mostly by simply following clues and asking the right questions of the right
people. And she’d come to realize that she had an odd knack for this sort of thing.
She wasn’t quite sure why. She’d never set out to be an amateur detective. But somehow
these mysteries kept showing up on her doorstep, and in solving them, she’d come to
trust her instincts and allowed her curiosity to take her in the right directions.
It was her curiosity that had her walking across High Field now, toward the woods
on the far side. The question on her mind at the moment was a simple one. It was the
same one Maggie had asked: How had Sebastian J. Quinn wound up in this field? More
specifically, how did he get out here?
Candy could think of only a couple of ways. He’d either been brought here and dumped,
or he’d arrived in his own car and had been murdered here. The first scenario was
certainly possible, but Candy had a hunch he’d come here under his own power.
The keys in his hand—that was the clue that had caught her eye.
If his body had been dumped here by someone else, why would he have his car keys clutched
in his hand?
He wouldn’t, she realized—which meant he must have arrived here in his own car.
So where was it?
When she and Maggie had first taken over the pumpkin patch at the end of the summer,
she’d taken a few minutes one morning to study the property on Google maps, just to
get a lay of the land. She recalled that, at the far end of High Field, a dirt access
road headed off in the opposite direction, back to a paved rural road that eventually
wound its way out to Route 192, which led up to Route 1.
Could that have been how Sebastian got here? Had he come in the back way?
If so, that would present a new set of questions, but for the moment she tabled those
and concentrated on the issue at hand.
It didn’t take her long to find the car. In fact, she practically walked right to
it as she followed a narrow footpath through a screen of thick shrubbery and trees,
and turned to her right.
An older-model white Audi sat by the side of a narrow dirt road. It looked as if it
had been abandoned. The car hadn’t been washed in a while, and bore Massachusetts
license plates. That would make sense. The last she’d heard, Sebastian still taught
at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, halfway across the Bay State.
But if the car was his, why had he parked it back here?
As she approached the car, Candy could see there were no passengers inside. Still,
she moved toward it cautiously, just in case someone might be sleeping in the backseat—or
lying in wait. But once she looked in the windows, she saw that it was indeed empty.
She walked the entire way around the car, just to make sure, and then tried the door
handle on the passenger side. Locked.
She tried the other door handles as well. All locked.
In a fleeting moment, she was tempted to walk back to Sebastian’s body and retrieve
the keys in his hand to see if they fit this car. But that would be highly inappropriate,
she knew, and more than likely unnecessary. Somehow, she wascertain the keys in Sebastian’s hand would fit this car. It had to belong to the man
who now lay dead in the pumpkin patch.
Just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, she walked back around the car again,
but nothing jumped out at her, and she knew there wasn’t much else she could do at
the moment, other than alert the police to the car’s location.
She heard the sound of a distant siren then, signaling that the ambulance and police
were on their way. Unfortunately, they’d arrive far too late to save Sebastian’s life.
Before she walked away from the car, she took a final look inside. There was nothing
in the backseat except a folded jacket, an umbrella, and a few old magazines. And
nothing in the driver’s seat.
But in the passenger’s seat she spotted what looked like a manila folder. She edged
in
people. And she’d come to realize that she had an odd knack for this sort of thing.
She wasn’t quite sure why. She’d never set out to be an amateur detective. But somehow
these mysteries kept showing up on her doorstep, and in solving them, she’d come to
trust her instincts and allowed her curiosity to take her in the right directions.
It was her curiosity that had her walking across High Field now, toward the woods
on the far side. The question on her mind at the moment was a simple one. It was the
same one Maggie had asked: How had Sebastian J. Quinn wound up in this field? More
specifically, how did he get out here?
Candy could think of only a couple of ways. He’d either been brought here and dumped,
or he’d arrived in his own car and had been murdered here. The first scenario was
certainly possible, but Candy had a hunch he’d come here under his own power.
The keys in his hand—that was the clue that had caught her eye.
If his body had been dumped here by someone else, why would he have his car keys clutched
in his hand?
He wouldn’t, she realized—which meant he must have arrived here in his own car.
So where was it?
When she and Maggie had first taken over the pumpkin patch at the end of the summer,
she’d taken a few minutes one morning to study the property on Google maps, just to
get a lay of the land. She recalled that, at the far end of High Field, a dirt access
road headed off in the opposite direction, back to a paved rural road that eventually
wound its way out to Route 192, which led up to Route 1.
Could that have been how Sebastian got here? Had he come in the back way?
If so, that would present a new set of questions, but for the moment she tabled those
and concentrated on the issue at hand.
It didn’t take her long to find the car. In fact, she practically walked right to
it as she followed a narrow footpath through a screen of thick shrubbery and trees,
and turned to her right.
An older-model white Audi sat by the side of a narrow dirt road. It looked as if it
had been abandoned. The car hadn’t been washed in a while, and bore Massachusetts
license plates. That would make sense. The last she’d heard, Sebastian still taught
at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, halfway across the Bay State.
But if the car was his, why had he parked it back here?
As she approached the car, Candy could see there were no passengers inside. Still,
she moved toward it cautiously, just in case someone might be sleeping in the backseat—or
lying in wait. But once she looked in the windows, she saw that it was indeed empty.
She walked the entire way around the car, just to make sure, and then tried the door
handle on the passenger side. Locked.
She tried the other door handles as well. All locked.
In a fleeting moment, she was tempted to walk back to Sebastian’s body and retrieve
the keys in his hand to see if they fit this car. But that would be highly inappropriate,
she knew, and more than likely unnecessary. Somehow, she wascertain the keys in Sebastian’s hand would fit this car. It had to belong to the man
who now lay dead in the pumpkin patch.
Just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, she walked back around the car again,
but nothing jumped out at her, and she knew there wasn’t much else she could do at
the moment, other than alert the police to the car’s location.
She heard the sound of a distant siren then, signaling that the ambulance and police
were on their way. Unfortunately, they’d arrive far too late to save Sebastian’s life.
Before she walked away from the car, she took a final look inside. There was nothing
in the backseat except a folded jacket, an umbrella, and a few old magazines. And
nothing in the driver’s seat.
But in the passenger’s seat she spotted what looked like a manila folder. She edged
in
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