Pumpkin Picking with Murder

by Auralee Wallace

  I looked down at the coffees I was holding. Mine was practically gone. Grady’s was definitely cold.

  Noticing my gaze, Matthew said, “Sorry. You want to find Grady,” just as I said, “I’d love to.”

  He chuckled.

  “I mean, I do want to find Grady, but you gotta know everybody in Otter Lake wants to snoop around here.”

  “Oh, believe me, I know,” he said, eyes widening. “I woke up today to see Mrs. Appleton’s head peeking around my bedroom door.”

  “You did not!”

  “Oh yeah, totally did,” he said. “Claimed my mother was looking for me, but … I think she may have been standing there a little longer than was decent for a Sunday school teacher.”

  A Sunday school teacher that I was suddenly pretty jealous of. I shook my head. Again, where had that come from?

  “You okay?” Matthew asked.

  I coughed. “Totally fine. Not sure where my mind went there.” My eyes widened a touch then flashed to Matthew’s. “I didn’t mean … not that it went to your bedroom.”

  “It’s okay,” Matthew said, laughing. “The thought of Mrs. Appleton and Sunday school makes a lot of people nervous.”

  I nodded. Wow. A gentleman to boot. Some girl should really take this guy off the market so the rest of us could stop embarrassing ourselves.

  “Come on,” he said with a jerk of his head. “I’ll just show you the boathouse, then we’ll go in.”

  We walked across the grassy slant of the grounds toward the small building designed to stay in keeping with the manse.

  Matthew stepped into the cool gloom of the structure, causing the floor to rock and creak. Signs of disrepair showed everywhere. Rotting planks. Broken lights. Floor sinking on the right side. But it was still beautiful. It had that romantic feeling old buildings sometimes have. You could practically hear the ghostly laughter of some flapper hooking up with a suave man in a white jacket.

  “Sorry,” he said turning to face me. “I’m not sure what I was thinking. There’s not much to see in here. I still don’t think I’m ready to go inside.”

  I nodded.

  “My father’s death is hard enough, but it’s just … a lot being home,” he said, looking back up at me. “I mean, you know, my parents sent me to this fancy boarding school when I was a teenager, and when I was there, I was known as the kid from the Podunk town with the dwindling family fortune, but when I’m here, everybody just sees a Masterson, and thinks, I … I—”

  “Wear golfing pants,” I blurted out. Why … why did I say that out loud? “I mean, I like them. They’re nice pants … really nice pants. They just stand out in—”

  “Otter Lake.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “Sometimes I wonder why I even allow myself to talk.”

  He smiled again. “No, don’t worry. I get what you mean.” He looked down at his pants, furrowing his brow. “But golfing pants? Really? Huh. I was going for more outdoor adventurer.”

  “That works too.” It totally didn’t. “I think I know what you mean, though,” I said, nodding probably too vigorously. “In Chicago … I’m invisible. And part of that is a relief, but it’s also … I don’t know, I feel disconnected. But when I come home,” I said, looking away, “I’m Boobsie Bloom, Summer’s daughter, the girl who parades around topless in rubber pants with beavers named Betsy.”

  Matthew spluttered into a cough.

  My gaze snapped back. “Are you all right?”

  He waved his hand to indicate that he was, but he couldn’t stop coughing.

  I took a step closer and grabbed his arm. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear about what happened with me at the social?” I lowered my gaze to try to see his face, which was turned to the ground.

  He shook his head no, still coughing.

  “Here, drink this,” I said, passing him the cold coffee.

  He tipped it back and took a sip.

  “Better?”

  He nodded and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. Did you say topless … in rubber pants with Betsy? The beaver?”

  I waved another hand at him. “It was one time. At the Raspberry Social. It was no big deal.”

  “I swear, I miss everything good that happens in this town,” he said, still smiling. “All I get are the deranged geese.”

  Suddenly a shadow filled the doorway behind us.

  A shadow wearing a sheriff’s hat.

  “Grady?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Warmth once again rushed to my cheeks. Maybe I needed to see a doctor about this blushing problem I seemed to be having.

  “Erica.” Surprise and some other emotion crossed Grady’s face … some sort of emotion that I did not like the look of at all. Worry maybe? Guilt? Actually he kind of looked like he might be sick. Sure, our phone call last night had been bad … but it wasn’t that bad.

  “I came to see you,” I said, “with Matthew here. I brought you coffee.” I looked down at my hand, realized it wasn’t there, then quickly looked over to Matthew.

  “I’m sorry,” Matthew piped in. “I drank it. I was coughing and—”

  “It’s fine,” Grady said. His eyes moved to Matthew. “Someone thought they saw you out here. Your mother’s looking for you. She’s upset.” He paused a beat. “There’s been a development.”

  “What kind of development?”

  “I’ll fill you in later,” Grady said. “But right now you should go see your mother.”

  Matthew nodded and moved to leave. Unfortunately, because there was so little room to walk in the boathouse, he had to brush pretty close against me to get by. Our mumbled apologies, and my staring up at the ceiling, really didn’t seem to help the situation.

  Grady turned his gaze back to me, and suddenly I found my one free hand shoved deep into my pocket. I held up my coffee in the another hand. “There’s a little left if you want it.”

  “Don’t worry about the coffee,” he said, a strange look still on his face.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “You’re starting to freak me out. What is going on?”

  “I have to tell you something, and you’re not going to like it.”

  My mind raced, but I didn’t say anything.

  “The ME’s preliminary report came in.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s looking like Mr. Masterson’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  “Whoa,” I said putting up my hands. “You don’t mean … and why do you keep saying accident? You said it on the phone the other night. Not heart attack. Not natural causes. That makes me think you guys were thinking maybe an overdose … of medication?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “But now … did someone drug him?”

  Grady stared at me, the muscles by his temples flexed as his jaw clenched. “You just can’t stop, can you?” He then rubbed his forehead with one hand and held up the other. “Never mind … sorry.”

  My stomach dropped. “What are you trying to tell me here?” I asked, planting my hands on my hips. “Because I’m starting to think I might have an idea … but it had better not be what I’m thinking.”

  “Please, Erica. Don’t make this about us,” Grady said meeting my eyes. “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Grady,” I said, my voice full of warning. “Don’t tell me—”

  “We’re bringing Tweety in.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Son of a—” I turned and slapped one of the boathouse’s wooden beams.

  “Erica—”

  “Don’t!” I snapped. “Just don’t. I don’t believe this! Are you charging her?”

  He sighed. “Rhonda’s on her way over to the island right now. I don’t know if the twins have a lawyer, or if your uncle—”

  “You sent Rhonda?” Rhonda Cooke was a bit … eccentric. Even for Otter Lake. I actually considered Rhonda to be a friend, but being questioned by her was a little like being questioned by a spinning top: You could never be quite sure which direc
tion things were gonna go. This was not good. “I need to get over there.”

  As I passed him, he grabbed my arm. “Erica—”

  “What do you want me to say?” I shouted. “It’s okay?”

  “I don’t have a choice here.”

  “Neither do I.” I yanked my arm away. “She’s family.”

  Steely clouds heavy with rain moved in to cover the lake as I sped back to the island. I saw the cop boat at the twins’ place, but the officers were standing in front of the cottage, looking unsure. If the twins weren’t there, I knew where they had to be.

  Minutes later, I docked my mom’s boat and ran up the steps to the retreat. Once I got up to the top, I saw them both, sitting in their chairs on the porch, tin mugs in hand.

  “Erica, get over here,” Kit Kat called out. “We want to talk to you.”

  I sprinted up the path leading to the lodge before jumping the steps. “We don’t have much time,” I blurted out before stopping to have to catch my breath. “My mother here?”

  “No. They went somewhere. They mimed it, but—” Tweety cut herself off with a wave of her hand. “Here. Have a drink,” she said, pressing a mug into my hand. “What have you been doing? Running a marathon?”

  “No, I was at Hemlock Estate,” I gasped. “And—”

  “Erica, we told you—”

  “I know. I know,” I panted. Man, I just could not catch my breath. I brought the mug to my lips and pure alcohol exploded into my mouth. “Gah! Do you ever drink water? Take this away,” I said, pushing the mug back to Tweety, who was bouncing up and down with laughter.

  “This is serious,” I croaked. “You need to focus.”

  “What is the matter with you?” she asked, watery blue eyes narrowing in on me.

  “Rhonda’s coming,” I said. “For you.”

  The twins flashed each other looks before turning back to me.

  “We don’t have much time. You need to—”

  “Fire up the boat,” Kit Kat said, struggling to her feet. “If we leave now—”

  “We’ll get the tent,” Tweety added. “Live in the wild for a while then—”

  “Stop it!” I shouted, herding them back into their seats. “You’re not running. That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not,” Kit Kat snapped, looking indignant.

  “What?” I said, throwing my hands wide. “You going to hunt squirrels and forage for berries?”

  “We could.”

  “Just stop. Listen,” I said, lowering my hands and taking a breath. “I’ll call my uncle Jack. But I don’t know when you’ll make bail, so you need to give me some answers now. I need to know how to help you.”

  The twins twisted up their mouths in identical gestures.

  “Tweety, why were you on that ride with Mr. Masterson?” I asked. “You said you weren’t having an affair, but was there anything at all going on between you two?”

  She opened her mouth and then shut it again.

  “Oh my God!” I shouted. “Well, that’s just—” I stopped myself and took a breath. “Give me that mug,” I said, swiping it back from Tweety and taking another sip. “Okay, let’s try something easier this time.”

  The twins stared back at me, waiting.

  “How about you just tell me that you didn’t kill anyone. Let’s start there.” I waited a moment, but no one spoke.

  “It’s easy,” I said, pointing at each of them with the mug. “Just say, Erica, we did not kill anyone.”

  The twins exchanged glances.

  “What the—are you kidding me right now?”

  “Erica!” a voice shouted. “Stop! Not one more word!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  No. No. No.

  I jumped and spun around.

  Behind me stood Rhonda Cooke and another police officer I didn’t recognize.

  My mug clunked to the wooden planks of the porch floor. For a second there, I thought I was about to put my hands up, but I caught myself.

  “Rhonda, I—” I fumbled around for words, but I couldn’t seem to find any that fit. I settled on, “Could we have just one more minute here? Alone?”

  “Sure. Sure,” she said with a nod, backing away.

  The other officer cleared his throat.

  Rhonda turned to look at him.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she muttered.

  He raised them even higher.

  “What—oh,” Rhonda said, straightening. Then she pointed a finger at him. “Wait, you don’t get to scold me. You’re the one who uploaded Shelley’s booking photo to Hot Jugs and Mugs.”

  “She made me!” the young officer said, cheeks going red. “She said she’d tell her father not to serve me at the Dawg anymore if I didn’t do it. Where else am I going to eat? Besides … she was really scary that day.”

  “You’re a cop, Amos!” Rhonda said, huffing a breath. “Now, Grady’s all professional this and professional tha—” She looked over her shoulder as though she had just remembered we were still there. “Right,” she said, hiking her gun belt. “Sorry, Erica. He’s right. This isn’t a social call. We don’t want to do this.” I closed my eyes as she climbed the porch steps. “Twyla Williams, you’re going to have to come with us.”

  “You arresting me?”

  My eyes flew open to see the junior officer stepping forward with cuffs.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shouted. “Put those away!”

  Rhonda waved him down as she moved to help Tweety get out of her chair. “Nobody’s getting arrested … yet.”

  “I want to come with her,” Kit Kat said.

  “Me too,” I added.

  “You can come, Kit Kat,” Rhonda said. “But Erica, I’m sorry. You need to stay here. Grady specifically said…”

  “What specifically did Grady say, Rhonda?”

  “Do not bring Erica back here,” she said in a mock-Grady voice. “He just radioed that in.” She looked to the other officer for backup. He nodded.

  I shook my head.

  “But you know we could always meet up for beers later at the Dawg. The high school reunion is—” She stopped herself when she caught my expression. “Maybe now’s not the time.” She looked at me and pinched her lips together, making her cheeks dimple before adding, “We’ll take good care of her, Erica.”

  I felt Kit Kat move up beside me. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said, patting me halfheartedly on the back. “I think both Tweety and I always knew it would come to this.”

  I felt my jaw drop. I wanted to shout, What the hell does that mean? but I somehow managed to keep my mouth shut.

  She turned from me to follow the others down the stairs.

  I stood there for a moment in shock before finally managing to pull out my phone. I pressed a number and brought it to my ear. After six rings, someone answered.

  “You need to get over here right now.”

  The voice on the other end prattled back at me.

  “Freddie, I really don’t care what you do with your cotton candy. Get over here. Now.” I exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s an emergency.”

  * * *

  I stood waiting on the dock for Freddie, gripping my insulated windbreaker tightly around my body. The cold was coming in. It was a damp cold too. Rain was on its way. Lots of it. Not that any of that really mattered …

  Grady had brought Tweety in. Tweety!

  But then again, given the conversation I’d had with the twins … maybe it was the right move.

  No. No. Tweety was not a murderer. I didn’t know why the twins had said what they had, but that didn’t change what I knew to be true. Tweety was not a murderer.

  I rubbed my arms. Where the hell was Freddie?

  Then I heard it. Music. Actually, not even music. Bass. The kind of bass that could make the lake ripple. Wow, somebody had spent a pretty penny on that sound system.

  Then in the distance, I saw a blur—a neon-yellow blur—tearing arou
nd the bend of land.

  Holy crap.

  I squinted my eyes to get a better view, but it was moving fast. Impossibly fast. My God, I wouldn’t have been surprised if that sucker could break the sound barrier.

  Just then the boat swung course … bearing down on the island.

  “Freddie!” I screamed, holding out my hands. “Slow down!”

  There was no way he could hear me. But he didn’t need to. He was already turning in a wide loop in front of my dock. I took a few steps back, afraid that the wake might take me out.

  The loud roar of the engine cut out, and I could finally hear the music from the booming sound system. Yup, figured. It was the theme song from Miami Vice.

  I sighed.

  Freddie pulled up as close as he could to my dock in neutral without grounding himself. He smiled at me from underneath his aviator sunglasses.

  “Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

  I looked at the long, sleek rod of a boat, shaking my head. I blew air out from my lips.

  “I call her Lightning.”

  “Seems fitting.”

  He sighed happily then dropped the smile. “Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

  I shook my head. We so didn’t have time for this.

  “I think it starts with an I’m and ends with a sorry,” he called out across the water. “But I’ll also accept a you were right and I was wrong.”

  A cold drop of rain hit my nose. “Grady brought Tweety in for questioning. I think they might even be planning on … arresting her.”

  He leaned closer to the edge of his boat and cocked his ear in my direction. “What? I can’t hear you. My boat’s really loud, and my ears are still buzzing.”

  I inhaled deeply and shouted, “Grady took Tweety in!”

  Freddie did an almost comical double take. “What the—”

  “I know.”

  “He can’t seriously think that Tweety killed Mr. Masterson?”

  I threw my hands in the air.

  “I swear, Erica, he may look good in the uniform, but sometimes … bag of hammers. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Freddie,” I said with as much warning as I could. “Not now.”

  He put his hands up in submission. “Seriously, though, Tweety a murderer? I mean, a brawler? Okay. A thug? Most definitely. But a murderer?”