The Great Pumpkin Caper

by Melanie Jackson

  Truthfully, I wasn’t sorry to see the gloomy Gus go. It was time to celebrate! I had won the competition—and it was Halloween! That meant cider and spice cake and costume parades in the park.

  I found Dad and Alex and hugged them and then hugged Blue, who was very proud of me. We waited for the hall to clear a bit and then we got out the trolley. We weren’t going to move my giant pumpkin to the park, but the winning pumpkins from the carving contest were going to the park to be part of the annual illumination.

  Chapter 7

  We closed traffic off in the streets around Courthouse Park around three in the afternoon. We have tried leaving them open, but something about Halloween makes people oblivious to traffic. It’s not just the kids either, wearing blinders in the form of latex masks. Their parents run around like they are in a theme park where the vehicles aren’t real. And the tourists from out of town are just not used to pedestrians. Lucky for Jeffrey Little who had been covering my shifts while I competed.

  As I said, my big pumpkin was too large to maneuver into the park—and I didn’t want to remind anyone about how a giant pumpkin had been used to kill Doc Marley—but Dad and Alex had managed to get my two-headed monster into place near the courthouse stairs. It looked even better with night falling. The interior shone like Aladdin’s jeweled cave. One toddler plunked himself down right in front of it and cried every time his mom tried to call him away.

  Mr. Jackman’s castle was a favorite with the ladies, including Mrs. Graves who stayed close by his side, and Maurice Snowden’s werewolf was a hit with the under-twelve boys. Many people asked about seeds and I said that mine would be available through the garden club. Proceeds would help with the community garden. There was so much interest in both seeds and carving techniques that I had a feeling that we would have more competitors next year both in the growing and carving divisions.

  Alex had gone for cider and a cup of mulled wine while Blue and I guarded my prize-winning squash from the baby who wanted to chew on it. I was doing my best to save his place as the crowd encroached, but it was getting trickier as the hour advanced and people vied for a good view of the parade. Then Althea turned up. She had Reggie and Dale with her. I was happy about Reggie, who was adorable in his blue caterpillar costume, but not so enthused about Dale Gordon, though he didn’t hesitate to elbow a spot for his wife and child and consequently for me.

  Alex fought his way back to us and gave me my cider and a piece of slightly squished spice cake that had had to ride in his pocket. Gallantly he offered his cup to Althea though I could tell his smile was less than genuine.

  “Wine?” he asked.

  Whine? Every chance she gets, I thought nastily and then gave myself a mental smack. Althea had been very helpful that day. There would be no more automatic slamming of my cousin. From there on out she would only get my negative energy when she actually did something to earn it. After all, I don’t want to be like the Middle East, fighting and hating just to keep up tradition.

  The middle school choir mounted the courthouse steps at five and performed “The Monster Mash” and then the high schoolers did a boisterous version of “Werewolves of London” that had the crowd howling along on the chorus.

  I didn’t howl though. Warren Zevon was no longer with us and hearing his song had made me sad. It also brought my thoughts back to our own unsolved death.

  By seven o’clock I was exhausted from battling the crowds. Althea and Dale had left as soon as the costume parade was over; Althea was miffed because Reggie hadn’t won in the infants’ division and because no one had asked her to write a poem for the occasion. Alex was still full of energy and wanted to stay for the pie-throwing contest, so I kissed him goodbye and started home with Blue. Dad and Alex would gather my pumpkin up after the crowds thinned. Not that it would look that great by morning, but maybe I could salvage the jewels inside.

  There were a few costumed children on the street, giggling as they dashed about. The ambitious ones didn’t settle for trick-or-treating the merchants downtown and would visit houses that were well lit with pumpkins in the yard. But mostly I had the pavement to myself.

  There was an idea, a shy cat pussyfooting around the back of my brain. Given time, it would probably pass from idea to realization. I could try to track it down directly, but just like a stray cat, it was apt to run away. It was better to let it come out of its own volition. I thought of other things instead. Naturally, Doc’s death and my investigation came to mind again.

  I had talked to the Chief in the park. Lawrence Bryce hadn’t been able to collect any damning physical evidence at the scene and so far interviews with suspects had netted them nothing. There were a few people left to talk to, but the Chief wasn’t holding out hope for finding the killer through traditional means.

  What did we have to work with then? Alex had gotten nowhere with finding Doc’s girlfriend or with discovering the money trail. Maybe because neither existed. On scene, we had chisel marks on the door at the doc’s office and false teeth in the victim’s pumpkin.

  Blue sniffed the air as we turned onto Harris Street. Fairlane’s was open for dinner. They have good food at the new B&B, but it’s the kind of place where you always feel like you are inconveniencing the staff, who have many more important things to do than bring you the expensive food you ordered. Alex and I had only eaten there once.

  After a few deep breaths of delicious air, Blue and I moved on.

  Then we had the break-in at the office. Chisels could be used for things beyond carpentry. Look at the number of pumpkin carvers who had them at the competition. They would also be stock in trade for an artist who did wood carving or a carpenter who did restoration work. It was a good clue, I supposed, but the chisels alone left me with too many suspects. And that was the problem all the way around—too many people with chisels, and too many people with identical dentures and unhappy feelings about the man who had made them.

  Was this about teeth? Or about pumpkins? Or had we missed something? Would logic and systematic questioning solve this crime?

  I walked down the damp street, brooding. There were no children outside now. Blue and I were alone. This didn’t bother me. I know every crack in the sidewalk, every dip in the road, every leaf-clogged gutter. I know every illness real or imagined of every person in the neighborhood. I know the color of their bedroom carpets and who likes dogs and who hates broccoli, and who still has the original Formica in their kitchens. I know who has gone vegan and who would need a liver transplant and AA for life if they were to make it past fifty.

  Not that we are automatons. We aren’t so lockstepped that we all have to eat meatloaf on Mondays and do laundry on Tuesdays, but chances are good meatloaf is on the menu some night during the week and in most houses, laundry gets done before the weekend.

  Excepting a few wealthy folks up on the hill, people here work and jobs have never been corporate, cradle-to-grave affairs. Kids mostly take over family businesses but remain ambidextrous since it gives you a leg up when you live hand to mouth. You might offer snow plowing and ski rentals in winter, lawn maintenance and river guiding in the summer.

  Hope Falls isn’t the kind of place where people want surprises. We are mostly creatures of habit and dislike change and strangers. Fast-food diners and chain stores aren’t welcome downtown. It’s the reason that Doc Marley still had patients, in spite of his recent screwups. We behave predictably.

  For the most part.

  This is a town where a lot of people were born in the houses where they still live, and where they will probably die too.

  I know them. Good and not so good.

  I even knew the crows who were marching up the sidewalk doing their stately strut, perhaps on their way to some Halloween celebration. Blue and I stepped into the gutter and let them pass.

  Mostly I try not to make judgments about my neighbors because people are what they are and no one is perfect. I don’t want to be the one to cast the first stone. But sometimes judgment is calle
d for. Sometimes you can’t just blindly love thy neighbor and let them go on their way. Like now. I couldn’t pretend that this murder was like famine in war-torn Africa—you know, tragic but a faraway problem that someone else should deal with. This is my town—our town. We all have a responsibility to protect it.

  Unfortunately, I also have a gift that others don’t possess. Sometimes, almost all the time, I can see the truth if I look for it hard enough. I can’t always prove it, but I know.

  Never mind statistics and procedures and what was admissible in court and permissible under the law. Screw alibies and physical evidence—who did I know, in my heart, to be capable of murder? Who had a reason to kill? Who could have been pressed so hard that their mind broke under the strain?

  I stood still, feeling the cold light of the moon as it emerged from the clouds. The shy cat finally showed itself on the edges of my mind.

  So, I had my answer.

  Blue whined and I knew that it was time to go home. I love Halloween, but all the cheery orange pumpkins on the wooden porches and cold wind coming from the west were suddenly giving me a migraine.

  And I knew what I needed to do, hateful as it was. I could use my cell to call the Chief, but I wanted to write it out first. To look at it again on paper. To be sure—completely sure—before I pointed a finger.

  The house was empty. The cats were sleeping somewhere and Alex wasn’t home.

  Sitting at the dining table with all the lights on and Blue at my feet, I made the list, writing it oh so carefully. It was dismaying that I had three people I couldn’t definitely clear. Three people I believed inclined, if pressed hard enough, to commit murder for one reason or another. One, more than the others, set off my inner alarm when I stared at his name, but there were still two other people in my town that—deep down inside where I am ruled by emotion and not logic—I thought capable of killing.

  There was a way to find out. Feeling colder than ever, I picked up the phone with a shaking hand and called Althea. She was still grumpy and snarling but checked the doc’s files while I waited.

  It wasn’t a surprise when she told me whose folder was missing from Doc Marley’s cabinet. And that his deceased wife’s file had gone missing too. Althea remembered then that Lily had died from an infection of the heart. The killing bacteria was thought to have entered through a wound in her mouth—a wound possibly caused by her ill-fitting dentures, though no one at the hospital would testify to that in court. There had been talk of a lawsuit, but the doc’s wife had died later that week and the subject never came up again.

  Althea no longer sounded annoyed. She had made the connection and I think she was as appalled as I was. Maybe it was worse for her because her boss had caused a woman to die. And it was her death that had precipitated the revenge.

  I said goodnight to my cousin and then called the Chief on his cell. What I had to offer wasn’t proof, but it was enough for a search warrant. I thanked God that I didn’t have to deal with this part of things, which rather suggested that I didn’t really want to be a police officer. A detective who found answers, yes. But not an official arm of the law that dealt in technical legalities and brought people to face justice.

  Especially not when, this time, I had some sympathy for the killer. What would I do if the legal system failed me? Really, even if it worked, was money enough compensation? Hadn’t the Bible talked about an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth? What would I do if someone killed Alex?

  The thought of my squeamishness when it came to enforcing the law was lowering, and I felt chilled beyond anything I had known before. I moved to the furnace, set it to CHAR, then sat down in front of the fireplace and hugged my dog and then the cats, who wandered out from the bedroom to see why I wasn’t coming to bed.

  Three hours later Randy called back and told me what had happened.

  Alex, who had joined me a few minutes before the Chief’s call, watched my face as I listened to Randy’s unusually soft voice. I thought that I had my emotions under control but knew that something had slipped out when Alex took my left hand and squeezed it.

  “What happened?” he asked when I hung up the phone.

  “Casey White killed himself when the Chief showed him the warrant. They didn’t really believe me about Casey and they didn’t watch him while they were searching the house. And he went out to his workshop and hung himself from the rafters. He—he didn’t have any teeth.”

  Alex pulled me close and held me while I cried.

  Chapter 8

  November has been beautiful. It’s been the warmest autumn we have on record. Lured by the sunny days, Hope Falls has had a late influx of out-of-town tourists and every inn and B&B is booked solid for the Thanksgiving weekend. Jeffrey and I have been busy with all the extra tourists, and that is okay. Busy is good. And I don’t mind being an unofficial tour guide for the visitors, especially since they don’t need Officer Bill.

  I’m having Thanksgiving again this year. We’ll be setting a few extra places since Hawaii is coming into town for the holiday, and it seemed right to invite the Chief since the marshal will be around. And I’ve decided that I can just about face the lardhead and Althea if it means seeing my new cousin at his first Thanksgiving, so we need a place for my Aunt Dot too. With Bob and Rosemary and Mary Elizabeth, I’ll need two extra card tables and a lot of folding chairs.

  Reggie is a darling, getting bigger and stronger every day. I try to stop in on my lunch hour to see him. Blue really likes the baby. Althea makes it sound easy, being a mother, but I think maybe I need to practice a bit more on Reggie to see if I really want to be a mother. Parenting isn’t a job that Alex and I could take lightly. We need to be sure that it is what we really want and also that we could do it.

  Mr. Jackman will cook the turkey since that makes him happy, but I feel able to take on the rest of dinner. I still like baking best, but I am getting better at general cooking and am ready to show off a little. Mrs. Graves has hinted that she and Mr. Jackman will have some news to share that Thursday. I’ll try to act surprised.

  Jacky and I have harvested our seeds. We kept back what we needed for ourselves and gave the rest to the garden club to sell. They have raised almost six hundred dollars from seed sales for the community garden. That will grow a lot of veggies for the food bank. I feel proud to have helped.

  Alex is talking about us maybe going to visit a college friend who has just opened a ski lodge in Aspen. I’ve never been there and it could be nice to meet Mark and his new wife, India. Maybe I’ll try downhill skiing.

  Or maybe not. I’ll decide when I see the hills. It’s important to keep an open mind.

  About the Author

  Melanie Jackson is the author of 50 novels. If you enjoyed this story, please visit Melanie’s author website at www.melaniejackson.com.

  eBooks by Melanie Jackson:

  The Chloe Boston Mystery Series:

  Moving Violation

  The Pumpkin Thief

  Death in a Turkey Town

  Murder on Parade

  Cupid’s Revenge

  Viva Lost Vegas

  Death of a Dumb Bunny

  Red, White and a Dog Named Blue

  Haunted

  The Great Pumpkin Caper

  The Butterscotch Jones Mystery Series

  Due North

  Big Bones

  Gone South (Coming Soon)

  The Book of Dreams Series:

  The First Book of Dreams: Metropolis

  The Second Book of Dreams: Meridian

  The Third Book of Dreams: Destiny

  The Wildside Series

  Outsiders

  Courier

  Still Life

  Medicine Trilogy

  Bad Medicine

  Medicine Man

  Knave of Hearts

  Club Valhalla

  Devil of Bodmin Moor

  Devil in a Red Coat

  Halloween

  The Curiosity Shoppe (Sequel to A Curious Affair)
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br />   Timeless

  Nevermore: The Last Divine Book