove Kalan to school while Sadie bathed the littler boys. After he got back, they cleaned up breakfast, made themselves presentable, and were just giving in to watching Cars—for the third time since they’d arrived—when the phone rang.

  “Hey, Jared,” Pete said when he answered the cordless phone, making eye contact with Sadie before heading down the hall where he could better hear his son on the other end of the line.

  After a few minutes, he returned to the living room and held out the phone to Sadie. “Heather wants to talk to you and the boys.”

  Sadie paused the movie and ushered Chance toward the phone first. He stopped whining about the movie being interrupted when he realized it was his mom on the phone. Within seconds, Fig was trying to get the phone away from his older brother and calling “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” while Chance turned by degrees, always keeping his back to his little brother.

  “I think we ought to keep everything to ourselves for now,” Pete whispered to Sadie while Chance said good-bye and handed the phone to Fig, who ran into the kitchen as though someone might take the phone from him. Sadie nodded her agreement, though she had hoped Heather might have been able to fill in some blanks about Mrs. Wapple. It would be more difficult to get the information without telling her exactly why she needed it, but she agreed with Pete that it wasn’t worth the parental panic that would most certainly take place if they revealed what had happened.

  When Fig finally said good-bye, Sadie put the phone to her ear and signaled Pete to start the movie.

  “Hi there,” she said, going into the kitchen and sitting at the table. “How are things going for the two of you?”

  “I should be asking you that question,” Heather said. “How are my boys treating you? Are they behaving okay?”

  Sadie was glad to have struck such an easy friendship with Pete’s daughter-in-law from the very first phone call, and she caught Heather up on the antics of her three sons since they’d last spoken yesterday morning. Heather mentioned that they’d found a nice complex closer to the hospital—and the urban area around it—than they’d originally planned. It had a playground and a swimming pool that the young parents hoped would make up for the fact that they wouldn’t have their own yard—something they had considered essential when loo
king for a place in Boston that had eventually led them to the Jamaica Plain rental. Heather also commented on the weather, though it was hard for Sadie to believe the temperatures were in the eighties in Texas when she was wearing her warmest, thickest, fuzziest socks.

  “I bet you won’t miss another New England winter,” Sadie said.

  “Not one bit,” Heather said with emphasis. “I grew up in Arizona, and if you ask me, snow shovels are medieval torture devices.”