Gourd to Death. Kirsten Weiss

glass door, “but Marla was right. You don’t understand pumpkin festivals. They’re cutthroat.” She rubbed her neck.

      Mrs. Thistleblossom still sat alone in the corner booth.

      I smiled at Charlene, smoothed the front of my apron, and approached her. “Mrs. Thistleblossom?”

      She started. “Oh!” she said in a quavery voice. “Yes?”

      “Hi, I’m Val Harris.” I extended my hand.

      She looked like I’d offered her arsenic.

      “It’s nice to finally meet you,” I said, stuffing my hand back into my apron pocket. “I’ve heard your pumpkin pie is the one to beat. I’m looking forward to tasting it.”

      She grimaced, exposing yellowed teeth. “Why, thank you, my dear. You have such a lovely pie shop.” Her voice deepened. “It would be a shame if something happened to it.”

      “Hap—” I blinked. “What would happen to it?”

      “Nothing, nothing. This terrible news got me thinking—you’ve heard about Dr. Levant’s murder?” Her face contorted. “A murder that shall not go unavenged.”

      “Y-yes. Did you know Dr. Levant?”

      “She was my eye doctor. And it’s no mystery why you’re asking. We all know about your little detecting society. You should tread carefully, young Val.”

      Little detecting society? When she said it, it just sounded creepy.

      “Now to business.” She folded her gloved hands atop a patent leather purse. “I’d like to order one of your pumpkin pies, the one with the little maple leaves and pumpkins on the top crust?”

      “You don’t need to order it. I’d be happy to give you one.”

      Cries of outrage drifted from the counter.

      “Because you’re a contest entrant,” I clarified. Maybe Charlene was getting to me, but I didn’t want to be accused of taking bribes disguised as pie purchases. I’d had to reveal my connection to Gordon to the judges as a potential conflict of interest. They’d assured me since he was a law-abiding cop, they trusted he wouldn’t give me any tip-offs about which pie was his. And he hadn’t.

      “Did I say one?” Her spectacles glittered. “I meant, I’d like one hundred.”

      “Oh,” I said, taken aback.

      “Attempted bribery!” Charlene howled. “Everyone saw it.”

      But all my customers’ backs were mysteriously turned away, their shoulders hunched.

      Mrs. Thistleblossom’s eyes narrowed behind their spectacles. She deliberately tapped her handbag. “If you’re turning down my generous offer, I will be very disappointed.”

      My piecrust maker stepped closer to the booth. “Get used to the feeling, you old—”

      “Charlene!” I turned to the diminutive woman. “Would you like another cup of coffee?”

      “Why, yes.” Mrs. Thistleblossom extended the cup.

      “Then you’ll have to get it yourself,” Charlene said, “because we’re self-serve.”

      I took the cup. “But I’m happy to get a cup for a fellow baker.” I stalked to the coffee urn and filled the mug.

      “Excellent,” Mrs. Thistleblossom purred. “That will give you time to reconsider my offer.”

      Marla shifted on her barstool. “That was your second mistake,” she murmured into her mug.

      “What was the first?” I asked, then thought better of it. “Never mind.” Do not engage.

      I brought Mrs. Thistleblossom her cup. “I’m afraid I can’t sell you the pies before the contest. But I can give you the number of another bakery that delivers.”

      “How disappointing.” She smiled coldly. Her lenses glinted, two flat and shining disks.

      An odd chill rippled through me. In that moment, there was something uncanny about the old lady. Then the moment passed, and she was just a little old lady in a print dress.

      I’d been spending too much time with Charlene. Now I was starting to see the supernatural everywhere.

      The bell over the front door jingled.

      I backed from the table. “It was great meeting you, Mrs.—”

      “Val!” a feminine voice screeched.

      Someone tackled me, and I tumbled sideways.

      Chapter Five

      I gasped, the breath squeezed from my lungs. Clutching the back of a pink booth, I struggled to stay upright.

      “Cut it out.” My brother, Doran, pried a tiny Asian woman from around my waist.

      The woman gripped my shoulders and beamed up at me. “Val! It’s me.”

      Confused, I tried to place her. She wore professional dress. Brown wool slacks. Tan sweater. Matching blazer. Plaid scarf.

      Nope, I had no idea who she was.

      I wheezed. “Ah . . .”

      My brother scraped the shock of blue-black hair out of his eyes. “Val, this is, um, my mom, Mrs. Harris.” He stared meaningfully at me. “You know, I told you she was coming?”

      “But you can call me Takako,” she said.

      Doran folded his arms over his black motorcycle jacket. He shot his mother an exasperated look.

      “Your mom?” I gaped, blindsided. He hadn’t told me she was coming to visit.

      “And your stepmom.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t get emotional.”

      I remembered my manners. “It’s nice to finally meet you Mrs.—uh, Takako.” Why hadn’t he told me she was coming?

      She sniffed. “I know what you’re thinking.”

      “You do?” I really hoped she didn’t.

      “But I am not here to try and take your mother’s place or make things weird. I just needed to . . . meet you.” She pressed both hands into a prayer position and touched them to her mouth. “You look so much like your father.”

      Doran and I groaned. Our father was good-looking, but he was also just one step ahead of the law. This wasn’t a compliment.

      “Ah, family,” Mrs. Thistleblossom muttered. “So important. So painful to lose.”

      Okay that was . . . Was she trying to spook me?

      “Ignore the old grouch.” Charlene elbowed her way into our little group. “So, you’re the wicked stepmother, eh?”

      The smile Takako returned looked forced. “I suppose I am. I would have come sooner, but Doran was keeping Val a secret.”

      “Sorry,” Charlene said gruffly. “Bad joke.” She studied Takako and her son. Doran was taller and slimmer than Takako, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. “I’m Charlene.”

      They shook hands.

      “Please, sit down.” I ushered them to a booth on the opposite side of the restaurant from Mrs. Thistleblossom. The old lady was starting to give me the heebie-jeebies. “Can I get you some coffee? Pie?”

      “I’ll take a refill.” Charlene extended her mug to me.

      “Coffee,” Takako said. “Black.”

      “I’ll be right back.” I hustled to the counter.

      Tally-Wally whistled. “A long-lost brother, and now a long-lost