Page 29 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
“That’s vampires, Ruth!” Ida yelled. “Vampires can’t cross consecrated ground! Not stalkers!”
“Same principle!” Ruth emerged from the parking lot and merged back onto their original route with all the nonchalance of someone who hadn’t just treated the local neighborhood like a personal obstacle course.
After several more minutes of checking mirrors, scanning side roads, and looking for signs of their mysterious followers, Ruth finally began to slow down to something resembling legal speeds.
“Lost them,” she announced with obvious pride, patting the Oldsmobile’s dashboard affectionately. “Nothing like a little creative navigation to shake off unwanted company.”
“Creative navigation?” Helen gasped, still clutching her purse with both hands. “Is that what we’re calling your attempt to take out half the county’s infrastructure?”
“Hey, we’re here in one piece, aren’t we?” Ruth replied defensively. “And no more tail. Plus, I barely scratched that mailbox.”
“You turned Mrs. Peterson’s mailbox into a weather vane!” Ida protested.
“It’ll probably improve her mail delivery,” Ruth said optimistically. “More aerodynamic now.”
Mona was checking her pulse with the dedication of someone who wasn’t entirely convinced her heart was still beating properly. “Ruth, dear, I think we need to have a discussion about the difference between evasive driving and vehicular mayhem.”
“Did it work?” Ruth asked simply.
They all looked around. The country road stretched peacefully ahead of them, with no sign of the dark sedan or any other suspicious vehicles. Birds sang in the trees, completely unaware of the automotive chaos that had just swept through their peaceful rural neighborhood.
“Well,” Helen admitted grudgingly, “it did work.”
“Then I call it a success,” Ruth declared with satisfaction. “Now, shall we go see Gertrude about those tire photographs?”
As they turned onto the road leading to the Hartwell farm, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief. The dark sedan was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Hartwell property looked exactly as unwelcoming as it had during their previous visit. The farmhouse needed paint, the fence posts were crooked, and the entire place had an air of defensive hostility. Gertrude’s prized vegetable garden stretched along the front yard, each plant marked with small signs warning against trespassing.
“There she is,” Ruth said, spotting Gertrude working among her prize-winning pumpkin vines. “And judging by her body language, she’s about as thrilled to see us as a fox in a henhouse.”
Gertrude Hartwell straightened up from her gardening with the slow, deliberate movements of someone preparing for confrontation. She wiped her hands on her overalls and walked toward their car with obvious reluctance.
“What do you ladies want now?” Gertrude called out before they’d even finished parking. “I thought I made it clear yesterday that I don’t appreciate being accused of theft by a bunch of amateur busybodies.”
Mona climbed out of the car and fixed Gertrude with the look that had cowed three generations of family members and countless retirement center staff. “Gertrude, we are notbusybodies. We are conducting a legitimate investigation into a serious crime, and your cooperation would be appreciated.”
Helen stepped forward with her most professional demeanor. “Gertrude, as I mentioned, I have a background in journalism. I’ve covered enough crime stories to know that the best way to clear your name is through documented evidence. May I ask you a few questions about your whereabouts on Sunday evening?”
“My whereabouts?” Gertrude’s voice rose defensively. “I was right here on my own property, tending to my own business, unlike some people I could mention.”
“Can anyone verify that?” Helen continued smoothly, pulling out a small notebook with practiced ease. “Family members, neighbors who might have seen you?”
“I don’t need anyone to verify anything,” Gertrude snapped. “I showed you my pumpkin yesterday. It’s bigger than Brenda’s ever was. Why would I steal a smaller pumpkin when I’ve got a prize-winner right here?”
“That’s exactly why we need your help,” Helen said, switching tactics with the skill of someone who’d interviewed reluctant sources for decades. “If you’re innocent—and we certainly hope you are—then helping us document that benefits everyone involved.”
Gertrude crossed her arms, her weathered face skeptical. “How do you figure that?”
“Well,” Ida said, approaching with her phone ready for photography, “someone stole Brenda’s pumpkin using a tractor. We’ve photographed tire treads from the crime scene. If we can photograph your tractor tires and prove they don’t match, then you’re completely cleared of suspicion.”
“Scientific evidence,” Mona added with authority. “No more speculation, no more accusations, no more visits from us asking uncomfortable questions.”
Ruth leaned against the car door with studied casualness. “Unless of course you have some reason to avoid having your tires photographed. In which case, I suppose we’d have to wonder what you’re hiding.”
Gertrude glared at Ruth, then at the others, clearly torn between indignation and pragmatism. “You’re saying these photos would prove I didn’t do it?”
