Apple Orchard Cozy Mysteries Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
Chelsea Thomas
Copyright & Disclaimer: Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Series Box Set 1 © Chelsea Thomas, 2019
Disclaimer -- All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including mechanical or electronic, without written permission from the author.
While the author has made every effort to ensure that the ideas, guidelines and information printed in this book are safe, they should be used at the reader’s discretion. The author cannot be held responsible for any personal or commercial damage arising from the application or misinterpretation of information presented herein.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to the actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Priscilla Pantin
Editor: Marjorie Kramer
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Message from Author Chelsea Thomas
Dear Reader,
* * *
I hope you enjoy this three book box set from my “Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery” series. With nearly 1,000 pages and hundreds of thousands of words, the books in this box set took an entire year to write.
* * *
This collection contains the first three books from the Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery series. I think you’ll love them because everyone loves a determined sleuth who can make them laugh!
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Best,
Chelsea Thomas
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P.S. Get my FREE novella and FREE cozy cookbook when you sign up for my cozy newsletter! Click the link below.
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http://www.chelseathomasauthor.com
To our families
Big Dan, Carrie, Mom, Dad, Elizabeth, Emily, Marianne, Matt and Teddy
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With special thanks to
Christy Murphy
Author of Mom & Christy’s Cozy Mystery Series
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Visit my website for new releases and special offers: chelseathomasauthor.com
1
Altar Falter
Left at the altar. What a cliché. I hadn’t thought my fiancé, Mike, capable of such an unoriginal break-up. But there we were, at the altar, and he kept checking the exits like he was about to rob a bank.
“Are you OK?” I whispered as the priest said some stuff in Latin.
Mike wiped sweat off his forehead. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sweating a lot.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Before I could get further confirmation, the priest joined Mike’s sweaty hands with my hands, and he proceeded with the vows. “Do you, Chelsea Rae Thomas, take Michael Martin Gherkin as your husband, until deatsh do you part?”
“I do.” Easy answer, or so I thought.
The priest turned to Mike. “And do you, Michael, take Chelsea as your lawfully wedded wife?”
Mike swallowed so loud it echoed in the pulpit. Then, after a long moment, he said, “Uh, I think I forgot something in the hotel.” And he turned. And he walked back down the aisle.
Hushed whispers erupted among the guests as Mike took step after plodding step toward the exit. But the whispers became full-blown conversation as Mike broke into a trot and darted out the door.
Every eyeball in the pews watched as Mike left, and once he vanished from sight, all those eyeballs swung to me. What will Chelsea do now?
I’ll tell you what I did. I stood there, shocked, as excuses whirled through my mind like snowflakes in a blizzard.
He forgot the ring, I thought. Or he absent-mindedly neglected to wear underwear. He’d done that before. Or he needed to go to the bathroom. Really, really bad. Also not uncommon for him.
After about fifteen seconds of pin-drop silence, the priest cleared his throat, and I snapped back to reality.
“Uh…” I fiddled with my necklace. “It's possible he really forgot something.”
“That's possible. Yes.” The priest covered his microphone and leaned toward me. “Why don’t you try calling him?”
My eyes welled with tears. “I’m wearing a wedding dress. I don’t have my phone.”
The priest nodded and stepped back to his place at the altar. “Would anyone here today be so kind as to call the groom?”
Yet another hushed whisper whooshed through the crowd. You want us to call him?! The priest continued, “Normally I frown on cell phone usage in the church. But we have another wedding in a half an hour, and it would be good to know when Michael might be back.”
My Aunt May — a sturdy woman most people called “Miss May” — stood up. “I tried him. No answer.”
Miss May looked at me. Ever since my parents had died, she had been like my mom and dad all rolled up into one. In that moment, I felt her sympathy, and I saw the hurt of a thousand parents in her sharp blue eyes. That’s when I realized… This had to end.
I turned to the priest. “I should go, shouldn't I?”
The priest nodded and pulled me close to him. “Go with God.”
I took a deep breath and looked out over the wedding guests. The perceptive among them knew what was about to happen. Everyone else was in for a sight they would never forget.
I wiped my tears. I took off my way-too-expensive, peep-toe heels, one at a time. And I marched down the aisle with my head held high.
I dropped one of my shoes as I climbed down from the altar, but I didn’t stop to get it. Someday, I’ll get Cinderella'd with that lost slipper. I thought. All I needed was a prince that wouldn’t run screaming out of the chapel on our wedding day.
When I got about a third of the way down the aisle, Miss May was standing there with her arm extended to escort me out. When I saw her, I burst into grateful tears, and my whole body flooded with relief as I slipped my arm through hers.
“That dress looks amazing on you,” Miss May said. “Well worth the thousand bucks.”
At that, I cracked up laughing. Miss May had a way of hitting me right in the funny bone, even when I was bereft of joy.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. And I walked out of the church, chin up, arm-in-arm with my aunt instead of my husband.
When I got back to the hotel room, I found Mike's tuxedo in a rumpled pile with a note pinned to the lapel that said, “I have no clue where to return this.”
After I muttered a few not-so-kind suggestions about where Mike might shove that tux, I marched out to the parking lot and tossed it into the dumpster, shoes and all.
“Take that, you stupid jerk face!”
I screamed, because I thought I was alone. Then I kicked the dumpster, also because I thought I was alone.
“Ma’am?”
I was not alone.
I spun around as a security guard approached from the shadows. My wedding dress slid off my shoulders. Mascara ran down my cheeks. My “up-do” had transformed into an “up-don’t.” I must have been a sight. Still, the security guard attempted a cautious but well-intentioned word.
“Congratulations?”
And thus ended my wedding day. Hooray.
2
Jersey Jailbreak
Six months later, I was living alone in a dingy studio apartment in Jersey City, New Jersey, at my all-time low. My social life no longer existed. My business was in shambles. And my only human contact was with Hao Hu, the Chinese delivery guy who brought me Lo Mein every night at six. I want to say Hao was my best friend, but I’m not sure
he’d say the same of me.
It was a rainy Tuesday, or Wednesday, or a Friday, when my life took a turn for the better.
The time was 6:03 PM and Hao was three minutes late with my Lo Mein. Hao hadn’t been late during my entire stint in Jersey City, so I worried a taxi had mowed him down as he pedaled his way through traffic with my food.
I imagined the whole grisly scene. Hao splayed on the pavement. My ill-fated Lo Mein splattered like guts on the rain-soaked streets. Hao’s bike a twisted hunk of metal in the gutter. The clock struck 6:04, and I grabbed my phone, milliseconds from calling 9-1-1 to report a missing delivery boy. Then, there was a knock at the door. Phewph.
“Hi Hao,” I called out. “Thank God you’re alive. Give me one second!”
I pulled on my good pajama pants and bounced across the room with a smile, excited for Lo Mein time. But when I opened the door, it was not Hao Hu. It was Miss May, holding a big bag of Chinese food.
“Is that my—”
Miss May smiled. “Yep. I followed the delivery guy in and intercepted him in the stairwell.”
“How did you figure out the food was for me?”
“I asked, ‘Is that food for Chelsea?’ and he said yes. I paid him extra to let me deliver it.”
Miss May stepped inside and looked around. Her sharp blue eyes took in the plastic wall clock, the lumpy futon, the painful fluorescent lights, and every other sordid detail of my dusty Jersey City pad. Last and quite possibly least, her gaze rested on me. Yes, I was wearing my good pajama pants. No, Miss May did not seem impressed. She sighed, “Don’t tell me you call this place home.”
I hung my head in shame and also to see if my t-shirt had any stains on it. It did. Spicy mustard. Oh well.
“Um. Maybe not home. But this is where I’ve been living. It’s… cozy.”
Miss May ran her finger along one of the dusty counters. “No wonder you haven’t let me visit. I’m going to catch the avian flu just standing here.”
I smiled. Miss May said everything with such familiarity. I felt at home whenever she was around. I needed that. Possibly even more than I needed my Lo Mein. Although, it was past my normal feeding time.
Miss May opened and shut a few cabinets. “Do you have utensils, or have you been eating with your hands?”
“The Chinese place brings me fresh chopsticks with every order,” I said.
Miss May cleared some junk mail off the kitchen table so we would have a place to eat.
“Does Mike know this is how you’re living now?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t asked him.”
“You haven’t talked to him at all?” Miss May raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, I’ve yelled a lot of four-letter-words at him in my head. But other than that, there hasn’t been much to say.”
Thunk. Miss May tossed the junk mail in the trash, annoyed. “I still can’t believe that rat locked you out of your whole life.”
“Technically it was his right. His name was on the lease.”
“But did he need to take your business too? It was an interior design company. You were the interior designer! What’s he going to do with that company now?”
“His name… was on the paperwork. I don’t know, maybe he’ll marry a younger, prettier interior designer.”
Miss May closed a cabinet with a thud. “Where are these damn utensils?”
“I don’t have any!”
Miss May looked at me in disbelief.
I backpedaled. “I have one spoon. At most.”
“But how have you—”
“I told you. They bring chopsticks.”
Miss May laughed. “Chelsea Rae. You kill me.”
I picked at my fingernails. “I’ve been going through some stuff.”
Miss May crossed over to me. “There’s no excuse for not owning a single piece of silverware. Are you still feeling down?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “We don’t have to talk about this again. Really. We’ve talked it into the ground, through the center of the earth, and back out the other side.”
“I just want to see you back on your feet.” Miss May clocked my pajamas. “Wearing day-pants.”
I laughed. “These are my day pajamas!”
“I’m sorry, but there is no such thing!”
Miss May set the Chinese food out on the table. “Found the chopsticks!” She pulled a pair of chop sticks out of the bag in triumph. “Come on, sit.”
After I got over the shock of seeing my little kitchen table cleared and set for dinner, I made my way over and took a seat.
Miss May served each of us a big heap of noodles, distracting me as she changed the subject. “So! You're probably curious about why I'm here.”
“It’s not just to say hi?” I took a bite of Lo Mein.
“Nope,” Miss May said. “When I woke up this morning, I was struck by an amazing idea!”
I added hot sauce to my food. “…OK.”
Miss May gestured around my apartment. “Despite this collection of fast food garbage and used furniture, you are easily the best interior designer in the Tri-State area. I mean, I saw how you decorated for that wedding reception. It was incredible!”
I winced. The reception hall. We never even got to that part. Mike wouldn’t have appreciated it, anyway.
“I know. You’re still sensitive about the runaway groom thing. But my idea, this big idea, can help you get over that whole situation.” She paused for effect. “Ready for my big idea?”
I tried to muster a hopeful smile but only got halfway there. I was afraid that Miss May’s big idea would mean a big change for me, and I didn’t think I was ready for a big change.
Hao Hu and I were two peas in a Chinese pod. Why risk messing with that chemistry?
Miss May took my hand in hers. “I want you to come work at the orchard. Help me in the bake shop. More importantly, I want you to be in charge of decorating all our events.”
I tensed up. Miss May was challenging me to rise to the occasion, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me. Plus, her standards were high, and I hated working under that kind of scrutiny. Miss May read my mind.
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of the way. You work with the clients. You make the decisions. I’m getting ‘chill’ in my old age. I promise.”
I mustered a few words. “That’s—that’s nice. Thank you. But uh... I’ve been trying to get more work in the city. So I’m not sure.”
Miss May gestured out the window. “Jersey City is not ‘the city.’”
“People call it the Sixth Borough.”
“Well, I call it New Jersey.” Like a lot of New Yorkers, Miss May had a preternatural disdain for New Jersey, based on nothing.
“But I’m trying to rebuild the business in Manhattan and Brooklyn.”
“So? You can have unlimited days off to take work in the city, no notice required, no questions asked. How can you say no to that?”
A small smile crept across my lips.
“See! It’s a good idea,” Miss May said.
“That’s not fair to you!”
“Sure it is! I get a New York City designer, I can charge more for events. If you’re not available, I’ll charge my regular rates. Easy.”
“If I break this lease, I’ll lose my deposit.”
“But you’ll be living for free up at the farm, so it’s cancelled right out.”
Miss May had been a lawyer on Wall Street before she took over the family farm. She thought everything through and had an answer to every question.
“You want me to… take my old room back?” I asked.
“You could also live out in the barn, if you want.” Miss May took a bite of Lo Mein. “Even that place would be an upgrade on what you’ve got here.”
I looked around the apartment. A water-stain on the wall appeared to be giving me the middle finger. I looked back to Miss May. Smiling and supportive.
She’s right, I thought. This could be good for me. And maybe I could learn from Miss May. She ha
d warned me about Mike after all. But I had been too trusting. And I didn’t think things through like she did.
My face flushed with excitement. I was starting over. Unmarried, unemployed, and unshowered. Hopefully, I would be able to fix at least one of those things soon.
3
No Place Like Home
My knees thumped against the dash as Miss May drove us into town in her yellow 1971 VW Bus. I bit my tongue, both literally and figuratively, and tried to stifle a quiet yelp.
Miss May glared at me. “You think you’re so much better, next time you drive.”
“I’ve been in the city for almost a decade. I let my license expire years ago.”
“Well, quit gripping your handle, you little scaredy cat. I like to feel the road.”
I tried to relax my grip, but I only managed to hold on tighter. I didn't love riding with Miss May, but I was also conflicted about coming back to my home town with my tail between my hadn’t-been-shaved-since Saturday legs.
I may not have been happy in Jersey City, but I was at least making my own way. Like a doughier, less stylish version of Sarah Jessica Parker from Sex and the City.
Now I was moving back in with the woman who raised me. It was far from a triumphant return, but I tried to focus on the positive as we entered my home town.
Pine Grove, New York was, by most standards, what one would refer to as a “small town.” Although it was only about ninety minutes north of New York City by train, it was as different from Manhattan as you could get.
Pine Grove’s population was a few hundred people shy of six thousand. Everyone knew everything about everyone. All the time. And our high school mascot was a giant ear of corn. What’s more small town than that?
The area Miss May was driving through at that moment was Pine Grove’s only commercial district, but the locals called it “town.” Short and sweet.
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