Peculiar Pumpkins (Familiar Kitten Mysteries Book 27) by Sara Bourgeois

Author:Sara Bourgeois [Bourgeois, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Thorn maneuvered the cruiser through the maze of country roads leading back to town, his grip on the steering wheel betraying none of the turmoil I felt churning inside me. Martha’s garden still lingered in my mind, a vibrant oasis that hummed with more than just the buzz of bees. She had been hiding something; I could feel it in my bones.

“We need to talk to Essie and Clara again,” I broke the silence, twisting the silver ring around my finger—a nervous habit. “Their stories are as full of holes as a carved jack-o’-lantern.”

Thorn nodded, his jaw tightening as he glanced at me. “Agreed. But we can’t split ourselves in two. We should prioritize.”

The sun filtered through the cruiser’s windshield, casting a warm glow on Thorn’s handsome face. “Essie’s our best bet first. We know where she should be. Clara might take more finessing.”

The festival had come back to life at the fairgrounds, as if Jacob’s murder was nothing more than a nightmarish interlude in an otherwise festive autumn tale. I felt a twinge of unease at how quickly people seemed to move on.

Thorn parked near Essie’s trailer, the familiar clunk of the gear shift settling like a verdict. We stepped out into the din of laughter and music, a stark contrast to our grim task.

We approached Essie’s trailer, and Thorn rapped sharply on the door. Silence greeted us—a silence that hung heavy with implication.

He knocked again, this time adding his authoritative tone. “Essie Elrod, it’s Sheriff Wilson. We need to speak with you.”

Still no answer.

I leaned close to the window, cupping my hands around my eyes and peering inside. “Nothing,” I murmured, stepping back with a frown.

Thorn tested the doorknob; it turned easily in his hand—unlocked. A thread of caution wound its way through my chest as he pushed the door open.

“Essie?” he called out as we entered, announcing our presence into what appeared to be an empty space.

The trailer was as silent as an abandoned crypt, its stillness unsettling against the backdrop of festival noise just outside its thin walls.

Thorn moved ahead of me, his senses honed from years of law enforcement alert for any sign of trouble or foul play.

I followed close behind, my own magic humming beneath my skin—a silent guardian ready at a moment’s notice.

We cleared each small room methodically until it was apparent—we were alone in Essie’s trailer with no sign of where she might have gone.

I glanced at Thorn, seeing my own concern mirrored in his eyes. “She should have been here,” I said quietly.

Thorn and I decided to look around the festival to see if Essie had simply wandered off to partake in the events. Despite the pall cast by Jacob’s murder, people were still having fun - eating pumpkin-flavored treats, playing carnival games, and admiring the amateur pumpkin displays. An air of forced levity hung over the grounds, like a brightly colored shroud concealing darker secrets beneath the surface.

We spotted Ted Mellon near the entrance, extolling the virtues of the upcoming professional pumpkin carving competition to any passerby who would listen.

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