Pumpkin Picking with Murder

by Auralee Wallace

  “Look. Given Mr. Clarke’s unfortunate demise, I think it’s clear that somebody wants what is buried in that grave site to stay buried. We need to be careful.”

  An almost sick look came over Freddie’s face. “I see your point.” I don’t think he’d realized up until now that we might actually be in danger. “Okay, well, off you go.” He shooed me with his fingers. “I’ll wait here with the hoe,” he said, jerking a thumb. “Ha! I’ll wait with the ho.”

  “Yeah, nice try,” I said, yanking at his jacket. “You’re coming with me.”

  A good fifteen minutes later, we were creeping up to the tree line just before the clearing. Well, I was creeping; Freddie was flapping his arms in the air.

  “Why are there so many bugs?” he whispered. “It’s fall!”

  “We haven’t had a frost yet, and it’s been wet.”

  “Why aren’t you dead? You should be dead,” Freddie whispered again. Obviously not to me. Probably to some mosquito. I heard a smack. “Now you’re dead.”

  “It’s okay,” I whispered as he moved to my side. “I’m a little freaked out too.”

  “Who said anything about being freaked out?” Freddie snapped. “I’m not freaked out!”

  “Really? Because you’re giving off a whole lot of nervous energy right now.”

  “No, I’m not. We are so doing this, and it’s going to be awesome. It’s just … I mean Halloween is right around the corn—” Suddenly he grabbed my arm and dropped to the ground. “There’s someone there!”

  I tried to get up, but Freddie was stronger than I had given him credit for. “Let go,” I whispered through my teeth. “I can’t see.”

  Freddie released his grip, and I straightened up to get a look over the bottom branches of an evergreen.

  “Oh, you’re right. It’s Matthew!”

  “Is it?” Freddie asked, pushing the branch down a little farther.

  “What do you think he’s doing sitting there all by himself?”

  “Thinking lonely romantic thoughts about you?” Freddie offered. “Or plotting his next kill?” He moved his head to get a better viewing angle. “Oh look! He has a shovel! Oh no … it’s a stick.”

  “So are those my only two options? Romance or murder?”

  “I don’t know,” Freddie said, planting his hand on my back. “But you’re about to find out.”

  I whipped my face around to his. “What are you doing?”

  “He needs to go,” Freddie said. “And you need to get rid of him.”

  “No. No. Forget it,” I said. “This wasn’t the plan. It destroys any kind of alibi we might have had—”

  Freddie threw me a questioning look. “Was this really a crime you thought we’d get away with? ’Cause I was thinking it was more of an I’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission kind of deal.” He pushed me a little harder.

  I dug my feet into the ground. “Okay. How is it that you are so on board now? Back at the nursing home—”

  “That was forever ago.”

  “What about Otter Lake Security?”

  Freddie dropped some of the pressure. “What about it?”

  “If you get arrested for this, it’s going to destroy your business model.”

  Freddie chuckled. “Oh Erica, I’ve been thinking about it, and this here is a misdemeanor—a misdemeanor that could solve a murder that happened fifty years ago—that could solve a murder that happened a few days ago—that could—”

  “Live in the house that Jack built? What the hell are you going on about?”

  “This here is news. Maybe even national news. I can afford the legal costs, but you can’t buy this kind of publicity. Freddie Ng is going to be the new face of security.” He pushed at me again.

  “Oh my God!” I nearly shouted. “That’s why you’re so eager now. You could have—”

  “This is a conversation for later,” Freddie said with a solid push. “Love you.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  I crashed through the tree branches.

  “Erica?” Matthew asked, jumping to his feet.

  “Hey,” I said with a small wave.

  He cocked his head, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

  Oh boy. My gaze jumped around. “I was just, uh—”

  “Don’t tell me.” He looked me up and down. “I think the outfit says it all.”

  “It does?”

  “You’re back looking for clues,” he said with a faint smile. “That … or you’re working on becoming a professional mime?”

  I felt my shoulders drop. “The first one.”

  He held out his hands. “I didn’t find anything, but you’re welcome to look around.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s really … nice.”

  “Well, consider it my apology for dumping all that stuff about my parents on you last night,” he said. “It got a little intense. I’m really sorry. I wasn’t myself.”

  “Given what you’ve been through, I think you’re entitled.”

  “Thanks.” He sat back down on the bench.

  I walked around randomly for a couple of minutes pretending to look for clues, but really I was trying to think of way to get rid of Matthew without it looking suspicious. Shockingly, I didn’t come up with anything. This plan had disaster written all over it. After a few unpleasant flashbacks of the night before, I decided to just sit down—on the side of the bench where the body hadn’t been—and play it by ear.

  Matthew smiled as I sidled in beside him.

  I smiled back, nodding.

  Nope, this wasn’t weird or suspicious at all.

  “So,” I said, lightly clapping my hands together. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Me?” he asked, taking a deep breath. “Just thinking.”

  I nodded some more. “What about?” I mentally slapped myself upside the head. What the heck did I think he was thinking about? How awesome it was to be alive? Smooth, Erica.

  Surprisingly, though, Matthew said, “A bunch of different stuff. Work. Crab fishing in Alaska. I like that show. Oh! And my choice of pants. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately.”

  I felt my eyes widen.

  He laughed and bumped me with his shoulder.

  I hit him lightly back on the arm.

  “To be honest, though,” he said, looking out at the water. “I was also thinking about you and Grady.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He shot me a quick smile. “Well, it’s easier than thinking about all this.” He gestured around. “I talked to Peter’s family today. It … was not easy.”

  “Oh, Matthew,” I said. “That sucks. I can’t imagine.”

  He patted my leg. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not,” I answered, wanting to pat him back, but that would probably just lead to more patting. “Me and Grady, though?”

  “It’s just—” He paused, biting his lip. “—you two remind me of the relationship I had with my first girlfriend.”

  “Oh,” I said, not really sure where this was going … or how I was going to get out of it. If I even wanted to get out of it. Suddenly an owl hooted from the trees, an owl that sounded an awful lot like Freddie.

  “I won’t bore you with the details,” Matthew said. “You probably have plans after…” He looked me over again. “This.”

  I laughed awkwardly. “Not really.”

  “Well, I mean, it’s not like there was anything special about us.” He sighed. “Her maybe. She was smart. Funny. I mean, she still is. I’m making it sound like she’s dead.” Matthew froze. “And that was a really poor choice of words given … everything.”

  “It’s fine.”

  He ran a hand over his face then threw me a sidelong look. “I must be nervous for some reason.”

  I darted my eyes away from his crazy magnetic gaze. A big part of me so wanted to ask him ever-so-innocently why he might be nervous, but I knew there was a pretty good chance he would say it was because of me … and I also knew there was a r
eally good chance I would enjoy him saying that … and that would just be … wrong. Truth was, I was starting to worry that I liked Matthew. Like really liked him … as a person. Not his looks. Or his job. Or his … enormous manse … which somehow now sounded dirty in my head. But him.

  “It’s fine,” I finally mumbled again, looking away. This was so not fine. And it wasn’t just the whole feelings things either. Here was this sweet, sweet man, flirting with me, sharing all this personal information—and what was I doing? Oh yeah. That’s right. I had almost forgotten. I was trying to get rid of him, so that I could dig up his grandfather’s pseudo-grave.

  The owl hooted again. Matthew looked over his shoulder to the trees.

  “So what happened between you two?” I asked quickly, drawing his attention back.

  He shrugged. “We tried to make it work. We lived together for a while. But no matter how hard we tried, things just kept getting in the way.”

  “Things?”

  “Stupid things. At first it seemed like it was out of our control. Outside forces.” He sighed. “But it became a pattern. Fight. Break up. Make up. Fight. Break up—” He waved a hand. “You get the idea.”

  I inhaled deeply. That wasn’t Grady and me. At least not yet.

  “Finally, we just had to accept that if it had been right, it wouldn’t have been so hard. Love shouldn’t be hard.” He looked at me sideways. “Not sure if you can relate to that part.”

  I shook my head. “No comment.”

  He half smiled again, making a dimple at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  I waved a hand, feeling my cheeks burn.

  “Believe me, though, I get it,” he said, looking up again at the stars. “Those first loves … they’re the real killers.” He jolted slightly. “What the hell is the matter with m—”

  “Freddie and I are here to dig up your grandfather’s memorial site.” I slapped my hand over my mouth.

  “I’m sorry … what did you say?”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Matthew,” I said, looking at his very wide eyes. “You’ve been so nice to me … and honest … and sharing all that about your first love? I don’t want to lie to you.”

  “Erica!” a voice shouted from the trees. “What are we doing here?”

  Matthew whipped his head around. “Is that Freddie back there?” he asked, jerking a thumb to the woods.

  I nodded. “It is.”

  Matthew turned back to me. “Why would you want to dig up my grandfather’s memorial site?”

  “We got some information today,” I said. “Do you remember Mr. Carver the librarian?”

  Matthew just stared back at me, looking confused.

  “He knows all of Otter Lake’s past, and he seems to think that in the empty coffin, which they buried at this site, there may be a clue as to who killed your father.” My eyes darted over Matthew’s face, trying to gauge his reaction.

  “He what?” Matthew asked, but before I could answer, he added, “How are you even going to—” He looked me over again. “Do you have a shovel?

  “Freddie has a backhoe,” I answered quickly. “It’s parked on the road. But we brought some shovels too, for the, uh, detailed work.” I closed my eyes at that last part.

  I opened them just in time to see Matthew’s chin drop nearly to his chest. “A backhoe? Freddie owns a backhoe.”

  “Well, he was going to dig a pool—” I cut myself off. “It’s not important.”

  “I have no idea what to say right now,” Matthew said, shaking his head, mouth hanging slightly open. “This Mr. Carver, is he reliable? And why aren’t you going to Grady with this?”

  “Because he won’t look into it. Not if it comes from us.”

  “How do you know he won’t? Have you asked him?”

  “I think in his mind … the case may be over.” I felt the tears begin to well. One spilled down my cheek. It had been a long day. “Tweety has decided to confess.”

  “What?” Matthew raised his hand to brush the tear from my cheek with his thumb, but I waved him off. “But you still don’t think she did it?”

  “I know she didn’t,” I said, wiping my eyes. “But I’m running out of time. Do you think your mother would agree to—”

  Matthew leaned back and his eyes went wide. “Oh yeah, no. She’d never agree. Digging up graves would not be something Mastersons would do.”

  “Freddie and I thought—” I let out half a groan, half a shout of frustration. “I don’t know what we thought.”

  We sat in silence a moment looking out at the water before Matthew said, “Do it.”

  My head snapped around. “What?”

  “Do it,” Matthew said, getting to his feet. “I’ll make sure my mother’s distracted and doesn’t hear the noise.” He walked backward a few feet. “I’d better go. She’ll be out looking for me soon if I don’t get back in there.”

  “Matthew, I—”

  “I want to know who killed my father, Erica,” he said, pointing down to the ground. “And for whatever reason, I trust you when you say this source is legit.” He shook his head. “Besides, the town seems to think that Freddie is more reliable than Grady.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if that’s tr—”

  “It’s true! Totally true,” the voice called out from the trees again.

  “Give me your phone,” Matthew said, walking back toward me.

  I rifled it out from my pocket and passed it to him.

  “There. You’ve got my number. You call me the minute—the minute—you know what’s in there.”

  I nodded.

  Matthew turned and headed back down the slope before stopping and swirling around again. “You might want to get started before any of us give this more thought.”

  “Right. Got it.”

  “Okay. Good luck.” Matthew shook his head as though confused about whether that had been the right thing to say. He then headed to the trail as Freddie popped out of the woods.

  “So did I hear all that right?” Freddie asked. “He’s giving us the go-ahead?”

  I nodded. “He wants to know who killed his father.”

  “Wow. That’s just … so unlike some other sheriffs we know.”

  “Would you just go get the hoe?” I ordered sharply.

  “Ha! Ho … it never gets old.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  I wiped the back of my gloved hand across my brow, most likely leaving behind a pretty terrific smear of dirt. Despite the cold, damp air that had settled over us, I’d built up a sweat. “So,” I said, tossing my shovel up onto the grass above, “I think that does it.” I looked at the exposed coffin we had unearthed, feeling my already fast heart rate pick up. “You ready?”

  It took us about half an hour to figure out how to work the backhoe properly. Then about another forty-five minutes to clear the bulk of the dirt out. There had been no sign of Matthew or his mother, which was good … but also a little creepy. A couple of times it felt like Freddie and I were the only people left in Otter Lake. After we shut the backhoe down, we spent more time than we probably needed to clearing off the coffin with our shovels. and digging a trench for us to be able to stand beside it. Probably because we both needed to work up the courage to do what needed to be done next.

  “Ready? I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” Freddie said, nodding and looking at the coffin. His voice sounded a little shaky, though.

  I nodded in return. “Okay, well, go ahead.”

  “Right,” Freddie said, stooping down half a second before jerking back up. “Do you think it’s locked?” He turned and pointed up to the grass. “I could get my—”

  “Why would it be locked?” I snapped. “How? Where would you even buy a lock for a coffin? Vampire hunter supply outlet?”

  “Shush, shush, shush!” Freddie said, waving a frantic hand, ignoring me completely. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “I think
maybe it was an owl. A real one.”

  “What?” I stopped and listened. “No … well, maybe.”

  “It was. It was an owl hooting,” Freddie said, face tight. “And we’re standing in a grave. And look!”

  “What now?”

  “There’s a cold fog coming in.”

  “What is your point, Freddie?”

  “We’re probably going to die.”

  “You need to pull it together, man,” I said, shaking my fingers. Shoveling was hard work. “Okay, let’s just do this together. I mean, there’s no body in there … so, really, there’s no problem.” I noticed my head was shaking side-to-side a little too frantically. “I mean, we’re really sure there’s no body, right?”

  “Right,” Freddie said, leaning over to grip the lid. “It’s fine. It’s—Wah!” He jumped back, smacking at his arm with his free hand.

  “What the—”

  “Spider. I thought there was a spider,” Freddie said, batting his arm one more time for good measure. “Okay, we seriously need to get this over with.”

  I nodded as we both bent over to grip the lid.

  “On the count of three?” Freddie asked.

  I nodded.

  “One.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “Two.”

  I inhaled deeply.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Freddie said, stepping away.

  “Oh my God!”

  “I can’t. I can’t,” he said quickly. “This here is bad, bad energy. You’re the non-superstitious one. You need to do it.”

  “Fine,” I said squinting my face up into an exaggerated Whatever expression. “This is so not a big deal.” I bent over the coffin again, swallowed hard, and gripped the lid with my fingers. “In fact, I don’t even need a countdown.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I gave a little practice lift. Definitely not locked. Not even stiff.

  “I’ll just skip, one and two, and move right to thr—”

  Then I screamed.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Freddie was screaming too. In fact it was hard to tell where my screams began and his ended.

  “Freddie! Skeleton!” I yelled, finally making words. I jumped back and grabbed him.