Pumpkins And Trickery Read online

  “I think it’s the other way around. Though, yeah, it’s so unfortunate.”

  I lead him through the house and into the living room, where he takes the armchair, while I make myself comfortable on the couch.

  “Would you like something to drink, detective?” I ask, out of nicety.

  “No,” he smiles appreciatively, “I suggest we better get this thing started, shall we?”

  I nod and wait for him to start asking his questions, and suddenly I’m dragged back in time a month ago when something similar to this happened. I was nervous back then, and I’d say that I’m not any less now.

  To know that you’re involved into a murder mystery is not so comforting an idea.

  “What are the reasons behind your being at the pumpkin patch?” he asks, and once again I’m reminded of how foolish and senseless his questions might sound.

  “I was just browsing for pumpkins there, of course,” I connote. Like, what else would he have me do at a pumpkin store?

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Well, with harvest settling in, it is a tradition of mine now to have my yard filled with all sorts of season decorations. And since pumpkins are the classical symbol of October, I purchase lots of them and indulge in my craft work.”

  “That sounds,” he squints and adds, “refreshing.”

  “Well, it is,” I smile, bringing in mind the joy I get out of this little activity.

  “So, how did this happen? I mean, how did you come to find him underneath the vines?”

  “I was just looking, as I was saying, for autumn pumpkins, and for a moment I had this perfectly symmetrical vine in my hands and all the while admiring it, I noticed an unflinching hand that had me all startled. That’s when it happened. I brushed the covering vines aside to reveal the remains underneath the compilation. It still startles me,” I squint as though talking to myself. “How can a man end up beneath a vine compilation in a pumpkin shop?”

  “Before the incident, who did you meet with at the pumpkin shop?”

  “Um,” I frown, recalling the whole situation in my mind. “Actually, I had a little encounter with just about everybody at the shop. Well, almost. I’m a regular to the shop, you see. And we’ve come to grow very amicable together.”

  “Regular?” he frowns, recalling the fact that it’s a pumpkin shop that we’re talking about.

  “Well, you know, the shop attendance is seasonal when it comes to the pumpkin patch, so I guess my annual visits might count as regular, you know?”

  “Hmm,” he mutters disbelievingly, and looks at me suspiciously, making me fidget in my seat. “What were your conversations with the shop crew regarding?”

  “Um, just causal chit-chat.” Like, literally, I find it unnecessary mentioning every silly detail about those conversations.

  “Would you recall anything suspicious taking place at the shop that day?” he looks totally unaffected by all this, and his face remains inexpressible.

  I frown, going through everything that happened to the patch. Actually, after I came across the remains underneath the vine compilation, everything blurred away from me, and all I could focus on was concern. But now that I’m at a more convenient environment such as home, I believe that I can see things more clearly.

  “Actually there was something,” I frown, looking somewhere unsettled in the air, trying to experience everything in detail.

  “Mm-hmm,” he pushes me to go on.

  “One of the newly-adjoined shop crew. I didn’t get his name actually. He came up to me with a rather bizarre behavior, but then again, he might’ve just been moody at the time. Happens to everyone.” I just don’t want to drag anyone in this without being totally sure. I mean, yeah, that guy at the shop seemed very quirky, but you never know what hides underneath the layers. So I’m not so eager to jump into conclusions so fast. “I don’t want to pin this on anybody just yet. But it is weird, don’t you think, that there’s a body at a shop, beneath the vine composition and the crew know nothing about it?” I realize that it’s not me who get to do the questions here.

  “What was your gab with him concerning?” it seems like this is sounding somewhat interesting to him.

  “Well, he just criticized me about cluttering up his composition. Which is weird, because I’m a customer and I was browsing for items that I’d purchase. And quite frankly I wasn’t making that big of a mess.”

  “What else? Did something happen, other than this, that struck you as bizarre?”

  “Well, if I’m being honest, everyone at the shop seemed a little bit…rushed. As though they were focused elsewhere. And,” I frown, as pieces of memory come to place. “The shop owner, one of the customers told me he’d been acting strange lately.”

  “Strange how?” he seems to scribble something on his notepad.

  “Mr. Grantham is a very amicable person. You’d find him showing interest over everything about your life, but he’s started acting carpingly at the crew. And to be honest, it seemed like he didn’t even want to talk to me in the first place. Usually we’d be involving into prolonged, friendly conversations. But that was not the case, if we count my visit to the shop.”

  I’m waiting for his prospect question, but he just stops looking at the notepad for what seems like a thoughtful moment. I know that he’s probably trying to figure his way into solving this mystery using the latent information I might’ve given him.

  “Detective,” I proceed, since this vacuous time has made me mull over the latent suspects too. “Does my being in the shop and finding the remains somehow make me an implication?”

  “I wouldn’t say that it wouldn’t. But one thing you should know, there are plenty of other more important suspects that I need to look into. But don’t think for a second that finding the victim wouldn’t connect you to the mystery.”

  That’s not so comforting an idea, but still I can see it in his eyes that he’s running through other itineraries at the moment. I can tell that he’s following other leads, and if I were to have a say in this, then I’d address this mystery to the pumpkin patch in the first place.

  “Who was companioning you?” he proceeds.

  “It was Heather, though she wasn’t with me when I found the body. And she didn’t even want to come there in the first place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t think she’s so keen on everything about harvest as I am. And besides, I think that there are other things going on with her.”

  “Yeah?” he wishes for me to proceed.

  “Personal stuff. That in no way are connected to this mystery.” I know that probably I won’t get away with this retort, but for some reason, he seems to be comprehensive this time, and doesn’t propel to dig deeper into this. Which I’m grateful about. I wouldn’t have him require insidious information about my friend who’s dealing with unfortunate stuff in her life right now.

  “What would you say Heather was doing at the time you found the body?” he proceeds and keeps scribbling on his notepad.

  “I’m not sure.” I squint, in an endeavor to figure what my friend might’ve been doing at the time. “She was probably outdoors, trying to breathe in everything that wasn’t pumpkin-related.”

  “Hmm,” he mutters and it seems like my retort doesn’t satisfy him, meaning that it isn’t helpful to his investigation. “One more things,” he proceeds. “Did you get your pumpkins after all?”

  I hinge aback. I don’t see how this would be relevant in any case, but I respond anyway.

  “I did not. I don’t think that I had the luxury to browse while bigger things were happening.” I cease for a moment and then I ask him about something that I know I probably won’t get an answer to, but I carry on anyway, out of curiosity. “Would you interrogate the crew members? What do you know about the man who was murdered until now?”

  He looks at me soundlessly in what I think looks like a reprimanding stare and then he lets it out. “That’s classified. For now I’d
suggest you try to keep yourself out of trouble. It’s for the best.”

  When the detective decides he’s gotten all the information there is from me, he makes his way into the front door, and I escort him, while Coral waddles around my feet. And a thought strikes me. The last things I wanted to involve myself into, with autumn settling in, was a murder mystery. And yet here I am. And what’s more, I might be a suspect to it, since for all I know, they might think I’m an implication. And that’s when I know I have to do something about this. Since I won’t be able to get much out of Detective Cassidy, I’m going to make an investigation of my own.

  And suddenly everything seems like a frightening, mystique, ghost-haunted, Halloween night.

  Chapter Three

  I’ve been mulling over the rearrangement of my itinerary regarding my visit to the pumpkin patch. I know that my yard is in desperate need of decorative harvest vines, though for some reason I can’t get myself to go into the store again.

  I’ve been sitting on my porch’s stairs, mug of tea in hand, staring at the empty-looking yard and imagining it embellished with seasonal decorations. And I place my mug above the stair alongside me, when the man comes out of the house next door.

  For the last couple of hours, I’ve been hearing lots of crackles coming out from the house next to mine and it took me a while to realize that someone was moving in. I had my hopes up, wishing that Braiden was coming back to town, but when I saw the face of the unrecognizable man coming from inside the house, all my merriness vanished in spur of moment.

  I haven’t been in touch with Braiden for a while now, but I guess that they must’ve sold the house to this strange man. That, or he’s part of the kin that has stayed out of the radar for quite a while now.

  The truck with all his belongings packed up into boxes has moved away now, and there are plenty of other boxes compiled in his yard.

  “Would you like any help with that?” I ask him, knowing that a lot of systemizing is waiting for him inside and I don’t spot anybody else around that could give him a hand.

  “I was told that the townspeople were very friendly,” he smiles at me appreciatively. “Guess the tea was right.”

  “I am Ainsley,” I smile. “I live next door.”

  ”That I can see. Nice to meet you Ainsley,” he wipes his hand off of the latent dusk on the back of his jeans (if I’m not mistaken, on the part covering up his bottom), and he leans forward the fence that is warding off one yard from another, hand stretching along.

  I move myself from the stairs and toward him, and I clutch his big hand, and he holds mine in a frim, unflinching grasp.

  “My name is Gideon, your new neighbor it seems like.”

  “Nice to meet you Gideon,” I try to form a confident smile, trying to not come across to him as lightheaded, while drawing my hand back from his warm firm shake. “I’m coming to help you, anyway,” I say, moving along, not waiting for further instructions.

  Meanwhile, Coral moves next to me, while I swivel from my yard to the one next door.

  “Where would you have me put this?” I say, while getting hold of one of the boxes to his yard.

  “You really don’t have to do that,” he says, amicably, and somewhat chagrined if I’m not mistaken.

  “Oh, please, it’s my pleasure to help,” I connote and start moving my legs toward the house, not knowing where this box should be affixed.

  “This way,” he seems to be getting along with my endeavor of helping him now, probably realizing that his refusal was just futile, while leading me inside the house, having grabbed one of the other boxes in his yard.

  When we go into the house, I take in the dusty air inside and I’m captured by a strange feeling. It’s just discomposing to know that someone who isn’t Mr. Gleason or his kin (I mean, the latter is questionable but I’m tending to see through it) is moving in to the house.

  “Did you know the person whom the house belonged to?” I ask, bringing in mind that he must’ve been in touch with Braiden or his relatives. And just the thought of it gets me so wishful. Boy, I miss Braiden so much.

  “Well, not personally. I always interacted with the realtor, when I bought the house.”

  “You bought the house?” I ask, startled. I wasn’t in on the plan. I didn’t know that Braiden would want to sell the house. I mean, it probably, legally wasn’t even his to sell. But still. He could’ve told me something. If he even talked to me in the first place.

  “Yeah, I was looking for something quiet and cozy in a small town, and I came across this option. It seemed perfect at first. Sure there are a few things that need fixing, but not something too drastic, you know?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I nod. The house is really comfortable. And that’s not much to say, considering that Mr. Gleason was really wealthy.

  Meanwhile, Coral has managed to bring himself into the house and he’s lingering beneath Gideon’s legs, and I’m a little shocked to be honest. It’s not with everybody that Coral hits it off right off the bat.

  “What?” Gideon has spotted the smile maundering on my lips, while I look at his legs.

  “It’s my cat. He seems to like you,” I say joyously.

  “Oh,” I think that he just noticed the presence of my cat underneath his feet. “Hello, there.” He says to the cat, and this moment alone is so adorable.

  I know that it probably is not my place to say this, but I do anyway. “Did you know that a homicide happened to the house prior?”

  “I heard it was a cupcake shop where the scene happened,” he squints, and it seems like he’s quite at ease with everything.

  “Well, technically, yes. My cupcake shop.”

  “No way,” for some reason it seems like this news amuses him. He finds my being the owner of the house rather interesting. “So you’re a baker?”

  “Hmm,” I chuckle. “Well, technically, I’m a business person. But yeah, I love to bake. So I guess you got that right.

  “What are the chances?” he seems more amused this time. “I’m a business person too.”

  “Yeah? What do you do?”

  “Well, I invest in real property and then I sell them with the best price I can get. It seems to be working out pretty nice for me.”

  “That’s great. But, why choose a small town?” I frown, trying to see the bigger picture.

  “I’m just trying to settle down these days. I made quite a fortune doing what I do, and it was about time that I started to enjoy the money I’ve earned. And besides Lazulville is quite an attraction nowadays. I think that I’m going to be able to extend my business a while longer.”

  “Do you know the name of the former owner of the house?” I cannot help my lust for knowing.

  “Yeah, I think it was Hayden or something.”

  “Braiden,” I correct him, and then I frown.

  So, Braiden inherited the house. A million thoughts bounce in my head at the moment, all the while heading outside to carry over more boxes into the house.

  • • •

  “This is Tyson, my boyfriend. We’re dating,” mutters Kierra merrily. I’ve never seen her this happy. Sure, she always seems at peace with the world and everything seems to be so at ease with her, but now I could say that she’s more vigorous than ever.

  Tyson is very pretty and I can see why she’s so into him. They’re like a perfect match, designed for an animated movie. He’s tall and sinewy, but yet kind of lean at the same time, blonde hair hanging on one side of his forehead—the perfect paradigm for a perfect teenage boy. And I wouldn’t pair him up with a better person than Kierra, since she’s like the perfect blonde sweetheart that everyone wants to keep around them.

  I can tell that their being together is making Heather kind of wishful.

  But how could she not? The perfection of their mesmerizing-beyond-confines relationship is making me kind of wishful. I guess it doesn’t happen that often that two gorgeous looking people would be dating together.

  “He’s pretty,” I mutter
to Kierra, looking at her sideways, talking with lopsided lips as though he wouldn’t hear.

  He guffaws like a typical high school guy and says, “Thanks.”

  While I give Kierra her usual cupcakes (which I recon, this time she’d share with her ravishing boyfriend), she says something that I didn’t expect to hear from her.

  “Everybody in town is muddling up about the murder of that man,” she didn’t say his name, but I think that she doesn’t know, too.

  “Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow enquiringly.

  “I’ve been hearing all sorts of crazy things. There are even people to think you’re entailed to the mystery. But I just snub them. I think you wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

  “Well, that’s nice to know,” I say, hinged aback. It’s not like I picked finding his body out of choice. It was just a coincidence.

  “So tell me,” her voice gets a warmer nuance now, as though she’s about to have an insidious, classified conversation with me, that only she and I know about. “Who do you think might’ve done that?”

  “Me? Why do you ask me?” I knew that finding the body would raise a lot of attention form the townspeople, but I didn’t think they’d be counting on me to find who the murderer is.

  “Because I think you have a fetish for solving mysteries. And you’re quite good at it too.”

  “Oh,” I don’t know whether I should be thanking her or hinging. “I think that it’s too soon to jump into conclusions. I mean, I don’t even know his name.”

  “It was Colten Mahoney.”

  Oh, my God. I don’t know what it is about a murder mystery that gets everyone so interested in.

  “Well, like detective said, it’s better if we stay out of this. After all, you’ve got a ravishing boyfriend to savor, and you have to make the most out of this relationship.” It’s just too magical to see something so beautiful as a couple made of stunningly captivating people.

  “Isn’t it so amazing?” she asks, merrily.

  “Surely,” I gawk at these two admirably, while they hit the exit.