Page 10 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
Helen joined her, and together they pushed against the heavy wooden doors. “Something’s blocking them from the outside.”
“Or someone,” Ida added ominously.
Ruth examined the doors with her phone light, looking for a latch or handle on the inside. “No way to open them from in here. These old barn doors were designed to keep livestock in, not to provide convenient escape routes.”
“Well,” Mona said with forced cheerfulness, “this isn’t the first time we’ve been locked in somewhere.”
“The garden shed,” Helen said immediately. “Last spring, when we were investigating the missing tulip bulbs.”
“And we got out using the contents of our purses,” Ruth added, warming to the memory. “Emergency preparedness, that’s what Ida called it.”
“I prefer to think of it as being comprehensively equipped for life’s little surprises,” Ida said, already rummaging in her oversized patent leather handbag.
“Right then,” Mona announced, setting her phone down to provide general illumination. “Emergency purse inventory. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
They arranged themselves in a circle on the barn floor, their phones providing a circle of light like a campfire made of technology. One by one, they began emptying their purses with the systematic thoroughness of archaeologists excavating a particularly eccentric civilization.
Helen went first, producing items with the commentary of a museum curator: “Reading glasses, magnifying glass for really small print, kazoo, glitter, chalk…”
“What’s the chalk for?” Ruth asked with interest.
“In case we need to draw a body outline.”
Ruth continued the inventory: “Tablet, charging cable, portable battery pack, key to an old motel that went out of business—don’t ask why—glass doorknob, emergency whistle, and...” She held up a small spray bottle. “Pepper spray.”
“Pepper spray?” Mona blinked at her friend.
“The retirement center offered a self-defense class. I thought it was prudent.”
Ida’s turn produced the most eclectic collection: “Hand lotion, throat lozenges, three napkins with various pastry remnants, a cinnamon roll from this morning, two packets of crackers from the airline—that was from 1987, probably shouldn’t eat those—a small flashlight that I forgot I had, spare batteries, a compass, dental floss, safety pins, a rubber doorstop, and...” She held up what appeared to be a whoopee cushion. “This.”
“Ida,” Helen said slowly, “why do you have a whoopee cushion in your purse?”
Ida shrugged. “You never know what it will come in handy.”
Mona’s collection was more modest but equally revealing: “glue gun, Keys, wallet, phone charger, notepad, several pens, antacid tablets, aspirin, band-aids, a small sewing kit, and...” She held up a metal object with obvious pride. “Multi-tool. Pliers, screwdriver, scissors, can opener, the works.”
“Between the four of us, we could probably build a small aircraft,” Ruth observed, surveying their assembled supplies.
“Or at least break out of a barn,” Helen added.
Ida was already examining the door hinges with her phone light. “These hinges are old but sturdy. If I can work something from Mona’s multi-tool in here...”
“Wait,” Mona said, holding up a hand. “Before we start dismantling farm equipment, maybe we should try the obvious solution.”
“Which is?”
“Calling for help.”
“Good idea!” Helen said brightly and immediately cupped her hands around her mouth. “Help! We’re Trapped In Here! Somebody Help Us!”
Her voice echoed through the barn with impressive volume for someone her age.
“Not that way,” Mona said, holding up her phone with a slight smile. “With our phones.”
“Oh.” Helen looked slightly embarrassed. “That makes more sense.”
Ruth was already scrolling through her contacts. “Should we call 911? Or maybe?—”
