Page 35 of Pumpkin Patch Peril
“Maybe,” Mona said quietly, “the pumpkin was never the real target. Maybe stealing it was meant to trigger exactly this kind of investigation.”
“That’s terrifying,” Helen said.
“Or maybe we stumbled into something we were never meant to find,” Ruth added pessimistically, “and now we’re in way over our heads.”
Just as the weight of their situation was settling over them like a suffocating blanket, three sharp knocks echoed through the apartment. Precise, deliberate, official-sounding.
The four women froze around the dining table, their evidence spread before them like an accusation.
Ruth grabbed her purse, checking for her phone. Mona gathered their most incriminating notes. Ida clutched her mathematical calculations protectively.
The knocking came again. Three raps, pause, three more. Patient but insistent.
Mona glanced out the window to see that the sedan’s driver seat was empty.
“Oh no!” she whispered, voice tight with panic. “It’s our stalker!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Helen grabbed the brass fireplace poker, testing its weight with the efficiency of someone who’d clearly given this scenario previous thought. Ruth snatched up Mona’s prized ceramic umbrella stand, a hefty Victorian piece that could definitely cause some damage. Ida, ever practical, selected the heavy crystal fruit bowl from the sideboard, dumping the decorative autumn gourds onto the carpet with a series of soft thuds.
Mona herself wielded the delicate rose-painted teapot from their earlier coffee service, raising it above her head like a floral weapon of mass destruction.
“On three,” she mouthed silently, positioning herself directly in front of the door.
Ruth and Helen flanked the entrance like a SWAT team, if SWAT teams typically carried umbrella stands and fireplace accessories. Ida crouched behind the dining table, crystal bowl at the ready, prepared to launch a devastating surprise attack.
The knocking came again. Three raps, pause, three more.
Mona held up one finger. Then two. Then three.
She yanked the door open with dramatic flair, teapot raised in a threatening arc, ready to deliver justice with fine bone china.
“Freeze! We’re armed and—oh.”
Standing on the doormat was a small, round woman in her sixties, flour-dusted hands clutching a large wicker basket, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at the arsenal of domestic weapons pointed in her direction. She wore a cardigan covered in appliqué pumpkins and had the expression of someone who’d just realized she might have made a serious tactical error.
“Please don’t hit me with the teapot!” Doris squeaked, raising her hands in surrender while trying not to drop her basket. “I just came to confess!”
The four ladies slowly lowered their makeshift weapons, staring in complete shock.
“Doris?” Mona practically shrieked, nearly dropping her teapot. “You’re our stalker?!”
“What? No!” Doris protested, waving her hands frantically while backing away. “I mean, yes, I was following you, but stalker sounds so... criminal!”
Ruth pointed her umbrella stand accusingly. “You’ve been the one in that creepy sedan! Following us around town like some kind of... of...”
“Amateur spy!” Helen finished, brandishing the poker. “We thought you were a professional! Or a foreign agent!”
“Or one of Ruth’s sketchy ex-boyfriends!” Ida added helpfully, still clutching her crystal bowl.
“Ladies!” Doris squeaked, looking genuinely terrified. “Please! I can explain everything! I learned surveillance from YouTube!”
“You learned surveillance from YouTube?” Ida asked incredulously, abandoning her battle station behind the dining table.
Doris looked slightly proud despite her nervousness. “Quite educational, actually. Though most of the tutorials assume you’re investigating cheating spouses, not amateur detectives with mathematical analysis skills. I even borrowed my nephew’s car because it’s a dark sedan. They say that’s the best kind of car.”
Helen lowered the poker but kept it in sight. “Why were you following us?”
