Pumpkinfest: A Jonas Kirk Mystery

By Dick Snyder

As he works to introduce Pumpkin Fest to Woodland Park, Jonas Kirk stirs a nest of hidden enmities and memories of wretched misbehaviors. Four childhood friends, community leaders now, help organize the event . . . and then they begin to die—accidents it would appear. At the same time, Kirk finds himself increasingly lethargic, distracted from his commitments, and singularly focused on growing a pumpkin.

“Really, Jonas? Gardening?” Sharon Cunningham asked. For a time, he had no answers for his preoccupation.

A new face, Roger Blaisdell, sensed Kirk’s emptiness, bonded and re-energized him. Together, they helped Devlin solve deaths, both old and new, redefining community leadership in Woodland Park for another generation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728313368

Dick Snyder

Dick Snyder b. Taft, 1937. St. Mary’s Grammar School. TUHS '55. Taft College '57. Completed B.S. University of Colorado (1961) and PhD. History (1966). Retired as Emeritus Professor, University of Wisconsin-La Crosse, 2001. Returned to California in 2003. He has published a biography of William S. Culbertson, edited a volume on John F. Kennedy, published two e-books: Jim Richard: Life of Firsts (2009); Family's Passage (2011). He broadened his topics in Boomerang: Short Stories in a Fictional Life (2015). He then became interested in writing mystery and published a collection of short stories: The Jonas Kirk Mysteries (2017). Subsequently, he published three detective novellas: Bingo (2018), Pumpkin Fest (2019), Marquee Murders (2019) He then explored the dark side of university collegiality. Why She Wept (2021) features faculty enmity, academic rivalries, transgender revelations and ultimately a death, for which three persons each believe themselves guilty. His latest work, FOR A WOMAN, merges race, entertainment and the mob in a love story shared by a Black woman, SHONTEL and two White men, Trey Thaxson and Bobby Banfield. High school classmates they find themselves at mid-life recreating careers for all three of them, turning their lives inside-out. PICTURES of various characters in FOR A WOMAN can be found at the web site: Jonaskirk.com

Book preview

© 2019 DICK SNYDER. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse  06/10/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1337-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1335-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1336-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019906210

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

1. Fire

2. Bonding

3. Reflections

4. Build A Business

5. Kirk’s Thoughts

6. Vomiting

7. Chitter Chatter

8. Selling It

9. Suspicion

10. Deflection

11. Mish-Mash

12. Sorting Scenes

13. The Accident

14. Summer Summit

15. Growing Pumpkins

16. Kirk Slumps

17. Roger Blaisdell

18. Complications

19. Sorting Out

20. Splat!

21. Geraldine

22. Compass

23. Revelations

AUTHOR’S COMMENTS

P umpkin Fest celebrates community, pays homage to a local personality killed in a terrible accident and sorts through eroding childhood friends hips.

As he works to introduce a new festival to Woodland Park, Jonas Kirk stirs a nest of hidden enmities and memories of wretched misbehaviors. At the same time he finds himself increasingly lethargic, distracted from his commitments, singularly focused on growing a pumpkin.

Really, Jonas, gardening? Sharon Cunningham asked. For a time he had no answers for his preoccupation. A new face, Roger Blaisdell, sensed Kirk’s emptiness, bonded and re-energized him. Together, they helped Devlin solve accidents both old and new, defining community leadership in Woodland Park for another generation.

Telling this story led me to examine old records, memorable family photos and childhood stories shared among four lifelong friends. I thank their families for allowing me to present my discoveries about the boys.

I discovered the ways passing years and career success redefined youthful pranks and misadventures. Confidences became secrets. Bonds once resilient, frayed. Memories labeled sacrosanct became reinterpreted. Friendship, once impervious to slights, now eroded in the face of shifting ambitions. What then?

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

M y thanks to John Nelson for his permission to use a photo of the four boys which he found in his antique wander ings.

I am especially appreciative for the close reading and comments on characters offered by Jym Thrailkill. His ideas and observations were extremely helpful.

My thanks to Maurine Ratekin for sharing her thoughts about the storyline.

I have benefitted greatly from thoughtful conversation with Ken Sorenson as we explored Jonas Kirk’s character.

Once again, Linda has provided me with timely, compelling plot suggestions and the quiet support and peace of mind that allows me to create these stories. She is a priceless gift.

This is a fictional story. I am solely responsible for its content. All characters and plot developments in it are fictional.

PUMPKIN FEST

image%201.jpg

(l-r) Gary Munson, Chris Spaulding, Jerry Fields, Bob Oldham.

(In 1940s kid clothes, Gary’s birthday party, 1987)

45182.png

1

FIRE

A dark silhouette. Old walls. Both wrapped in the silence of age and the scent of abandonment. A spark. A pause. Another electric pulse flicked the wood…a curl of smoke. The hotspot settled, resting as it breathed…searching.

Built by Andreas P. Swift, a colleague of the great railroad baron, James K. Hill, the four story structure of wood, stone and fabric now stood achingly empty but pridefully observed by residents of Woodland Park. In decades past, it had provided a hospitable embrace for receptions, small weddings and elite social gatherings. In more recent times, The Mansion, as it came to be called, hosted teen-age parties, poker sessions and eventually a covert witches coven. Now, it atrophied. An empty soul.

Another flash found fuel, gathered strength and warmed the plaster. Dated wallpaper curled as small tongues of flame found more room to work on dried lath board, smoldering, gathering force. They lingered, searching for an escape, working through interior spaces, finally producing yellow licks that found a reservoir of air under the roof.

Oxygen quickened the temperature and quietly, quickly, a smoky hand took a death grip on the old Victorian structure. It saturated its lungs, clogged four floors of arterial passages, told everyone that an old enemy, fire, had come calling. Embraced by the killer, a dry and empty frame shuddered, popping timbers, shedding rafters, emitting a fearsome death rattle. Once resilient, it now became its own funeral pyre, beckoning all to see it one last time. It did not perish unobserved.

Bells shattered the quiet at Engine House #1, sending a half dozen men jamming stockinged feet into lined, rubber boots, shucking light jackets for insulated coats, swinging aboard the pumper and warming up the ladder-truck. Even as the engines spoke their minds…loud, decisive, impatient…a voice cut through the noise.

Mick! Get the pumper over there and hook it to the hydrant. Take two with you. Cal, keep the ladder ready to hoist soon as we see what we got.

Right-o, Cap’n, Cal responded.

Alvin hollered, Gary! We gonna take the aerial extension along with us?

Got to…that old four story is gonna go up like an oil torch. May be able to get a handle on it from the top. LET’S GO!

The units wound up their sirens, moved smartly out of the station and headed for the old landmark. Only 12 blocks away and maybe, just maybe, they would get there in time. Their power horns, blaring in tandem with flashing lights, froze traffic, alerted dozens of homes. Eyes glancing through windows, glimpsed the trucks, wondered how far they had to go. Maybe close enough to grab a look. Within moments, cell phones raised the alarm, sharing information, identifying the target.

What’s on fire?

The Mansion.

How bad?

Looks like it’s gonna go right up.

They get there yet?

Don’t see ’em…can hear ’em…oh, here they come.

I see it! You gotta get over here…flames belching out of it…all over.

Gary there?

Yep…on the ground…directing the hoses. Think they’re gonna deploy the aerial ladder…try to get above the roof and flood it from the top.

Jonas Kirk heard the sirens, noted the phone alert, had nothing better to do and wandered over. Easy walking stirred his memory of the old Victorian…when it housed the coven and hosted the murder that he and Devlin were able to solve. Lyrical loving all right, but pinning a witch to the ground with a stake through her chest seemed a little too lusty. No one in the Mansion since then. Not likely to be in the future either, he thought. Fire would easily consume that old wooden structure.

He wandered up to the edge of the crowd, now several rows deep, looked around for any familiar faces and saw Devlin’s raw, reddened features. A sloppy dining partner, but a respected cop, Devlin looked to be in pain…intent, worried, helpless. Kirk sidled up, bumped his shoulder lightly and joined the crowd.

Devlin didn’t even glance at the nudge, simply gestured with his head toward the Mansion. It’s done for.

Gary Munson calling the shots?

Yep. Got here in damn near record time I would think. But fire’s got a hell of a start. The pumper can’t seem to put much of a dent in it. Maybe best to just be sure it doesn’t send off firesticks and spread next door.

That him over near the ladder truck?

Yeah. I heard some comments a little bit back…thinking of getting a hose up in the air and flooding down into the house…keep the roof wet, dampen flares and embers. We’ll see here in a minute what they do.

Kirk absorbed Devlin’s comments with a small grunt, kept an eye on the fire, even as he kept glancing over at the aerial rig. Saw the truck move a little closer to the building and slowly extend the ladder above the blaze. In a small platform capping its rungs, Gary Munson stood with a hose over his shoulder, planning to guide a high pressure stream down into the roof. Risky, Kirk thought. Placing himself up in the air at the end of a ladder, strung out over smoking space and hot timbers…edgy business indeed.

Whaddya’ think Devlin. Is that a good tactic, getting up on the end of that aerial?

Damn, I don’t think so, but then Munson is gangster serious about his business. Fights fires as though every lick of flame is a poker headed for his heart. Men really respect him.

They watched the ladder extend to the end of its reach. Munson motioned the engineer to release the water and on it came. Hard to handle, but he ran a heavy, tight stream directly into a small opening in the roof, flooding it, gradually expanding its scope until it had carved a yawning hole. Changed the setting to heavy spray and centered it on the fire below.

Kirk watched him with intense interest. Munson was strong, athletic in his movement, clearly bringing his skill and strength to bear on the pressure hose and managing to keep his balance against the railing on the platform. Wasn’t really doing much to quell the flames, but it did seem to dampen their intensity. More smoke, and Munson tried expanding the sweep of the water. He stepped outside the protective railing, got closer to the roof, pouring water directly into the hole, steam nearly enveloping him.

As he watched the drama above, Kirk kept picking up comments from Devlin. Jeezus, Gary, be careful up there…nothing between you and the roof but hot air…damn, watch out!

A flare shot from the roof, putting Munson back on his heels. He caught his balance and tried leaning further forward, sending water down into the fire pit. As he focused the hose, he appeared to become unsteady, shuffling his feet, shaking his head, once nearly tossing off his helmet. He reset the angle of the water and leaned forward a bit more to balance the retro-force it created.

As he did this, he seemed to become fixated on the hole in the roof, the flames below and the inferno raging in the interior. From where he stood, Kirk wanted to call out, Get the hell out of there, Gary…it’s gonna explode!

Even as he thought the words, he saw Munson shift again, stagger, turn toward the platform, seeking refuge. In mid-step, he lost his balance, struggled briefly, surrendering control of the pressure hose. His hand reached for the railing, missed, and he began tilting…bending…falling…disappearing without a sound.

The crowd screamed itself into pained silence. Munson’s crew looked to one another, retreated back to their engines, worked at keeping flames from spreading, asking themselves what more could they do? No answers. Their Captain…their leader…cremated alive and buried in timbers. Gary Munson, beloved son of Woodland Park…lost.

Life was going to be different tomorrow, Kirk mussed to himself, and he didn’t think he would like the feeling at all. He looked at Devlin, hoping that he would find some insider optimism that Munson might survive. He saw only a grimace, a spit into the dirt and a scowl. A few words, Damn, damn fool…never did know when to quit…damn!

It took two days for the fire to cool sufficiently to let inspectors search for and find Munson’s remains. Not much to report. Flesh now crisp carbon. Bones attached to a sticky, melted uniform. Death. Red hot. Now, ash cool.

45189.png

2

BONDING

H e was born in the soft light of dawn, arriving at the time predicted, placed into the arms of his mother, watched over by his father, a fireman and the son of a fireman. The first born, he supervised the arrival of a bother, a