Give Em Pumpkin To Talk About (Pumpkin Patch Mysteries Book 1) (4 page)

“You know something more than you’re saying too.” She thought about his accusations and the promise he’d made to her grandfather. “No one makes a promise to someone and lives off the land after that promise should have been invalid. Come on. They’ve been gone sixteen years. When does your promise end?”

His hard chin went up. “When I say it does.”

They both heard the sound of approaching sirens. It would only be a few minutes now.  

Sarah put her gun and phone on the table. “It must be time for you to run away. Otherwise you might not like what the sheriff has to say. And a friend of mine from the FBI is coming to take a look at the investigation so far. He might want to talk to you too.”

 “Are you trying to get rid of me already? And after I saved your life. You could at least pretend to be grateful.”

There was a stiff knock on the front door followed by a bellowing voice from outside. The sirens were still coming toward them. It wasn’t Sheriff Morgan yet.

Sarah went to see who was there, thinking the killer would be unlikely to knock on the door and demand admittance. She knew she was right when she confronted a man in his worn overalls and a T-shirt standing in front of her.

“Can I help you?” she asked him.

“I hope so. It’s not hunting season. Are you the new owner of this place? I live over yonder. We don’t like loud noises this time of morning. Throws the cows off. How about you keep it down?”

She glanced at the driveway. There were still only two cars. The older man had walked through the field to reach the house. He was serious about his peace and quiet.

“I’m sorry. Someone was shooting. It wasn’t me. The sheriff is on his way.”

The man sat on the top step. “Good. I want to register a complaint. All that shooting scared my horses. A couple of them ran off. It’ll take me most of today to get them back. You people from the city think you can come out here and party down at all hours of the day and night. We’ll see about that.”

Sarah hid a smile as she turned to see if Jack found the conversation humorous too. But he was gone. The kitchen was empty—he’d taken George Burris’s file with him. What was she going to tell Sheriff Morgan now? At least the file made sense of her early morning meeting.

She closed the front door and sat on the top step with the man in his overalls. “Did you know Tommy and Bess?”

“Of course. I’ve lived here all of my life. Good people. The aliens got them. I keep hoping they bring them back.”

“Aliens?”

“Sure. How else did they disappear that way—unless you believe in government conspiracies?” He squinted at her. “Lots of people in Misty River think the government took them. Who knows where? I hope they’re happy out there if that’s what happened.”

“When was the last time you saw them?” Sarah was making this up as she went along. But who better to know than this nosey neighbor? She didn’t remember him, but she ignored most adults when she was twelve.

“Let me think.” He scratched his head. “I believe I saw Tommy outside talking to Jack the day before they disappeared.”

“Jack?” She picked up quickly. “You know Jack?”

“Sure. He’s a big help during foaling. Nobody calmer with the mares than him.”

The deputies’ cars were noisy coming down the road. Sarah took a deep breath and got to her feet. Jack was a busy man—popping up when she got here, helping his neighbor with foals, and stealing her information before ducking out. She wanted to see the sheriff’s reaction to what she had to say about him.

“Thanks for your help,” she said to her neighbor. “I’m Sarah Tucker, Bess and Tommy’s granddaughter.”

He slowly got to his feet. “I’m Grayson Pope. I’m glad someone from the family finally came back to take care of this place. You know, when Tommy and I were young, there was only our farms for miles around. I took over from my father and my grandfather. Tommy did the same. Too bad there was no man born in your family. Women make bad farmers.”

Sarah watched him shuffle off to complain to a large man getting out of his car. Would it help her case if she could use Grayson Pope as a witness?

“Ms. Tucker, I assume.” The large man in uniform shook hands with her neighbor and then removed his cowboy hat when he reached her. “Sheriff Bill Morgan, ma’am. What’s going on out here?”

They walked through the house together, the sheriff holding the flashlight, as he took a quick look at George Burris’ body on the living room floor. He asked her if there was any coffee when they reached the kitchen.

“I don’t live here, sheriff,” Sarah said. “I only came down to pay the back taxes and put the property up for sale.”

“Too bad.” He yawned. “I could use a cup.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s Jack? I thought for sure he’d be here.”

“The man is a squatter on my grandparents’ farm,” she reminded him in a sharp tone. “Shouldn’t it be your job to remove him?”

He took offense, his eyes narrowing in his tan face. “Don’t come down here and presume to tell me what my job is, Ms. Tucker. No one from the family gave a crap all these years about this place falling apart. At least Jack cuts the grass sometimes. He did more to honor Tommy and Bess’s memory than their family.”

She was amazed by his reply and his casual acceptance of the man breaking the law on her property. For a moment she was speechless.

“So what’s the story here?” Sheriff Morgan took the opportunity to question her. “Why is George dead in your house?”

This was happening so fast that she felt the need to sit again. At least she’d stopped vomiting. That had been embarrassing. She’d thought she was made of sterner stuff.

Sarah explained how the newspaper reporter had called her and asked to meet at the house. “He said he had better information about my grandparents than you did—which was also what you told me.”

“He was probably right. George always seemed to be part rat. He could find tiny bits of information that he used to make the rest of us look bad. What happened then? You didn’t like something he had to say so you shot him?”

“What?” She put a hand to her forehead. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d been afraid of that Jack had laughed off? “Of course I didn’t shoot him. I was standing outside and someone shot him through the front window. You saw the body.” She showed him her tiny gun. “I couldn’t have done it with this.”

 “I was just joking with you. It took something big to do that damage. Probably someone didn’t want George spilling the beans, bless his soul.” He took the gun from her anyway. “What happened to the information he promised you?”

“It was here, but Jack walked out with it.”

He grinned. “I knew old Jack was here. Did he know who the killer was?”

“If he did, he didn’t say. But he took the folder that we found on the floor with Mr. Burris. I barely had a chance to look at it. Maybe that warrants you searching the property until you get the folder. That might have some clues as to who killed him.”

“It might at that,” Sheriff Morgan replied. “But Jack will see we get it back. Why did you agree to meet George out here? A sudden interest in what happened to your grandparents? Guilty conscience?”

“I guess you could call it that. I was just a kid when they disappeared. When I got back, I started wondering what happened all over again. If that’s a crime, then I’m guilty.”

He pressed the button on the radio he wore on his shoulder. “Go on and come in,” he instructed his people. “Give the crime scene folks a call.”

Sarah waited in the kitchen as the living room was flooded with deputies and flashlights. She felt completely out of her depth. She knew nothing about homicide proceedings besides what she’d read in books or seen in movies.

The sheriff had looked at her phone and taken her driver’s license with her gun. He’d told her to wait, treating her more like a criminal than an innocent bystander. He didn’t seem interested in talking to Jack at all. Sheriff Morgan was clearly on Jack’s side. It was crazy to her that everyone knew Jack was here but no one did anything to remedy the situation.

A good-looking deputy with the name
Broadwell
on his nametag brought her phone and license back with apologies that the sheriff was keeping the gun for testing. “Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am? We’re here to serve.”

Sarah thanked him. His flirting brought a smile to her lips, despite the trying night she’d had. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

He tipped his hat and left her. Sarah dialed her mother’s phone number with a shaky hand. She probably should have called her to keep from making this mistake in the first place. Thinking back on it, she should have stayed at the hotel. Her mother would have told her as much.

“It looks like I’m going to be at least another day or two,” she began her explanation when her mother’s sleepy voice answered.

“Sarah, it’s barely six a.m.,” her mother said. “What’s going on out there?”

“I’m not sure, Mom, but I might be a suspect in a murder.”

Chapter Four

Sarah fell asleep at the table waiting for the sheriff and his deputies to finish their work in the house. When she awakened, there was the smell of coffee in the air and a pillow under her head. Because George Burris’s file had been returned, she knew Jack had done those things. The man needed a bell around his neck.

She located a dish towel in the pantry and went outside. The sun was finally up and the sky was clear. Everything seemed better.

It took a little doing, but she finally found the hand pump by following a path where the tall grass had been flattened. The water was cool and fresh. She wiped her face and washed her hands, feeling much more herself afterward.

Inside, she rummaged in the cabinet until she found one of her grandmother’s old coffee cups. It had strawberries on it, as did her plates. Her grandmother had loved strawberries. Sarah poured herself a cup of coffee from the old percolator-type pot on the stove. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever had better.

The power was on now—lights were on in the kitchen and the living room. Mace was as good as his word.

As she drank the coffee, and wished for a donut, Sheriff Morgan returned to the kitchen.

“Ms. Tucker, we’re finished for now. Try not to go into that room. You never know when the crime scene people might want to take another look.”

“That’s fine. I’m meeting someone here shortly, but then I’m headed back to the hotel in Suffolk.”

He glanced around the kitchen. “I shared many a cup of coffee here with Bess and Tommy.”

She held up the pot. “Would you like some?”

“Sure. Thanks.” He took a seat as she dusted off another cup.

“I don’t have cream or sugar,” she warned.

“Not a problem.”

Sarah put the cup in front of him, and he thanked her before taking a sip.

“There’s some chicory in that, huh?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure what chicory is. The coffee was here when I woke up.”

He chuckled. “Good old Jack.”

“Tell me something, Sheriff Morgan. What is it about this man squatting on my property that everyone loves so much?”

“Jack’s one of the good ones,” he said. “I’d trust him with my daughter, which is saying a lot for me.”

“I get that. And he’s good with foaling mares, according to Mr. Pope next door. But he keeps popping up, scaring the crap out of me. He acts like he owns the farm. I had planned to call you and have him arrested if he wouldn’t leave on his own.”

He lost a lot of his mellow mood at her words. “You want me to arrest Jack for doing what your grandparents asked him to do? That hardly seems fair.”

Maybe now they were getting to the heart of it. “What did they ask him to do?”

“Keep an eye on the farm, of course. He won’t let anyone hunt here, and chases off trespassers. Do you think this house would look as good as it does after all these years if Jack hadn’t been here? Windows get broken by birds, and teenagers look for spots like this to hang out. Some people think this place is haunted because of Jack. Nobody comes here.”

“How do you know they asked him to watch the place? How do you know he didn’t kill them and bury them somewhere under all that grass?”

“I take his word for it since he’s been here all these years. No offense, but your mother sure wasn’t interested in the farm. She made that clear from the time she was a young’un. Then there was you and your brother. The two of you never came back after the day Tommy and Bess disappeared. Jack and I both figured you’d sell the place off. And here you are.”

Sarah took a sip of her coffee. “We were very young when it happened. My brother, Dusty, was only seven. I’m not sure he even remembers this place.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“So Jack’s plan is to take care of the farm until my grandparents come back?”

“Something like that.” He shrugged. “He’s a man of his word. He’s taken care of the old pumpkin patch. You know there are still pumpkins growing out there. I guess they reseed themselves every year. Jack lets a few people come out here and pick some. No reason all of them should go bad. Tommy loved that patch.”

Sarah felt as though she understood a little more about why Jack was there. But it wasn’t like he was a member of the family. She was grateful to him for keeping up with the house and not letting people come in and tear it apart. Maybe once it was sold, he’d find another place to live.

“I gotta get going.” Sheriff Morgan got to his feet. “I’m beat. I need a shower and some fresh clothes before I start the day. My wife is keeping breakfast warm—biscuits and eggs. You’re welcome to come home with me and eat. She always makes extra.”

“I have to change too, but thanks.” She held out the file that Jack had returned. “I haven’t really looked at it, but you can have it if you think it will help you catch Mr. Burris’s killer.”

“Thanks. I have the file I promised you in the car.”

“Thank you. I’ll walk you out.”

They went through the back door and around the house. A red rose vine was growing up the side of the porch. The roses were beautiful, deep and red. Their perfume was heavy in the early morning air. Sarah remembered it because she had frequently snagged her clothes on it when she was a kid. She had always run around the corner without looking.