Pumpkin Picking with Murder

by Auralee Wallace

  “Rhonda,” he said, voice full of exasperation. I could just see his hands on his hips. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “So … are you through?”

  “No. I mean, I would love to … Erica and I, we … I don’t know! Just get me that list!”

  The door slammed.

  Rhonda shot me a self-satisfied smile and jerked a thumb at the door.

  Didn’t have to ask me twice.

  I crawled toward the exit. Big smile plastered across my face. Not only was Grady not through, but their conversation had triggered something in my mind … something that just might change everything.

  Once outside, I jumped to my feet. “Freddie! Get out of that fire truck! We have work to do!”

  Chapter Forty-six

  “So where are we going?”

  “To check something out,” I said, trying not to break out into a run. There were even more people crowded in the midway than usual, slowing us down. It made sense. It was Saturday, the second-to-last day of the fair. It didn’t help anything that Freddie was still covered in mud. Lots of people were giving us double takes.

  Thoughts bounced around in my brain as I replayed Grady’s words, but the paths they were following weren’t random anymore … broken trails were linking together … a pattern was coming through. Yes. Yes! It was all coming together. I just needed to go back and check one thing, but if I was right … oh ho ho, I was going to nail that—

  “You know something. Did you see a name? Do you know who did it?”

  “Not a name. Just follow me,” I said, focusing on my path. “I’ve got a hunch, and if I’m right, it will all be clear in just a second.”

  “Oh God. I don’t know if I can take it,” Freddie said with a little skip. “Just tell me.”

  “Okay, so—”

  “No! Don’t!” he shouted. “Show me whatever it is that you’re going to show me. I don’t want to ruin it!”

  “Fine,” I said, cutting a path through the crowd.

  “It’s going to be good, though, right? Like a Sixth Sense moment?”

  I slowed for a millisecond. “Well, that’s a lot of pressure. I don’t know if—just come on!”

  There! I spotted the photo board by the entrance to the agricultural building.

  “We’re going there? To the photos?”

  I ran the last couple of steps, Freddie at my heels. “Just be quiet for half a second.” My eyes scanned the board. “I need to—there!”

  I snatched a photo from its pin, tore off its cellophane wrapping, and whipped it around to show Freddie. He stepped back, squinting.

  “What am I looking at here?” He leaned in closer again. “Wait … is that—?”

  “It is” I said, nodding. “Now look at where he’s looking.”

  “I can’t tell,” Freddie mumbled. “Oh my God! And is that…?”

  “It is,” I said, trying to get ahold of the adrenaline pounding through my veins. “So, you get where I’m going with this?”

  Freddie’s eyes snapped up to mine. “Oh baby, I’m already there.”

  “He said it’s the only picture he had of—”

  “Her from that day,” Freddie finished, shaking his head. “And we thought he meant the store, but he’s really looking at … that … that … son of a pharmacist!”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  “I’m so angry,” Freddie said, tapping the table. “And hungry. I’m skipping the pancakes. I feel like I need to order something bloody.”

  After our discovery, we decided to head over to the Dawg to talk about everything and get some breakfast. We were going to need our strength. There was so much we still needed to put together before we decided what we were going to do about it.

  “I’m angry too,” I said, tucking my foot under my leg.

  “And imagine him watering those chrysanthemums like he’s not some sort of psychopath?” Freddie huffed a breath. “But how did you know? What made you think of the picture?”

  I bit my lower lip and looked up at the bar TV without really seeing what was on the screen. “Someone dropped that letter off to Tweety yesterday in the prison. Someone who wasn’t on the guest list. So it had to be a person who just faded into the background. A cleaner. The delivery person for the Dawg. A—”

  “A pharmacist.”

  I nodded. “I spotted Tweety’s diabetes medication on her nightstand in the jail cell.”

  “Wait, Tweety got a nightstand? I didn’t get a nightstand. And I still haven’t showered. Though I made a pretty good mess in the washroom back there.”

  “Focus, Freddie,” I said. “The meds were still in the bag, unopened. Brand new. And then I remembered the picture.” I picked up the photograph we had taken from the fair. The grand opening of the pharmacy. It hadn’t registered before—probably because at the time Freddie’s bow chicky bow bow was still ringing in my ears—but Sully Junior wasn’t looking at the pharmacy with love on his face. Oh no, he was looking at Olivia Ramsbottom. I didn’t recognize her at the time. How could I? I didn’t know what she looked like as a young woman … not until I saw all the photos at Hemlock Estate. But it still didn’t click then. Nope, it wasn’t until I thought of Mr. Sullivan as a suspect for the first time back at the sheriff’s department that I remembered that look of intense love … and then it just dawned on me. What if the her he was talking about was a real person?

  Freddie gestured to me to pass the picture to him. “That there is a boy in love. But if he is the murderer, it was a pretty big risk for him to take the letter to the prison like that.”

  “He got lucky with Tweety being asleep, and he knew that once she read the letter, she’d clam right up to protect her sister,” I said. “You know what else? He also knew Mr. Masterson had a prescription for morphine. He could have easily slipped him an extra patch or two at the fair.” I tapped the table. “Maybe that’s what the ME found suspicious, though … maybe he stuck it on in a unusual location … the back of the neck or something. Or maybe he fiddled with the potency somehow.”

  “We have to fix that video,” Freddie said. “You thought you saw a man. Stupid seagull. Wait! Didn’t Marg say something about him being there?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a point. “I think you’re right. She said, Ask Sully. He was there. But I thought she meant in the pharmacy that morning when she bought the cough drops.”

  “But what are we thinking here? Does Mrs. Masterson know? Were they having an affair? Maybe it was all her idea! Even Matthew said that his mother was really manipulative. Maybe she’s been using this lovesick man to do all her dirty work. Oh my God!” Freddie leaned across the table to grab my arm and shake it. “She could have gotten him to kill her father all those years ago because she was worried about her inheritance!”

  “Holy crap! You’re right!” I said, struggling to keep my voice down. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner!” A rush of relief ran from my scalp to my toes. I knew Kit Kat hadn’t killed anyone.

  “I can’t believe that Tweety thought Kit Kat did it all this time,” Freddie said. “It’s just so weird. Can you imagine living with someone you believed was a murderer for forty, fifty years? Can you empty the dishwasher? would always have to be followed up with Please don’t kill me!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Where’s Shelley? Is someone going to serve us or do I have to go to the bar?”

  “I don’t think it was like that,” I said, twirling the fork on the table. “I think maybe Tweety just saw it as a terrible thing that happened once and would never happen again. It’s like those two have some weird sibling thing going on where they’re so close, they can’t see each other clearly.”

  “Whoa … that’s kind of deep,” Freddie said slowly. Then he added, “But seriously, I’m starving.” He got to his feet and shouted, “Steak! I want steak!”

  “Keep your pants on, Freddie,” Big Don, owner of the Dawg, shouted back from behind the bar. “We’re short-staffed! Everybody’s at the fair.”


  Freddie dropped back into the booth. “Oh my God. I’m going to kill someone soon if I don’t get something to eat.”

  I pushed the bowl of peanuts in his direction. “Here, have some nuts.”

  “I don’t want peanuts,” Freddie said, picking up a handful and dropping them in his mouth. “Okay, let’s focus now on the plan,” he mumbled through his chewing.

  “We have a plan?”

  “No,” he snapped. “But we obviously need one.”

  I nodded. Freddie was scary when he was hungry.

  “Okay, so first, the picture and the prescription are circumstantial evidence at best. Especially considering Tweety’s not about to tell Grady about the letters.” He flicked the photo. “We need more proof.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So we have to go get more. And there’s only one place more evidence might be.”

  “You don’t mean,” I leaned in and whispered, “breaking into the pharmacy?”

  “Really?” Freddie asked dropping his chin to his chest. “You just dug up a grave and you have qualms about this?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I hissed before leaning back against the booth to really consider the idea.

  “I need to solve this case, Erica. Now more than ever. You were right. I have to prove to my parents that I can make this work. I can’t be homeless. I wouldn’t do well on the streets,” he said before quickly tagging on, “and the twins.”

  “You’re right. We don’t have any other choice. We need to do something,” I said. “But breaking into the pharmacy isn’t the way to go.”

  “Why not?”

  “Grady performed a little legal role-play for me in the cruiser last night.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t the fun kind.”

  “We are spending too much time together.”

  Freddie’s brow furrowed in question.

  “Never mind. The point is he can’t use evidence that we obtain illegally.”

  “Well, that’s just great. So, short of going after a confession again, where does that leave us?”

  I shook my head. The last time Freddie and I had gone after a murderer, we had planned to record the conversation on his phone. We didn’t actually end up needing it, which was good, seeing as how in hindsight I wasn’t really sure about all the legalities. Suddenly my phone chimed. “I have to go. My uncle’s almost at the retreat.”

  “Okay, call me later, and we’ll figure this thing out. I’m sure I can come up with something by then if I EVER GET MY FOOD,” he shouted across the restaurant.

  “Got it.” Just as I reached the door, I heard Freddie groan in … ecstasy? I turned to see Big Don plunking a plate with steak and fries down in front of him.

  “I’m so sorry,” Freddie said, looking up at him. “You know I love you, right?”

  “I take it you’re okay now?” I called out over my shoulder.

  “Go,” Freddie mumbled, piece of steak already in his mouth. “I’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  I sped past the red, gold, and still-green trees crowded against the shoreline of the lake with my new bestie, Lightning. The sight was heartbreakingly beautiful … heartbreaking because for a brief second it occurred to me that the twins might never see their home like this again.

  I couldn’t let that happen. I knew we were on the right track. We just needed to bring it home.

  As I pulled closer into the dock, I spotted Red leaving in his pontoon. He raised his hand in a wave, which I returned. My uncle must have arrived.

  I anchored the boat before jumping to the canoe and then the dock—a move I was getting better and better at—then hiked my way up to the retreat. I had just made it to the porch steps when the sound of a door slamming stopped me in my tracks.

  “Really, Summer? Really? The silent treatment?”

  A moment later my uncle barged through the front door onto the porch, jolting back when he spotted me. “Erica!”

  “Hi,” I said, shoving my hands into my grave-digging pants. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him in person. Maybe when I was eight, nine? He had handled all of my previous legal troubles over the phone. I was surprised to see just how much he looked like my mother. They could have been twins.

  “Hi,” he said back, rolling down his shirtsleeves. “It’s so nice to see you.”

  It was nice … and awkward. Very awkward.

  “Things not good in there?” I asked, flashing my eyes to the door.

  He sighed. “Not exactly. Your mother and I have our issues, but … she’s not even talking to me.”

  “Oh.” I laughed. “It’s not you. She’s taken a vow of silence.”

  His brow furrowed. “What?”

  “A vow of silence. It’s for the retreat. Silence of the Soul.”

  I could see the thought moving behind my uncle’s eyes; then a smile spread across his face, taking about ten years off him. “Well,” he said, stopping to chuckle, “that would explain some of what happened in there. Of course, there’s no mistaking the bird she flipped me.”

  My eyes flew wide. “Really?”

  “Ah … I’m used to it.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, moving to sit on one of the deck chairs. My uncle followed suit. “So what’s going on with the confession?”

  “I’ve delayed until Monday. The sheriff was quite accommodating.” His eyes searched mine—which made me wonder if Grady had filled him in on the train wreck of our relationship. “Twyla, though, seems quite adamant to get it done. Says she’ll do it without me if I’m not there first thing.”

  I nodded.

  “They’ll transfer her to the state prison after that to await sentencing.”

  “State?”

  “Well,” my uncle said, sounding somewhat surprised, “they can’t keep her here forever.”

  I leaned back in the chair and shook my head. Given that it was Saturday, that really didn’t give Freddie and me much time.

  “Your mother really will never speak to me again if Twyla goes to jail.” He paused a beat. “I was also sorry to hear about Twyla’s sister. Kit Kat is it?”

  I nodded.

  “You know, Sheriff Forrester intimated that he’s getting some pressure to charge Kit Kat—Katherine—with Peter Clarke’s murder.” He looked out toward the lake before turning back to face me. “He also mentioned something about you digging up a grave?”

  I sucked some air through my teeth. “Yeah, it was something like that.”

  “What the heck is going on in Otter Lake, Erica?”

  I shook my head. I wanted to tell my uncle all my theories, get his perspective, but that might lead to telling him about the plan to come up with more evidence against Mr. Sullivan … and that might lead to all sorts of legal warnings. Even worse, he might tell my mother. Or Grady. So instead I said, “So what caused the rift between you and Mom anyway?”

  He shot me a near-incredulous look. “You don’t know? She never told you?”

  “No.”

  “Figures,” he said with a chuckle.

  I waited, but when he didn’t answer, I prodded. “So?”

  “Well, I guess you could say it was the inheritance,” he answered. “As is so often the case with families.”

  “What inheritance?”

  “From our parents,” my uncle said, turning to look at me again. “The inheritance that allowed your mother to buy this island?”

  “Oh,” I said, frowning. I suppose I did know that. “Why would that be a problem between the two of you?”

  He inhaled deeply and threw his hands into the air before letting them drop between his knees. “She didn’t approve of how I spent my half.”

  Again, I waited for him to continue.

  “You see, she used hers to buy the island then donated the other three million to charity. Because, you know, the island was fine in her mind. She was devoting her life to helping women. Whereas I—”

  “I’m sorry?” I asked with a cough. “Did you say three
million?”

  “We each got about four point five,” he said, looking out again across the lake. “But as I was saying, I was already articling, doing mostly pro bono work and—”

  Four point five …

  “—so I used the money to take things to the next level. I wanted to make a bigger impact on the world. Have some influence. And I’ll have you know,” he said with a point to nobody, “my firm donates—”

  … million?

  “Bah, it doesn’t matter. But I am not the soulless monster she makes me out to be. She’s just so rigid … and uncompromising.”

  “Four point five million … dollars?”

  He looked back at me. “You really didn’t know.”

  “I did not.”

  He studied me a moment then asked, “What do you know about our family, Erica?”

  I shrugged. “Not much at all. I thought your father was into…” I stopped myself again. “Actually I don’t know what he was into.”

  “Munitions. He ran a munitions factory.”

  “Oh,” I said, letting that information sink in. “Yeah, Mom wouldn’t approve of that at all.”

  “No … no she didn’t.” He laughed sadly. “One day we should sit down and have a talk about our family. You know, there was a time when we were inseparable, your mother and I. We were—” He cut himself off again, waving a hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I want to win this case for her, though. I’d like my older sister to have a little esteem for me … you too for that matter,” he said, giving me a smile. “You remind me of my mother.”

  I took a slow breath, not sure how I felt about asking the next question. “Um, Uncle Jack?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I don’t suppose my mother”—I cringed—“ever told you who my father was?”

  He turned again to study my face. “You mean…” He stopped himself and looked up at the sky. “Summer sometimes.” He looked back down to me. “I don’t know, Erica. She never said. But if you ever want my help finding out, I’ll do what I can.”