Give Em Pumpkin To Talk About (Pumpkin Patch Mysteries Book 1) (5 page)

The sun was coming up across the tall grass that surrounded the house. It made everything take on a golden hue with the sky bright blue above it. A light breeze rippled through the trees near the river and shivered in the grass.

Sheriff Morgan gave her the folder he’d brought. “This is all the information we have on your grandparents’ disappearance. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I hope it’s in there.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’m looking for either,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I’d know if I saw it. I just wish I could walk away from this place with some closure.”

“I understand. But don’t plan on going anywhere besides your hotel for the next few days, huh? We need to settle on what happened to George. You’re a witness, even if you don’t realize it.”

“I hate to sound like I’m saying the same thing over and over, but Jack was here too. Doesn’t that make him a witness as well?”

He nodded. “I’ll talk to him. And I’ll see you around, Ms. Tucker. Would you mind writing down your cell phone number and the name of the hotel where you’re staying? Just put it on this paper here.”

Sarah put her information on the pad of paper that said
Sheriff’s Department
and then watched him leave. Did he really think she had something to do with Mr. Burris’s death or was he just trying to keep her around? She hadn’t known the dead man—but maybe the sheriff really believed she’d seen something that could help ID George Burris’s killer.

There was a loud machinery noise coming down the road toward her. It was Mr. Pope on a large black tractor that was towing something behind it that looked like an instrument of torture.

“Morning,” he yelled over the noise when he reached her. “Where do you want me to start?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she yelled back. “Where do I want you to start what?”

“Jack said you might want to get some of this grass cut down.” He laughed. “He said it would make you feel safer if you could see him sneaking up on you. That man’s a card, isn’t he?”

Sarah pursed her lips and started to refuse. Jack couldn’t go around telling people what he thought she might want them to do. But it would be nice to have the grass cut, even if she was only staying a few extra days. She’d have to pay for it herself, of course, instead of Mace paying for it to help the land sell faster. He would have charged it back to her anyway when the house was sold.

“Yes. He has an amazing sense of humor. Thanks. I appreciate you offering to cut the grass. How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me nothin’. Jack said he’s gonna help with my barn-raising this weekend. That covers it.”

She started to disagree, but Mr. Pope had already pulled down his ball cap and started through the yard like a bulldog chasing a rabbit.

“Maybe he’s right.” She watched the tractor mow down the tall grass and weeds. “Maybe he won’t be able to sneak around as much.”

“What did Sheriff Morgan say?” Jack asked.

Sarah spun around. “Stop doing that.” She focused on the man in front of her. “It looks like I’m going to have to be in town for a few more days. I don’t know how much of that time I’ll be here, but I’d appreciate it if you quit sneaking up on me.”

 “No more sneaking up.” He nodded, following where her eyes had been on the tractor.  “But you did look really cute drooling on the kitchen table this morning.”

She self-consciously swiped at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah. Thanks for the coffee anyway.”

“Did you have a chance to look at the file?”

“No. I gave it to the sheriff. You were wrong. He thinks
I
killed Mr. Burris.”

“I don’t think that’s true. He probably just wants to keep an eye on you. Whoever killed George could come after you.”

She hadn’t thought of that idea. “Well I guess it’s good I’m not staying at the house.”

 “I was surprised you were still here.”

“I’m meeting someone or I wouldn’t be. It would be nice if you could stay out of the way. My friend is with the FBI. He’s going to help me look for my grandparents.”

The last was wishful on her part. Steve had already made it clear that he wasn’t using his FBI’s resources. She didn’t know how much help he was actually offering.

Jack’s blue eyes went slowly from her feet to her head. “Looking like that? You better change clothes. He might think you killed George too.”

She stared belligerently at his heavily bearded face—he was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing yesterday. He had a lot of nerve making remarks about what she looked like when he was such a mess.

But she held her tongue. She didn’t want to get into anything that personal with him. Let him say what he wanted. She didn’t care.

“I’m going back to the hotel. Maybe you should make yourself scarce if you don’t want to answer questions.”

“Maybe I should. You know, I don’t remember you being so mouthy when you were a kid.”

“A kid?” She stared at him. “I
knew
it was you under that hair and beard. Did you see what happened to my grandparents, Jack? Were you here when they left?” Tears rose unbidden in her eyes.

“My dad came for me that night after you went home. Whatever happened was the following weekend right before you came back.” He shrugged. “I was sent to live with relatives in West Virginia until I joined the military. I came back looking for Tommy and Bess two years later. No one knew where they were.”

Sarah barely recognized the man in front of her as the gawky boy in blue jeans she had run wild with sometimes when she visited. Her eyes narrowed on his lean face. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen. They took me in when my father went on a binge. I stayed here until he came for me.”

“I was twelve.” She sighed. “Did they really ask you to keep an eye on the farm?”

“Yes.” His eyes wandered back to her. “Want to take a look at the pumpkins before you get all dolled up for the FBI?”

She glanced at her watch. There was plenty of time. “I would. Sheriff Morgan said there were still pumpkins every year. He said you let people pick them.”

“Better than watching them rot on the vine. Come on.”

She followed him down a path that led between the tall grasses. It looked as though he used it frequently since there was nothing but dirt from the house to the barn. She recalled that he used to sleep in there on a blanket and straw.

And she suddenly remembered that he had kissed her in the barn—her first kiss. Her face got hot with the thought. How had she forgotten about it? Did he remember?

The path opened into the pumpkin patch her grandparents had nurtured for so many years. No grass or weeds grew here—just hundreds of orange pumpkins in all sizes and shapes. Some of them were huge—she could remember climbing in and out of a pumpkin shell when she was very young. The vines and leaves were thick and green, shading the plants during the hottest summer day.

“I guess you take care of this too, huh?” She let her gaze go from pumpkin to pumpkin, admiring each one.

“You could say that. They plant themselves every year. That’s the heavy lifting. I just make sure they survive.”

She stopped staring at the acres of pumpkins and looked at him. “Why?”

“Because there was no one else.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem of sound mind and body.” Her eyes went up and down his tall, muscular frame. “Why would you do this for people who weren’t even your family? What if they never come back?”

“They were like my family but better. Tommy asked me to keep an eye on the place. That’s what I did when I came home from the Army and they were gone.”

“I don’t know if that was what he meant. I’m sure he didn’t mean that you should make it your life. Wasn’t there somewhere else you wanted to go? Someone you wanted to be with?”

“We’d better get going if you want to change before your FBI friend gets here.”

“Wait, Jack. Can’t you give me a straight answer? I know you don’t plan to live here forever.”

“Someone should.”

“But that may not happen. It’s a lot of work running a farm. I might not be able to sell the place. What will you do?”

The sound of Mr. Pope’s tractor getting close to them diverted her attention. When she looked back, Jack was gone again. She swore softly under her breath and waited where she was so that Mr. Pope didn’t accidentally mow her down too. He might not be able to see the top of her head through the grass.

He stopped as he saw the pumpkin patch and turned off the noisy tractor. “It’s hot for September.” He put a flask to his mouth and chugged water. “I’m surprised you could even see this place from the house. Looks like a good pumpkin harvest this year. Tommy and Bess would’ve been pleased.”

They sat for a while near the gate that marked where the pumpkins grew. Mr. Pope talked about growing organic lettuce and spinach.

“Organic. That’s where the money is right now—except for the farm-to-fork stuff. There’s good money in feeding people without having thousands of acres of corn. You have to think small and local. Big movement to locally grown foods, you know.”

She didn’t, not really. She’d stopped at a few produce stands back home when she had to leave the city for one reason or another. She hadn’t really thought much about farmers growing food, despite her background.

“I’m not sure my grandparents really ever made any money on the pumpkin patch.”

“Are you kidding me?” He took off his baseball cap and wiped his brow with a red rag he wore around his neck. “Kids came out here from all the schools in the area. They rode the hay wagons out to pick their pumpkins, and then they brought their parents back. They bought food to feed the sheep and goats, and then Bess sold them her jams and jellies. They did okay. Not a fortune, if that’s what you’re thinking, but it was a good living and a good life.”

Sarah thanked him for his point of view. She liked thinking that her grandparents had done well here and would never have simply deserted the place. All of her childhood memories weren’t wrong.

“Ms. Tucker?” Mace yelled from the house. “Are you out there? Looks like I have a buyer for the property.”

Chapter Five

Sarah followed the path back to the house as she heard Mr. Pope restart the tractor.

Mace was waiting on the porch for her. A tow truck with a sheriff’s escort was hooking up Mr. Burris’s car, presumably to take it in for evidence.

“I heard what happened up here last night,” he said. “Not to worry. Our buyer doesn’t care. He called me right after I listed the property. Maybe five minutes later. I’m sure you’ll find his offer better than you might’ve expected.”

Sarah took a look at the offer he already had in writing from the buyer. “That’s a lot more than I was asking.”

“You’re telling me.” He grinned. “We could get this over right away. I could have the papers drawn up today. What do you think?”

It was a very good deal. Her brother and mother would share in the profits, and they would be pleased with what she’d done. She had the power to make the decision about the sale. There was nothing stopping her from taking the money and going home—well, when Sheriff Morgan said it was okay for her to go.

“Should I call my lawyer and find out if I can sell the property with an ongoing police investigation taking place?” she asked

“I don’t see the problem if the buyer doesn’t care.” His words were emphasized by his toothy smile. “Come on. We can ask my lawyer while he draws up the sales documents.”

Sarah looked out at the property that was beginning to take form as Mr. Pope’s tractor cut the grass. It was starting to look more like she remembered. Not that her memories of the place had anything to do with her selling it. She’d known when she came here today that her emotions would be stirred up again seeing the farm. They were stronger than she thought they would be. But she was still there to sell it, and she probably wouldn’t get a better deal.

“All right.” She saw Peggy and Steve pull into the driveway. She’d missed her chance to change clothes. “Some friends of mine are here. Maybe we could meet after lunch.”

Mace glanced at his large-numbered watch. “It’s barely eight-thirty, Ms. Tucker. This is a good deal. Maybe you could talk to your friends after we finalize everything.”

“They came out from Suffolk as a favor to me. If this is a motivated buyer, he won’t mind waiting until after lunch.” What was the hurry anyway? The property had been here a long time. Another day or even two shouldn’t matter in the long run.

“Are you willing to take that chance?” He pushed harder to have her see his point of view. “When word of George Burris’s death in the house gets around, a lot of other people won’t be interested.”

Sarah expected him to be aggressive since this sale would mean extra money in his pocket, but she wasn’t going to be shoved into a deal she wasn’t ready for. “Later. I’ll call you when my friends leave.”

He started to say something else, thought better of it, and pulled out his cell phone as he walked back to his car.

“You’re busy out here today,” Peggy said with a smile. “Having work done on the property?”

“Not exactly, except for having the grass mowed. I’m afraid something else happened early this morning.” Sarah told them about the call she got from Mr. Burris and being shot at when she came to meet with him. “At least I think someone was shooting at me. I’m not sure. Whoever it was shot him right through the living room window.”

Steve frowned. “Has local law enforcement been here?”

“A long time ago. They just took Mr. Burris’s car. I don’t know if I’m a serious suspect or not. The sheriff asked me not to leave town. Then the real estate agent told me he’s already sold the property.”

“It sounds like a TV movie,” Peggy remarked. “Why would you be a suspect at all? You said you’d never met the man who died.”

“But she called him for information and agreed to meet him here,” Steve said. “I’d like a good look at her, too, if it was my case.”

“I’d still like to talk to you about my grandparents,” Sarah said. “I have some coffee in the kitchen, and the file that Sheriff Morgan gave me about the investigation. Will you take a look at it?”