Pumpkin Picking with Murder

by Auralee Wallace

  I didn’t change my expression.

  “You can’t be thinking…” Freddie trailed off, shaking his head. “You know—you know, Erica—that I’m down with doing a lot of things the average person wouldn’t. In fact I normally encourage those things, but you can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  “You heard him, Freddie,” I said in a voice that didn’t quite sound like my own. “It’s not an actual grave.”

  Freddie grabbed my shoulders. “Erica, I want you to take a moment to think about what you just said.”

  “What about what you said?” I asked. “You said in the beginning you wanted me all-in, Freddie. This is what all-in looks like.”

  “What!” Freddie held up a finger to my face and said, “No. You just stop it! Right now.”

  I started walking again to the SUV. “Whatever it takes, Freddie.”

  He ran in front of me, forcing me to stop. “No. Sorry.” He cut the air with his hands. “As CEO of Otter Lake Security, I have to veto this plan. This crosses a line.”

  I moved past him, cranked the door to the SUV open, and hopped in the seat. Freddie followed suit on the other side.

  We sat for a moment in silence, both of us looking out the windshield.

  “You’re still thinking it. I can feel you still thinking it.”

  I leaned back against my seat. “Freddie, when I saw Kit Kat lying in the grass like that … it changed everything.”

  “Look, I get it,” he said. “But this is too far. Causing a ruckus at the bingo hall? No problem. It was kind of cute. Getting in the occasional bar fight? Why not? It’s Otter Lake. But what you’re thinking right now? No.”

  “What if it were your grandmother in that hospital bed?”

  Freddie’s eyes flashed over to mine. “You talk about my poppo again, and I’ll stab you in the ribs.”

  “Exactly,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “Listen, if Mrs. Masterson killed her father to stop him from giving the house to Kit Kat, that really makes it a lot more plausible that she killed her husband and her caretaker. Especially if Mr. Clarke somehow found out the truth. I find it highly suspicious that the second murder took place right at the memorial plaque thingy for her father. What if the caretaker knew and was going to dig it up?” I scanned Freddie’s face to see if any of this was registering.

  He was biting his lip. Oh yeah, he was thinking about it.

  “What other option do we have?” I asked. “Do you have any other leads? Because, really, I’m open to suggestions.”

  “I … not really.”

  “Well then?”

  “Erica! Think it through,” Freddie pleaded. “You and I both know that Grady’s not playing anymore.”

  I buckled my seat belt. “So what do we do with all this then? Nothing? Tell Grady? I don’t think he’s exactly listening to what we have to say right now.”

  Freddie chuckled and held his arms out to the side like his lat muscles were too big. “Nah, he’d be all like, I’m Grady Forrester. And nobody is digging up anything. There was no evidence of a murder, and your witness is a hundred years old. I wish I had Freddie’s boat. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so angry all the time.”

  “Not helping, Freddie.”

  He exhaled all his fake muscles with a whoosh. “Erica, I’m pretty sure what you’re suggesting is a felony.”

  “It’s not a felony.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “Work,” I said. “I transcribe these kinds of cases all the time.”

  “Really? Just like all the time?”

  “Yup.”

  “Erica, you’re lying! And you’re terrible at it.”

  Suddenly my phone buzzed. I fiddled around in my jacket pocket to retrieve it. “Just a second,” I said. “It’s my uncle. I have to take this.” I swiped the screen. “Hello?”

  “Erica, it’s Uncle Jack.”

  “Hi,” I said quickly. “It’s really good to hear from you. I take it you got all of my messages?”

  “I did. I did. And your mother sent me quite the email. I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. It’s been a busy week.” His voice sounded as though he meant it. “Listen, I’ve looked into the case, but Erica … I’m not sure how much we can do for Twyla.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, not at all liking the seriousness of his tone. “Is the evidence against her really that bad?”

  “Not at all. Well, the ME hasn’t handed over the report yet, but all things considered—frankly, I wouldn’t expect them to get past discovery. So I don’t know why—”

  “Why what?” I asked. “What’s the problem?”

  A moment passed. “You don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Erica, I don’t how to tell you this … but Twyla has decided to plead guilty.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “What?” I yelled, ignoring Freddie, who was yanking on my arm.

  “Well, yes. They’re typing up a confession for her to sign as we speak,” he said. “I’ve let them know that nothing, nothing, is to be signed until I get there, which should buy us some time, but you need to talk to her. I can’t delay this forever, especially if she suddenly decides to waive her right to an attorney too.”

  “She wouldn’t,” I replied quickly, before I realized that I never would have thought she’d have pled guilty either. “This is crazy.”

  “Erica, I know you and your mother love this woman, but, I have to ask, is there any possibility she could have—”

  “No!”

  “Okay, then you know what you have to do. My assistant’s booking me a flight, but I won’t get there until tomorrow at the earliest.”

  “Got it. Thank you. So much.”

  “Talk to her, Erica,” he said with a sigh. “Your mother will kill me if this thing goes sideways.”

  “Understood.” I ended the call and looked up at Freddie.

  “What’s happen—”

  “She’s pleading guilty. Tweety is pleading guilty to murder.”

  Freddie’s eyes widened, “Why?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “My uncle Jack’s trying to delay, but soon. We’re running out of time.”

  “Oh man,” he moaned. “Oh man.”

  “Freddie, please. We need to do this.”

  He nodded. “All right. Okay. Yes,” he hissed, slapping the steering wheel. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but … I’m in. Let’s do it!”

  “You mean it?”

  “Well,” Freddie said, pulling us out of the parking lot. “If we’re going down—and let’s face it, sooner or later we were going to go down—I say let’s do it in a blaze of glory.” He reached his fist over to me.

  I stared at his knuckles, not moving.

  “Fist bump, Erica,” he said, with his eyes on the road. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

  I sighed.

  “Come on! Balls to the wall!”

  And before I even realized it, my knuckles collided with Freddie’s.

  “Yeah! We’re digging up a grave!” he screamed, before adding, “We’re so going to jail.”

  * * *

  Unfortunately after we got ourselves all psyched up, we realized it was probably best to wait until well after dark to do that actual … deed. Grave digging wasn’t exactly a broad-daylight type of activity. I decided to head back home for a shower and a change of clothes before meeting up with Freddie later. He wanted to stop in at the fair, so I dropped him off with Lightning then took her to the retreat. I had to admit Lightning was growing on me now that I was figuring out how to handle her. Sure, she was loud and obnoxious, but she was also really, really fast.

  When I got inside the lodge, I found the guests meditating in front of a photo of Kit Kat. For a moment, I thought the worst, then realized they were just doing a prayer slash meditation session. My mother was a great believer in the healing power of positive thoughts. Thank
fully, when I excused myself, she didn’t try to stop me. I couldn’t sit and be calm. I just couldn’t. I’d rather pace the floor any day.

  As soon as I had shut the door to my room, I pulled out my phone. The red message light was blinking. Huh. Missed call.

  I scrolled past my uncle’s number to see who had called before him. Grady.

  For a moment I debated whether I wanted to listen to the message. If Freddie and I really went through with digging up the—what? memorial coffin?—it might just be the last nail in my relationship with Grady.

  How had everything gotten so out of control so fast?

  I had been thinking, like my uncle, that the case wouldn’t even make it to trial, especially with the VHS tape that showed all the other people who had access to Mr. Masterson right before he died—of course, we still had to turn those tapes over—but now with Tweety confessing, well, there still wouldn’t be a trial. They’d go right to sentencing.

  No, there was no way around it. I could tell myself I was torn about digging up this coffin. I could hem and haw and feel terrible about Grady. But I knew in my heart, I was going to do whatever it took to help the twins. I really was all-in.

  I swiped my phone and brought it to my ear.

  Hey, Erica. It’s me. I could hear him inhale deeply. If you haven’t heard, you will soon. Tweety’s decided to plead guilty. I just want you to know I tried talking to her. I know this isn’t—but it doesn’t mean you should go off and—He paused a moment longer and then said, Never mind. I just wanted you to know.

  I dropped the phone away from my face.

  Well, I guess it was official. Grady wasn’t even trying to warn me off anymore … and that had to mean he had given up on us. For good.

  “Frick!” I shouted, throwing my phone onto the bed.

  A startled scream sounded from outside my room.

  “Sorry!” I shouted back. “Sorry.”

  * * *

  After a couple of really miserable hours of chewing off my fingernails, I picked up Freddie from town and took him back to his house for what could be our last meal on the outside. Frozen fish sticks and fries I had wanted to eat at the fair, but Freddie looked a little green at the thought. Guess he had overdone it with all the fried food.

  Once we had cleared up the dishes, Freddie disappeared into another room. He came back a minute later with a pile of clothes and passed it to me. A black track suit, toque, and gloves.

  I flipped through the stack, checking the labels. “Um, Freddie,” I said, picking up one of the gloves and trying it on. “Why do you have a breaking-and-entering outfit ready to go in my size?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been surfing the ’Net a lot for the business … and I may have a bit of an online shopping problem. A problem that is totally paying off for us right now.”

  I nodded, pinching my lips together. “Do I want to know how many other outfits, in my size, you just happen to have lying around?”

  “I don’t think knowing the number will contribute anything to what we’re trying to accomplish this evening,” he replied. “But you should know, I have an awesome maid’s outfit if we ever have any business in a hotel. It’s beige and totally shapeless. You’ll love it.”

  I blinked. “Right.”

  I shoved the toque on my head. Couldn’t deny it. Good elasticity. “So, I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to how we are going to accomplish … what it is we are planning to do tonight?”

  “Dig up the bodiless coffin, you mean?”

  I shot him a look.

  “Hey, this is your baby. You need to own it,” he said matter-of-factly. “But what about it?”

  “Well, the logistics,” I said. “I don’t exactly have much upper-body strength … or a shovel. Do you own a shovel?”

  Freddie smiled slyly in return. “I’ve got something way better than a shovel.”

  “Does it require strength, because, as I say, I’m not exactly…” I trailed off, flexing my biceps. “And you’re not exactly…” I gestured a weak hand in his direction.

  “What, Erica?” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “What am I not exactly?”

  I threw the same hand in the air. “You’re not exactly in grave-digging shape. There. I said it.”

  Freddie brought his fingertips to his chest. “How dare you.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Please. I can’t take the normal theatrics. Not tonight. Just answer the question.”

  “Erica. Erica. Erica,” Freddie began.

  “I said please.”

  “Of course I’ve given it some thought,” Freddie said. “As always I’m way ahead of you. Always thinking, I am.”

  I cracked one eye open.

  “Unlike you, who just decides to dig up a grave willy-nilly, I have thought about the logistics of your insane plan. In fact, I’m fairly certain, I have thought of everything.”

  “Really,” I said, dropping my chin to my chest. “Then do share. How exactly are you and I going to dig up six feet of dirt?”

  “I have one word for you.”

  I closed my eyes again.

  “Backhoe.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “Okay,” I said, planting my hands on my hips. “I’ll bite. Why do you have a backhoe?”

  Freddie and I were standing in his three-car garage, staring at what indeed appeared to be a backhoe.

  “It’s a recreational backhoe for, you know—”

  I smacked his arm with the back of my hand.

  “All right. All right. Jeez,” he said rubbing the spot. “A couple of years ago, I thought I might try digging out my own pool.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “It was a hot summer. I wanted a place to cool off, but the last time I went into the lake, I got this leech stuck between my toes, and, well, that doesn’t really matter,” Freddie said, dismissing the story with a hand. “I kind of lost interest, though, when I started digging and there was all this water—”

  “Imagine that,” I muttered. “You know, living by the lake and all.”

  Freddie ignored me. “And then the city was all, Permit this. Permit that.”

  “Of course.”

  “And here we are.”

  I stared at the dirty yellow piece of machinery parked under the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  “I don’t know, Freddie.”

  “What now?”

  “Well, what are we going to do? Drive this thing over to the Mastersons’ property, off-road it up to the burial site—which let’s not forget is still a crime scene—dig up the grave, check out what’s inside, then replace all the dirt and grass? Without anyone noticing?”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  I sighed. “It just jumped off a cliff, headfirst, into a pile of rocks. It’s dead now.”

  “Oh come on,” Freddie said, bumping me with his shoulder. “Stop looking so sad. It will be fine. You’ll see. Everyone owns a backhoe out here. We’ll probably pass at least two or three on the way over.”

  “That is not true,” I said. “You are saying things that just aren’t true.”

  “It is true,” he went on. “But how about this? Because it’s not like anyone’s forcing us to dig up this grave—”

  Somewhat crazy-sounding laughter burbled out of my mouth.

  “—if at any point either of us feels uncomfortable and wants to bail, we bail. No pressure.”

  I looked over at Freddie, trying to see if he meant it.

  “Good?”

  I nodded. “But we’re not bailing.”

  “Excellent.” He slapped his hands together.

  “You’re being awfully accommodating,” I said, catching his gaze in mine. “Almost like you really want to do this … and you’re worried I might call it off.”

  “The idea’s grown on me. That’s all. Team twins!” He raised a fist in the air. “Now let’s get the rest of our stuff from inside and be on our way.” He turned to leave then stopped with a jer
k. “Oh! I know what will make you feel better!”

  “What?”

  “A safe word!”

  “No,” I said shaking my head. “That will not make me feel better.”

  “Sure it will.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “Come on.”

  “No.”

  “What about banana?”

  * * *

  “Banana!” I shouted. “Banana!”

  “Oh calm down,” Freddie yelled over the noise of the engine. “I’m not going that fast.”

  I wrapped my fingers in the holes of the driver’s cage. “You are going to flip this thing. It is not meant to go this speed!”

  “It’s fine,” he said, hands gripped to the wheel, forearms shaking. “Look. We have a small window here, and I’m not sure how long it’s going to take us to—oh my God! Look!”

  I followed his gaze. Another vehicle was coming toward us on the dirt road. Another backhoe.

  Freddie laughed hysterically. “Wave. We want to be friendly. It’s like when the bikers do it.”

  “Yeah, let’s draw more attention to ourselves,” I said, halfheartedly throwing a hand up when I saw the other driver do it.

  Freddie laughed even harder.

  “Sometimes I hate you.”

  He shrugged happily.

  A few minutes later, Freddie pulled the mini digger into the mouth of a snowmobile trail. It had grown over a bit in the summer, but not enough to give the backhoe any trouble. We had looked online, and supposedly the trail went all the way up to the escarpment of Hemlock Estate.

  “So what do you think,” he said, cutting the engine. “Do we just start driving up there? Or do you want to do some recon first?”

  “Recon,” I said firmly.

  “We’ll lose some time.”

  “It’s probably still a crime scene.” I was pretty sure the police would have been all through the site by now, but I couldn’t be certain. “They might even have a police officer up there … or Matthew and his mom might have hired some sort of security.”

  Freddie shot me an incredulous look. “Um, Otter Lake Security is the only game in town, my friend.”

  “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

  He mumbled something under his breath that sounded quite unpleasant.