by Joan Rylen
Vivian’s attention had been caught at the word ‘fireman,’ but her competitive streaked took over. “I’m in. Let’s pick a pumpkin, y’all.”
The girls browsed the hay bales and chose a fairly symmetrical pumpkin a little bigger than a basketball. Kate had a theory that the symmetry would increase the chances of an ultimate splatter. Vivian paid the $8, which included the entry fee, and the pumpkin peddler stuck a round sticker with the number 17 on their pumpkin.
“Thank you for your entry. Just take it over to the picker.” He stuck the cash in a box and turned to the next customer.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a marker, would you?” Vivian asked.
“Sure.” He dug into his apron and produced one.
Vivian used it to write “Getaway Girlz” loud and proud on their pumpkin, then returned the marker. She turned to Kate and Wendy. “Now let’s go find the firemen! Maybe Larson will be here.”
Wendy picked up their pumpkin, and they walked toward the people gathered near a roped-off area. “This must be the place,” she said. She excused herself as she made her way through the crowd to the drop-off spot, Vivian and Kate in her wake.
Two men, one gray-headed with a buzz cut and the other a twenty-something redhead with a rookie look and crooked smile, greeted them.
“Good day,” Buzz said. “I see you’ve picked a fine pumpkin that is about to be smushed to mush.”
“Yes, we have,” Wendy said and handed it over.
Vivian stepped up. “Is Larson here?”
“Sure is. He’s our picker operator,” Rookie replied. “He went inside to get something, but he’ll be right back.”
“Oh yay!” Vivian said.
“You need to get back behind the ropes,” Buzz said. “We’re going to be heading up soon.”
The girls did as instructed and found an open spot to the left of the crowd along the rope.
Vivian clapped, getting excited. “I hope we win!”
“What’s the prize?” Kate asked.
“Beats me!” Vivian squealed. “But whatever it is, I want it!”
Larson came around the corner carrying a bottle of water. His T-shirt hugged his chest perfectly and had an image of a potato talking to a packet of French fries. It read, “Oh no! Is that you, bro?”
Vivian laughed out loud and hollered to him. He recognized them and jogged over. “I should have known you’d be here. And by the looks of it, you’re making the locals happy.”
Vivian held up her purchases. “Doing our part to help the local economy.”
“Did you enter the contest?” he asked.
“We sure did,” Wendy said. “Our pumpkin says ‘Getaway Girlz.’ Make sure she gets a big splat!”
A sharp whistle came from the direction of the other two firefighters. Buzz waved Larson over.
“Guess I need to go fire up the cherry picker. I’ll pick you up tomorrow on the Turlington Farm’s dock at 2. Good luck with your splat!” With that, he jogged over to the bright red picker.
Anticipation rose as the picker began to lift into the air. A lot of folks had their phones ready to take pictures, Kate included. A tall, confident, athletic woman with cocoa-caramel skin and short, natural twists lifted the rope that separated the crowd from the pumpkin-dropping zone. She wore a messenger bag across her chest and snapped pictures of the crowd, then turned her Canon toward the announcer, a balding, pudgy man holding a megaphone. He pulled the trigger and it chirped to life.
“Hello, Lake Placid pumpkin people, and welcome to the sixth annual pumpkin-dropping contest sponsored by your local Chamber of Commerce! We’re happy to have you here! Our favorite firemen have loaded up the picker and are prepared to plop some pumpkins! Are you?”
The crowd cheered.
The man introduced the judges, including the mayor, then laid down the rules. “All pumpkins will be dropped from the same height by our fantastic fire department representatives in the sky. Judges will rule on which has the biggest, loudest and best splat.”
The crowd cheered again.
The announcer got the thumbs up from Buzz, who was poised against the rail of the cherry picker with a large pumpkin. He squeezed the button on the megaphone and yelled, “Let’s get pumpkin dropping!”
20
Pumpkins were splattering left and right as the girls waited for their number to come up. Firemen were poised on the cherry picker platform being manned by Larson, who kept one eye on Vivian and the other on the controls. The firemen, suspended 25 feet in the air, dropped pumpkin after pumpkin, and the Lake Placid crowd roared approval with every annihilation.
About 15 minutes into the festivities, the mayor announced the Getaway Girlz pumpkin. Kate was poised with her phone, taking video of the great pumpkin drop. The crowd counted down — three, two, one, pumpkin overboard!
The semi-symmetrical pumpkin hovered for a moment in the fireman’s hands. Three seconds later a flash of orange clunked with a thud onto the pavement. The pumpkin cracked open and the guts spilled out, but there wasn’t much splashage. The crowd clapped politely, but everyone knew it wasn’t the winner.
“Our pumpkin sucked!” Vivian yelled. “We need our money back!”
“Maybe they have a consolation pumpkin prize,” Kate said. “But yeah, that drop was a definite dud.”
Larson looked at Vivian and gave her a thumbs down. She nodded but couldn’t help but smile to herself. She’d noticed him glancing in her direction. Suck in your tummy and try to look fantastic! That fireman may need to put out some female flames!
The next pumpkin went overboard and smack, pieces flew everywhere. People on the front row of the spectator area got chunks thrown their way. Vivian watched as people pulled pumpkin parts off of their pants and shoes.
“Now THAT was a splat!” she yelled.
“Damn straight,” Wendy agreed.
Soon after, all the pumpkins had been pummeled and the judges came forward to announce the winner. To no one’s surprise, it was the spectator-splashing pumpkin. A skinny kid about 12 years old ran forward to collect his prize. He grinned from ear to ear and threw his arms over his head in victory.
“I saw that kid and his pumpkin,” Wendy said. “He carved a small hole in it. I guess he knew the trick.”
“Not his first pumpkin drop, I suppose,” Vivian said, giving him the stink eye as the reporter took his picture.
Kate pondered this for a moment. “I guess letting air into the pumpkin gives it more explosiveness. Makes sense.”
“Come on, I want to go to a few more booths,” Wendy said. “I saw Christmas crafts I need to check out, find a gift for my stepmom.”
The girls went back inside and toodled around, perusing the items on display. Vivian wandered to a booth filled with paintings and drawings. A thin guy, probably in his late 30s with dark, stubbly hair, sat on a stool sketching in a book. After a minute or two he looked up.
“I see you’ve been busy shopping,” he said with a smirk.
“Hello.” Vivian smiled and held up her bags. “Just a few things.”
He sat the sketchbook on a table that displayed three paintings on easels. His brilliant blue eyes were piercing and a stark contrast to the dark clothes he wore. Head to toe, from his turtleneck to his Doc Martens, every inch of his outfit was black.
Vivian stopped in front of a charcoal drawing of a dragon. Wings spread and breathing fire, its claws grasping at rocks on a cliff, it looked ready to turn her into ash. “You’re the artist?”
“I am.” He stood and stuck out his hand. “Mike Grimm.”
“Vivian Taylor.” She shook his hand and looked at the various pieces. “You’re very talented.”
He smiled and shrugged. “Thanks.”
“My son loves dragons, but he’s pretty young and yours might scare him.” She smiled. “He’s more into ‘Pete’s Dragon’ or ‘Dragon Tales’ on PBS.”
The artist nodded and cracked a sideways grin. “Yeah, these are a little darker than Disney allow
s. I have more pieces at my studio, some not so scary. How old is your son?”
“Three,” Vivian said.
“If you’d like to come by the studio, I’d be happy to have you take a look.” He handed her a business card. “My number is on here.”
She tucked the card into her purse. “Thanks, I just may do that.”
Wendy came up behind her. “The newspaper lady wants to talk to us!”
“What? Why?”
“I didn’t ask. Come on!”
Vivian turned to Mike. “Thanks again.”
He sat back down on his stool and nodded. “See you around.”
Wendy shuffled her toward the stage where Kate stood talking to the lady holding the Canon. As Vivian walked up Kate introduced Nicole Jones, local editor, reporter and photographer for the Lake Placid News.
“They worked hard on that newspaper name, huh?” Vivian joked.
Nicole laughed. “I think my grandfather was trying to keep it simple. He helped start the paper years ago.” She flipped open a small notebook. “So I hear you came all the way from Texas to smash a pumpkin and support our local economy.”
Vivian laughed and looked down at the bags slung around her wrists. “You heard right.”
“You didn’t win the pumpkin drop, but I think you win for traveling the farthest. I wanted to get a picture, if you don’t mind, and your names. I can’t promise you print, but you’ll at least make the website.”
“Cool,” Wendy said.
They chatted awhile, told Nicole how they’d heard about the festival, and showed off their purchases. Kate gave her a good rundown of the hot chocolate booth and insisted she visit with her right that instant.
“I need another sample myself,” Kate said.
The cocoa man was happy for their return and that Kate brought another potential customer. He doled out the samples and explanations.
Nicole tried a few, and at Kate’s urging she bought a bag of cocoa.
“You sure you don’t want two?” the cocoa man asked.
“I’m on a reporter’s salary, so although I want two, I can’t afford it.” Nicole handed him the cash and thanked him. She stuffed the purchase in her messenger bag and pulled out her pen and notebook again. Back to business.
She took notes on where the Texans had come from, how long they were in town and what they’d been up to during their visit.
“It’s been an adventure already,” Kate said, “but it always is.”
“Yeah, finding that jawbone really threw us for a loop,” Vivian said. “We’ve had some crazy stuff happen on our vacations, but finding a piece of a dead person, that takes the cake.”
Nicole looked up from her notepad in disbelief, unable to speak for a moment. Finally, she shook her head like she was waking up, eyes wide.
“You’re THOSE girls?”
21
Nicole Jones, the editor, reporter and photographer from the Lake Placid News, stood in shock after hearing that Vivian, Kate and Wendy were the discoverers of the human remains on Haystack Mountain the day before.
“I’m sorry, I’m not used to being taken by surprise like that.”
“Neither are we,” Vivian said with a laugh. “And that was one heck of a surprise.”
“I’m sure.” Nicole looked around at the crowd bustling in the booths. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee at the diner down the street?”
“I’m not a coffee consumer,” Vivian said, “but ice cream, that’s another story.”
“I do drink coffee,” Wendy said, shifting her purchases from one arm to the other. “And I could use a cup.”
“We might need some pie,” Kate said.
“It’s walking distance,” Nicole said.
“Will walk for pie,” Kate said and headed toward the exit. “We have fall festivaled long enough.”
Nicole pushed open the door and they spilled into the sunlight. The day was perfect, a crisp 65 degrees, the wind rustling the trees and multicolored leaves floating down.
Vivian’s phone rang, and she glanced at the display. “It’s Antonio! Give me a sec.” She stopped on the sidewalk and accepted the call. “How’s my favorite police man?” She heard Detective Antonio Robichaux of the New Orleans Police Department smirk on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Vivian, I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m doing fine, in Lake Placid, New York, at the moment enjoying the fall foliage and chilly air. But I do need to talk to you about something.”
She told him the news that Jake had gone missing five months ago and also about the phone and other identity Wendy had found. “I’m not sure what, if anything, you can do to help, but I thought I’d call.”
“I’m glad you did. What’s the phone number to the other cell?”
“We can’t get into the phone to figure it out. It has a password and none of us can figure it out.”
“Turn the phone on and then hold down the power button again until you can put it into emergency mode. You should be able to call 911 and it will display the number you’re calling from.”
Vivian repeated the instructions to Wendy, who immediately powered up Jake’s secret phone and was able to get the number. Vivian relayed it to Antonio.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said.
They spoke a bit longer, Vivian asking about his sister, Adrienne, and he about life in Fort Worth.
“You really should hop on a flight and visit. I’ll keep you busy,” Vivian said.
“I’ll bet!” He laughed.
Vivian gave him the name of Jake’s other identity, and they disconnected soon after. She joined the others, who were next door waiting outside the diner. “He’s got the info and he’s on it,” she told Wendy.
“Thanks,” Wendy said, then she looked down, sadness creeping into her eyes.
Vivian hated it.
Nicole opened the door and they all walked in. The diner sported classic colors: A line of chrome stools with red seats invited guests to the black and white checkered tile counter. Black, square tables and chrome chairs sat in the middle of the restaurant. Nicole picked out a booth by the window, and Kate squeezed into the red seat and grabbed the paper menus tucked between the napkin dispenser and the condiments.
“This is fun!” she said, bouncing up and down.
Vivian bopped in to the beat of the Four Seasons’ “Sherry.” “Wheeee!” She was stuffing her bags onto the ledge of the window when a marimba beat played out of her purse.
“That’s Lucy!” she yelled, snatching up her purse and digging. “That’s her text sound!” She pulled her phone out and read the message aloud.
Hey, I’m fine. Just needed to get away. Enjoy your vacation and be SAFE. I mean that in every sense of the word, you sexed-up, “opportunistic,” stumble into trouble tramp! Love ya!
Vivian responded, saying “it’s about time” and asking where she had gone, then she sent a text telling Lucy that the jawbone they found belonged to Brandon’s second wife (they thought). Then she put her phone on the bench seat between her and Kate, hoping to hear the marimba sound again soon.
Wendy explained to Nicole how Lucy had been with them at the beginning of the vacation but then took off after the body incident because she couldn’t handle another vacation of death and destruction.
“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Nicole asked.
The three girls just looked at one another. Finally, Kate spoke. “Our vacations are always fun, but they tend to get sidetracked.”
“Sideswiped is more like it,” Vivian interjected.
Kate ignored her comment. “It’s okay, though, keeps us on our toes.”
Nicole nodded but looked uncertain.
The waitress appeared to be in her early 20s and could have stepped out of Mel’s Diner off the set of “Alice,” with her Pepto-Bismol pink dress, white apron and goofy little hat. She asked if they’d like to order.
“Indeed, I would,” Kate said, closing her menu. “I want a piece of lemo
n chess pie, the pot roast plate with mashed potatoes and green beans. And a big glass of water, please.”
“I thought we were just getting coffee and pie,” Wendy said.
“We haven’t eaten since breakfast. I need linner.”
Nicole looked at the menu. “What’s linner?”
“Too late for lunch, too early for dinner. I’ll probably need a snack later, too.”
“I just want a slice of chocolate cake,” Vivian said, pointing to a triple-decker doozy that sat on the counter under a glass dome. “And a large glass of milk.”
“Coffee for me,” Wendy said. “Cream and sugar.”
“Same,” Nicole said.
“Did you grow up here?” Vivian asked Nicole.
“Actually, I grew up in Philly but spent a lot of time here in the summer visiting my grandparents. I didn’t move here until Gramps got sick and asked me to take over the paper.”
“Did you study journalism?” Kate asked.
“I went to Penn State and was a reporter for the Philadelphia Daily News after college.”
Wendy, always prepared, put a napkin in her lap. “It must have been culture shock moving here. Big city to small town.”
Nicole smiled. “It was, especially since I’m almost the only person around with an ebony hue.”
“Wait, your grandpa was Earl Jones?” Vivian asked.
“The one and only.”
“We read an article online this morning he wrote about Rebecca Holt.”
“He was all over hear death, Brandon’s first wife’s, too.” Nicole pulled out her notebook and pen. “I still can’t believe you’re the ones who found the bone in the woods yesterday.”
“Technically, a dog found it,” Wendy said, and she explained how they’d borrowed Austin for the day.
“That’s a cool program,” Nicole said. “I’ll have to do that sometime.” Then she went into reporter mode and asked all sorts of questions surrounding the discovery.
Beverages arrived, and she kept at it, leaning forward and jotting notes. When their food came, she closed her notepad. “I think that’s about all I need. In case it’s not, can I get your numbers? Where are you staying?”
