Gourd to Death

by Kirsten Weiss

I drummed my fingers on the desk. Laurelynn had been the one to suggest selling my mini pumpkin pies at her patch. I had to be careful not to screw up our business relationship with rude questions. But Gordon and Petronella’s father were in Shaw’s crosshairs. Laurelynn had to be interviewed.

  Stomach twisting, I skidded my chair forward and stood. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Traffic crawled along the road to the pumpkin patch. It might be a working Monday, but Halloween was only two weeks away. The pressure to find the perfect pumpkin was on.

  “All this for a root vegetable?” I frowned at the Mazda’s bumper ahead of us. “Can’t they buy pumpkins at the grocery store?”

  Charlene leaned on the Jeep’s horn and made a rude gesture. “Taking the kids to a pumpkin patch is an annual ritual. Then you get the photos of your toddler trying to lift a pumpkin as big as he is, the picture of your toddler sitting on the pumpkin . . . It’s tradition.”

  I grumbled some more, but I got it. San Nicholas was magic in October. Fog crept over the brown, rolling hills dotted with rows of orange. Who wouldn’t want to bring kids here for a picture-perfect pre-Halloween moment?

  Charlene turned at a picket fence lined with miniature pumpkins. More white pumpkins decorated the eaves of a red barn. We bumped along the dirt road to a parking lot and found a spot at the very back.

  I stepped from the Jeep into a puddle and shook the muck from my shoes.

  Charlene extricated herself and adjusted Frederick over one shoulder.

  “We’ve got to play this casual,” I said.

  “What are you worried about? I’m always frosted.”

  “I think you mean frosty. And Gordon knows about Laurelynn’s relationship to Dr. Levant. If he hasn’t spoken to her yet, she’s on his list.”

  “Gordon’s not on the case.”

  A children’s train, painted orange and black, chugged past.

  “Not officially,” I said, “no. But he’s still a cop, and we can’t look like we’re interfering with an investigation.”

  “When do we interfere?”

  Like, always. “I just think we can be subtle about this,” I said, desperation mounting.

  “Subtle.” She adjusted the collar of her purple knit jacket. “Got it.”

  We found our way to a break in the low wooden fence and crossed into the pumpkin patch. Children squealed inside a Halloween-themed bouncy castle. Pumpkins lined the top of the red-painted miniature train station. Waiting children hopped up and down with excitement. Doting parents smiled, watching and snapping photos.

  A small boy in overalls and a woolen jacket pulled a red wagon filled to the brim with pumpkins. His older brother selected another pumpkin for the pile, and my heart squeezed.

  I loved this season because of my own childhood memories with my mother. What would it be like with a child of my own? I squashed that thought. It was way too soon to be thinking of kids.

  Flowers blossomed along the paths, winding between different varieties of pumpkins. Sunflowers formed a fence around a pony ride. It might have been a chilly October, but this was still California farm country. Flowers bloomed here year-round. San Nicholas was a coastal utopia. But utopia didn’t exist—not as long as people were people. Dr. Levant’s murder was proof of that, and I shivered.

  Charlene and I made our way to the barn. Its double doors hung open, and we walked inside the cool interior. Twinkle lights hung from the rafters. Stuffed ravens stared down at roving customers.

  Winding aisles led through a selection of upscale Halloween decor. Papier-mâché black cats. Wooden silhouettes of witches. Gilt pumpkins and vintage-looking pumpkin people. And flowers—the barn was flooded with their scent, sweet and clean. Hanging moss swayed, stirred by currents of cool air from antiqued chandeliers. Maybe I should have done more to decorate Pie Town?

  Laurelynn stood behind a long wooden counter. A black apron and stylish fawn-colored sweater seemed to embrace her curvy figure. She tucked a ghost-shaped cookie cutter inside a black paper bag.

  “Enjoy,” Laurelynn warbled. Laugh lines furrowed the corners of her eyes, the color of bark.

  “Thanks!” The customer moved on, and we stepped to the register.

  “Hi, Laurelynn,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  The African-American woman pushed a wisp of curling black hair from her face and blew out her breath. “Whew! Hi, Val, Charlene. We’ve sold out of your pies. Are we on track for another order tomorrow?” A coil of hair escaped from her colorful headwrap.

  “I’ll deliver the pies myself,” I said.

  “Thanks!” Her round face wreathed in a relieved smile. “Now what brings you two to the patch?”

  Charlene adjusted Frederick around her collar. “We wanted—”

  “This is the best time of year in San Nicholas,” I said quickly. “We thought it was time we enjoy the season.”

  “San Nicholas really is wonderful at Halloween.” Laurelynn grinned.

  “Aside from the murder,” Charlene said. “Doesn’t look like it’s put much of a dent in your business though.”

  She sobered. “No. No, that was terrible.” She raised her chin, looking past us, and plastered on a smile. “Hello! Can I help you?”

  A woman carrying a black, skeletal tree wound with orange twinkle lights hefted it to the counter. “I’ll take this.”

  We waited while Laurelynn rang up the Halloween tree.

  When the customer staggered out the barn doors, Charlene braced her elbow on the counter. “You and Kara were friends from high school, weren’t you?”

  “Wow.” Laurelynn turned away and adjusted a miniature haunted mansion. An entire Halloween village took up one end of the counter. “You have a good memory.”

  “I eat my vegetables.” Charlene tapped her head. “Keeps you sharp.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “It’s hard losing a friend.”

  “We weren’t friends,” she said shortly. “We’d lost touch.”

  My breath quickened. Maybe Laurelynn’s rivalry with the eye doctor wasn’t as sweet and silly as Elon had implied.

  Charlene’s white brows lifted. “Lost touch in a town this size? What’s the trick to that? Because there’s an old friend I wouldn’t mind losing.”

  “It’s awful to think someone we know was killed,” I said. “And to think someone we know might have been responsible.”

  “Did you know Kara?” Laurelynn asked.

  “Not well,” I said, “but we found the body. I guess that’s why her murder is top of mind.”

  “I heard she—” Laurelynn swallowed. “She was found during the festival setup. What were you doing out there?”

  “We wanted a look at the pumpkins before everything got started,” I said. “Bakers’ hours. We’re up before dawn most days. I’ve heard farmers like you keep early hours too.”

  “It depends.”

  “Your house is on the farm, isn’t it?” Charlene motioned around the barn.

  “At the base of the hill. The train runs past it.”

  So Laurelynn hadn’t been far from downtown, such as it was, when Kara had died. She could have snuck into town, killed Kara Levant, and snuck back. But was there a real motive?

  “Who would want to kill Dr. Levant?” I asked.

  “Kara was very good at everything she did,” Laurelynn said carefully.

  “Too good?” Charlene asked.

  “You could say that.” The pumpkin farmer laughed unevenly. “Kara always made sure you knew how well she’d done, and how you didn’t measure up. In high school, there wasn’t a test I took where she didn’t ask how I’d done and then announce she’d beaten me by a few points. Even when I got a hundred percent, she always managed to swing some extra credit and get a hundred and two.” Her laugh was hollow as a desert cave.

  “But that was high school,” I said. “People change.”

  “Not in my experience.” Laurelynn jammed her hands in her black apron’s poc
kets, her nostrils flaring. “Kara knew exactly how to make you feel inadequate. I know how Elon stood it—he’s a saint. But I don’t know how Tristan managed. She never stopped reminding him he was only an optometrist.”

  “Wasn’t she an optometrist?” I asked.

  “She was an ophthalmologist, making her a real doctor. And poor Denise. She actually quit medical school because she could never measure up to her cousin. That’s why she got an MBA, but as far as Kara was concerned, that was only another inadequacy. Forget that Denise has a hugely successful software start-up—it’s never enough.”

  “A wife that demanding couldn’t have been easy for Elon,” Charlene said.

  Laurelynn smiled tightly and shook her head. “He loved her.”

  “What—?” I began.

  Laurelynn raised a finger and smiled past my shoulder. “Can I help you?”

  I turned, stepping smartly away from the high counter.

  Takako and Marla stood in line behind us. My stepmother’s face lit. Beside her, in an elegant trench coat, Marla’s lips curved in a smile.

  “Val.” Takako crushed me in a one-armed hug, jostling the small, black leather pack on her back. “Marla guessed right that you’d be here.”

  “That’s because vampires have psychic senses,” Charlene said.

  Marla glared.

  Takako set a box of Harvest-themed dessert plates on the counter. “I’d like to buy these, please.” On the front of her San Nicholas Pumpkin Festival sweatshirt was the painting I’d admired of the farm cat and pumpkins.

  While Laurelynn rang up the plates, Charlene scowled at her archfrenemy. “Snooping again?”

  “How can you accuse me of snooping,” Marla said, “when you’re obviously investigating?”

  “Investigating?” Laurelynn slid Takako’s plates into a black paper bag.

  “Investigating your barn for Halloween decorations,” I said, laughing maniacally.

  “And obviously your relationship to Kara Levant,” Marla said.

  Marla! If only she would turn into a bat and flap away.

  Laurelynn’s cheeks darkened. “That’s what this is about?”

  “No,” I babbled. “I mean, of course we’re worried about what’s happened. The town seems to think San Adrian is behind the murder. A local kaffeeklatsch has been plotting revenge in Pie Town. I tried to tell them it’s unlikely an entire town committed murder just to sabotage our pumpkin festival. But cooler heads have not prevailed. Plus, my assistant manager’s father was the one whose pumpkin was wrecked—”

  “Petros Scala,” Marla said.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, shrill. “So, can I take that Halloween village? No need to wrap it. It will be perfect in Pie Town’s window. I don’t know why I didn’t decorate sooner. And do you want the same amount of minipies tomorrow?”

  Laurelynn stared at me for a long time. She wet her lips. “Let me get back to you on the pies.”

  My mouth went dry. “Okay,” I said. “I get it. We’ll let you finish up with Takako, and then we can deal with the village.”

  Grasping Marla and Charlene by the elbows, I steered them into the barn’s interior. This was exactly what I hadn’t wanted to happen.

  “Is there anything you won’t do to sabotage our investigation?” Charlene asked Marla.

  “I was helping,” Marla whispered. “Val’s stepmother was hurt when she went to her tiny home, and she wasn’t there.”

  “Why didn’t she call?” I asked.

  “She did,” Marla said. “Check your messages.”

  I dug into the pocket of my Pie Town hoodie. “No, she—” Oh, crumb. Three missed calls—last night I’d turned my phone’s sound off and forgotten to turn it back on.

  “She thought you’d been murdered in your bed,” Marla said severely. “You’re all alone out there in that flimsy shipping container.”

  “Tiny home!” Charlene crossed her arms over her knit jacket.

  “Plus,” Marla said, “there’s that creepy cemetery. God only knows what people get up to in there.”

  Even Marla knew about the cemetery?

  “None of that explains what you were doing at Val’s house,” Charlene said.

  Marla fluffed her hair. “Never mind what I was doing there. When I ran into Takako, I took it upon myself to help your stepmother find you.” Her diamonds glittered beneath the barn’s chandelier.

  “What was in it for you?” Charlene said.

  “Oh, Charlene, your little escapades are so, how do you say? Entertaining. And not just for me, for the entire town.”

  Dread curdled in my gut. “Oh, no. You haven’t been vlogging about them again?”

  “I’m a reporter. I report.”

  “You’re not a reporter.” Charlene shook a gnarled finger at her. “You’re a rotten—”

  “I’m back.” Takako popped up at my elbow, black paper bag in one hand. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I’d better go buy that village.”

  I trudged to the counter. All I had to do was go online to see what Marla had reported. But I suspected this was one of those ignorance-is-bliss situations.

  FYI, Halloween villages get pricey when you add in tiny costumed people and miniature lampposts and dying trees. I had to commandeer a red wagon to cart all the black paper bags through the pumpkin patch.

  A wheel jammed beside a profusion of purple flowers blossoming beside a set of hay bales. I bent to remove a rind from the wagon’s wheel guard.

  “We interrupted your interrogation,” Takako said. “Did you learn—Oh!” She pointed to the peewee train, and her gaze turned wistful. “When I was a child, my parents used to take me to a park with a children’s train. It looked almost exactly like that one.”

  Marla’s lips curved wickedly. “Val, why don’t you ride the kiddie train with your stepmother?”

  I shook my head. “You are seriously underestimating the width of my wheelhouse.”

  “Nah,” Charlene said. “Takako’s small. She’ll make up for your extra padding.”

  I glared. “Thanks!” Honestly, I was within normal weight range, if at the high end.

  “I’ll take your stuff to the Jeep,” she continued. “But I’m not loading those boxes.”

  “Sciatica acting up again?” Marla’s voice dripped syrup.

  “My back’s fine,” Charlene said serenely. “Because unlike some people, I don’t get all my exercise on a mattress.”

  “Let’s get train tickets,” I said quickly.

  I hustled Takako to the white-painted station. Before I knew it, she was forking over money for two tickets.

  “I hope you learned something before we turned up and ruined things,” she said.

  The train puffed steam at the miniature station. Parents and children boarded.

  “You didn’t ruin anything.” I squeezed beside Takako into the tiny seat, my knees pressed to my chest.

  The engineer blew his whistle. We chugged slowly from the station.

  “So,” Takako said. “Tell me about the investigation. I’m really intrigued by this hobby of yours. Or is it a calling? Doran’s told me about some of your past successes.”

  We rolled around the edge of the pumpkin patch.

  “I’m not sure what it is. But usually at this point, Charlene and I do an info download. We’ll go over what we’ve learned and figure out our next steps.”

  We puffed past Charlene and Marla. The two elderly women waved. I was pretty sure they were laughing at me and not with me.

  I hunched lower in my seat, my knees nearly touching my chin. It could be worse. Someone I knew could see me. And pretty much everyone I knew would never let me hear the end of it.

  “In spite of my poor performance with Ms. Kuulik, my career’s been based on first-person research,” Takako said. “Anthropologists and archaeologists often work to piece together people’s actions and motivations. Maybe I can help?”

  “Thanks, but we’re probably going to go to
Pie Town next to set up the village.”

  “No problem. I’m happy to help decorate.”

  “That would be great,” I said. But a part of me, the part I didn’t like very much, wanted to leap from the train. Finding out I had a stepbrother had been exciting. Why hadn’t I realized the natural corollary, that I had a stepmother too? And why did I feel like this new tie was cutting off my air supply?

  We trundled up a low hill, past a heard of goats, and circled back toward the patch. I scowled at the goats, wondering if one had been the petting zoo escapee.

  “I’m so impressed with everything you’ve accomplished,” Takako said. “None of it could have been easy on your own.”

  “I wasn’t entirely on my own. If it hadn’t been for Charlene, I don’t know if I could have made it.” She was more than my landlady/piecrust maker. She was my best friend.

  “I didn’t know about you.” Takako’s voice was strained. “Frank didn’t tell me about a child. He told me . . .” She swallowed. “He told me his marriage was over. If I’d known he’d abandoned you, I don’t think I could have married Frank. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I said sourly. “Frank’s good at keeping secrets.”

  “How . . . ? How old were you when he left?”

  “Three.”

  Her jaw tightened. “You were so young. I should have known. I should have asked more questions, but I wanted to believe. I hope you can forgive me.”

  I folded my arms, bumping my elbows on my knees. “Honestly, there’s nothing to forgive.” It wasn’t Takako’s fault my father had left. And I could well believe she’d never known about our existence.

  The toddler in the seat in front of us turned around and stared at me. Beneath his red knit cap, his brown eyes were wide and serious.

  “I can’t help but feel there’s a debt that must be repaid.” Takako was quiet a long moment. “I’m afraid Doran’s still bitter about Frank. I’m glad to see you’re not.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that,” I mumbled. I knew it would be better for me if I could forgive Frank for being who he was. But forgiveness doesn’t come by wishing. Sometimes, you have to work for it.

  The little boy kept staring. Sheesh. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Look, goats!