Town in a Pumpkin Bash (9 page)

“It wasn’t my intention to be deceptive,” he said sincerely, responding to her question.
“I suppose you could say I just wanted to keep a low profile initially. The family
name carries quite a bit of cachet around here, as I’m sure you know. Sometimes that’s
beneficial, but other times it can be a burden.”

Candy couldn’t conceive how being a member of the wealthiest family in Cape Willington
would ever be considered a burden, but she let that go for the moment. Instead,
she gave him a mischievous grin. “So…Tristan, huh? What’s the whole thing again? Tristan
Hawthorne something?”

He caught her look and laughed easily. “Tristan James Hawthorne Pruitt, if you must
know the truth. And, yes, it is a bit of a mouthful.”

“Why Tristan? That’s a British name, isn’t it?”

“Welsh, actually.” He squinted up at the sky, which momentarily brightened. “The Pruitts
are originally from Wales, you know. There’s a medieval story about a hero named Tristan,
who was one of King Arthur’s knights of the Round Table.”

“Tristan and Isolde,” Candy said, recalling the story.

He lowered his gaze toward her, his head tilting slightly to the side. “That’s right.
The Wagner opera. Isolde was an Irish princess, said to be very beautiful. She was
betrothed to King Mark of Cornwall, who sent his trusted nephew, Tristan, to Ireland
to fetch his future bride and escort her back to Mark’s kingdom for the wedding. But
along the way Tristan and Isolde took a potion and fell helplessly in love, creating
a very sticky romantic triangle. Anyway, my family was obviously fond of the name,
since quite a few of my ancestors were named Tristan, including one of my great-grandfathers—one
of the old Welsh Pruitts. I’m his direct namesake.”

Candy was intrigued. “And the Hawthorne part?”

He suddenly looked sheepish. “It’s after Nathaniel Hawthorne. That was my mother’s
idea. She was a socialite from Boston who had a classical education. She insisted
on naming all her children after New England literary figures in some way or other,
either with first or middle names, or in some cases both. I have a brother named Henry
Longfellow Pruitt, and a sister Charlotte, after Brontë.”

“My, my, that’s pretty fancy.” Candy’s eyes twinkled in amusement at his apparent
discomfort over the current line of questioning. “And James?”

“That was my mother’s father. He was a Hutchinson. Very old Boston family.”

Candy whistled. “Wow, that’s quite a genealogy. You’re practically a walking New England
history book, aren’t you?”

He chuckled. “That’s probably true. I guess I never quite thought of it that way.
When I was younger I thought the whole name was too long and pretentious, and since
I’m not the pretentious type, I started calling myself T.J., and my family and friends
followed my lead. But once I grew up I decided I needed something more mature, so
I’ve reverted to Tristan.”

“Well,” Candy said sincerely, “I think it’s a very nice name.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you approve. But you have a fairly unique name yourself. Where
did Candy come from?”

It was a question she’d heard many times before, especially when she was growing up,
and she’d even been teased about it a number of times. But she didn’t mind answering
the question again, considering who was asking. “My mother came up with it. She was
born on Christmas Day, so her parents named her Holly. And she lived up to her festive
name. She was a wonderful, warm, caring person.”

“She’s gone now?” Tristan asked, catching the past tense of the verb.

Candy nodded. “A few years back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But, again, why Candy?”

“Like my mother, I was born on a holiday—in my case, Halloween. So my mother decided
to continue the tradition.”

“Halloween?” Tristan pondered that for a moment. “So you have a birthday coming up
in, what, four or five days?”

Candy gave him a dark look. “Don’t remind me.”

Her reaction surprised him. “Why not? Birthdays are a time for celebration, aren’t
they?”

“Usually, yes,” Candy agreed, “but this is a big one.”

“I see.”

She waited for him to say more, but like a gentleman, he kept any further questions
about her age to himself, unwilling to pry too far into her personal history. So she
filled in the blanks for him. “It’s the big four-oh,” she said reluctantly, as if
the very thought of it was too much to bear. “I’m getting old!”

He laughed again, charmingly. “I’d hardly consider you old, but I do understand.”
He studied her face, the same way she’d studied his earlier. “Well, Candy Holliday,
I guess we’ll just have to figure out a creative way to ease this obviously stressful
transition for you,” he said seriously. “But as someone who’s several years on the
north side of that rather significant age milestone, I can tell you it’s not nearly
as bad as you think it might be.”

Candy shot him a skeptical look. “Hmm, I’ll take that under advisement.”

Impulsively, he reached out to give her hand a squeeze. “Trust me, you’ll be just
fine.”

As the sky lowered and the wind picked up, they angled to their left, following the
dirt track, and had just reached the lower pumpkin patch when they heard someone huffing
and puffing behind them. They turned to see the man in the bee costume running to
catch up. He had lingered around the scene of the crime but apparently had finally
been shooed away.

After he’d introduced himself as Eric and they’d exchanged pleasantries, the three
of them made their way through the pumpkin patch toward the hay wagon, which had come
to a stop next to the parking lot. By this time all the passengers had disembarked,
and some had already driven off in their cars, though quite a few customers still
wandered around the field, picking out pumpkins and perusing the wares at the farm
stand, where Maggie was busy adding up prices for customers, taking money, and making
change.

Everything looked more or less perfectly normal, Candy
thought. It was as if nothing strange had happened that morning, and all the customers
were just enjoying the day, completely unaware of the dead body lying in the next
field.

As Eric the Bee said his good-byes and made his way to his car, Candy and Tristan
headed over to the farm stand to help out Maggie. By the time they’d finished with
the last few customers, the crime van had arrived, bouncing carelessly along the dirt
track through the pumpkin patch to the field beyond.

A short time later, Chief Durr drove down to have a talk with them.

“We’re going to have to close the entire pumpkin patch—both fields—for the rest of
the day,” he told them, as a few heavy raindrops fell from the sky. “Looks like it’s
turning stormy anyway. It’s probably a good time to close up shop.”

“What about tomorrow?” Maggie asked, the concern evident in her voice. “There are
only a few days left until Halloween, and Sunday tends to be one of our biggest days
of the week.”

“We have a lot of pumpkins we have to clear out of here by midweek,” Candy added,
aware that Halloween—and her birthday—fell on a Wednesday this year. After that, the
demand for pumpkins would disappear—and she would have to face the fact that she was
on the north side of forty, as Tristan had called it. “We’d sure like to open up tomorrow.
Is that possible?”

The chief tugged off his hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. “It all depends
on the forensics team,” he replied, replacing the hat firmly on his head. “It’s their
call. Best I can tell you is it’ll be a day-to-day decision. We’ll see what the morning
brings. But for now, I’d like the cooperation of you three, since you’re the primary
ones who found and uncovered the body.”

He turned his gaze on Maggie. “Ms. Tremont, as I told you back in the other field,
I’d like to see the printouts of all your e-mail exchanges with Sebastian Quinn, and
details
about your phone conversations with him as well. I need you to gather all that information
together and drop it off at the station this afternoon.”

Maggie clicked her heels together and saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain. I’m glad to help
out.”

His gaze lingered on her for only a moment, as he quickly decided to let her theatrics
pass without comment. “And, Ms. Holliday and Mr. Pruitt, I’ll need you both at the
station Monday morning to review and sign your statements, and answer any additional
questions we might have. We hope to get this investigation wrapped up as quickly as
possible, so if any of you think of anything else that might help us out, get in touch
with us pronto. Got it?”

They said they did, and once he had their assurances, he gave them all a brusque nod,
climbed back into his car, and drove off.

“Well, I guess that does it for today,” Maggie said. “We’d better close this place
up and do as the chief says.” She stuffed the final few bills into the money box,
shut the lid, and looked up at the sky. “Besides, he’s right—the weather’s not cooperating.
Looks like we would’ve gotten rained out anyway.”

Working quickly, they covered some of the items in the stand, tucked others behind
the counter, and packed the most valuable ones into the back of Candy’s teal-colored
Jeep, which she’d pulled up next to the farm stand. The Jeep was showing its age,
and bubbles of rust were beginning to attack the rear wheel wells and lower running
boards, but it still managed to get her where she was going.

As Maggie finished stowing away items at the farm stand, Tristan helped Candy carry
the last few boxes and bags to the Jeep. They worked in silence, Candy deep in her
thoughts, until Tristan, gauging her somber mood, said softly, “Rough morning, huh?”

Something in the way he’d said it made her mood lighten just a bit. “Well, to be honest,
it’s not what I expected when
I got out of bed this morning.” She paused, noticing the concerned look in his eyes.
“It’s just that—well, we’d been expecting him…Sebastian, I mean. He was scheduled
to meet us this morning here in the pumpkin patch to pick up the keys to Sapphire
Vine’s old house. He wanted to rent it for a couple of weeks and…”

Her voice trailed off as another thought came to her. She narrowed her gaze on Tristan.
“But you’re here, too, aren’t you?” she said, not in an accusatory way, but more as
if she’d only just recalled the real purpose for his sudden appearance in the pumpkin
patch that morning.

He responded with a lopsided grin. “My timing is impeccable, it seems.”

She stuck to her point. “But you came out here for a reason, didn’t you? Something
about a haunted house?”

The grin disappeared, and his eyes took on a guarded look. “Yes, that’s right. Sapphire
Vine’s old place. Apparently Sebastian Quinn was interested in it too. I didn’t realize
it was so popular.”

“You said you wanted to talk to me about it. You had some questions?”

He nodded curtly. “I still have them,” he said, all flippancy gone now. “In fact,
I was hoping to invite you out to the house today for lunch, so we could have a longer
talk about it.”

“The house?” It took her a moment to understand the reference. “You mean Pruitt Manor?”

“Yes, Pruitt Manor. I’d hoped you might join Aunt Helen and myself for lunch. The
offer still stands. Of course, with all that’s happened…”

Candy understood what he was getting at, and she instantly appreciated the fact that
he gave her a way out. “Thank you so much for the invitation, but today’s probably
not the best day for it.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “Of course. I completely understand.”

They carried a last load to the Jeep, and once they’d stuffed all the items inside,
Tristan reached into a coat pocket. He, too, withdrew a business card, which he handed
to Candy. “For your collection,” he said, “and in case you change your mind today,
or would like to reschedule for another day. Just give me a call.”

A few minutes later, he was gone, driving off in the silver sedan.

“Well,” Maggie said, sidling up beside her friend, eyeing the swirl of dead leaves
kicked up by Tristan’s disappearing car, “you and Mr. Pruitt seemed to be getting
along fairly well, considering the two of you just met.” She’d already heard the story
of how T.J. was actually Tristan James, scion of the wealthy Pruitt family.

Candy shut the Jeep’s back hatch. “He seems like a nice guy,” she said noncommittally.

“Hmm, yes, very nice—and very rich.”

Candy frowned. “That has nothing to do with it.”

“Of course not.”

“Besides, the last thing I need right now is a boyfriend.”

“True…since you already have one. So how is Ben doing out on the West Coast, by the
way?” She was referring to Ben Clayton, Candy’s sort-of boyfriend and the editor of
the
Cape Crier
, Cape Willington’s local newspaper.

“We talked yesterday. He’s calling again tonight,” Candy told her friend as she walked
to the driver’s side door, while Maggie headed around the other side and climbed into
the passenger seat.

“Are you going to tell him about Tristan?” Maggie asked when they were both seated
inside.

Candy shrugged and snapped on her seat belt. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

But Maggie wasn’t quite ready to let the whole episode go. In fact, she decided to
double down. “So,” she said breezily, “it sounds like our soon-to-be birthday girl
has not one but
two
admirers.”

“Now cut that out,” Candy replied with mock sharpness as she fished the car keys out
of her pocket. “You know there’s nothing between Tristan and me. It’s like you said—we
just met. And I don’t need any more complications in my life right now. We have enough
trouble on our hands.”

“You got that right.” As they backed up, Maggie glanced out over at the pumpkin patch,
toward High Field. “Can you imagine Sebastian J. Quinn showing up dead like that under
a pile of pumpkins? Isn’t it unbelievable? Now we not only have a dead body in our
field, but I still have that damned vacant haunted house on my hands.” She let out
a deep sigh as Candy headed out the dirt lane back toward the main road. “If you ask
me, I still blame that house.”