The Pumpkin Patch

     The Patch was quiet for a fall day. This time of year there would be people in droves tapping pumpkins, lifting and carrying while small children danced around and shrieked their enthusiasm. The field was filled with pumpkins, but there were no people in sight. Douglas shrugged and closed his jacket against the chill and kept walking.

     The house loomed up before him out of the trees, three stories of termite-infested natural wood that gave the whole place a creepy feel. Maybe this way Pete didn’t have to worry about burglars.

     He knocked on the big front door and checked his watch. It took another three knocks before Peter Blanski opened the door. Douglas did his best not to react to the man’s appearance. The man before him looked nothing like the smiling man on the billboard who waved customers into The Patch. This man looked like something Death ran over with his car and left on the highway to rot. “Patch is closed,” he said between stiff, pale lips.

     “Peter Blanski?” Formalities. Everyone in the county knew who he was, but he had to do this by the book.

     “Yeah.” Pete didn’t bother to open the door any further.

     “I’m here on behalf of the Middle City Police Department. I need to ask you a few questions about your wife.”

     Peter’s gaze traveled down to his shoes. “I had a wife. Couldn’t keep her.”

     “That’s what I’m here about. Mind if I come in?”

     Pete nodded and moved back into his house. Douglas followed him and looked around.

     The entire first floor had been converted into a bakery. Display cases lined one wall, and they were filled with pumpkin themed baked goods. Douglas thought about buying one of the muffins, but he was on the clock. Maybe later.

     They went into the large kitchen area. Douglas loosened his tie and watched Pete bring out a bucket of pumpkin onto the counter. There were no shells in sight, but Douglas assumed that they had already been cleaned up and taken out.

     “Peter, your wife has been reported missing for about a week now, and days before the alleged disappearance we got complaints of a disturbance coming from this house. Do you know where she might be right now?”

     Peter heaped pumpkin into a bowl of dry ingredients and began cracking eggs. “She’s with her mother now.”

     “Martha’s mother has been dead for three years now, Peter.” Douglas tried to ignore the chill crawling up his spine. “Her car is still in the driveway, and none of her friends knows where she is. The general consensus is she never left this property. Where is your wife?”

     Peter shook his head slowly and stirred the batter. “Couldn’t keep her. She’s with her mother now.”

     “Mr. Blanski,” he said, dropping the formalities, “Martha’s mother is dead. Are you telling us something has happened to her?”

     Peter didn’t answer this time, only stirred and swayed from side to side.

     “I have a warrant to search the property. My men are investigating as we talk. Anything you’d like to tell me would be very helpful right now.”

     Peter shook his head again, poured the batter into bread pans. They waited in silence.

     “Hey, boss?” The voice over the radio filled the small room like thunder, and Douglas was grateful none of the guys was around to see him jump. Peter hadn’t reacted at all. He continued to wipe down the counter with the same deliberate movements he had been using the whole time.

     “Talk to me, Murphy. Did you find anything?”

     “I’ll give you a hint. Peter Peter pumpkin eater,” he said in a voice that held no hint of play.

     Douglas closed his eyes as Peter supplied the next lines. “Had a wife. Couldn’t keep her.” There was no remorse in the man’s eyes. They were deep, dark, empty, like whoever had lived behind them had long ago moved away. Douglas didn’t need to hear the rest to know where the body was. And this close to Halloween. The press was gonna have a heyday.

     “Mr. Blanski, it is my job to place you under arrest. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law...”