Town in a Pumpkin Bash

by B. B. Haywood

  The town’s annual Halloween festival, called the Pumpkin Bash, will be held on Wednesday, Oct. 31, in Town Park and along Main Street and Ocean Ave. This spooktacular event, now in its third year, kicks off promptly at noon with the Great Pumpkin Weigh-in, as we search for Cape Willington’s biggest pumpkin. I’m sure there are some humungo pumpkins out there (I know because I’ve seen them!), so bring them down to Town Park and enter the contest.

  The pumpkin-carving tables will open at noon as well, and we’ll be carving as many pumpkins as possible. Create the spookiest, craziest, cutest, happiest jack-o’-lanterns you can possibly carve. They’ll be displayed all over downtown and lit at sunset. We hope to have thousands of them on display, so we need as many carvers as possible.

  Throughout the afternoon and evening, all of the shops in town will be running special Halloween sales, and there will be food and craft tables galore. And right after the Vacuum Cleaner Run, the shops will start handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. So come on down to the Pumpkin Bash and scare up some fun!

  LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, START YOUR VACUUMS!

  Speaking of fun, a new event, the Vacuum Cleaner Run, will power up at 5 P.M. on Main Street. Dress up your vacuum cleaner in a funny costume and bring it out to the starting line in front of Duffy’s Main Street Diner at 4:45 P.M. No entrance fee necessary, but there will be great prizes awarded to whoever rolls across the finish line first, as well as for best costume, oldest vacuum cleaner, and more. So come on out and see if you can make a clean sweep of the event, or just cheer on your favorite.

  PUMPKINS FLY AT FINCH’S

  Have you ever seen a pumpkin fly? You can if you head over to Finch’s Garden Center and Farm Stand in Fowler’s Corner, where the Halloween Pumpkin Toss takes place on Wednesday from 10 A.M. to 3 P.M. The students in the wood shop class at Cape Willington High School have designed and built a trebuchet, which they’ll use to catapult pumpkins into the sky. They even built the trebuchet on wheels, so it’s easy to move around. Those kids are amazing. They plan to send off several pumpkins on the hour, every hour, so head on over and watch the pumpkins fly.

  While you’re there, see if you can escape from the lobster’s claws! The folks at Finch’s have created a spooky Lobster Hay Maze that’s sure to be fun for the whole family.

  ANY WAY YOU SLICE IT, IT’S PIETOBER!

  Melody Barnes, proprietor of Melody’s Café on River Road, has been drawing attention to local pie bakers with a culinary celebration she calls “Pietober.” All month long, she and a few local pie bakers, including yours truly, have been making just about every type of pie you can imagine. In fact, if you can eat it, you can be sure someone has made a pie out of it. Melody and her kitchen staff will have a selection of their most popular pies available by the slice at their booth during the Pumpkin Bash. So stop by and sample her wares before Pietober sadly comes to an end!

  BOOKS AND DESSERT MAKE HAPPY READING

  The Pruitt Public Library will hold its annual Book and Bake Sale on Friday and Saturday, Nov. 2 and 3, starting at 9 A.M., with a preview event for library members on Thursday, Nov. 1, at 7 P.M. The library is accepting book donations prior to the sale. Also, if you’d like to contribute baked goods for the event, ask at the front desk for the sign-up sheet. See you there!

  QUOTH THE RAVEN

  Local thespian Elliot Whitby will bring his acclaimed portrayal of Edgar Allan Poe to Town Park on All Hallows’ Eve. He tells me that he’s planning to recite from a number of Poe’s works, including “The Raven,” which should be a real treat. He will perform two half-hour shows at 5:30 and 7 P.M., and will be present in costume in Town Park before and after each show for photos and additional impromptu readings. You don’t want to miss his uncanny portrayal of the legendary writer. Nevermore!

  TASTY TIDBITS

  “The Importance of Tea in the History of Maine” will be the theme of a new exhibit debuting at the Cape Willington Historical Society on November 3. This unique display will include one-of-a-kind teacups, as well as collections from sea captains, merchants, and historical figures who lived in the area over the past two centuries. For instance, teacups used by William King, the first governor of Maine, and Benning Wentworth, the Colonial governor of New Hampshire, will be on display, as well as a cup used by New England writer Celia Thaxter. The society will also hold a number of tea events over the next several weeks, so keep checking back with us for further information. The exhibit runs through January 31.

  Official Judicious F. P. Bosworth sightings for the first half of October:

  Visible: 3 days

  Invisible: 12 days

  Judicious, you’re scaring us!

  ONE

  “There’s a curse on that house, I’m sure of it,” Maggie Tremont said, the exasperation evident in her voice. “There’s no other explanation. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. Just the other day I was talking to Sally Ann Longfellow, who lives three doors down, at the end of Gleason Street—she drives by there all the time, and she says the place is haunted.”

  Candy Holliday checked her watch and looked askance at her friend. “I wouldn’t trust everything Sally Ann says. She keeps goats in her house, you know.”

  “Only in the winter,” Maggie responded blithely, as if it were a perfectly normal thing, “and not in the entire house—just the kitchen. She makes a little pen for them. I’ve heard they’re relatively well behaved…for goats.” She paused, regrouping. “Besides, Sally Ann’s not the only one I’ve heard it from. There’re others who agree with me.”

  “Who?”

  Maggie made a face. “Others.” Playfully she jabbed her friend in the side with an elbow. “You must have heard people talking about that house. It’s all over town. That place has a bad history. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder, giving the comment a moment to sink in. A hay wagon and tractor sat behind them in the middle of the pumpkin patch, across a tumbling field of orange and greenery. A small crowd had formed behind the wagon—parents and kids, mostly, waiting to get on board for the first ride of the day. So far no one seemed to mind the delay, but that wouldn’t last much longer.

  “I have to be honest with you,” Maggie said, turning back to Candy, “I’m starting to think there’s a reason behind it all. Something else must have happened there before, well, that thing with you-know-who.” She said the last words in an exaggerated whisper and wiggled her hand in the air, as if that explained everything.

  And indeed it did. Candy knew exactly who she meant.

  Maggie was referring to the woman known around town as Sapphire Vine—a beauty queen, gossip columnist, and blackmailer who had been murdered here in Cape Willington, Maine, two summers ago.

  “At first, in the months after she died, it was just all those little things around the house,” Maggie continued, leaning in closer to Candy and lowering her voice as a family passed by. The parents cradled smaller pumpkins in their arms, the two kids hauled a red wagon filled with several larger pumpkins, and the grandparents trailed along behind with a few smaller pumpkins as well. They all nodded politely and exchanged a few words as they passed. After they were out of earshot, Maggie picked up where she’d left off.

  “I’d notice that something had been moved around, or something else wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Lights turned on and off randomly at all hours of the day and night. I saw it happen myself. Faulty wiring, they said. It’s an old house. Things like that just happen, they tell me. Humph! I wish it were that simple. Someone once said they heard music in there—and whispers. We searched but couldn’t find anything. We had the Coopers living there back then. Remember them? They lasted five whole weeks. That’s the longest…well…”

  She didn’t have to finish. Candy knew the rest of it.

  After Sapphire Vine’s unfortunate passing in a particularly violent manner, and the discovery of her true identity, her old house on Gleason Street had passed into the hands of
her only living family member, Cameron Zimmerman, who just happened to be dating Maggie’s daughter, Amanda. In the months that followed, there had been endless discussions about what to do with Sapphire’s old place. For a while they’d had it up for sale but received no offers. They tried renting it out but couldn’t get anyone to stay for long. It sat dark and unlived in for more than a year, dust filming the windows and spiderwebs gathering in the corners.

  So, after examining various options, Maggie had offered to personally take over the management of the house as a seasonal rental. It was a good fit for all concerned. Maggie had expertise in insurance, finance, and small-business affairs, and an agreed-upon commission would help her budget and funnel some pocket money to the house’s current owner until the local real estate market improved.

  She took easily to the challenges of property management. She’d even signed up for an online course, which gave her a certification of sorts that looked good on a business card, and had subsequently taken on two additional properties over the summer—coastal rentals that remained fully booked through Labor Day and into the fall, thanks to Maggie’s efforts.

  But while most of the other seasonal rentals around town were sought-after properties with no open rental spots and lengthy waiting lists, Sapphire Vine’s old place on Gleason Street, a few blocks northwest of downtown Cape Willington, sat largely empty, which only fueled its growing reputation as a haunted house, to Maggie’s dismay.

  “Word gets around, I guess, what with the Internet, travel sites, social networks, and all that texting stuff these days,” she said with a resigned shrug. “It’s too easy to find out information about anything. Just a few taps on the computer keyboard. I’ve seen the comments about the place. It’s even been posted on a website dedicated to New England ghost stories.”

  “Well, at least it’s not a total loss,” Candy said, doing her best to sound positive. “You had those ghost hunters who rented the place a few months ago.”

  “Yes, but that’s the problem.”

  Candy saw what she was getting at. “You think the house’s reputation is scaring normal people away?”

  Maggie raised her hands in an exaggerated gesture. “Whatever the reason, we just haven’t had enough renters, even after drastically reducing the price. I don’t know what to do with the place. We can barely cover the property taxes and utilities, and it’s starting to show its age. The past couple of years have taken their toll. It needs some work, but Cameron and Amanda don’t have the time to do it, and they don’t want that house anyway—not with what’s happened there. The Zimmermans are happy in their own place, so they’re not interested in moving. And I certainly don’t want to live there—since it’s, you know, cursed.”

  “In your opinion.”

  “In my opinion,” Maggie agreed, “but it’s more than that. There’ve been those sightings.”

  “There’s been only one sighting,” Candy corrected her, “and we investigated. We didn’t find anything, remember?”

  “We didn’t look very hard.”

  “We checked every room, plus that secret hidey space in the attic.”

  “Not the basement.”

  “No, not the basement. I’m sure there’s nothing down there.”

  Candy didn’t like basements much, since she’d found a body in one once.

  Maggie frowned up at the gusty sky, blowing in dark rain clouds. “I don’t like the looks of that,” she said. Her gaze dropped to follow a scattering of brown leaves that blew across the parking lot. She let out a deep sigh. “I guess he’s not coming then.”

  Reluctantly, Candy had to agree.

  They were expecting a visitor, but he was fifteen minutes overdue, and they couldn’t wait for him any longer.

  The call from Sebastian J. Quinn had come out of the blue a couple of weeks earlier. The award-winning poet, who had been involved with the Sapphire Vine murder case, had contacted Candy at her office at the paper one afternoon, apologizing for calling her first, since he’d only just learned of the house’s availability and didn’t have Maggie’s number. “Can you put me in touch with her? Is the place still for rent?” he’d asked. “If so, I’ll take it for two weeks, and perhaps through the Thanksgiving holiday.”

  That had been good news all around. Sebastian needed a place to “get away from the rat race” for a while to work on a new book of poetry, and the “inspirational beauty” around Cape Willington in the fall and early winter was just the thing he needed, he’d told Maggie when they’d talked, and she had promptly passed on the details to Candy. Both of them questioned Sebastian’s explanation for renting the place—“It just sounds a little contrived to me,” Candy noted at the time. But neither of them could see a legitimate reason to turn down the offer, as generous as it was.

  A deal had been quickly finalized, with occupancy to take place the weekend before Halloween and continuing into early November, with a week-by-week option after that. Sebastian had agreed to pay three hundred per week for the place, a particularly good rate for the off-season, though it included all utilities and heating oil, which could become costly if the weather turned cold, so it seemed a fair-enough arrangement to Sebastian. To Maggie’s astonishment, he’d offered to pay in advance. A check for six hundred dollars, plus an additional one hundred fifty for a safety deposit, promptly arrived two days later by special delivery. A few other papers were exchanged by two-day mail, and they were in business.

  Even though Maggie had offered to meet him at Sapphire’s place to hand over the keys and conduct a walk-through, Sebastian told her he’d prefer to stop by the pumpkin patch that morning to conduct their business. “I don’t want to put you out,” he’d said to her over the phone, and she’d relayed the message to Candy, “but I just want to get my hands on the keys and get settled in. That place has a lot of memories for me. I prefer to make the first visit alone, if you know what I mean. I’m just not quite sure what my reaction will be, after all that happened there. I’ll see you at ten on Saturday morning.”

  And here they were. Ten fifteen on the agreed-upon morning, and no Sebastian J. Quinn.

  “What do you think this means?” Maggie asked, trying not to sound despondent. “Do you think he got scared off by all the stories about the house and backed out of the deal? And what if he wants his money back? I’ve deposited the check, gave the kids most of the money, and already spent some of my share.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Candy said calmly. “Maybe he’s just been delayed.”

  Maggie shook her head and pulled out her phone, one last time, to check for new messages. There were none. She sighed. “We can’t wait any longer,” she said, slipping the phone back into her pocket. “The natives are getting restless. We have to get this show on the road.”

  To prove her point, she turned and waved toward the folks gathered around the hay wagon. “Sorry for the holdup!” she called out to them. “We’ll be right there!”

  Looking back at Candy, she added, “You ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Good,” Maggie said as she started off, and to the crowd she called, “It’s time for the Pumpkin Hollow Haunted Hayride’s first trip of the day!”

  TWO

  They’d pulled the hayride operation together in record time, though they’d been working in the pumpkin patch since late August. That’s when Maggie had approached elderly Mr. Gumm, who ran the local hardware store, about managing the field for him that fall.

  It had been a fairly simple idea, the result of a conversation over salads and glasses of iced tea at Melody’s Café one warm afternoon, when Maggie was feeling down in the dumps. She was still working at the dry cleaner’s in town, but her hours were limited and the pay was low. She’d been looking around for a scheme to make a little money on the side, but she hadn’t had much luck.

  “I’m not a baker or a writer like you, so I can’t make pies to sell or write stories for the local newspaper,” she told Candy without a hint of jealous
y, “and I’ve tried creating little thingamabobs to sell at the craft fairs but, to be honest, I’m not much of a quilter or a knitter. I’m too old to try landscaping or lumberjacking. I suppose I could waitress, but I don’t think anyone is hiring around town this time of year.”

  She was right about that. Though the tourist season had been relatively strong this year, few businesses hired in the late summer, when they were usually starting to let people go. There might be a few end-of-season jobs around, vacated by college and high school students heading back to their classes, but most local businesses ran lean into the fall, and were looking to wind down in the weeks after Labor Day, rather than staff up. They’d all stay open through October, of course, in anticipation of the annual busloads of leaf peepers who swarmed over New England during the month, following peak foliage from north to south. As soon as Halloween passed, though, and the trees turned dull, the leaf peepers would head home, taking their tourist dollars with them, and businesses up and down Main Street and Ocean Avenue would begin to cut hours drastically or shutter for the season. After that, it was just a matter of finishing up the remnants of the harvest, bringing in the lawn furniture and garden tools, preparing the flower beds and fields for cold weather, winterizing the cars and boats, and getting the snow shovels and bags of rock salt out of the back corner of the garage.

  “There just isn’t much to do around here for a woman of my skills,” Maggie had lamented that day in August, when the arrival of winter was still months away. “What am I going to do?” She had tried to keep the conversation light, but her typical good humor was failing her as the prospect of a long, lean season loomed.

  “Well, we’ll just have to figure something out,” Candy had told her with all the optimism she could muster. She’d been reading a book about the power of positive thinking and she was determined to give it a try. “You know what? If we can’t find another job for you, we’ll just have to create one.”