Page 16 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
Ruth was already pulling out her iPad. “Doris Cumberland... pie stall... I need to look this up.”
“She’s got a small farm on the other side of town,” Gertrude added helpfully. “Grows all her own pumpkins and squash for the pies. Very proud of her traditional methods.”
Mona found herself believing the woman’s indignation about the theft, but more importantly, Gertrude had just handed them a new suspect with both motive and means.
“Have you seen anything suspicious around Brenda’s farm lately?” Helen asked. “Any unusual activity?”
Gertrude considered this. “Well, now that you mention it, I did see that environmental activist woman poking around the area last week. Laura something-or-other. She was quite agitated about Brenda’s pesticide use.”
“Laura Jenkins,” Ida supplied helpfully.
“That’s the one. And there was talk at the feed store about Tom Knowles being fed up with Brenda’s runoff problems. But honestly, if I were you, I’d look into Doris Cumberland first. Hell hath no fury like a pie baker scorned.”
As they prepared to leave, Gertrude walked them to the door with a thoughtful expression.
“I hope you find Brenda’s pumpkin,” she said, and she seemed to mean it. “Competition isn’t any fun when your opponent doesn’t show up to lose fairly.”
Back in Ruth’s car, they sat in contemplative silence for a moment.
“Well,” Mona said finally, “I believe her about not stealing the pumpkin.”
“So do I,” Helen agreed. “And she just gave us a new suspect with a very specific motive.”
“Doris Cumberland,” Ruth said, consulting her iPad. “And according to this, her farm is only about two miles from Brenda’s place.”
Ida unwrapped her cream cheese brownie and took a thoughtful bite. “A pie maker would definitely know how to handle pumpkins.”
“Plus,” Mona added, “public humiliation is a powerful motive. If Brenda embarrassed her in front of everyone at the fair…”
“But where do we find her and what excuse do we use to talk to her?” Ruth asked.
“Leave that to me,” Helen whipped out her iPad. “Meanwhile, let’s hustle over to the Knowles farm and see what he has to say for himself.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The drive to Knowles Organic Produce took them down a winding country road lined with weathered stone walls and maple trees showing off their autumn colors. Hand-painted signs along the way advertised “Farm Fresh Vegetables,” “No Pesticides,” and “Earth-Friendly Farming Since 1987” in cheerful green lettering.
“There it is,” Helen said, pointing to a rustic wooden sign that read “Knowles Organic Produce - Supporting Sustainable Agriculture.”
Ruth pulled into a gravel parking area beside what appeared to be a converted barn. The structure had been painted a cheerful sage green with white trim, and large windows displayed an abundance of fresh produce arranged in wicker baskets. Strings of dried corn and miniature gourds hung from the eaves, giving the whole place a festive harvest atmosphere.
“Very picturesque,” Ruth observed, surveying the scene. “Looks like they’ve put a lot of effort into the presentation.”
A hand-lettered chalkboard by the entrance proclaimed “Today’s Specials: Heirloom Tomatoes, Organic Squash, Chemical-Free Apples!” in flowing script, decorated with little drawings of vegetables around the borders.
“Someone’s artistic,” Ida noted, admiring the chalkboard work. “And passionate about the organic lifestyle.”
They approached the farm stand, where a middle-aged man with graying hair and work-worn hands was arranging butternut squash in a wooden crate. He wore a faded flannel shirt and jeans that had clearly seen plenty of honest labor.
“Morning, ladies,” he said with a friendly smile, though his eyes held a hint of wariness. “Beautiful day for a drive, isn’t it? What can I help you with?”
“Are you Tom Knowles?” Mona asked, stepping forward with what she hoped was a disarming smile.
“That’s me,” he confirmed, straightening up from his squash arrangement. “These your first time visiting our stand?”
“It is,” Helen said, looking around at the impressive display of produce. “We heard wonderful things about your organic vegetables.”
“Well, I appreciate that. We work hard to maintain our certification.” There was pride in his voice, but also something that sounded like defensiveness. “Everything here is grown without chemicals, pesticides, or artificial fertilizers.”
