Town in a Pumpkin Bash

by B. B. Haywood

  While they ate, they chatted about the day’s events, chewing over the latest developments as they dug into an olive- and feta-laden Mediterranean pizza, grilled pita sandwiches, and a Greek sampler plate, complete with calamari, fried eggplant, and mini-kabobs, which Artie had ordered but insisted on sharing with everyone.

  Finally, after they’d loaded up, Finn settled back and filled them in on what he’d heard out of the police department. “Word is Sebastian was shot all right, smack dab in the middle of his chest, at maybe ten to fifteen feet, sometime before midnight last night. Right now they’re trying to piece together his whereabouts before he died, and they’re searching his cell phone records, hoping that’ll give them some clue about the killer….”

  Finn continued, but Candy was only half listening. She’d seen the outline of the cell phone in Sebastian’s pocket and had wondered if it might shed some light on how he’d wound up buried under that pile on pumpkins in High Field. She also wondered about the file labeled Emma she’d seen on the front seat of his car.

  The police had that now, but had they opened it? she wondered. And if so, what had they found inside?

  “Have you heard anything about a file I saw sitting on the front seat of Sebastian’s car?” she asked Finn straight out of the blue. “I’m sure the police must have found it.”

  But Finn only shook his head. “Haven’t heard anything about that. Don’t even know if it’s part of the investigation. Why, do you think it’s important?”

  She was about to respond when a generous slice of pumpkin pie miraculously showed up in front of her.

  Surprised, Candy turned and looked up.

  Juanita Perez, one of the diner’s longtime waitresses, was standing beside the booth, a broad smile on her oval face and her long, straight black hair pulled back into a thick braid, which hung down her back almost to her waist. “On the house, Candy. Enjoy!” Juanita said, patting Candy on the shoulder.

  “Juanita, you don’t have to keep giving me free stuff,” Candy told her in an almost beseeching tone.

  But Juanita would have none of it. “It’s a lifetime thing,” the waitress said earnestly.

  This had been going on for some time, ever since Candy had been a judge at a lobster stew contest, which Juanita won. And as a way to show her appreciation, the waitress had been plying Candy with free coffee and desserts ever since.

  “Besides, you gave us the recipe for that lobster stew, which is one of our bestsellers, especially in the fall and winter,” Juanita added, “so enjoy!”

  But Candy continued to protest. “Juanita, I’ve already had a piece of pumpkin pie today. I can’t eat another. I’ll gain ten pounds.”

  “Then I’ll bring you something else,” the waitress said, undaunted.

  “No. Juanita…”

  Candy knew the waitress meant well, and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt Juanita’s feelings or, worse, seem like an ingrate.

  Looking for a way out, she scanned the faces at the table, then turned to search the rest of the diner. She quickly spotted a female police officer sitting at the counter, reading the newspaper and just finishing a burger and fries. Candy remembered the officer from earlier in the day, and her name—Molly Prospect.

  Candy discreetly pointed in her direction. “Do me a favor, Juanita, and give the pie to the police officer, would you? With my compliments? She’s probably had a rough day, and deserves a treat.”

  The waitress turned, spotted the police officer, and said happily, “Sure thing, Candy!” before she headed off to deliver the pie to Officer Molly Prospect.

  A few moments later, when the pie was placed in front of her, Officer Prospect turned toward Candy with a questioning look. Candy could see her hesitation to accept the free offering, but after Juanita explained, Molly shrugged and dug in, after a wave of thanks to Candy.

  Candy waved back.

  Doc, who had surreptitiously watched the whole thing, winked at his daughter. “Making new friends?”

  “I’m trying, Dad,” Candy said with a weak smile. “I’m trying.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Ben called her a few minutes after ten P.M.—just like he said he would.

  She was upstairs in her bedroom, already in her pajamas—partly because she was tired and had decided to turn in a little earlier than usual, and partly because she wanted to review a file out of sight of Doc’s ever-watchful eyes. She’d taken a cup of chamomile tea with her and had settled on her bed. She’d just opened the file and started scanning the first few pages when Ben called.

  After they’d left the diner, Candy had dropped Maggie off a home and then returned to her office downtown, intent on pulling another file from the cabinet’s bottom drawer, the one labeled SV.

  She’d found what she was looking for after digging deep into the drawer. And again, she had known it existed, because she’d spotted it at an earlier time, though she’d never opened it up and looked inside.

  It was a fairly thick folder, with a faded green rubber band wrapped around it to hold all the documents together. On the label, printed in Sapphire Vine’s hand, was a single word: PRUITT.

  Maybe, she’d realized at dinner, Sapphire had left behind a few clues about Abigail Pruitt in the file. And, Candy had realized, maybe she’d even find the diary in there, wedged in between all the papers, since she and Maggie had seen no sign of it during their cursory search of Sapphire’s house.

  But Ben called before she could look beyond the first few documents.

  Still, as he talked, she thumbed through the rest of the papers in the folder.

  At first glance, it appeared there was no diary stuck inside.

  “I just heard what happened,” Ben was saying from the other end of the line—and the other side of the continent. He sounded weary. “Hard to believe there’s been another one in town, isn’t it?”

  She agreed that it was.

  “Do you think there’s any significance that the body was found in the pumpkin patch?” he asked.

  She said she believed there was, though what the connection might be, she had no idea.

  “Well, I have a feeling you’ll figure it out,” Ben said. “Look, I’ve been thinking of cutting my trip short and heading back to Cape Willington early, with all that’s happened there today. Maybe I can be of help. Maybe I’m needed there.”

  But Candy would have none of it. “What about your panel tomorrow morning? And your interview? You tried for months to get that guy to sit down with you. You can’t back out now. If you do, he’ll never talk to you again.”

  After trying for months, Ben had managed to land an interview with a reclusive Internet mogul originally from Down East Maine, who now managed a multibillion-dollar business in Silicon Valley. Ben was thinking of working it into a larger piece, perhaps even a book-length project. The time for the interview had been firmed up. It was scheduled to take place after the weekend conference, on Tuesday morning.

  Ben sighed. “I don’t know. You’re more important right now. I don’t want you facing all this by yourself.”

  “But I’m not by myself,” Candy protested. “I have Maggie and Dad and the boys here to help me out if I need it. And, of course, the Cape Willington Police Department is on the case. I even made a new friend in the department—Officer Molly Prospect. If I get into trouble, I’ll give her a call. She looks like she can handle just about anything, and I have her card right in my pocket. We’ll be fine, trust me.”

  “But…”

  “Trust me,” Candy said emphatically. “Look, if you come back home now, you’ll always regret missing that interview—and you’ll probably blame me for making you miss it.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said, sounding slightly wounded.

  She softened her tone, and even found herself smiling a little. “Look, don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine. I’ve been through this before, remember? I know how to handle myself. Besides, you’re going to hop on a plane the second that interview is over, righ
t? You’ll be back here in time for my birthday?”

  She could almost see his expression lightening over the phone. “Absolutely. The moment I shut off the recorder, I’m jumping in the rental car and speeding to the airport.”

  “Well,” she said, smiling into the phone, “don’t drive too fast. We wouldn’t want you getting a ticket and delayed even more.”

  He was silent for a moment, as if still evaluating his decision. But finally he said, “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Miss you.”

  “Miss you too.”

  Her smile disappeared as she keyed off the phone.

  She knew he had a job to do—and she knew it was the right thing for him to stay on the West Coast until he’d finished the interview. But still, it would be nice to have him here, just in case. After all, there was a murderer loose around town.

  She thought back to the skeleton’s face in the window. Despite Doc’s skepticism, mimicking what she knew his buddies were thinking privately, she was certain it had not been an accident—a stray trick-or-treater randomly peering in that window.

  Whatever it was—whoever it was—it had been watching them, watching what they were doing.

  She thought back to the stories they’d heard from the people who had stayed in the house when they’d rented it out.

  Was that the answer? Had someone actually, physically been “haunting” the place?

  She shivered uncontrollably.

  If so, who? And why?

  Suddenly tired, she closed the Pruitt file, pulled the green rubber band back around it, dropped it to the floor, and snuggled down under the covers after turning out the light.

  Whatever was going on, she’d figure it out in the morning.

  NINETEEN

  But the morning brought no more answers than the night before.

  She was up early, making coffee and a toasted English muffin spread thickly with her own homemade blueberry jam, then heading outside to check on her chickens, all the while thumbing through her smart phone, catching up on the weather and the latest farm news as well as e-mails and text messages. There were half a dozen from Wanda Boyle alone, most left the day before—but she’d already sent one this morning, Candy noticed.

  It was labeled URGENT—PLEASE RESPOND!

  That caught Candy’s eye, and she considered giving Wanda a call, just to get it over with. But she hesitated, and ultimately decided to ignore the messages for now, just as she’d done the day before. She knew she’d probably hear about it later—Wanda was not the type of person who easily tolerated any sort of perceived slight—but Candy wasn’t ready to deal with her just yet. She had other, more pressing tasks on her plate this morning.

  Doc helped her load up the Jeep with boxes of items they planned to sell at the farm stand, and after a few quick words together, he jumped into his truck, headed to the diner for breakfast with the boys to catch up on the latest news, and Candy started up the Jeep. She swung by Fowler’s Corner to pick up Maggie, and together they drove out to the pumpkin patch, uncertain of what they’d find, or if they’d even be able to open for the day.

  The place was busier than they’d expected this early, but they weren’t completely surprised. They’d anticipated a good crowd on this last weekend day before Halloween and the town’s annual Pumpkin Bash celebration. These would also be the last few days they’d sell pumpkins before closing down the patch for the season, and the townspeople knew it, so they’d turned out in full force to get the final pickings.

  And, Candy thought, some of them were probably curiosity seekers who wanted to see if they could catch a glimpse of the latest crime scene in town.

  The police were already in place, however, and apparently had no intention of letting anyone get beyond them into High Field.

  Candy spotted Chief Durr standing by his squad car near the farm stand, surrounded by a small crowd of people, some with recorders and notebooks, others just hanging around curiously. She pulled the Jeep to a stop nearby, at the edge of the patch, since the parking lot was nearly full. As she shut off the engine and climbed out, she could hear the chief speaking to the crowd.

  “Now I’ve got nothing more to say at this time,” he said in an abrupt tone. “We released a statement last night, and the investigation is continuing. I have nothing new to report.”

  There was a jumble of voices as several of the reporters fired questions at the chief, with one voice overwhelming the others. “Can you confirm that the victim was in the process of renting a local house that’s reported to be haunted?” inquired a tallish, smartly dressed woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, attractively arranged.

  “I’m not getting into that,” Chief Durr said tersely.

  “What about the murder weapon?” asked a dark-haired man, who Candy believed was a reporter for a Bangor newspaper.

  “Now, I’m not going to answer any more questions at the moment,” the chief reiterated. He was beginning to sound annoyed.

  “Is Cape Willington turning into the murder capital of Maine?” asked the blonde woman pointedly, shoving a small digital tape recorder closer to the chief’s face.

  “Course not.” The chief threw her a sharp look. “Where’d you hear a thing like that? It’s completely untrue.”

  Nevertheless, Candy noticed, several people were jotting down notes on their pads.

  “Is there any evidence this most recent murder is tied to the others that have occurred in Cape Willington over the past two years?” the blonde woman pressed.

  The chief gave her a tight smile. “Now, Ms. March, you know there’s no way I can answer that at this time.”

  “Are you going to hold a press conference?” she continued.

  “Yes, this afternoon at four,” the chief confirmed. “It’ll be at the station. I’ll see you all there, and provide any updates at that point.” He glanced around the group. “That’s it for now, ladies and gentlemen.”

  He turned away from the group, and seemingly appeased for the moment, the reporters began to fan out across the field to other areas of the pumpkin patch, getting the lay of the land and hunting down locals to interview.

  Unfortunately, Chief Durr next headed directly to Candy and Maggie, a sour look on his face.

  Candy and Maggie both stopped in their tracks, hovering together as the chief approached them.

  When he was still several steps away, he touched the bill of his hat. “Ladies.” He forced a smile and squinted against the brightening day, though a chill lingered, and some of his words formed faint plumes in the clear air. His clothes were wrinkled, his nose was red, and his eyes were watery. He looked like he’d been up for a while. “We’re just about finished with the forensic part of the investigation—and the rain has washed away most of what was left anyway—but we’re going to keep that upper field cordoned off for the rest of the day, and perhaps for the next few days, so no more hayriding up there. And I’d like to see if we can clear some of this crowd out of here as quickly and as quietly as possible. I need your help with that.”

  “Of course, Chief,” Candy said solemnly. “What do you want us to do?”

  “Just what you usually do. Help them make their choices and take their money, so we can send them merrily on their way.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “They caught us a little by surprise this morning. I thought about sending someone out to the junction to turn cars away, but that might be counterproductive, so I’m gonna allow you to do business this morning as usual. You can keep the farm stand open….”

  “Thank you, Chief!” Maggie said, clasping her hands together and shaking them. “We really do need to get some of these pumpkins out of here today, and we really do need the money!”

  “I understand that.” Chief Durr gave them both an appraising look. “But we need to keep everything civil, right? Don’t want the situation to get out of hand, so let’s keep the crowd numbers manageable. Move them through here quickly, like I said. And if anyone asks about what’s
going on, just tell them the police are investigating a possible homicide, got it?” He nodded toward High Field. “I’m keeping my men in place for now, so they’ll secure the area and turn away anyone who gets too close.” He turned back to Candy. “I want all civilians to stay away from that field—including you, Ms. Holliday. Right?”

  “Right,” Candy said obediently.

  “All right then.” After nodding to both of them, he stomped up through the field toward his officers.

  The moment he left, before Candy had a chance to breathe, the blonde-haired reporter stepped into his place. She jabbed a well-manicured hand first toward Candy, then at Maggie. They both shook with her hesitantly.

  “Olivia March, Boston Herald,” she said, looking at both of them in turn. “You’re the ones who discovered the body, right? Uncovered it from under that pile of pumpkins. That must have been pretty horrific for you.” She said this lightly, as if she were commenting on the morning traffic, or the weather, or what she’d had for breakfast. “So, which one of you is Candy Holliday?”

  After a few awkward moments, Candy spoke up. “That would be me.”

  Olivia’s gaze turned to her, looking her up and down. “You’re the blueberry farmer, right? And you write for the newspaper? You’re something of a local celebrity, aren’t you?” She smiled as she spoke, and looked pleasant enough, but she also seemed hungry for a story. “You’ve solved a few recent murders around town?”

  “Just doing my civic duty,” Candy replied vaguely. “And I had lots of help.”

  “So why do you think the body was buried here?” Olivia continued, asking the question easily. “Seems strange, doesn’t it? Given your history with some of the other murders in town?”

  Candy felt uncomfortable with that. “I wouldn’t say I have a history with the other murders.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” Olivia said, still smiling warmly. She had dark brown eyes, Candy noticed, and a mole—a beauty mark, some might call it—on her right cheek, near the corner of her mouth. Her makeup gave her skin a creamy color. She pointed down to her digital tape recorder. “Would you mind if I recorded our conversation?” she asked.