Page 1 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
CHAPTER ONE
The Cup and Cake smelled of cinnamon sugar and roasted beans, with an undertone of pumpkin that made Mona’s mouth water before she’d even ordered. October had transformed the cozy bakery into an autumn wonderland. Pumpkins of every size lined the windowsills, their orange faces catching the morning light. Strings of paper leaves in brilliant reds and golds dangled over the counter, swaying gently in the warm air from the ovens. A harvest wreath hung on the door, and someone had scattered acorns and pinecones along the display cases.
Mona Baker stood inside the entrance, breathing in the familiar comfort of her granddaughter’s bakery. Behind her, Ruth clutched her oversized purse like a shield against the autumn chill, while Ida practically bounced with excitement at the seasonal pastries lined up in the glass cases. Helen brought up the rear, already eyeing the corner table they’d claimed as their own years ago.
“Oh good, our spot’s free,” Helen said, making a beeline for the round table by the window. The morning light caught the silver in her hair, making her look distinguished rather than simply old.
“Let’s see what delights await us today,” Helen said, steering the group toward the glass display case that ran along the front counter. The autumn-themed pastries were arranged like edible artwork—golden pumpkin scones dotted with crystallized ginger, maple pecan muffins crowned with brown sugar crumbles, and apple cider donuts that practically glowed with their cinnamon sugar coating.
Behind the counter, Mona’s granddaughter, Lexy, looked up from arranging a fresh tray of mini pumpkin pies, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail and flour dusting her apron. At twenty-six, she had her grandmother’s warm eyes but twice the energy, bouncing between customers with the kind of cheerful efficiency that kept The Cup and Cake running like clockwork.
“Well, well,” Lexy said, wiping her hands on her apron and giving the quartet a knowing look. “The Ladies Detective Club is here early today. What are you up to today? Another mystery brewing in Brook Ridge Falls?”
Mona’s shoulders slumped slightly with disappointment. “Unfortunately, no. We’re just here for breakfast.”
“No missing persons? No stolen jewelry? No mysterious accidents?” Lexy pressed, clearly hopeful for some excitement in her day.
“Nothing,” Ruth said with a sigh, pointing to a pumpkin scone. “I’ll take one of those, please.”
“It’s a bit dull,” Helen said, pointing to a pecan pumpkin brownie with maple frosting. “I’m going to eat away my boredom.”
Ida, who had her face practically pressed against the glass, said, “You can say that again. I’ll take a pumpkin bran muffin and an apple cider donut.”
“Two pastries?” Ruth raised an eyebrow.
“Gotta stock up for later,” Ida said.
Ruth raised her left brow. “I’ll have a snickerdoodle.”
“Cinnamon roll for me.” Mona said.
Lexy plated their selections, and the four made their way to their usual corner table by the window.
Ida suddenly perked up, pulling a small spiral notebook from her oversized purse. The cover was worn from handling, and multicolored tabs stuck out from various pages. “I’ve been working on something revolutionary.”
“Uh oh,” Ruth muttered, recognizing the gleam in Ida’s eye.
“I’m developing a foolproof mathematical system to beat bingo,” Ida declared, opening the notebook to reveal pages covered with charts, graphs, and neat columns of numbers. “Look at this frequency analysis!”
She pointed to a meticulously maintained chart showing each bingo letter and number combination, with tiny tick marks indicating how often each had been called over the past month.
“Ida,” Helen said gently, “bingo is pure chance. That’s the whole point.”
“Ha!” Ida waved a dismissive hand. “That’s what they want you to think. But everything has a pattern if you look hard enough. See here?” She jabbed at a series of numbers. “B-7 gets called 23% more often on Tuesday nights than Thursdays. And G-52? Haven’t heard it in three weeks.”
Ruth leaned over to examine the elaborate charts with the bemused expression of someone watching a friend explain their theory that cats were secretly running the government. “Ida, you realize that past results don’t influence future outcomes in games of chance, right?”
“Numbers don’t lie,” Ida said firmly, flipping to another page that showed a complex grid system. “I’m also tracking caller tendencies. Mrs. Henderson always pauses before announcing numbers with sevens in them. Mr. Martinez rolls his Rs on numbers ending in four. These are measurable patterns!”
Mona was halfway through her cinnamon roll, savoring the sticky sweetness, when she froze mid-bite. The fork hung suspended between plate and mouth. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Ida looked up from her charts, then glanced around the bustling café. Customers chatted at nearby tables, and the espresso machine hissed contentedly behind the counter.
“Pssst…” The sound came again, low and urgent, barely audible above the morning bustle.
Four heads swiveled in unison, like elderly meerkats on high alert. Nothing but the familiar murmur of customers, the gentle clack of cups against saucers, and the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine.
“Maybe it was the steam from the coffee machine?” Helen suggested, though she sounded doubtful.
