Page 15 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
The teacup rattled slightly in Gertrude’s hands. “Stolen? That’s... that’s ridiculous. Who would steal a pumpkin?”
“Someone who didn’t want her to win the competition again this year,” Ida suggested, eyeing the lemon bars meaningfully.
Gertrude set down her teacup with a sharp clink. “Are you suggesting that I had something to do with this alleged theft?”
“Not suggesting,” Mona said carefully. “Just asking. You’ve come in second to Brenda five years running. That has to be frustrating.”
“Frustrating?” Gertrude laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Why would I steal her pumpkin when I was going to beat her fair and square this year?”
The four ladies exchanged glances.
“You think you have a bigger pumpkin than Brenda’s?” Helen asked.
“I don’t think—I know.” Gertrude’s pride was evident in every word. “Five hundred and eighteen and a half pounds as of last week’s weighing, and she’s still growing strong. Brenda’s been bragging about her five hundred and twenty pounder all season, trying to psych me out, but she doesn’t know what I’ve got back here.”
“I can show you if you don’t believe me,” Gertrude said, standing up with sudden enthusiasm. “Come on, it’s just out back.”
She led them through a back door and into what could only be described as a pumpkin paradise. Rows upon rows of orange globes in various sizes dotted the landscape, from tiny pie pumpkins to massive specimens that looked like they belonged in fairy tales.
“This way,” Gertrude said, weaving through the rows with the confidence of someone who knew every plant personally. “She’s in the prime spot—best soil, perfect drainage, maximum sun exposure.”
Ruth paused to examine one of the pumpkin plants, her eyes widening at the sight. “Good heavens, look at the size of these stalks. They’re thick as tree branches.”
“That’s what it takes to support a champion,” Gertrude said proudly. “You can’t grow a record-breaker on a weak foundation.”
They reached the end of the patch, where a single enormous pumpkin sat like an orange throne. Beside it stood what appeared to be a professional-grade scale, the kind used at farmer’s markets for weighing large produce.
“There she is,” Gertrude announced, gesturing to her prize with the air of a museum curator unveiling a masterpiece.
The pumpkin was indeed massive—easily the size of a small bathtub, with a perfect round shape and deep orange color that seemed to glow in the morning sunlight.
“May I?” Gertrude asked, though she was already positioning herself beside the scale. With surprising strength for someone her age, she managed to roll the pumpkin onto the platform.
The digital display flickered for a moment, then settled on a number that made Gertrude gasp with delight.
“Five hundred and nineteen pounds!” she exclaimed. “A growth spurt! She gained a half pound since last week, and there’s still three days to go!”
“That’s... that’s enormous,” Ida said, momentarily forgetting about her cream cheese brownie as she stared at the giant gourd.
“And I’ll keep her growing as long as possible,” Gertrude said, carefully rolling the pumpkin back to its resting spot. “Every day counts when you’re trying to break records.”
She turned to face them with a triumphant smile. “See? I will win this year. Fair and square.”
“So why are you suspecting me?” Gertrude continued, her voice rising with indignation as they walked back toward the house. “I know I have the larger pumpkin, but what about Doris Cumberland? Now there’s someone with a real axe to grind.”
The four ladies leaned forward with interest.
“Doris Cumberland?” Mona asked.
“She runs the pie stall at the fall festival,” Gertrude explained, warming to her subject. “At the bake sale last month, Brenda made some very nasty comments about Doris’s pies. Said she should puree them with canned pumpkin instead of her ‘shrivelly little gourds.’”
“Ouch,” Ida winced. “That’s harsh.”
“Doris was furious,” Gertrude continued. “She swore she’d get even. I heard her muttering something about ‘teaching Brenda about small gourds.’ Everyone at the contest heard it.”
Helen looked puzzled. “But isn’t a pumpkin technically a gourd?”
“Exactly!” Gertrude said triumphantly. “Doris knows her gourds. If anyone would know how to handle a giant pumpkin, it would be someone who works with them professionally.”
