That was when Lucas whipped out plastic gloves for himself.

  Belle gasped. “Absolutely not. You didn’t tell me about the gloves.”

  “You didn’t ask,” Lucas quipped. “First time pumpkin-carvers need the experience. I’ve done it before. I’ve experienced it. Hence, the gloves.”

  “No way. If I do it, then you all have to do it.” Belle stuck out her hand for the plastic gloves. “Hand them over.”

  It was Lexie who snatched them from Lucas and agreed to the mess. It was harder work and took longer than Belle expected. Removing all the pulp and seeds took time, scraping down the sides.

  “Could be Mia!” squawked Sir Jack.

  Belle felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Okay, we ready to carve?”

  Lucas gave her a suspicious look but played along. He handed out the knives. “My suggestion is to start small. Go with an easy design. Like two eyes and a smile.”

  “There has to be a couple teeth in there, too.” Belle thought about a typical jack-o-lantern.

  “We can do anything we want. Right, Uncle Lucas?”

  “Of course. It was just a suggestion,” he said.

  “We get it.” Belle huffed. “From all your pumpkin carving experience.”

  “Could be Jamie,” said Sir Jack.

  “Okay,” Belle said, quickly. “Let’s get started.”

  That bird! She made a note not to share any secrets with Sir Jack. He could not be trusted as a confidant.

  They spent the next thirty minutes, attempting to create their masterpieces. It became apparent quite quickly that for all of Lucas’ boasting, Bixby turned out to have a flair for the art. He’d made an intricate design with trees on the side, a moon, and a graveyard scene. He thought out of the box. Lucas came in next with the perfect crooked smile with missing teeth.

  Belle burst out laughing. “Fine. I admit. You were right. I should have started with just a circle.” She’d started out okay with two eyes. The smile, on the other hand, looked like a gaping hole. She’d cut too close to the eyes so the right eye connected to the mouth. Lexie’s wasn’t much better.

  Lucas wisely only offered compliments.

  “Could be Todd,” said Sir Jack.

  The three adults in the room quieted. Belle knew they all wanted to talk about the case but couldn’t in front of Lexie. She flashed Bixby a look that said help.

  Bixby took the hint. “Lexie, want to help with dessert?”

  “Sure.” Then she added with a pout, “I always miss the best parts.”

  Lucas swatted her playfully. “It’s for your own good.”

  “I know.” She huffed, but bounced into the kitchen with exuberance at the idea of dessert.

  When they were alone, Lucas said, “Maybe we should hire Sir Jack as a private eye.”

  “Um…Bixby and I were talking about the suspects before you arrived.” She felt terrible now, purposefully excluding him, so she spoke, the words rushing out. “You see we just wanted to cheer you up. We knew you couldn’t work on the case or even ask questions about it, and we’re at kind of a dead-end in need of a breakthrough, and thought if we talked about the case, it would just make you more frustrated.” She ran out of breath.

  “Belle,” he said, softly. “I get it. It’s okay.”

  “I have another confession.” She swallowed. “Bixby and I visited Graystone Estates under the pretense of asking for donations. That was when we overheard Mia on the phone asking about Todd McGovern. Sounded like he was a client of Jeremiah’s.”

  “Yes, he’s still the mystery man of the hour.”

  “Any more information on him?” Belle asked. “Someone out there must know him or have information.”

  “We’ve talked about this, but most likely,” Lucas said, his expression grim, “it was a pseudonym the killer used to lure Jeremiah to the house that day.”

  “So, it could be anyone,” Belle said.

  “Yup.”

  “Could be anyone,” added Sir Jack.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Early the next morning, Lucas tried to focus on the robbery case. He sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him.

  He didn’t want to look at the files just yet. Sometimes, words meant nothing. Instead, he sat still, eyes closed. He thought about all the victims he’d interviewed. The jewels that had been stolen. Some family heirlooms. Some not. Some not even worth that much. At the same time, other valuables in the house hadn’t been stolen. Possibly worth more money.

  Lucas swore he’d seen a Ming vase, and a Renoir on the wall. Of course, it could be a print but would a thief know that? There was crystal and silver in the dining rooms. None of it touched. That was why he had asked the last person he talked to, Patrick O’Doole, if they’d had recent social gatherings. Turned out, they all gathered once a month. At the time, he assumed it was mostly the other victims he’d visited that morning, but he never asked for a list of people in their social circle.

  He let out a sigh. He wasn’t at the top of his game when it came to this case. His mind was elsewhere. First of all, the victims of the robberies didn’t seem that invested in the thief being caught. Most of the time, his mind was on the murder, but more importantly, it was with his dad. He hadn’t had a fight with him like this since high school. None of it made sense. Why Dad wouldn’t talk to him. Why he wouldn’t give a solid alibi.

  Time to look at the files. He opened and spread them out in front of him. If the family had photos of the jewelry, they were included. There were all the interviews. He had recognized that their answers were similar. Like they were rehearsed. He should have done it that day, but he’d have to go back and ask all of them more subtle questions. See who had teenage grandchildren. Ask about financial situations of their adult children. Then, see how they reacted. See if they’d give up any names.

  Knowing he had a plan with that case, he turned to his unofficial scribbled notes about the murder. He decided to go through everything he knew.

  Starting with the day of the murder.

  Belle had noticed his dad arguing with Jamie and Jeremiah. She hadn’t heard the conversation with the latter, but she said Jamie had accused Jeremiah of cheating. Worse, he was furious that morning about it. When Belle questioned Jamie later, he’d expanded. Gave more specifics, claiming Jeremiah had stolen clients and sales.

  Then there was Mia Harmen, agent at Graystone Estates, the one suspect he’d interviewed before Mona kicked him off the case. Lucas thought about what she’d admitted to him, and to Belle. That Claire had come into the office begging for a bigger allowance. That before the murder, they’d had a big fight in front of everyone. Fights between separated couples weren’t abnormal, but the huge bet Mia had going with Jeremiah—that wasn’t normal. He hoped Mona was asking the right questions.

  He thought back to the murder scene. The way Jeremiah must have been violently shoved from behind. This might have been premeditated. If Mia or Jamie or Claire had set up the showing under the name Todd McGovern, it would have been easy.

  Jeremiah would have been at the house, waiting. He might have been wandering inside, thinking about all the money he’d make from the sale. He might never have seen the murderer.

  Lucas could feel it. His gut told him he was close. The anticipatory thrill of solving a case rose in his chest. Once again, he closed his eyes and focused. He let the images and the pieces of conversation float through his mind.

  There was the body. The coffee cup from The Beanery. The sapphire ring that had been on the floor.

  His heart thrummed in his chest. Had Patrick O’Doole mentioned the color of the jewelry stolen from his wife’s matching set? No, he hadn’t.

  There was what Mia said about Jeremiah. At social events, he’d go off by himself.

  It hit him. Hard.

  Were the Fishers part of the social group who’d been hit by the robberies? Did Jeremiah attend the parties?

  Belle said she’d learned that Claire wanted more money. She’d threatened to sue. Was Jeremiah such a greedy miser he stole jewelry to pawn off, then gave Claire the profit?

  What if Patrick O’Doole was the mysterious Todd McGovern? Or any of the other victims? Maybe it was a group plan. That’s why they had all been on the same page. They were protecting each other.

  Jeremiah had visited The Beanery that morning. Bixby had said Jeremiah was crankier than usual. He’d said something about the crows coming home to roost. It hadn’t registered at the time, but if Jeremiah were connected somehow to the robberies, then he might have known what he was up against.

  He had to talk to Mona. Their cases might be connected. Somehow, he’d have to convince her to listen to him.

  “Uncle Lucas?”

  The sound of Lexie’s voice jarred him from thoughts of murder. He groaned. Again? He’d lost himself in a case again and forgotten about school. He jumped up from the table. His leg hit it and cold coffee spilled over the sides of the mug. “You know the drill. I’ll slap a sandwich together and you get dressed.”

  He bolted into the kitchen. How late were they? He wouldn’t even take a second to look at the time. He grabbed whatever he could from the cupboard.

  “Uncle Lucas.”

  “What are you doing? We can’t be late again. Go! Go! Go! Get dressed.” He threw in an apple, a banana, a yogurt. He had the knife sank into the peanut butter. Then he noticed Lexie was still standing in the kitchen wearing a sly smirk.

  “What?” he asked. He was missing something.

  “It’s Saturday.” Then she burst out laughing.

  “Well, I’m going to make this sandwich anyway. You’ll need lunch.”

  “We’re going to the festival, remember? We buy lunch there.”

  Oh. He deflated. He needed to visit the O’Dooles again. He needed to talk to Mona. This morning.

  Lexie studied his face. “I’ll call Grams. She’ll take me. Promise me you’ll make it before lunch and the pumpkin derby?”

  “Promise,” he said.

  This had to be fast. He had to use the right words to get the right answer. First, he went back to Patrick’s house. He hoped they were home because when he talked to Detective Malloy, he needed proof, not theories or educated guesses.

  He knocked. Patrick opened the door almost right away. Today, he wore easter egg blue pants with a yellow button-up and another matching bow tie.

  “I saw you coming,” he said. “What is it today? I told you everything I knew.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Lucas wanted to reply with a Did you, really? But he knew it was about asking the right questions. If he walked away without everything he wanted or needed to know, then he had to blame himself. “Just a few more questions, then I’ll be gone.” He paused, then said, “I assume all of you want the thief caught.” He left it at that. Almost an accusation. A way of letting Patrick know that Lucas knew they were hiding something.

  “Well, go ahead and ask it.”

  Patrick didn’t invite him inside, which was fine. After all the time they’d spent on it, and all the fails, Lucas had to make it to the pumpkin derby. “What kind of stones were in the jewelry that was stolen, the matching set?”

  “Emeralds.”

  Lucas felt his stomach sink. His theory all hinged on the jewelry being a sapphire color. There was only one other stolen ring and that was an emerald, too. Now he didn’t have the proof that tied the robberies to the murder of Jeremiah Fisher. His second was still relevant though. “I’d like to know how often the Fishers attended these social gatherings.”

  Patrick’s expression hardened, his mouth tightening until his lips almost disappeared. That told Lucas everything. They were protecting Jeremiah. But why? Loyalty?

  Lucas added, “You know, you can answer or I can knock on all the doors in the neighborhood. Eventually, someone will tell me. Or I can make a big deal and bring you all down one by one to the station for questioning.

  Something shifted in Patrick, like he became resigned that he couldn’t hide information forever. “Yes, they were in the group.” He waved at the air like he could erase the words just spoken. “But they weren’t that involved. They weren’t part of the core group.”

  Of course, Lucas had to wonder how much Patrick downplayed the Fisher’s involvement after almost refusing to talk about it. “Did you play golf with Jeremiah?”

  Patrick steeled himself. “For any other information you’ll have to bring me down to the station. Sure, a few didn’t like him, but he was a good man.”

  If it had been any other time, or if he was the detective on the case, he would have pushed farther. As it was, he shouldn’t have asked about the Fishers. “Well, thanks for your time.”

  The door shut. Lucas thought he heard a goodbye in there with the resounding click of the door. Part way down the stone path that led to the driveway, he heard his name.

  “Detective Graystone.”

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “I just remembered. Not that I cared that much about the colors,” he said in a gruff tone. “But the jewelry weren’t emeralds. They were sapphires.”

  That changed everything.

  With confidence, with determination, Lucas strode into the station. Detective Malloy was in a temporary office. He knocked; the door wasn’t shut all the way but nudged open a little. He entered.

  Malloy lifted her head, peering at him over her red glasses. Her expression, the grim face, told him everything. She didn’t need to say a word.

  “We need to talk,” he said, then corrected himself. “I would appreciate it if you’d hear me out.”

  A slight huff escaped. “Detective Graystone, this is highly inappropriate. I gather that your frustration has been growing. It finally reached the point where you had to talk to me about the case.” She stood, lay her hands flat on the desk, staring him down. “We are not going to talk about the murder case. You should leave right now before I report you.”

  He tried to appear as unassuming as possible, taking a passive stance, but his gut was churning. His senses were on high alert. His heart rate picking up speed with every second. All clues that he was on the right track.

  “I have information on the case.”

  Within a microsecond, her hand was up, palm out. “Enough.”

  He didn’t let her say anything else. “I understand you are a black and white kind of person. I appreciate that. I have information,” he repeated.

  He saw it in her eyes, the steel, the way they narrowed, piercing him. She wouldn’t listen. He had to try one more time. “This isn’t about my father.”

  “Anything you say, Detective Graystone, is influenced by your desire to see your father cleared. You can’t help it. It is how familial ties work, including murder cases.” She paused, as if maybe reconsidering, and Lucas dared to hope. “I’m not always right, but I talked to the chief about this and he agreed with me.”

  Any hope was dashed. He deflated.

  There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to ask if she’d properly questioned all the suspects. If she’d heard about this Todd McGovern and realized it was possibly an alias for the murderer. But he couldn’t. She wouldn’t have anything to do with that.

  He turned and walked out, his back straight. The idea formed as he left the station. The idea grew as he sat in the car, frustrated.

  She didn’t leave him a choice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bixby had offered to drive Belle to Main Street and the town green where the festival was being held. She’d refused. She truly didn’t mind walking. It was invigorating, the crisp air, the bright sunshine, enjoying the vibrant colors. Exercise was supposedly good for you.

  Really, she didn’t mind.

  He told her she was going to have to drive the station wagon at some point. Better to do it when there wasn’t an emergency. She knew he was right. Maybe tomorrow or the next day.

  She walked fast, wanting to make sure Claire didn’t have to work the table alone, even though Bixby would be right nearby giving away coffee. She thought about the marketing aspect of owning a business. Giving people in town a taste of Bixby’s fabulous recipes was great promotion. As Mona said, the start of a sales funnel.

  She walked through the festival in awe of the decorations, the tables, the events already in motion. She slowed down to take it all in. Vendors were set up to sell their wares. She saw painted inspirational quotes on wooden signs. She saw bakery delicacies. A whole table of pumpkin pies for sale. Maple syrup. Handmade jewelry.

  It was obvious when she left the vendor area and entered the activities. There were families painting pumpkins, the youngest children gluing on fake gems and other craft items. There was a pumpkin seed spitting contest. Lexie would love that. The pumpkin weighing station was set up, already a couple people in line.

  A band had just arrived and would soon be playing. She had a feeling it would be a long day but a good day. She approached The Beanery’s station from the side. “One pumpkin spice latte, please.”

  Bixby smiled. “Coming right up.”

  “Have you had much business?” she asked.

  “Good so far. I think it will pick up. It’s a chilly day and people will want something hot to drink.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yoohoo, Belle!” Claire waved from the table.

  Bixby spoke in a low voice. “She’s not acting it, but she’s been nervous wondering when you’d show up.”

  “Got it.” She approached Claire. “Good morning.” She slipped off her backpack. “I have a bunch of freebies to lay out.” She took in the orange tablecloth, the small gourds and pumpkins decorating the table. “Fabulous job with the table.”

  “Thank you. It was nothing. Just a little hobby of mine.”

  “Decorating?”

  Claire tried not to look offended but failed. “It’s called table-scaping.”

  This was the perfect opportunity. “That pairs nicely with scrapbooking.”

  She waited for the response, any kind of reaction. Claire had seemed to forget all about scrapbooking when she stopped by yesterday.