Gourd to Death

by Kirsten Weiss

  Milo worried at my shoelaces. I edged my foot away, and the tiny dog growled.

  “All right.” I set down my chipped teacup and gave the dog another nudge beneath the table. “I believe you. What about the pumpkin cannon last night?”

  “What pumpkin cannon?” Mrs. Thistleblossom rubbed her temple. “What are you talking about?”

  Charlene and I glanced at each other.

  “Someone launched a pumpkin at Val from the cannon when she was in the maze,” Takako said.

  Mrs. Thistleblossom tilted her head. “Hmm. You could have been killed.”

  Milo sank his teeth into my ankle, and I gasped.

  “Do you have any idea who might have been behind it?” I bent and detached the dog, depositing him in Mrs. Thistleblossom’s lap.

  “I don’t know anyone who’d do something so foolish.” She stroked Milo and made a shushing noise. “Must have been San Adrian. Revenge for our attack on their pumpkin festival.”

  “San Adrian had nothing to do with Dr. Levant’s death,” I said. “They may have been involved in other pranks, but not murder.”

  “Obviously, someone close to Dr. Levant and Dr. Cannon killed them,” the old lady said.

  Milo yipped an agreement.

  “Which is why we’ve come to you,” Charlene said.

  “Is it why you were snooping around Laurelynn’s pumpkin patch?” Mrs. Thistleblossom tapped her fingers on the plastic tablecloth.

  One of Milo’s eyes followed the motion.

  “Laurelynn Lelli threatened to kill Kara the week before Kara died,” I said.

  Mrs. Thistleblossom nodded. “Well, sure she did. Kara was spreading rumors that Laurelynn was using prohibited pesticides on her pumpkins.”

  Whoa. Mrs. Thistleblossom really did have the low-down on San Nicholas. Why hadn’t we used her as a source before? “But Laurelynn’s pumpkin farm is organic.” I raked my hands through my hair. “She’d lose her certification.”

  “Which is exactly why the rumor was so dangerous.” Mrs. Thistleblossom scowled.

  “Where did you hear this?” Takako set down her floral-patterned teacup.

  “Kara told me about the pesticides, and I told Laurelynn.”

  “You old rabble-rouser,” Charlene said. “You knew that would cause more trouble between them.”

  Mrs. Thistleblossom raised her chin. “Laurelynn had a right to know what was being said.”

  “Do you think Dr. Levant was telling the truth?” Takako leaned forward, her black jacket pressing into the table.

  Mrs. Thistleblossom made a face. “How should I know? But Laurelynn sure reacted when I told her.” She chuckled.

  “Could it be true?” I asked. “About the pesticides, I mean.”

  Charlene adjusted Frederick on the shoulder of her yellow jacket, and Milo jerked forward in Mrs. Thistleblossom’s lap. “We can send one of those pumpkins you bought in for testing to find out,” Charlene said.

  “Send it where?” I asked.

  “I’ll give it to Ray,” she said. “He’ll know some student somewhere.”

  That wasn’t a bad idea. “Let’s do that. Whether the rumor was true or not, it sounds like Kara and Laurelynn’s rivalry was more serious than Elon made out.”

  “Kara Levant was a troublemaker,” Mrs. Thistleblossom said. “I’m not surprised someone knocked her off.”

  A draft of cool air crept between the windowpanes, and my grip tightened on the teacup. “What other trouble did she make?”

  “She made Tristan’s life miserable.” She exhaled heavily. “He got me tickets for Phantom of the Opera last year. Good man. Bad end.”

  “But Tristan didn’t kill her,” I said. “What can you tell us about her husband?”

  “Elon’s a decent fellow, but Kara never gave him a rest. She controlled his life like one of those whatchamacallits, helicopter wives. I reckon that could make a man snap.”

  “Elon was in the haunted house the morning Kara died,” I mused. “That’s where the murder weapon came from. He could have slipped away and killed his wife.”

  Mrs. Thistleblossom sighed. “You never know about people.”

  Milo’s stomach made a mournful whine.

  “And then there’s her ex-employee, Alfreda,” I said. “She was angry about being fired. Dr. Tristan was killed with a glass paperweight a lot like one Alfreda had and claims she lost. She might have killed them both for revenge.”

  “Maybe,” Mrs. Thistleblossom said. “Though I can’t figure her for a cold-blooded killer. To kill in a fit of anger, sure. But to kill two people like that took planning. That’s not Alfreda. That woman can’t think more than two steps ahead. It’s caused her no end of troubles.”

  That would explain her social media posts complaining about the optometry office. It was just the sort of thing that would scare off an Internet-savvy future employer.

  A crow landed on the porch railing. The bird peered through the window, its inky eyes flat and fathomless.

  “It sounds like you know her well,” Takako said.

  “I know everyone in this town.” Mrs. Thistleblossom’s voice sharpened. “Alfreda’s got a head for numbers, that’s for sure. But her math smarts don’t translate to life smarts, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” I said.

  Mrs. Thistleblossom rested her hands on the round table. “Alfreda doesn’t always understand how her desires might conflict with others’.”

  “And Kara’s cousin, Denise?” Charlene asked.

  “I don’t trust that one,” Mrs. Thistleblossom said. “Too slick by half.”

  Charlene crossed her arms. “We heard Kara pushed Denise’s buttons too.”

  Mrs. Thistleblossom shrugged.

  “Both Denise and Elon inherit pieces of Kara’s estate,” I said. “Denise and Elon also could have taken the keys to the truck and run us off the road by Laurelynn’s pumpkin patch. Assuming the killer is the person who drove that truck, that leaves out Alfreda as well. I don’t think she could have stolen that key. But why? None of the motives really add up.”

  “None of it does.” Mrs. Thistleblossom’s basalt eyes glinted with cunning. “And all of it does.”

  “How?” I asked.

  Mrs. Thistleblossom sniffed. “That’s for me to know.”

  “And none of our suspects have alibis for Tristan’s or Kara’s murders,” Charlene said.

  “So, you’re nowhere,” Mrs. Thistleblossom said.

  “Pretty much,” I admitted.

  She folded her arms across her Christmas-tree apron. “Some detectives.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After lunch overlooking the bay, we zipped down the One, toward San Nicholas’s downtown. The fog had lifted, the sky a flat, unyielding blue. But a line of white hovered on the horizon, fog threatening to sweep into town later.

  “At least we can count old Thistleblossom out,” Charlene said.

  The heater’s warmth swelled the odor of the rotting pumpkin drone in the Jeep’s rear.

  I tried not to inhale. “I’m a little worried for her, though.” I checked my phone. Gordon hadn’t called.

  “Because she may know too much?” Charlene asked.

  “Because she needs help around the house.”

  In the front seat, Takako twisted to face me. “She’s going to let me help cook dinner tomorrow. I told her I was a terrible cook. She offered to teach me.”

  That would give Takako a chance to do the actual cooking. But this wasn’t a long-term fix. “Would you ask if I can join in?”

  “I’ll try to set something up,” Takako said, “so you can learn how to cook from her later.”

  “And when will you have time for cooking lessons you don’t need?” Charlene asked.

  I opened my mouth, closed it. Charlene was right. But I couldn’t abandon Mrs. Thistleblossom. “I’ll figure something out.”

  Coiled in my lap, Frederick flicked his ears.

  “What next?” Takako a
sked.

  I smoothed the white cat’s fur. “We can’t put off talking to Elon any longer. Mrs. Thistleblossom seemed to think he’d feel better off without his wife, and he does inherit the business.”

  “On it.” Charlene turned sharply, tires screeching.

  Frederick dug his claws into my thigh.

  I bit back a yelp of pain.

  We rocketed into downtown. The Jeep skidded to a halt in front of Pie Town.

  “Well,” Charlene said. “Get the man a pie. We can’t come empty-handed.”

  “Right.” I scuttled from the Jeep and unlocked the front door. There were always a few pies in the freezer for emergency purposes. Hurrying into the kitchen, I grabbed a frozen turkey pot pie.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Gordon. It went to voice mail.

  “Gordon, it’s Val.” I tucked the phone against my shoulder and scribbled heating instructions on an order ticket. “I just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. Let me know how you and your parents are doing.”

  I hung up and returned to the Jeep.

  Charlene started the car. “What’d you get?”

  We lurched forward. Takako grabbed the bar above her door.

  I fastened my seat belt. “Comfort food.”

  Mindful of children and pets, Charlene drove more sedately into a residential neighborhood. Giant pumpkins filled the front yard of a mid-century modern home. I guessed it belonged to Petronella’s parents.

  Three houses down, Charlene cruised to a stop. Elon’s home had what I’d come to recognize as a low-water garden. His front yard was dotted with spiky plants poking through the gravel. The look worked with his fifties-era house, with its gray and turquoise paint and metal trim.

  Charlene draped Frederick around the shoulders of her yellow jacket. He burrowed closer, getting comfortable.

  The three of us marched up the zigzag concrete walk. Charlene rang the bell.

  Elon opened the door a minute or two later and adjusted his tortoiseshell glasses. A pair of comfy-looking gray sweats hung loosely on his lean frame. “Charlene, Val, and . . . ?”

  “My stepmother, Takako. You met briefly at the haunted house.”

  “Of course. Forgive me for forgetting your name. But what are you three doing here?”

  “Pot pie,” Charlene said.

  I extended it to him. “I hope you like turkey?”

  His handsome face creased in a faint smile, and he took the pink box. “I love turkey pot pie. Come in.” He pulled the door wider and stood aside. “I was supposed to go golfing today, but I couldn’t muster the energy. I guess it worked out after all.”

  I tensed. Golfing? With Chief Shaw? Coming here might not have been the best idea after all.

  We followed him through a wide hallway and into the open-plan kitchen. Clean plates were stacked pell-mell in the sink. Shoes and men’s clothes lay scattered in the nearby family room as if they’d been thrown there.

  “How have you been doing?” Charlene asked.

  He studied the dishes in the sink. “I guess I’m at loose ends. There are a lot of decisions to make, but Denise has been managing them all like a champion. She’s even going to oversee the sale of Kara’s share of the optometry office. I haven’t had to lift a finger.” He sounded a little wistful.

  Sweat trickled down my back. I slipped off my sand-colored vest and looped it over one arm. “I imagine the sale’s a tangle, since Tristan was a co-owner as well. Have any of his heirs come forward?”

  “Kara was his heir.”

  I stared. “What?”

  “He didn’t have any family, so Tristan’s share of the optometry business went to my wife.”

  “But she, er . . .”

  “Predeceased him, yes.” He tugged on his sweatshirt collar. “My understanding is the way the will was written, his share comes to me and Denise now. Not that there’s much business left.”

  “I thought the two had some sort of insurance should one of them die?” I asked.

  “Business interruption insurance,” he said, “but it doesn’t cover this situation. Denise thinks she can still get something for the business, but I don’t know.”

  “Denise is sure helpful.” Charlene stroked the cat around her neck.

  He nodded glumly.

  “You know how good deeds should be rewarded?” Charlene asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Pie,” she said. “Good deeds should be rewarded with pie. Elon, what’s Denise’s favorite flavor?”

  “Cherry, I think.”

  “Val, let’s surprise Denise with a cherry pie. Elon, where do you think she’s at today?”

  “The optometry office, I believe. Kara kept all her personal files there—insurance and income taxes and such. But—”

  “Great idea, Charlene.” I might actually have a cherry pie in the freezer too. “Have the police come closer to making an arrest?”

  He clutched the box more tightly, crinkling its edges. “Not that I know of.”

  “Do they have any leads?” Takako asked.

  “Chief Shaw assures me they do. He said there’s a pumpkin farmer . . .” He looked left, as if he could see through the walls to the Scalas’ house, and frowned.

  I handed him the order slip. “Here are the heating instructions.”

  His brows rose. “I have to bake it?”

  “Don’t worry.” I gestured to the black, glass-topped range. “It’s just a matter of reheating in the oven.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted, dropped. “I wasn’t worried. I was excited. I haven’t had much to do around here lately, and I’m feeling a bit useless.” Elon walked to the sink and stared through the window at the succulent garden. His hands fisted. “Even my garden takes care of itself. It’s on an automatic drip system. Kara made sure the neighbors trimmed their trees, so there was never much to rake. I wouldn’t mind raking leaves.”

  “You wouldn’t?” I asked. “Because Mrs. Thistleblossom is having trouble managing her yard.”

  “Does she need help?” he asked eagerly, and turned from the window. “I’d kill to mow a lawn.”

  “She needs help,” I said, “but I’m not sure she’ll take it.”

  “Old people can be proud.” Charlene straightened off the tile counter. “You need to know how to handle them, like I do.”

  “Mrs. Thistleblossom would be doing me a favor,” he said.

  “Well,” I said, “if you didn’t mind us putting it to her that way, she might accept help.”

  “I’m not proud,” he said. “Make me out to be as pathetic a widower as you like. Just get me out of this house.”

  “I’m seeing her later,” Takako said. “I can put a word in her ear.”

  He wrung her hand. “Thank you. You have no idea . . .” He gulped.

  “Oh,” I said. “One more thing. Did you happen to stop by the corn maze last night around ten?”

  “No, I was home last night. Why?”

  “Nothing.” But he had no alibi for the attack in the maze.

  Charlene plucked a shiny plate from the sink and studied it. “You know, these usually go in the cupboard.”

  He winced. “It’s my revolt against order.”

  “I’d think you’d be dirtying some dishes by now,” Charlene said. “Have you been eating out all this time?”

  “Not exactly. Like I said, people have been helping a little too much.”

  Charlene reached for the pink box. “If you don’t want the pie—”

  “No, no,” he said. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Denise has been wonderful. I just wish she wouldn’t take so much time off from her business on my behalf.”

  “Is she trying to make up for something?” Charlene asked shrewdly.

  He blinked, the mild-mannered intellectual. “Like what?”

  “I heard she and Kara could get competitive,” Charlene said.

  “Competitive?” He frowned. “They were both wildly successful. They inspired each other. Deni
se especially—her software firm has put her on the map.”

  Charlene rested her elbow on the white-tile counter. “Then what’s Denise trying to make up for?”

  His cheeks reddened. “I don’t think she or Laurelynn are trying to make up for anything.”

  “Laurelynn?” I asked.

  He turned away quickly, dropping the pie box on the countertop, and I winced. That was no way to treat a pie. “I just meant Laurelynn’s been a rock too.”

  “Is Laurelynn okay?” I asked. “We’ve, er, heard the rumors about the pesticides.”

  His expression darkened. “That farm is Laurelynn’s life. She believes in organic food. She’d never use pesticides.”

  “Hmm.” Charlene rubbed her chin. “Who do you think started the rumor that she was?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I get the feeling that’s a question you already know the answer to.”

  My face warmed. And this was why I hadn’t really wanted to come today. I hated this. I hated harassing a grieving widower. But I hated murder more.

  “We heard it was your wife,” Takako said into the silence.

  His shoulders crumpled inward. “Do the police know?”

  “I imagine they will soon if they don’t already,” I said.

  “You don’t understand.” He looked out the square window over the sink. “Laurelynn wouldn’t have killed Kara, not over that. It’s not who she is.”

  But if the farm was her livelihood, if her heart and soul were wrapped up in it, would she kill for it?

  We said uneasy good-byes to Elon. The three of us silently got into Charlene’s Jeep and drove into town.

  Charlene cornered sharply at a house with portholes for windows and revved the Jeep’s engine. “Now that you’ve sorted out all the senior citizens in San Nicholas, do you think we can get back to investigating?”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing.” I pushed off the door and righted myself.

  “I shouldn’t have accused his wife of starting that rumor,” Takako said. “She’s dead.”

  “No, I’m glad you did.” Because I’d been losing my nerve. My hands dropped to Frederick, and I scratched behind the sleeping cat’s ears. “I should have pushed harder to find out if anyone was seen at the maze last night, because Elon doesn’t have much of an alibi.”