Page 28 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
“Well,” Ida said eventually, “paranoid or not, we still need to get those tire photos from Gertrude Hartwell. We can’t let a possible tail derail our investigation now.”
“Assuming Gertrude will cooperate,” Ruth said dubiously. “She wasn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat during our first visit. More like rolling out the barbed wire.”
“She’ll have to cooperate,” Mona declared, and the others recognized the tone that meant she was preparing to deploy “the look” if necessary. “We need those photographs for comparison analysis, and she’s the only other suspect with a tractor.”
Ruth checked her rearview mirror one more time, then suddenly gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Hold on, ladies. Time for some evasive maneuvers.”
“Ruth, what are you—” Helen began, but her words were cut off as Ruth yanked the wheel hard to the right, sending the massive Oldsmobile careening down a narrow side road with all the grace of a wayward shopping cart.
“Look out!” Ida shrieked from the back seat as they narrowly missed a stop sign, the car’s undercarriage scraping ominously against the pavement.
“Ruth!” Mona yelled, white-knuckling the dashboard as Ruth took another sharp turn without slowing down. “What in the world are you doing?”
“Losing our tail!” Ruth announced cheerfully, executing what could generously be called a turn but looked more like a controlled collision with the corner. “I saw this move on that detective show last week!”
The Oldsmobile’s tires squealed in protest as Ruth whipped around another bend, sending a flock of startled chickens scattering from someone’s front yard.
“Don’t run over that mailbox!” Helen screamed, pointing at the rapidly approaching wooden post that Ruth seemed determined to use as a slalom marker.
“I see it, I see it!” Ruth swerved at the last possible second, clipping the mailbox just enough to send it spinning like a pinwheel. “Barely touched it!”
“That’s Mrs. Peterson’s mailbox!” Ida wailed, twisting around to watch the carnage in their wake. “She’s going to call the police!”
“She won’t recognize the car at this speed,” Ruth replied with questionable logic, taking yet another turn that had Mona sliding across the bench seat like a hockey puck.
“Ruth, please!” Helen gasped, clutching her purse to her chest as if it might provide some protection against the laws of physics. “This is not how professional surveillance evasion works!”
“How would you know?” Ruth shot back, narrowly avoiding a fire hydrant that seemed to jump into their path. “When was the last time you were in a high-speed chase?”
“Never, and I’d like to keep it that way!”
The Oldsmobile bounced over what might have been a speed bump or possibly a small woodland creature—it was impossible to tell at their current velocity. Ruth yanked the wheel left, then right, weaving through a residential area with the determination of someone who had clearly watched too many action movies.
“There’s a dog!” Mona shrieked as a golden retriever bounded into the street, apparently under the impression that the giant blue car was some sort of interactive toy.
“I see him!” Ruth swerved around the confused animal, who seemed more excited than alarmed by their automotive ballet. “Good reflexes for an old girl, don’t you think?”
“The dog or the car?” Ida demanded, but her question was lost as Ruth took another corner on what felt like two wheels.
“Stop sign! Stop sign!” Helen pointed frantically at the intersection ahead.
“That’s more of a suggestion than a requirement,” Ruth replied, slowing down just enough to constitute what traffic court might generously call a “rolling stop.”
A trash can materialized in their path like a stubborn obstacle course marker. Ruth swerved around it, sending the metal container rolling across someone’s driveway with a tremendous clatter.
“Ruth! You can’t just—” Mona began.
“Watch me!” Ruth executed another turn that would have made a Nascar driver weep with either admiration or terror. “Besides, we’re losing them! Look behind us!”
Ida twisted around, peering through the rear window with the dedication of a submarine periscope operator. “I don’t see the sedan anymore, but I do see about three homeowners standing in their driveways looking very confused!”
“Mission accomplished!” Ruth declared triumphantly, though she was still driving as if pursued by agents of international espionage.
She took two more seemingly random turns down increasingly narrow country roads, doubled back through a residential area where concerned residents peered from behind curtains, then executed what could only be described as a strategic retreat through a church parking lot.
“Ruth,” Helen said in the carefully controlled voice of someone trying to remain calm, “why are we driving through Sacred Heart’s parking lot?”
“Shortcut!” Ruth replied, navigating between the neat rows of sensibly parked sedans with the confidence of someone who clearly considered this a reasonable life choice. “Plus, it’s consecrated ground. They can’t follow us here.”
