Miss May didn’t budge. “I'm not going to prevent you from going anywhere, Dennis. I just want you to answer one question.”
Dennis sighed. “Fine. What?”
“Is Germany Turtle here?”
Dennis scrunched up his face. “Germany is in Africa studying for another eleven months. Did Linda not brag about that to you within moments of meeting you? I'm shocked.”
Miss May shook her head. “No. Linda did boast quite freely about Germany's studies. But I thought, given the circumstances, he might have taken a hiatus. Are you sure he’s not here? Have you heard from him?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.” Dennis pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up his emails. “Germany has too many demands on his time to send many emails from Africa. But he does manage to send a message at least once per week. His most recent correspondence arrived at 3 AM, just this morning.”
Dennis flicked through a few emails then opened the message from Germany. He read part of the message aloud.
“‘Dear family, here in Africa, things are well. The longer my stay here stretches on, the more I feel that I'm becoming one of the lions. I study them, and in that pursuit, I become one with the beasts. They are equal parts ballerina and wrecking ball. I wish to emulate their grace, poise, and primal aggression when I return stateside. That is all for now. The hotel accommodations are outstanding. I eat fresh fruit and world-class croissants for breakfast every morning. But my time with the lions keeps me grounded and has given me perspective for which I will be eternally grateful. Please see a photo of me eating breakfast. Attached.’”
Dennis opened the photo of Germany eating breakfast and held it out for us to see. There was a mid-20s man, blonde, with a sweater tied around his neck, eating a croissant. He was a Turtle down to his very marrow, to be sure. He was also kinda cute, I thought. In a horrible, rich-kid- with-a-sweater-around-his-neck way.
Dennis sniffled. “Isn't he the spitting image of Linda?”
It surprised me to see anyone so emotional about Linda. It surprised me even more that Germany Turtle had found someone to serve him fresh croissants in the wilds of Africa. I had assumed he was roughing it, out in the wilderness. Stupid assumption.
“The truth is, Germany doesn’t know. Not about any of this. I haven't told him anything about his parents. I promised the police I would get in touch with Germany, but…I haven’t been able to bring myself to break the tragic news.”
Miss May rested a hand on Dennis's shoulder. “That makes sense. What could he do from so far away?”
Dennis nodded. “That's how I feel. Why ruin his trip for naught? Why not preserve Germany's innocence for just a few more weeks?”
“That croissant looked good,” Teeny said. Miss May shot Teeny a look. “What? It seems like a delicious pastry. I can’t say that?”
“The boy has exquisite taste, like his mother,” Dennis said. “Now if you'll excuse me, you were correct. I'm off to a faraway land.” Dennis grabbed a large suitcase from behind the door and stepped outside past Miss May. As if by magic, a hybrid sedan pulled up to the foot of the driveway and Dennis opened the rear passenger door.
Miss May watched him get in the car without so much as a single move to stop him.
“What are we doing?” I asked in a panicked whisper. “He was acting so guilty. Now he's getting away!”
“He wasn't acting guilty,” Miss May said. “He was acting scared.”
“Yeah,” Teeny said. “Scared of getting caught!”
Miss May shook her head. “I don't think so. I think Dennis was afraid that whoever killed Linda and Reginald wants to kill him next.”
“But we’re never going to find him now,” Teeny said. “What if you're wrong? With no Germany in the picture, Dennis was our only suspect.”
“Lucky for us, we know where he's going.” Miss May smiled.
I scratched my head. “How?”
“That envelope? It was from Jamaican Me Crazy Cruise Lines. Their branding is surprisingly subtle, but I recognized their logo.”
I raised my eyebrows, impressed with Miss May’s sleuthing. “Wow. That guy was so…I don’t know, pale and stringy? He didn’t strike me as a tropical cruise type.”
“Everybody likes all-inclusive chicken fingers,” Miss May said. “Especially when they’re afraid of being murdered. Come on. Let's go around back.”
23
Breaking and Entering, Again
Out back, the small yard was in disarray. What had once been an elegant garden was overgrown. A rusted diving board hovered above a small in-ground pool with crumbling tile. A basketball hoop hung akimbo off an outbuilding, dangling as if it could fall at any moment.
The dilapidated space told a sad story of the once-great Turtles. Linda, Reginald, and Germany had been a family. They had jumped off that diving board and shot around on the basketball hoop. As time wore on, some dissent or resentment must have wormed its way into the family and rotted their relationships from the inside out. At least that's what seemed to have happened between Linda and Reginald.
Like the love between the Turtles, this untended yard had decayed into an ugly shadow of its former self. I guess sometimes that’s what happens when we’re not looking. If you ignore a garden, it dies. Just like the Turtles. But someone had killed the Turtles. And we still weren’t any closer to knowing who.
Miss May tried the back door and the windows, but everything was locked.
Teeny grabbed a hunk of crumbling stone from near the pool. “Let's bash our way in!”
“Don't you think that might draw the attention of the neighbors?” Miss May asked.
Teeny shrugged. “I'll bash gently.”
“Are you two sure we shouldn't follow Dennis or something?” I asked. “He was trying to leave from the moment we arrived. It was pretty fishy.”
Miss May jostled another window. “I don’t think Dennis wanted to talk to us, you’re right about that. But it doesn’t mean he killed his sister.”
“He just had a murderous vibe,” I insisted. “Like, he looked exactly like a mugshot of a murderer.”
Miss May turned back to me. “You can’t judge a murderer by their hypothetical mugshot. It just doesn't feel right to me. It's not like Linda and Dennis were having a secret affair. They were brother and sister.”
“Then maybe it was about money,” Teeny said. “Or maybe they weren't actually related! Maybe he was adopted from the Ukraine and—”
“No one is from the Ukraine, Teeny,” Miss May said.
Teeny threw up her hands. “Okay. Don't come crawling back to me when the killer turns out to be Ukrainian.”
“I don't think it was about money, either,” Miss May said. “The Turtles bought Petunia’s house because it was in foreclosure. And they're trying to sell this place. Anyone close to them surely knew there wasn't much of an inheritance to be had.”
“Other than the life insurance policy that Reginald cashed in on,” I said.
“And that's why we're looking for Germany,” Miss May said. “He would be entitled to that money in the event of Reginald's death.”
“Excuse me?” A tiny old lady approached from the next yard over. She was no more than 4'10” tall, and she was wearing a giant straw hat to keep out the sun. It blocked the entire top half of her face. Her voice was high and brittle.
“Who are you people? I have pepper spray, and I'm not afraid to use it! My grandson made it from actual hot peppers he grew in his garden. He says it would blind a full-grown man. He's an odd boy but very good. Very smart and capable with his hands. Loves science.”
I held in a laugh. The more threatening she tried to seem, the more innocuous she became.
“Don't laugh at me,” she trilled. “I will pepper you up!”
Miss May stepped toward the elderly neighbor. “No need to pepper anyone up. We're just here trying to check into our BnB. We booked this place online, and the man who lives here, Dennis Turtle? He told us the key would be in a lockbox
out back but we can't find it. I am going to leave him the worst review. We drove here all the way from the city for a weekend by the beach. I'm exhausted. I need to use the bathroom!”
“Oh.” The old lady put her homemade pepper spray away. “You have a reservation to stay here through some sort of bed-and-breakfast online?”
Miss May nodded and repeated some crucial information. “Dennis Turtle rented the home to us. Chelsea, show this kind woman the reservation.”
Uh, right. It just has to exist first.
I opened my phone and quickly typed out a reservation in my notepad. TURTLE HOUSE RESERVATION, PARTY OF 3. KEY IN LOCK BOX OUT BACK.
I stepped forward and showed the old woman the note. “He emailed this out earlier.” I shot a look at Miss May. Thanks for putting me on the spot. “We just can't seem to find the key.”
The old woman nodded. “That looks like an official receipt. Thank you. Now you say you need the key?”
“That's right,” Miss May said.
“I know where the key is. I'm queen of the neighborhood watch. Everyone tells me where their spare keys are. The Turtles, well, they're unique. It's not just under the mat. It's more, uh, thematically appropriate than that.”
The woman gestured at a dozen ceramic turtles resting near the back door. “Care to guess which turtle will show you inside?”
Miss May laughed. “That sounds fun. But very confusing for a BnB guest.”
The old woman smiled as Miss May squatted down to get a good look at each turtle. There was a pink turtle, and a blue turtle. There was a longneck turtle and even a snapping turtle. At last, Miss May selected the center turtle and looked under its belly.
Turtle behold. There was the key!
The ancient neighbor smiled. “How did you know?”
Miss May shrugged. “You were looking right at it.”
“Well,” the woman said. “I never did have much of a poker face. Let me know if you need any recommendations for our neighborhood. It's a beautiful place.”
We thanked the old woman and opened the door to the house.
----
Miss May ran her finger along a windowsill and turned back to us. “There are clues in this home. They will be obvious to anyone perceptive enough to spot them. We just have to look in the right places.”
I glanced around. The place was well-decorated with eclectic, rustic furniture. Like each piece was the artisan-crafted, rustic version of something that might be sold at a department store. The house was spotless. Not a stitch of clutter or a speck of dirt. Spic and span and utterly clueless.
“I suppose the fact that the house is so clean could be a clue,” I said.
Miss May tapped her nose. “Not exactly what I was thinking, but I like that. Go on.”
“OK. You don't think the cleanliness is a clue? Then maybe it has something to do with this nice furniture. I assumed this place would be empty.”
“Tell me more,” Miss May prodded.
“Well, if the Turtles went as broke on that Netherlands deal as they claimed, wouldn't they have sold off their nice pieces? Or at the very least, moved all this stuff to Pine Grove so they wouldn’t have to pay to furnish Petunia’s?”
“Logical assumption,” Miss May said. “And a keen observation. But I'm afraid your wrongness hangs heavy in the air.”
I groaned. Miss May was settling a little too comfortably into her role as famed local detective. I wanted my own sleuthing skills to be up to snuff. And cat and mouse games are less fun when you're the mouse. While I had nothing against mice, I’d always thought of myself as a more exotic rodent, like a capybara. But I digress.
“Don't groan, Chelsea,” Miss May said. “You’re getting there. Teeny, what do you think?”
“My theory involves the Ukraine,” Teeny said. “I prefer to keep it to myself.”
“Wait!” I crouched down to get a better look at the couch. Then I scuttled over to the coffee table and looked beneath. I jumped to my feet with a triumphant pump of my fist. “I figured it out!”
I took an enthusiastic step toward Miss May, tripped on the expensive rug, and fell sideways onto the ground. “This isn't their furniture!” I yelled as I went down.
Teeny and Miss May helped me to my feet.
“What do you mean this isn't their furniture?” Teeny asked. “It's in their house. Do you think it belongs to the creepy Jamaican cruiser?”
“All the furniture is brand new,” I said. “The tags are still on the bottom. I don't know how I missed it. This house has been staged! I've done this exact thing a thousand times. You go into someone's home when it's for sale, and you place exquisite furniture as though someone still lives there. It helps people imagine themselves in the space.”
“I don't know,” Teeny said. “Maybe the Turtles just had new stuff. They were snobby like that. I could see them throwing all their furniture out every six months.”
“I thought that,” I said. “But there's no TV in the living room. Look.”
Teeny looked around the room. She spun in a circle. She got on her hands and knees and looked under the table. “You're right. Who doesn't have a TV these days? That creeps me out.”
“It's not that weird in a staged house, though. Actually, eliminating the TV is a staging technique straight out of the books. You frame the furniture around a focal point that’s not the TV, like a fireplace. Even though people are obsessed with TV in real life, it never looks right in these old houses where the mantle is the natural focal point.”
Miss May clapped her hands. She smiled. “Well done, Chelsea. This home is staged for sale. Even I didn’t notice that right away. Sadly, the staged furniture is not the clue I was searching for.”
“What? What do you mean? You said there were obvious clues. What's more obvious than that?”
“You were getting pretty warm when you mentioned the fireplace.”
I looked at the fireplace, then back to Miss May. “I was?”
She nodded. “Dennis Turtle had a fire going earlier today. Can't you smell it?”
Teeny and I sniffed the air.
“I guess I have been smelling something smoky,” Teeny said. “I thought it was some kind of fancy fire-scented air freshener.”
“I didn't notice it at all,” I said. “I got too caught up in the furniture.”
Miss May grinned. “Odd to light a fire on a warm day like today, isn't it?”
I crossed to the fireplace, squatted down, and took a look. “You want to know what's even odder?” I turned back to Miss May. “All the ashes have been cleaned away.”
I held my hand above the grill. “But it's still warm. You're right. Dennis had a fire going. Recently.”
“He was burning something,” Teeny said. “But what?”
24
Ashes to Ashes
Three large black trash cans lined the side of the house. Teeny whistled in appreciation as we approached.
“Those are some classy trash cans,” she said. “And look at how sturdy they are.”
Teeny patted one of the trash receptacles as if it were a big dog. “You're a good trashcan, aren't you? You hold up in bad weather. You keep raccoons out. Yes, you do.”
“Teeny?” Miss May stepped toward the trash. “We’re hunting for evidence here. Not trying to decide which trashcan we want to bring home from the pound.”
Teeny jutted out her lower lip. “You're no fun.” She stepped aside, and Miss May opened the lid of the first trash can.
I stood on my tippy-toes to get a look over Miss May’s shoulder into the can. Sure enough, there was a single white trash bag at the bottom of the bin. And the whole container smelled like ash. Miss May reached into the can and pulled out the bag.
“Taking the trash out already?” The old lady neighbor peered over her fence from the adjacent yard.
Thunk. Miss May dropped the bag back into the can and smiled. “That's right!”
“How do you generate that much garbage in such a short period of time?�
� The old woman narrowed her eyes. Maybe she was a sleuth in her own right.
“Oh, well…” Miss May hesitated for a moment, and I couldn’t take the tension.
“We brought the garbage from home,” I said with an odd amount of enthusiasm. “Why dirty up your own trash can when you're paying for access to someone else's?”
The old woman shook her head. “This is exactly why I don't rent my home while I'm away. People are so weird.”
Miss May shot me a look and smiled at the nosy neighbor. “People certainly are weird. Some people just do and say the craziest things. When they don't need to do or say anything.”
I shrugged. I did my best!
“Whatever,” the woman said. Then she ducked back behind her fence, muttering to herself about strangers and garbage cans and the state of the world.
I watched through a crack in the fence until the old woman disappeared back inside her home. Then I turned back to Miss May and gave a thumbs-up.
Miss May gingerly lifted the bag out of the trash and padded back inside. I followed close behind, but Teeny hung back.
“Teeny,” I whispered. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah,” Teeny said. “This is just the nicest trash can I’ve ever seen. I’d like to order some for Grandma’s. Maybe in blue.”
I held the door open and motioned Teeny inside. “I'll look online. But come on. Don't you want to see what's in that bag?”
----
Once we were safely back inside the Turtles’ Hamptons getaway, Miss May rushed to the kitchen table and opened the trash bag. She was about to dump the contents of the bag onto the table when I reached out to stop her.
“Wait!” I cried out. “This is an expensive table. Don’t get ash all over it.”
“Lives are on the line, Chelsea,” Miss May said impatiently.
“Give me one second,” I said, scanning the room. “I’ll put something down on the table.”
I understood the urgency of the situation, but I also appreciated the beautiful table and wanted to protect it. The house was staged so well, there were no loose odds or ends to cover the table. Not even a spare piece of fabric. So I unbuttoned my shirt and flung it across the table.
Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery series Box Set 1 Page 47
