Give Em Pumpkin To Talk About (Pumpkin Patch Mysteries Book 1) Page 9

  Jack took the tractor between the large, two-story house and the site where all the building materials were. She guessed that’s where the new barn was going up.

  Mr. Pope was working on an outside pump that gushed water. He stopped when he saw them and walked over. “What’s all this?”

  “Sarah wanted to give you some pumpkins,” Jack explained as he shut off the tractor engine.

  “That’s nice of you.” Mr. Pope smiled at Sarah who was still in the wagon. “Need some help getting out of there?”

  “No. I’m fine.” She laughed like she wasn’t worried about the pumpkins shifting as she tried to climb out. “I just wanted to say thanks for cutting the grass.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope you’re coming to the barn-raising tomorrow,” he said.

  “I am. Should I bring anything?”

  Mr. Pope glanced at the pumpkins. “I think you’ve brought enough. Thanks.”

  “What’s going on over there with the pump?” Jack asked.

  “Darn thing broke on me this morning. I think it’s the seal.”

  “Let me take a look.”

  Sarah took that opportunity to climb out of the wagon in case she fell on her face. The pumpkins kept shifting as she moved her weight toward the back. She held on to the sides, but it didn’t help her moving across the round, slippery edges of the pumpkins.

  As they were looking at the pump, she managed to reach the back where all she had to do was move one leg across one of the big pumpkins and she’d be home free. Unfortunately, her leg refused to move from under her, where it had become trapped between two other pumpkins. As she attempted that last drop out of the wagon, she fell forward and was trapped half off the back of it.

  “Looks like you could use a hand.” Jack’s voice was edged with humor as he stood over her.

  She could only see his boots which had seen better days a dozen or so years before. “I can get it. Go fix the pump.”

  “It’s fixed. Let me help you.”

  “I’m fine. Just go away.”

  “You’re very stubborn.”

  Before she could reply, he put his hands at her waist and lifted her off the back of the wagon.

  “Thanks. But I was okay.”

  “You’re welcome. You didn’t look like it.”

  Mrs. Pope and one of the couple’s grandsons came out to help get the pumpkins off the wagon. They made a huge pile near the tables that had been set up for the food that would be laid out for the barn-raising.

  “That’s a lot of pumpkins.” Twelve-year-old David Pope admired them. “Can I have one?”

  “Sure,” Sarah said. “Or you’re welcome to come pick your own before Monday.”

  David looked at his grandparents. “Can we do that?”

  “We can.” Mary Pope introduced herself to Sarah. “You two stay for supper. I’ve got some cornbread in the oven and some pinto beans on the stove. You can get washed up in the house.”

  Sarah thought Jack might say he couldn’t stay. She didn’t want to put the Popes out if she lost her ride home, so she waited to see what he was going to do.

  “Thanks,” he finally said. “Sounds good.”

  They were turning to go into the house when Sheriff Morgan pulled up. Everyone waited until he got out.

  “Afternoon.” He nodded. “Gray. Mary. Ms. Tucker. I’ve got a few questions I need to ask Jack, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to get in the middle of something.”

  “Not in the middle of anything, Bill,” Mr. Pope said. “We’re about to have supper. Ask your questions and then stay to eat.”

  Chapter Ten

  Mary asked for her help inside. Sarah offered to take glasses of iced tea out to Jack and the sheriff as they sat on the wide porch talking. Grayson Pope had gone upstairs to wash, dragging his grandson with him as he went.

  “I know you’ve had people out there trying to dig up that gold.” Sarah heard Sheriff Morgan as she came to the screen door. She waited to hear Jack’s quiet reply.

  “You know I have. Where’s the question?”

  “George Burris was looking for it too. We found some pictures of you throwing him off the property. Not the night he was killed but sometime during the spring from the look of it.”

  “Still waiting for the question, Bill.”

  “I’m not accusing you of killing George, mind you. But I’d like to know who else you’ve caught out there looking for the gold. I started thinking about who might want to kill George—and how it relates to all that info he wanted to give Ms. Tucker.”

  Sheriff Morgan sounded relaxed, not worried about anything Jack might take away with the questioning. Jack seemed a little on edge to her. Was he worried that the sheriff was getting too close to the truth?

  “I suppose that makes sense.”

  “Any names you can think of? I know you tied up that Bradley boy when he was out there with a pick and shovel. But he’s away at college now, so he’s not a suspect.”

  “Just a minute.” Jack glanced back. “Something you wanted, Sarah?”

  She pushed open the screen door and handed them each a glass of tea. “Sorry. Just wondering what was going on.”

  “No reason you shouldn’t hear too,” Sheriff Morgan said. “Jack has thrown a few treasure hunters off your property down through the years. Just wondering if any of them come to mind as more serious than others.”

  “Thanks, Sarah.” Jack sipped his tea. “I can’t think of anyone I couldn’t persuade to look elsewhere for gold. There weren’t any returns. Sorry.”

  “I get it.” The sheriff nodded. “I picked Bradley up that day. He’d wet himself. I had one of the treasure hunters you sent on their way come back to have me arrest you for roughing him up. Since he was trespassing in the first place, I showed him the door.”

  “I can’t believe people are serious about Confederate gold,” Sarah added. “It seems like a fable to me.”

  “When that fable involves gold bullion, people get real serious about it,” Jack assured her.

  “It’s real,” the sheriff said. “The folks at the historical society say so. You should have a word with them about it. You’d be surprised what you can find buried out here.”

  Sarah wasn’t looking forward to finding treasure or anything else. “I barely remember my grandparents talking about it when I was a kid.”

  “They loved you,” Jack said. “They didn’t want to fill your head with that kind of rubbish.”

  “Well if anything comes to mind,” the sheriff said, “let me know. I’m out of ideas as to why anyone would want to kill old George. I’m going to his funeral tomorrow and hoping the killer might turn up. It happens sometimes.”

  “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone,” Jack agreed.

  They went in the house and sat around the old wood table. There was cornbread and beans, plus fried squash and fresh tomatoes. Mary pulled out a large peach pie she’d baked from the last of the summer peaches. The iced tea was plentiful and the conversation ranged from what crops were bringing the best price to residents of Misty River threatening to create a town to keep their land from being gobbled up by other cities.

  Most of the issues were things Sarah couldn’t talk about because she didn’t know enough about them to have an opinion. She knew Clare had been approached by several small communities in her district that wanted to become towns. Many were being annexed by Richmond, Suffolk, and the bigger cities. It was only a matter of time before the areas started growing as bedroom communities. Sometimes residents weren’t happy with that designation.

  Sarah didn’t mention that she worked for Clare. She didn’t want the pleasant dinner to end with the Popes or the sheriff asking her to talk to her boss about various subjects that she could influence. She’d been in similar situations that had turned into arguments.

  She didn’t expect that from these people, but she didn’t want to risk it. The conversation eventually turned to plans for her grandparents’ property over coffee.

>   “I have a buyer who wants the land for the river access,” she admitted.

  Mary and Gray exchanged glances over the table.

  “That’s gotta be Leland Drake,” Gray said. “He’s all hopped up about this Blue Way thing on the river. He’s got the only other piece of riverfront in Misty River. Everything else is owned by the state.”

  “Yes. He told me,” Sarah said. “I was just glad he didn’t want to build apartments or something. I’d hate to see the land chopped up that way.”

  “You wouldn’t sell to someone like that, would you?” David asked. “That would be terrible. No more pumpkins.”

  The adults at the table shifted uneasily in their chairs.

  “Sarah doesn’t live here,” Mary explained. “She has to sell the land to someone. It would be better to keep the property in one piece, even if tourists would be going in and out with their kayaks.”

  Sarah felt bad about David’s question. He didn’t understand the circumstances, but didn’t she feel the same about wanting a family to live there again instead of a commercial enterprise? Maybe she didn’t understand either.

  “At least it will keep Jack from taking out those treasure hunters!” Gray laughed.

  “That’s true,” Sheriff Morgan agreed. “Maybe Leland will hire you to be security on the property for his Blue Way.”

  There was no answering smile from Jack. The conversation changed quickly before Sheriff Morgan said his goodbyes.

  Jack and Sarah left a few minutes later. It was still only about seven-thirty, but everyone was going to be up at dawn for the barn-raising. It was a night they all needed to turn in early.

  She still refused to ride on the tractor with Jack. She sat in the wagon again. It was easier to hang on, but she was sure her backside was going to be bruised when it was over. Without the pumpkins, there was nothing but a hard slab of wood between her and the bumps in the field.

  The blue sky was turning pale pink and purple and there was a sliver of a crescent moon coming up on the horizon. She looked at it thoughtfully, not used to spending time between work and home gazing at the star-filled sky. It was beautiful.

  “Almost there,” Jack said. “How are you holding up?”

  “Okay,” she yelled back. She was going to be glad to get out of the wagon. Without the pumpkins in the way, she wouldn’t have a problem this time.

  Eating dinner with the Pope family reminded her so much of spending time with her grandparents. David was lucky to have them. She tried not to feel that her time with her grandmother and grandfather had been cut too short. Even if they hadn’t disappeared, her mother had been intent on taking the new job in Richmond. Sarah’s visits with them would probably have been more limited.

  But what glorious times those would have been.

  Jack drove the tractor beside the barn and turned off the engine. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

  She glanced toward the drive and saw a dark Lincoln Town Car. It was her mother.

  “Thanks for helping me with the pumpkins.” Sarah turned back to him. “I think I got a little too ambitious on how many I was taking. It just seems like such a waste for them to die on the vine.”

  “They don’t die. They keep growing. I suppose the new owner will bulldoze the whole pumpkin patch.”

  They both looked at the mist swirling through the pumpkins, highlighted by the moon.

  “What will you do, Jack?”

  “What I always do—survive. Goodnight, Sarah.”

  “Goodnight.”

  She didn’t look back at his solitary figure as she walked to the house. She couldn’t make decisions about selling the property because the pumpkin patch would be gone and a man she barely knew would be out of a home. Her mother would put her back on track about selling the farm. There would be no question in her mind what to do.

  Her mother was waiting on the back porch, a glass in her hand and a bottle of champagne next to her. Sandra Denning Tucker was well-dressed in a tan designer suit with matching pumps. Her hair was almost the same blond shade as Sarah’s. She was thinner, though, and after several uses of Botox, she actually had fewer wrinkles, even though she was almost thirty years older.

  “It’s about time. Where have you been?”

  Sarah sat beside her. She didn’t know how long her mother had been there, but this wasn’t her first bottle of champagne. “I was at the Popes eating dinner. I didn’t remember how nice they were—I’m not sure I remember them at all. Their grandson was there.”

  “That’s very friendly of you. Are you thinking of staying?”

  “No, of course not. Why are you here? I’m sure whatever you have to say could’ve been on the phone or text.”

  Sandra lifted her glass to the property before them. “I thought I’d have one last look. I grew up here, you know.”

  “And hated every minute of it. Yes, I know. I hope you have a driver.” Sarah knew from her mother’s slurred words that she’d had too much to drink.

  “Of course, dear. I brought Charlie with me. At least I think his name is Charlie. It’s something like that.” Her mother brought out another glass and poured champagne with an unsteady hand. She gave it to Sarah.

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “Getting rid of this albatross that’s been hanging around my neck for the last sixteen years. And for a nice profit too, I might mention. Thanks to you. Dusty is hopeless at this kind of thing. I swear sometimes that boy is going to end up in the Peace Corps or something. He has no head for business.”

  Sarah carefully sipped from the overfilled glass. “Thanks for the champagne and for coming out to tell me about Dusty. Now, why are you really here?”

  Jack started up the tractor, and Sandra jumped, clinging to her daughter’s arm. “What in the world is that?”

  “The tractor. I imagine Jack is taking it back in the barn.”

  “You’ve been using a tractor? What were you doing with it?”

  “Taking pumpkins to the Popes for their barn-raising tomorrow.”

  Close up now, her mother stared at her as though she were a stranger. “What are you doing out here, Sarah? And who is Jack? Don’t tell me you’ve become infatuated with some local farm boy. Nothing good can come of it. I know from experience.”

  Sarah let that information go, but she was curious. She’d never heard about her mother’s farm boy romance.

  “Jack has been here since Grandma and Grandpa lived here. They took him in for a while to get him away from his abusive father. Now he lives out here and takes care of the place.”

  Sandra sat up straight and squared her shoulders. “You’ve gone off the deep end. Maybe you should go home and I’ll take care of the rest of the problem.”

  “I’m not infatuated with Jack—or anyone else. My divorce was only recently final, remember? I’m not in any frame of mind to think about anyone romantically. You don’t have to worry about me. I know why I’m here, and I’m not Dusty. I’ll take care of it.”

  Her mother sighed and sipped more champagne before she leaned her head against Sarah’s shoulder. “Yes. You are my levelheaded, ambitious daughter. Thank you.”

  “So why are you here?” Sarah repeated.

  “There’s another snag in selling the land. I’m sorry. I can’t find the deed. It doesn’t mean there isn’t one. It just means that you’ll have to get a copy from the courthouse.”

  “At least that makes sense. Don’t worry. I’ll get a copy of the deed. I should have everything wrapped up Monday and be able to head home.”

  “You’re such a good girl.” Sandra’s words were fading as her head slipped lower on Sarah’s shoulder.

  “Don’t pass out on me. I can’t move you. Get up, Mom. Let’s get you out to the car. Come on.”

  But it was too late. Her mother had passed out, her head slipping to Sarah’s lap. She was gently snoring in the next few seconds.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Sarah sighed. She’d have to get out from under her and get Charlie to p
ut her in the car. “I’m sure glad we had this visit.”

  “Problems?” Jack asked though she couldn’t see him in the shadows.

  “This is my mother, Sandra.”

  “We’ve met. Want me to take her upstairs?”

  “No. I’d hate to think how that would end. Her head might explode in the morning. Her driver is in the car. I just have to get her out there.”

  “Allow me.”

  He stepped in front of her and gently put his hands under Sandra’s back and legs, lifting her like a child.

  “Thanks. I’ll run ahead and alert her driver.”

  But when Sarah reached the car two steps ahead of Jack, Charlie was snoring, his head thrown back, mouth open, in the driver’s seat. She couldn’t wake him when she called his name and shook him.

  “Smells like he’s had a few too many. I think your mother needs a new driver,” Jack observed. “Upstairs then?”

  “Sorry. Yes. Thanks. We’ll leave him here. He can sleep it off in the car.”

  Sarah tried to get ahead of him and turn on the lights but Jack was in the house before her. Nimble-footed and knowing the way, he reached her grandparent’s old bedroom in the dark without her help. He lay Sandra gently on the bed and backed away.

  “I hope her head doesn’t explode in the morning,” Jack said. “Why does she hate this place so much?”

  “I don’t think she hates it. I think she’s just afraid she might have to live here again.” Sarah removed her mother’s shoes and pulled the quilt over her.

  She and Jack went downstairs together.

  “Guess that means you’re spending the night?”

  “I guess so.” She put her hands in her pockets and looked up at him. “I’m sorry you’re going to lose your home. I know you don’t want me to say that, but I wish it could be different.”

  “It’s your life. It can be however you want it to be.”

  She watched him walk out the door before she went upstairs to her mother’s old room and fell asleep in her clothes.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was still dark when Sarah felt a hand at her shoulder and heard a voice telling her it was time to wake up.