Page 8 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
The marks were clear even in the dim light—deep gouges in the packed earth, the kind left by something substantial being dragged or rolled across the floor. The trail led from a clear area near the back wall toward the main doors.
“This must be where the pumpkin was stored,” Mona said, examining the empty space.
Ida was poking around a collection of wheelbarrows and garden tools, her natural curiosity overriding any concerns about disturbing potential evidence. “Hey, what’s this?”
She held up a small silver object, barely visible between her thumb and forefinger. “Found it stuck in the hay behind this wheelbarrow.”
The others gathered around as Ida extended her palm. Nestled against her weathered skin was a tiny silver charm—a delicate wing, no bigger than a thumbnail, with intricate feathering etched into the metal. A small loop at the top suggested it had once been part of a bracelet or necklace.
“A wing,” Helen said softly, recognizing the design. “Very pretty workmanship.”
“Expensive too, by the look of it,” Ruth observed, holding her phone’s light closer to examine the charm. “That’s real silver, not plate. See how it’s tarnished?”
“Could belong to Brenda,” Mona suggested, though she was already thinking about their suspects. Did any of them seem like the jewelry-wearing type?
“Could belong to anyone,” Ida pointed out pragmatically. “Farmers have visitors. Feed salesmen, veterinarians, neighbors borrowing tools...”
“Or thieves,” Helen added quietly.
The barn fell silent except for the distant squawking of chickens, who had apparently moved on to new grievances. A lone beam of sunlight came through the barn door, creating longer shadows and deeper pockets of darkness among the hay bales.
“We should look around more systematically,” Mona decided, pocketing the silver charm. “If someone were in here to steal the pumpkin, they might have left other evidence.”
They spread out through the barn, each taking a section to examine. Ruth focused on the area around the tractor, looking for signs of recent use. Helen investigated the tool wall, checking for missing implements that might have been used in a theft. Ida naturally gravitated toward a pile of burlap sacks that might have contained treats.
Mona worked her way toward the back of the barn, where the deepest shadows gathered between towering stacks of hay bales. The air was cooler here, and dust hung heavy in the still atmosphere. Her footsteps sounded unnaturally loud on the packed earth floor.
She was examining what appeared to be drag marks near the rear wall when she heard it—a faint sound that didn’t belong in the peaceful rural setting.
“Wait,” she said softly, freezing in place. “Did you hear that?”
The others stopped their searching and listened. For a moment, the only sounds were the distant chickens and the gentle creaking of the old barn settling in the afternoon heat.
“What?” Ruth whispered.
“I thought I heard...” Mona tilted her head, straining to catch whatever sound had caught her attention.
“Shhhh,” Helen breathed, holding up one finger.
They stood motionless in the golden-lit barn, four elderly women surrounded by hay bales and farm tools, listening with the intensity of prey animals sensing a predator.
Then they heard it.
Scratch. Scratch.
The sound was faint but deliberate—not the random skittering of mice or the settling of old wood. This was purposeful, rhythmic, like someone or something moving carefully across a wooden surface.
“Scratch, scratch,” came the sound again, closer now.
The four ladies instinctively moved toward each other, creating a tight cluster behind a large hay bale. Ruth clutched her phone so tightly her knuckles showed white.
Mona peered around the edge of the hay bale, trying to locate the source of the sound. The scratching seemed to be coming from somewhere above them—the hayloft, perhaps, or...
SLAM!
The massive barn doors crashed shut with the finality of a coffin lid closing. The shaft of sunlight that had been their main source of illumination vanished, plunging them into near-complete darkness.
The scratching stopped.
