Page 4 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
“Murderer of innocent pollinators!” Laura Jenkins declared, jabbing her pen toward the devastated flower bed. “Look what you’ve done to these poor chrysanthemums! Do you know how many bees depend on late-season blooms for survival?”
Ruth took a step back, nearly bumping into Ida, who was looking into the bakery bag focused on the contents of the bakery box. “I’m sure they were very nice bees,” Ruth said weakly.
“Nice?” Laura’s eyes blazed with environmental fervor. “They’re essential! Without pollinators, our entire ecosystem collapses. And here you are, rolling over their food source like some kind of... of gas-guzzling destroyer of nature!”
Mona cleared her throat diplomatically. “I’m sure Ruth didn’t mean to harm any bees. Or flowers. It was an accident.”
“Accidents happen when people don’t consider their impact on the environment,” Laura announced, her voice carrying the weight of someone who’d given this speech many times before. “Which brings me to my mission.” She held up her clipboard with the fervor of a crusader displaying a holy relic. “I’m collecting signatures to ban the use of harmful pesticides in our community. Specifically, at Mossberry Farm.”
The four ladies exchanged glances that could have powered a small telecommunications network.
“Brenda’s farm?” Helen asked, her journalist instincts perking up like a cat hearing a can opener.
“Exactly!” Laura’s enthusiasm ratcheted up another notch. “She’s been poisoning our local ecosystem for years with her so-called ‘family farming methods.’ Those chemicals don’t just stay on her property—they run off into our groundwater, they drift on the wind, they kill beneficial insects by the thousands!”
Ruth shifted uncomfortably. Whether from the environmental lecture or the proximity to her parking disaster, it was hard to tell. “I had no idea.”
“Most people don’t,” Laura said, her tone softening slightly at Ruth’s apparent interest. “That’s why education is so important. And action.” She waved the clipboard again. “I already have dozens of signatures, including the biggest one from Tom Knowles—he owns the farm right next to Brenda’s. He’s been dealing with runoff from her pesticide applications for years. Terrible stuff seeping onto his organic land.”
Ida looked up from the bakery box, a crumb of cinnamon roll clinging to her lower lip. “Tom Knowles, you said?”
“That’s right. Lovely man, very environmentally conscious. He signed my petition in letters so big you could read them from space.” Laura beamed with the satisfaction of someone who’d scored a major victory. “He said he was sick and tired of Brenda’s chemicals contaminating his property.”
“Well,” Mona said carefully, “it sounds like you’re doing important work.”
“I am!” Laura clutched her clipboard to her chest. “And I won’t stop until every toxic farm in this county changes its ways. Speaking of which...” Her eyes swept the small group with the calculating gaze of someone sizing up potential converts. “Would any of you ladies like to sign?”
There was a moment of silence that stretched like taffy. Ruth studied her shoes. Helen examined the sky with sudden interest. Mona found herself fascinated by the bakery box’s orange ribbon.
Ida, however, perked up with sudden inspiration. She had been checking the time on her phone and suddenly looked up with excitement. “You know who would absolutely love to sign that petition?”
“Who?” Laura leaned forward eagerly.
“Beatrice Oswald.” Ida pointed across the street to a small yellow house with an immaculate garden and lace curtains in the windows. “She lives right over there. Biggest environmentalist you’ve ever seen. Composts everything, grows all her own vegetables, probably talks to her plants.”
Laura’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “Really?”
“Oh yes,” Ida nodded solemnly, tucking her phone back into her purse alongside her small spiral notebook filled with bingo charts. “She’d probably want to make a donation to your cause too. Very passionate about... bee things.”
“Wonderful!” Laura clutched her clipboard and pen with renewed purpose. “Thank you so much for the tip. I’ll go speak with her right now!”
They watched as Laura marched across the street with the determination of someone on a holy mission, her hemp jacket flapping in the autumn breeze.
“Ida,” Helen said slowly, once Laura was out of earshot, “didn’t Beatrice Oswald get into that huge argument with you last month about the retirement center’s landscaping choices?”
“She certainly did,” Ida said cheerfully, wiping cinnamon sugar from her fingers with one of Lexy’s napkins. “She wanted to plant perennials in front of the annuals. Woman has no idea about plants.”
“And you think she’s actually the environmental type?” Ruth asked, though she was already pulling her car keys out with obvious relief at the change of subject.
“No,” Ida said matter-of-factly. “But I figured Laura could use the exercise walking over there, and Beatrice could use the interruption. Woman spends too much time peeking through those lace curtains, anyway.”
She glanced at her phone again. “Besides, we need to get moving. Bingo is tomorrow night, and I want to test out some new frequency calculations I’ve been working on.”
“More bingo strategy?” Ruth asked with amusement.
“It’s not strategy, it’s science,” Ida said firmly, patting her purse where her notebook rested. “I’ve been tracking caller patterns for weeks now, and I think I’ve identified some statistical advantages.”
Mona shook her head, though she was fighting a smile. “Ida...”
