The Pumpkin Thief: A Chloe Boston Mystery (12 page)

I had an image of Alex’s parents culled from various reminiscences he had shared, but the reality was so distorted from Alex’s description that I might as well have been looking in a funhouse mirror. Alex’s parents seemed nice enough, though Rosemary was the driving force and the husband just a suit of clothes that did her bidding, but Alex’s sister Gwen and the hand puppet she had married were another matter. We had barely taken our seats at the table—and by we, I don’t mean Zack, Alex’s cherished nephew who ran around the dining room for the entire meal throwing Legos at everything and everyone— when Gwen began describing her Thanksgiving plans, without ever once suggesting that I might like to join them for the holiday. Alex’s mom had the grace to look uncomfortable and finally leaned forward and interrupted her daughter’s monologue.

“What are you plans for the holiday, Chloe?”

My first response—
obviously
not having it with you
— couldn’t be uttered. I considered various answers carefully, which worried Alex, and then I said: “I’m having Thanksgiving at my place this year. It will be my folks and a few orphans who have no one else.” If this story was good enough for my mom, it was good enough for Alex’s rude family. “If Alex is up my way then I’d love to have him too, of course.”

“But he can’t! He always has Thanksgiving with us. Zack would be just crushed if Alex wasn’t here.” The furrows that suddenly bracketed Gwen’s mouth and dented her brow looked as deep as scars and I wondered what emotional wound had left them. Certainly she had worn this expression a lot over the years to make it so strong. Gwen struggled to produce a few crocodile tears but failed to so much as dampen her eye makeup.

Secretly I was relieved. If she had cried I would have had to offer some gesture of comfort. As it was, I could go on thinking nasty things about her without being outwardly rude.

“Alex is supposedly an adult.” I felt Alex flinch as I spoke, but believed it was time that someone scrape the scales off his eyes. “I’m sure he can figure out plans for himself.”

Rosemary let out a gasp and then quickly changed the subject.

I ate as quickly as I could and said next to nothing for the rest of the meal. It was easy; Gwen talked almost nonstop. About how precious and precocious Zack was. The men never said a word. I couldn’t get a read on how Alex was taking this, except to know that he was increasingly uncomfortable. He was smart enough not to suggest in any way that Gwen’s increasingly bad mood was my fault and therefore my responsibility, but he didn’t seem to be at the point of suggesting that it might actually be her responsibility either. I guess everyone has their role in the family. Gwen was the terrorist.

Though I hate to cop to it, I have inherited many of my mom’s traditional social values. Good manners while breaking bread and the pretext of enjoying it— and the company of those who prepared it— was one of them. That part was a struggle on many levels. Gwen aside, there were more croutons than salad on our plates— because Zack would eat them but not lettuce and the meal was designed to cater to his tastes. I hate the toasted abominations. It’s cruel thing to do to perfectly good bread. The pork chops were tough and over-salted— deliberately over-cooked, I bet, to inspire guilt at our late arrival— and I think the green stuff used to be spinach. Picking at my food, I decided that I had been unnecessarily self-critical about my own cooking.

I wasn’t the only one suffering, but we masticated manfully. The only one to tell the truth was Zack who shouted ‘yuck!’ when his mom suggested that he might want to eat some dinner.

“You must try my strawberry rhubarb pie. Everyone loves it,” Gwen insisted as her husband cleared the dinner dishes away. I heard a Lego break as he trod on it and bobbled the dishes in his arms, but he never said a word to his son about picking up his toys.

“Just a sliver then,” I said because though I am polite, I am not at all fond of rhubarb, no matter how much strawberry you mix into it. Making nice was okay because we were almost out of there.

But either over-developed good manners or a certain clairvoyance mixed with a desire to make me ill prompted Alex’s sister to hand me a ‘sliver’ that was roughly one quarter of the pie. Her smile was a lot like Althea’s when she was ten and double-dog-daring me to do something stupid. I was really beginning to hate Gwen.

“Here,” I said to Alex. “This piece is for you. Don’t cut any for me, Gwen. I’ll just nibble off Alex’s plate.”

I knew Alex didn’t like rhubarb either, but too bad for him.

“Don’t be silly—” she began. Her voice was getting shrill and her husband and parents froze in their seats. I checked to make sure she still had hair instead of snakes. Apparently it isn’t the Medusa’s locks but rather her voice that turns people to stone.

“I don’t want any. I hate rhubarb,” I said flatly, the last of my manners giving out.

Alex stood up hurriedly.

“Daryl, have my piece,” Alex said, shoving the plate at his brother-in-law. From Daryl’s expression, I gathered he didn’t like rhubarb either. “We really have to be going. As I told you, we have business meetings in the morning and we haven’t even unpacked yet.”

I didn’t make any polite protests. I did refrain from sticking my foot out and tripping the little ape, Zack, as he careened by hurling another Lego at me. Usually there is some milling in the doorway, some hugs and goodbyes. Alex and I made it out in record time. We didn’t even begin pulling on coats until we were on the sidewalk and headed for the car parked a block and a half up the street. The silence was what Tara Lee would call fraught.

The trip back to Alex’s place was quiet. I was hoping he wouldn’t ask me anything about what was on my mind, because if he did I would be honest and it was too early in our relationship to have a full frontal family discussion. Heck it was too early to sneak one in the back door. Because this wasn’t a family I wanted to acquire or even see again and there was no good way to say that. My mom could be trying. She thrived on minor emergencies and having occasions which she could arise to, but Gwen was on a whole other level. It probably wasn’t reasonable to hope that Alex would be willing to give them up for adoption, so the less said the better. But in the end, he couldn’t let it go.

“I guess that could have gone better. Gwen is sometimes a little…” He trailed off. What was there to say? His baby sister was a rude brat who needed her mouth duct-taped closed?

“Well, I did learn two things,” I said, looking out the window and seeing nothing but headlights. “I’m glad I have no kids. Or sisters.”

That should have sounded humorous, but it didn’t. Probably because I meant every word. I had actually learned a third thing, but this I didn’t share.

 The first time I had encountered Alex he had made me cry, and the instant I had showed tears he had backed off and become conciliatory. Now I knew where he’d gotten his training. This could be useful information if the day came that I decided to be manipulative. Of course, I hoped that if that day ever came that I would just walk away.

Maybe we should have apologized for something or other just to make nice, but anything that was said that night would have been spoken under duress and meant nothing except that we were cowards about facing the truth.

Alex’s apartment was very clean and very plain, resembling most a business office. There was no sign of a woman’s touch and that was reassuring. There was some point at which he said no to his sister. Perhaps there was hope after all.

 I called Dad at once, letting him know I was safe. I left the room while we talked and asked in a hushed voice to speak to Blue, but Dad said no. She had just settled down and he didn’t want her all riled up again.

Instant guilt. My dog was riled. I wanted to talk to her but let it go since I am not completely selfish, but I missed Blue very much. I was pretty sure that Alex wasn’t going to be good company that night and I wanted my dog to comfort me.

Okay, forget honesty. Straightening my shoulder, I went back into the living room determined to make nice for the rest of the evening.

Chapter 13

Esteban Nunez didn’t come on duty until six o’clock in the evening, so we had the day free to do some sight-seeing. Deciding to put yesterday behind us, we set out to see the coast and to have lunch at Alex’s favorite restaurant, Scopozzi’s, located in the mountain town of Boulder Creek. He assured me that the sand-dabs were to die for and they had a spaghetti Bolognese that was like no other.

I liked the Santa Cruz Mountains and found myself relaxing once we were among the trees. Even Alex’s referring to the stretch of road we were on as ‘blood alley’ failed to ruin the view or my mood. Once or twice I thought of Blue, about how she would have had her breakfast and then gone out to the garage to help Dad repair something and maybe visit Old Luke. Blue loves horses, even mean ones like Luke. But mostly I stayed in the moment and just enjoyed the ride.

It was fairly easy to put the city and the previous night behind me and to forget that I was going to an even larger metropolis that afternoon. Cities are like monsters with very sharp teeth. Percentage wise, we probably have as many bad apples in Hope Falls as they do in any large city—Ryan Endicott perhaps being a good example— but it seemed that the city had enough bad people and situations that they could reach critical mass at any hour of the day and one had to be constantly wary. We might have a bar fight at Harley’s but we didn’t have riots. These smaller towns in the mountains like Boulder Creek, Felton and Ben Lomond felt different to me. Eccentric and quirky, but without mass lurking menace. I said this to Alex but he just snorted. I guess menace did lurk and I just didn’t see it because of the trees.

Scopozzi’s is an old boarding house for loggers; wood floors, low ceilings with open rafters and big fireplaces. I was in love from the moment I crossed the threshold. No, even before that. The parking lot was vibrant gold. The leaves were damp with recent rain and merely whispered and sighed as we walked on them.

The menu was extensive and old-fashioned. I like food without pretension because I feel stupid getting intimidated by an entrée I don’t recognize. Of course I had the Spaghetti Bolognese and it was the best I’ve tasted.

We headed next for Half Moon Bay. It was a bit out of the way and we had missed the pumpkin festival, but several of the nurseries there were still displaying their winning giants. They give a twenty thousand dollar prize for the biggest pumpkin! The record is one-thousand-five-hundred-twenty-four pounds. It was an Atlantic Giant. I couldn’t imagine how large that was until we actually saw the winner on display. It was big enough that if it were scooped out, children could use it as a play house. I could barely peek over the top. Alex took a picture with his phone and got me a packet of Atlantic Giant seeds.

“I can grow one of those,” I whispered as we got back in the car and Alex laughed, but in a good way. Dazzled at the possibilities, I began making plans for next year. Growing pumpkins in mulch is supposed to make them larger and there were special fertilizers. And who needed a yard anyway….

We stopped at the winery and Alex picked up a bottle of Coastal Fog chardonnay— because I liked that label best. I saw pictures of the festival on the wall there and got some ideas for Hope Falls next fall festival— like the build-a-scarecrow contest. They used Indian corn, gourds and all kinds of fall plants, not just cornstalks and clothing. And the small ones were cute, not scary.

I fell asleep in the car and had a last dream of Halloween.

Proceeding down the sidewalk, we were now four and had to walk two by two. Alex was with me, Todd and Althea, though in reality, he of course couldn’t have been there trick-or–treating with us.

“Wait a second, guys,” Alex said pulling his sheet over his head and draping it down his shoulders. He was a ghost. “We can’t go trick-or-treating without a plan. That’s for amateurs.”

“Come on, Alex,” I said.  “Stop kidding around.  We’ve always gone trick-or-treating without a plan.”

“That was last year. This is now.”  With a dramatic pause which seemed to be anticipating a drum roll, Alex pulled his sheet off completely, reached into the back pocket of his jeans, and retrieved a neatly folded sheet of brown butcher block paper. Unfolding it, the sheet of paper proved to be a good three feet square. Once unfolded, Alex held the paper up before our eyes to display what could only be described as a treasure map. Though it wasn’t full dark yet, we moved under a street lamp where the light was better.

“Wow, what is it?” Todd asked in utter fascination.

“It’s a candy map of the neighborhood,” Alex explained with a smile.

Coming closer I was able to get a better look at the large sheet of paper. Sure enough, it was a map of the neighborhood. Only this map, I saw uneasily, extended into other nearby neighborhoods as well. In fact, it went all the way to San Francisco. Written in fine print on the map were the last names of the people who lived in the houses along with the candy that was available at each house.  Where the candy was unknown, mostly in the more distant neighborhoods, the house was marked with a large red question mark. The houses with the best candy were all circled in blue. And highlighted with a gold star was the Anderson’s, also known as the apple cider house.

One house, the Burns Mansion, was circled in black. It didn’t list any candy.

“Gosh Alex, that’s amazing,” I said, my eyes wide.  “How long did it take you to do all this?”

“It took me two weeks in my art class. I would have been faster if I had a computer,” Alex explained proudly.  “And as a result of the research, I’m late with my history homework, so I’ll need to copy this week.”

“You got it.”

“Wow, nice job, Alex,” Althea commented. I felt some annoyance that she was being nice to my boyfriend. I thought about shoving her away.

Alex held the map up for a few more seconds as he basked in the admiration. Then he laid it down on the sidewalk and the four of us got down on all fours to study the map in more detail. As we examined the chart, we made our plans of conquest in order to rake in the most of the best candy available.