Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery series Box Set 1

by Chelsea Thomas

Miss May rang the bell. We waited a full minute. She rang it again, and a young woman opened the door. It relieved me to see a young woman at the door rather than Sudeer.

  The woman looked about my age. Her reddish hair was in a messy ponytail, and purple bags hung heavy under her eyes. She wore sweatpants and a stained “Cornell” sweatshirt, and she held a baby boy on her hip. This lady did not look like the wife of a killer.

  “Can I help you?”

  She sounded a bit out of breath, like she had spent the thirty seconds before opening the door chasing her baby around the house. Or hiding her husband’s murder weapon, I thought. The boa constrictor continued to squeeze.

  “Yes, uh, we’re looking for Sudeer?” It was a statement, but Miss May said it like a question.

  “And who are you?” The woman shifted her baby from one arm to another, scowling like we were there to sell her used toilet paper.

  Miss May adjusted her tone, so it sounded friendlier. “Of course. Where are my manners? My name is Miss May. I run Thomas’ Fruit & Fir Farm, up on Whitehill?”

  The woman furrowed her brow, “Thomas what and huh farm?”

  “Oh. You—you haven’t been to the farm.” Miss May furrowed her brow. Until that moment, I think Miss May had assumed every resident of Pine Grove had been to the farm. Multiple times. And that most people considered Thomas’ Fruit & Fir to be the greatest place in the solar system.

  “I have not,” the woman said.

  “It’s a good thing I brought you one of our world-famous apple pies then. Did you say your name?” Miss May asked.

  “Kayla.”

  “Kayla. So elegant. Here you go.” Miss May reached into her oversized purse and pulled out an entire apple pie.

  I shook my head. Miss May always surprised me, but I’d never seen her stash a full-size pie in her bag.

  “Oh... That’s for me?” Kayla accepted the pie gingerly, like a jack-in-the-box might pop out and attack.

  “Of course,” Miss May said. “That’s why we’re here. Sudeer placed the order and requested express delivery. Said his beautiful wife would love our world famous, award-winning apple pie.”

  Kayla smiled. “Wow. That’s so sweet.”

  Miss May nodded. “He was a guest at a wedding in our event barn last night. He went on and on about how much you’d love it up at the farm.”

  “Ohhhh. You run the apple orchard?” Kayla's eyes widened with recognition. “Now I know your farm. Sudeer said it was beautiful. I wanted to go but, well, babies.”

  “It didn’t turn out that great anyway,” Teeny said. “Because of—”

  “Vinny’s death?” Kayla said. “Yeah, horrible news. Sudeer is broken up about it.”

  “They were close, right?” I asked.

  “As close as oil and water can be,” Kayla said. “Hang on. Let me put this pie down.”

  The baby boy on Kayla’s hip squirmed and reached for the pie box. “Not for you,” Kayla said. “This pie’s all for momma. And it smells fantastic.”

  Miss May laughed. “That’s a blend of Granny Smith and Jonagold you’re smelling. But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret recipe.”

  “I won’t.” Kayla shifted around, trying to set the pie down.

  Miss May’s eyes widened as she spotted something over Kayla’s shoulder. ”Uh-oh! Looks like you’ve got a rugrat on the loose back there!”

  Kayla turned around and gasped. A second child, a little girl that looked about two years old, crawled around on an end table in the foyer.

  “Simmi, get down!”

  Kayla rushed over to the baby, but Miss May got there first, plucking the baby off the table seconds before the whole thing tipped over.

  Kayla cried out to the child, “Simmi! Bad girl! You know you’re not supposed to play on the furniture.”

  “Oh, it’s OK,” Miss May said, still holding the baby. “This little girl’s just too cute to function. That’s all.”

  “Bah!” Simmi looked up at Miss May and wrapped her tiny little fingers around Miss May’s nose.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kayla said. But Miss May was way too deep in baby land to have an adult conversation.

  “Yes, you are cute, aren’t you?” Miss May cooed. Miss May turned to Kayla. “Don’t be sorry. She’s beautiful.”

  Kayla smiled in that way that overflows from the eyes of moms who know how adorable their children are. “She’s a little troublemaker, that’s what she is.”

  We laughed, then Teeny stepped forward and reached out toward the baby in Kayla's arms. “I could hold this one, if you want to put your pie away.”

  Teeny often railed against noisy, smelly kids at Grandma’s, but she was only human. She couldn’t deny how precious Kayla’s kids were.

  Kayla laughed. “Works for me.”

  Kayla passed Teeny her baby boy like a bag of flour. Teeny took the baby and giggled. “Look at these chubby cheeks!”

  I smiled as I realized I had forgotten all about Sudeer, and the boa constrictor had stopped squeezing my innards.

  Kayla put the pie down and turned to me. “I would offer you a baby, but number three is still in the oven.”

  “You’re pregnant!?” Once again, I yelled words I intended to speak. But for real, this girl was an infant factory.

  Kayla took a deep breath and held it. “Due in seven months.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” Miss May said. “Plus you’ve got Sudeer to help you. He seems like a great guy.”

  “You’re right,” Kayla said. “I know.”

  “Is he, uh—is he home right now?” Miss May asked. I tensed again, remembering we hadn’t actually gone there to deliver apple pie and meet cute babies.

  “Oh! Actually. Uh. No. Sudeer had to, uh—take care of something.” Kayla twisted her mouth up and shifted her weight.

  “No problem,” Miss May said. “I was hoping to get him to sign for this pie, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you sure?” Kayla asked.

  “Positive,” Miss May said. “You enjoy, OK? And keep loving these kids, they grow up fast.”

  Miss May shot me a poignant look, and I felt a sudden pang of regret for my adoptive mom. Miss May had enough mothering in her to raise a whole brood of children, and instead she’d gotten stuck with only one damaged Chelsea.

  “Yeah. Before you know it, they’ll be broken-hearted and moving back in with you,” I said.

  We all laughed. Kayla seemed happy for the break we’d provided in her day. And I was thinking it was crazy I’d ever suspected Sudeer. But as soon as we were back in the van, Miss May kerplunk'd the gear shift into reverse and sped out of the driveway.

  14

  The Secret Destination

  Moments later, we were back in town, and Miss May was striding down Main Street with purpose.

  I asked where we were going, but Miss May had said only, “You'll see.”

  Then I suggested we go see Wayne. I mean the cops. But Miss May and Teeny were too busy ping-ponging theories to even think about that.

  “Two kids and another on the way!?” Teeny said. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe a young father like that is a killer.”

  “Will you keep it down?” Miss May said. She continued in a hushed whisper. “That’s why I think he is a killer.”

  “What do you mean?” Teeny asked. “Those babies were clearly half-Indian, so it’s not like Vinny was the father. Unless the one in the oven belonged to Vinny. Oooooh! And Sudeer caught Vinny and Kayla in the act, canoodling up at Lookout Point.”

  “Pine Grove doesn't even have a Lookout Point,” Miss May said. “This isn’t an episode of North Port Diaries.”

  North Port Diaries was a murder mystery series that ran for six seasons in the 80s. Few people watched it, but the show obsessed Teeny, and she still watched at least two episodes per day, even though she’d seen them all a dozen times.

  “Don’t you mock my NPD,” Teeny said. “Those stories are beautiful, complicated, and true to life!”

&n
bsp; “Oh yeah,” Miss May said. “That episode about the murderous pudding chef was ripped straight from the headlines.”

  Teeny crossed her arms. “Well, I think North Port Diaries is the best program in the history of entertainment.”

  “You do not.”

  “Do too!”

  Miss May sighed. “Fine. You’re entitled to your wrong opinion. Now can we can talk about the actual murder?”

  “Fine,” Teeny said. “If there was no torrid love affair between Kayla and Vinny, which I still think there was, why do you think Sudeer did it?”

  Miss May set her jaw. “For money.”

  “That’s boring,” Teeny said. “Besides, Sudeer and Vinny were the busiest contractors in town. I doubt Sudeer needed money.”

  “Seemed like he could use a little cash to me,” I said.

  Miss May turned. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “The furniture in that house was falling apart, and the carpet was gross. And he had Formica countertops.”

  Teeny dismissed me with a casual wave. “God forbid the man doesn’t have impeccable taste in interior design like you do.”

  “He builds houses,” I said. “You think he’d care at least a little.”

  “I agree,” Miss May said. “In fact, it’s odd that he lives in that cottage in the first place. Vinny’s house is a bona fide estate.”

  “Oh yeah!” I said. “Vinny used to post about his house online all the time. I think he and Sudeer built it together.”

  I stopped walking, giving my thoughts time to untangle. “That is odd, isn’t it? Why would Vinny get a big, custom house, while his business partner is living in a shack down by the pond?”

  Miss May tapped her temple, “My thoughts exactly.”

  A small smirk crept onto my face. I didn’t like having fun with a murder investigation. Someone I knew had died. But Teeny, Miss May, and I were working on a puzzle, and I felt like I had just helped find a center piece.

  “You think Vinny cheated Sudeer out of Sudeer’s half of the money?” I asked.

  “That's my suspicion,” Miss May said.

  “And I bet Sudeer gets full ownership of the business in the event of Vinny’s death,” I said.

  “Wouldn’t even matter,” Miss May said. “If Vinny died, there’d be a hole in the market either way. Sudeer could form his own company, and he’d be the only game in town.”

  “Well, I can’t believe it,” Teeny said, shaking her head. “Those adorable little babies have a killer for a dad.”

  “We should’ve staked out his house or something,” I said. “Waited for him to come home so we could talk to him.”

  “A stakeout is an option,” Miss May said. “But I don’t think it will be necessary.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Miss May raised her eyebrows and smirked. That was her “I’ve got a secret, and I’m about to tell you” face.

  “You have a plan,” I said. “Why wouldn’t you tell me before? I hate when you don’t share your plans.”

  Miss May shrugged. “It’d be boring if I spelled out what we were doing beat by beat.” She dug through her purse.

  “Besides. What I have is better than a plan. I have an address.”

  With that, Miss May whipped out a small envelope like she was finishing an elaborate magic trick. All that was missing was the ta-da.

  “Ta-da,” Miss May smiled. “This is an invoice from Tom Gigley to Sudeer. And it’s got Gigley’s official letterhead.”

  “So that’s where we’re going?” I asked.

  “We’re already here,” Miss May said. “And I can’t wait to hear what Gigley’s got to say about Sudeer.”

  I looked up. Sure enough, we were standing outside the old colonial house that Tom Gigley used for a law office.

  “I don’t know about this,” I said. “Doesn’t Gigley do small stuff? Like estate plans and divorces? Vinny and Sudeer seem like they would have used a city lawyer or at least someone down county.”

  “The invoice was not addressed to Vinny and Sudeer,” Miss May said. “It was addressed to Sudeer only.”

  “What about lawyer/client confidentiality?” I asked, but Miss May and Teeny were already half way up the steps to Gigley's office.

  I gulped, and my stomach rumbled. What if Sudeer was inside? And what if he really was the killer?

  15

  Appointments Required

  When we entered Gigley’s office, it surprised me how much it looked like a house inside. To the right was a small living room that Gigley used as a waiting area. The space was well-decorated with a Victorian-style couch, and an antique table with brochures fanned out on top.

  The room on the left had been set up for a receptionist. That area probably used to be a dining room, but it was empty except for an oak desk with a big, old-fashioned computer on top. There was a sign on the desk that said “Cruising the Mediterranean! Please ring bell for service. – Deb.”

  I assumed Deb was Gigley’s receptionist. Miss May confirmed my suspicion.

  “That’s right, Deb’s on that cruise in Italy,” Miss May said. “Let’s just head back.”

  We walked down the creaky hall toward the back of the house. There, we found a pair of closed French doors. A placard above the doors read “Tom Gigley, ESQ.” But a sign dangled from one of the handles that said, “With Client.”

  I sighed. “What do we do now?”

  “What do you mean?” Miss May knocked on the door. “Tom, it’s May. I have an urgent legal matter.”

  “I’m with a client, May!”

  “And I have an urgent legal matter! Don’t make me use Legal Zoom!”

  We heard a quick, mumbled conversation. Then the door parted, and Tom Gigley stepped into the hall. I realized that although Miss May had always used Gigley for her legal matters, I had never seen him in person.

  Gigley was a big guy. About six feet tall. Sixty or sixty-five. And he had a shock of stark gray hair, combed to the side. He wore a nice suit, the cut a city lawyer might wear, and a classic leather watch.

  Prior to that day, I had only heard Gigley’s voice over the phone, and he’d always been cordial. But in person, the man had a gruff, put-upon nature. Although that could well have been because Miss May had just interrupted him while he was “With Client.”

  I craned my neck to get a view inside Gigley’s office, but he closed the door too quickly for me to get a good look.

  Gigley let out a deep sigh and then set his foreboding gaze on Miss May. “Alright, May. What is it?”

  “Don’t you want to introduce yourself to my niece?” Miss May asked.

  “I wouldn’t mind a greeting either,” Teeny said.

  Gigley groaned. He had no time or patience for pleasantries, but Teeny and Miss May weren’t about to rush.

  “Yeah hi, hi. Good to meet you,” Gigley said.

  Teeny and Miss May exchanged a smile. I got the impression that they were messing with Gigley. He clearly resented their intrusion, and they clearly didn’t care.

  “What’s so urgent?” Gigley asked.

  “Oh right,” Miss May said. “I’d like to talk in the front room. For privacy.”

  Tom sighed again, then trudged off toward the front of the house, his dress shoes pounding on the wood floor as he walked.

  Miss May looked at us like, “get ready,” and once Gigley was about ten feet down the hall, she slipped through the door into his office and waved us in behind her.

  “Hey,” Gigley said. “What are you doing!?”

  But we were already inside his office. And there was Sudeer, sitting in a maroon leather chair, wringing his hands.

  Miss May opened her palms and smiled. “Sudeer! How are you? Miss May. Remember me?”

  “Uh, yeah. You’re the lady from the farm, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Miss May sat across from Sudeer, and Teeny grabbed my arm and squeezed. She was a gentle woman, but when she was nervous, Teeny had a death grip.
I summoned as much self-discipline as I could to endure Teeny treating me like a human stress-ball and tried to focus on Miss May’s conversation with Sudeer.

  “You look stressed, Sudeer,” Miss May said. “Take a breath. Relax. Focus on your surroundings.”

  I shook my head. Miss May had told me my meditation app was too ”woo-woo” for her, but she'd clearly been paying more attention than she let on.

  “Do you need something from me?” Sudeer said.

  Gigley burst into the office, red-faced. “Don’t say another word to these busybodies, Sudeer!”

  Miss May stood. “I’m no busybody,” she said. “I’m trying to clear your client’s name.”

  “Clear his name of what?” Gigley shouted. Teeny and I shrunk further into the corner, and she clamped down even harder on my arm. I could feel pins and needles in my hand.

  “Murder,” Miss May said. “What else?”

  “Whoa,” Sudeer said. “I’m no murderer. I’m a regular guy. A dad! I’d never kill someone.”

  “That’s what I said!” Teeny covered her mouth like she had done something wrong.

  “Stop talking, Sudeer!” Gigley turned tomato-red with anger.

  “Hold on.” Sudeer stood. “People think I killed Vinny? The cops said it was an accident. They aren’t even investigating.”

  “Not yet they’re not,” Miss May said. “But I have a hunch you know more about Vinny’s death than you’re letting on. And if you didn’t kill him, well then, I need to know before I go to the police. Nobody just comes onto my farm and gets away with murder. Not on my watch.”

  I held my breath. This is the first time I understood why Miss May was so hung up on Vinny’s death. The farm was supposed to be a place for people to relax and make good memories. She was defending not just a place, but the notion that there could still be sacred spaces in the world. Miss May would not let this investigation go until the person who committed the murder was behind bars.

  “You need to leave, May,” Gigley said.

  Miss May took a step toward Gigley and looked him right in the eye, “Are you really going to stand here and tell me that if this man is a murderer, he deserves your protection?”