Hatcher nudged me with his elbow. “Captain Romance strikes again.”
I smiled. “Captain Romance” was our secret nickname for Augustus.
The awards presentation began with the low-hanging fruit—gift certificates for free ice cream cones at the General Store, which were given to everyone in the crowd wearing a race bib; a prize for the youngest racer to finish (Annie Freeman got that one, which she accepted with a squeal of “G-R-A-T-I-T-U-D-E!”); another for “most improved time from last year” (that went to Principal Burnside); and finally, an award for the last person to cross the finish line—which I was really truly grateful I didn’t win.
Reverend Quinn took a bow as he stepped forward to accept the bright orange ribbon with LAST BUT NEVER LEAST emblazoned on it. “Blessed are the meek,” he quipped, holding it up.
Overall fastest time was awarded to an elite runner from Connecticut who regularly qualified for the Boston Marathon.
“This race has been on my bucket list for years,” he told the crowd. “I’m only sorry we out-of-towners don’t qualify for your famous trophy. There’s nothing I’d like better than to add that to my shelf. In fact, I may have to move to Pumpkin Falls so I can have a shot at it next year!”
He took his seat again to cheers of encouragement from the crowd.
“And now,” said Augustus, striking a dramatic pose, “the award we have all been waiting for—the silver pumpkin!”
Ella Bellow was standing beside me, arms folded tightly across her chest. Much to her displeasure, Team A Stitch in Time had been disqualified. Bud Jefferson had dropped out halfway up Hill Street. On the other hand, one of the Team Kwik Klips members had stumbled and hurt her ankle, and they had also ended up disqualified. That meant the odds were still even, as far as the Pumpkin Falls Beautification Project competition went. As for the winning team, Hatcher had said our time was solid. Was there a chance we might pull it off? I started envisioning a window display at the bookstore featuring the coveted trophy.
Augustus turned to the brass band behind him. “May I have a drumroll, please?” They obliged. He opened the envelope and peeked inside. “And the trophy goes to”—he paused again to wring every last drop of drama from the moment—“Team Starlite!”
Hatcher and I exchanged a rueful glance.
“Oh well,” said Mackenzie. “At least Mr. Henry’s project won, right?”
I nodded. The children’s room at the library would get its renovation.
“There’s always next year,” Mr. Henry said to Ella, whose expression looked like she’d soaked it in pickle juice. She gave a curt nod and stalked off. Ella was not a good sport.
The gaggle of Giffords were, though. My relatives and I all whooped and cheered as Cha Cha, her parents, and the other members of Team Starlite climbed the steps of the bandstand to collect their prize. The big silver pumpkin was going to look great in the Starlite Dance Studio window, gleaming under the twinkle lights.
Augustus bent down and reached under the podium for the trophy. A moment later, he snapped upright again. He was frowning.
“Where did you put it?” he asked Belinda in a stage whisper.
“Under the podium,” Belinda whispered back. “You saw me.”
“Well, it’s not here!”
Belinda clambered up the bandstand steps to look for herself. Ella joined her, as did Mr. Henry. The four of them scoured the podium, then the bandstand itself and the bushes that surrounded it.
But Captain Romance was right—the silver trophy was gone!
CHAPTER 6
One good thing came from the Great Pumpkin Trophy Heist, as the Patriot-Bugle quickly dubbed it: The Gifford Family Reunion got knocked off the front page.
At first, everybody thought that Belinda Winchester was confused, and that maybe she’d just forgotten to retrieve the trophy from the window of Mahoney’s Antiques before the race. But she protested that she most certainly had retrieved it, and she even had a cell phone photo to prove it—one she’d taken on the bandstand earlier in the day that showed Augustus Wilde hoisting the trophy in mock victory.
Residents and tourists alike quickly spread out all over town looking for it, but in the end, everyone came up empty-handed. The silver pumpkin was definitely gone.
“Who would want to steal a dumb trophy?” I asked, as Mackenzie and Cha Cha and Jasmine and I retreated to the shade of one of the trees on the village green. The rest of my family was gathered nearby, and over by the bandstand, the town council was holding an emergency meeting with the police—well, policeman. Pumpkin Falls only had one: Officer Tanglewood.
“It’s not dumb,” Cha Cha scolded in her deep voice, the one that had earned her the nickname “the kazoo” from Hatcher. “It’s tradition.” She was obviously disappointed. I’d be disappointed too if my team had won, and the trophy we were entitled to show off all year had vanished.
“You have a point, though, Truly,” said Jasmine. “I can’t think of anyone around here who would do something like that.”
We were quiet for a moment, considering.
“Ella?” I suggested, glancing over at the bandstand, where our former postmistress-turned-knitting-shop-owner was lecturing Officer Tanglewood. “She was pretty unhappy about losing.”
Cha Cha didn’t look convinced. “Ella wouldn’t sink that low, would she?”
“It could be anybody!” said Mackenzie. “A local, a visitor—there were a ton of people at the race today who aren’t from around here. Including all of us Giffords.”
I looked at her, astonished. “None of us stole it!”
“I know that. I’m just saying!”
“I’ll bet it was one of those marathoners.” Jasmine’s dark eyes narrowed as she watched the runner with the winning time laughing with his friends. “That guy, for instance. I’ll bet he made that joke about moving here so he’d be eligible to win the trophy next year just to throw everyone off track.”
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Cha Cha cautioned. “Don’t forget what happened over
