Page 17 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
“That must be challenging,” Ruth said, examining a display of pristine carrots. “Especially with neighbors who use conventional farming methods.”
Tom’s expression darkened slightly. “You could say that. Some folks don’t care about the impact their practices have on the environment. Or on their neighbors’ operations.”
“Oh, my!” a cheerful voice called from inside the stand. “Do we have customers?”
A woman emerged from behind the counter, wiping her hands on an apron decorated with sunflowers. She was shorter than Tom, with curly brown hair streaked with silver and the kind of warm smile that made people feel immediately welcome.
“This is my wife, Ivy,” Tom said, his demeanor softening as she approached.
“Welcome to Knowles Organic!” Ivy beamed at them. “I was just arranging our new environmentally friendly merchandise. We’ve expanded beyond just produce this season.”
She gestured toward a display table that hadn’t been visible from the parking area. It was arranged with an eclectic mix of eco-friendly products: canvas tote bags printed with “Save the Earth” messages, all-natural bug spray bottles, wooden signs with environmental slogans, and cute pot holders with leaves embroidered on them.
“How lovely,” Helen said, moving closer to examine the merchandise. “Very thoughtful selection.”
Tom stepped closer to his wife, his expression becoming more guarded. “Ivy, these ladies were asking about our farming practices. Specifically about neighbors who use conventional methods.”
“Oh.” Ivy’s smile faltered slightly as she picked up on her husband’s tone. “Well, we try to focus on our own practices rather than criticizing others.”
“Even when those others’ practices directly affect your land?” Ruth asked pointedly.
Tom’s jaw tightened. “If you’re referring to the Mossberry farm, yes, we’ve had some... challenges with chemical runoff. But I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”
“We’re helping Brenda with a problem,” Mona explained. “Her prize pumpkin went missing Sunday night, and we’re trying to figure out what happened to it.”
“Missing?” Ivy looked genuinely surprised. “You mean someone stole it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Helen said. “Tom, you signed Laura Jenkins’ petition about pesticide use, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Tom said firmly. “Those chemicals don’t stay on Brenda’s property. They run off into the groundwater, they contaminate my soil, and they kill beneficial insects that our ecosystem depends on.”
“That must be frustrating,” Mona observed. “Especially when you work so hard to maintain organic certification.”
“Frustrating doesn’t begin to cover it,” Tom said, his voice rising slightly. “Do you know what it costs to get land re-certified organic if it’s been contaminated? Years of work, thousands of dollars, and that’s assuming the contamination hasn’t done permanent damage.”
Ivy placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Tom, honey, you’re getting worked up again.”
“Sorry,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It’s just... we’ve been fighting this battle for years, and sometimes it feels like nobody understands the stakes.”
“We understand more than you might think,” Ida said sympathetically. “But stealing someone’s prize pumpkin seems like a pretty extreme form of protest.”
Tom’s eyes flashed with anger. “Are you accusing me of theft?”
“We’re just trying to understand what happened,” Ruth said diplomatically. “Your property borders Mason Road, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Tom said.
“Have you noticed any other tractors coming through that area recently?” Mona asked. “Maybe from the roadside rather than from Brenda’s property?”
Tom and Ivy exchanged glances, both thinking carefully.
“We’re not here all the time,” Ivy said slowly. “We spend a lot of time at the farmers market on weekends, and Tom’s often in the far fields during the day.”
“I can’t say I’ve noticed anything unusual,” Tom said. “Though I did hear Brenda’s tractor around midnight Sunday.She runs it at all hours, though I have no idea what she is doing in the middle of the night.”
“And you’re sure it was Brenda’s tractor?” Helen asked.
“Sure. I know the sound of that old John Deere. She’s been running the same machine for fifteen years—it has a distinctive engine knock.”
