Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery series Box Set 1

by Chelsea Thomas

  “No editing on the go,” Miss May said.

  “Fine. Just…let it be known. I would have done a better job than this.”

  "Of course," Miss May said.

  Liz continued. “‘A security guard managed to unmask the burglar as the burglar made her escape. The police are now seeking a woman who resembles the composite sketch featured here.’ That’s referring to the photo we haven’t seen.”

  Liz looked up from the article. The photo had loaded about five percent. We could see the top of a woman's head and what looked like a ponytail, but nothing more. Liz returned to the article.

  “This article is way too long. My mouth is getting dry," Liz said.

  "Do you want me to get you some water?" I asked.

  "I'm fine," Liz said. "It's almost over."

  She cleared her throat and kept reading. "The criminal is suspected of several additional crimes in Long Island and Queens over the past several years. These crimes include carjacking, mugging, and several other bank robberies. Notably, this so-called presidential criminal is also suspected of stealing several hot dog carts from a New York City hot dog cart supplier earlier this year.’ That seems irrelevant.”

  “Who steals hot dog carts?” I asked.

  “A burglar who likes hot dogs, I guess,” Miss May said. Liz glared at us. We stopped talking, and she continued reading.

  “Although no weapon was used in the heist, officials say the suspect kept motioning to her waist and yelling that she had a gun. No serious injuries were reported, although bank customer… Whoa, this is big! …bank customer Linda Turtle complained that she twisted her ankle while attempting to flee.’”

  I gasped and almost fell off my cupcake beanbag. “Linda Turtle! Linda Turtle was there when the bank was robbed.”

  Miss May leaned in to get a better look at the article. “Keep reading. Does it mention Reginald?”

  Liz scanned the end of the article. “The suspect took off on foot, yada yada…got on a waiting motorcycle less than a block away and escaped going the wrong way on Baptist Church Road.”

  Liz scrolled to find more details from the article, but that's where it ended. “That's all they wrote,” she said. “I can't believe this criminal was a woman.”

  “We're capable of robbing banks too, Elizabeth,” Miss May said.

  “I know,” Liz said. “I’m a feminist, May. But stealing hot dog carts? That's gross.”

  I chuckled. Then I glanced back at the screen.

  “The picture is almost loaded,” I said. “Look!”

  The photo was about halfway visible. We could see a face from the nose up. A woman’s face, and she looked vaguely reminiscent of someone I knew…

  “Who is that?” I asked. “I recognize those eyes.”

  The photo loaded another five percent and Miss May actually fell off her beanbag.

  “Oh my goodness, Miss May said. “I know that woman... I know her well.”

  27

  A Clean Getaway

  Noreen lit up as we entered the dry-cleaner.

  I tried to smile back, but it was hard, knowing she had robbed that bank.

  And maybe killed the Turtles.

  I still wanted to know what she had done, exactly.

  And why she had done it.

  And I was confident Miss May would get some answers.

  But Noreen seemed so innocent as we approached. And I started to think maybe we were wrong. Maybe it was just like an episode of North Port Diaries, and Noreen had an evil twin who had robbed the banks and stolen the hot dog carts.

  But the sketch in the paper looked so much like her.

  Still, it had been ten years. Maybe Noreen didn’t look the same? Maybe Miss May was wrong. Either way, I was about to find out.

  “You two here for dry cleaning or just to chat?” Noreen said.

  Miss May smiled. “Oh, we were over at Teeny's, just figured we'd pop in.”

  “I love it,” Noreen said. “Pleasant encounters with people you love are the secret to small town happiness! You can help me decide. Is mid-September too soon for Halloween decorations?”

  I tried to engage in the cover of small talk. “I say it's never too early.”

  “And I say wait another week,” Miss May said.

  Noreen chortled. “I'll split the difference and wait another three days.”

  Sure, I thought. Unless you're in jail by then. Ya sleaze!

  “What else is new?” Noreen asked. “Can I get you girls coffee or something?”

  She walked out from behind the counter and toward a little coffee station near the entrance. There were mints, and cookies, and even a popcorn machine for customers to use. Noreen poured herself a cup and lined up two others. “I just brewed a fresh pot.”

  “A fresh cup of coffee sounds good to me,” I said, hoping to buy some time to poke around the shop. I nudged Miss May. “Would you like a cup?”

  Miss May took my not-so-subtle hint. “Sure,” she said. “Three sugars, two creams and a little honey if you have it.”

  “Honey. That sounds amazing,” Noreen said. “I have some here for tea, so it's no problem at all.”

  Noreen got to work on the coffee, and I glanced around. The shop was simple. Bare bones, even. It did not look like the kind of business a bank robber would run. Maybe that's because a bank robber wouldn't run any business, I thought. They would run. Literally. Out of the country!

  I turned back to Noreen. She hummed a happy song as she poured the coffee. I questioned our suspicions again. Noreen seemed so nice. But then the dry-cleaner turned back around, and her face had shifted.

  “You're not just here for small talk are you, May?” Noreen asked.

  Miss May put her hands in her pockets. “What makes you say that?”

  “I don't know. You’ve never popped in on me before. And your energy feels off. You're looking at me like I robbed a bank or something.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” I said. Then I clapped my hands over my mouth. Why did I always talk at the exact wrong moments?

  “What did you say?” Noreen asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Just talking to myself. About cheese.”

  Noreen looked at Miss May. Miss May shrugged. “The girl loves cheese.”

  “Not moldy cheese though,” I said. “I like the stuff with chemicals in it. American mostly. Although mozzarella is nice. If it's made fresh in one of the shops around here. You go to other parts of the country and the mozzarella is crud. Trust me. Don't ever eat mozzarella in the Midwest. Or the South, for that matter. Now cheddar in the Midwest? That's a different story. Wisconsin cheddar, straight out of those Wisconsin heifers, that stuff is—”

  Mercifully, Miss May cut me off. “You know, Chels, you really shouldn’t eat the stuff with chemicals. It’s not good for you.” My aunt turned to Noreen. “You ever worry about that in your business, Noreen?”

  “The chemicals in cheese?”

  “No,” Miss May said. “The dry-cleaning chemicals. I’ve heard a lot of cleaners actually use arsenic.”

  Noreen turned and studied Miss May. Miss May stood strong, but I felt like I might pee in my pizza panties.

  “I see what this is,” Noreen said.

  “Tell us then.” Miss May said. “What is this?”

  “You think you solved another mystery.” Noreen sipped her coffee with a loud slurp. “But it pains me to tell you. This time, May? You haven't solved anything.”

  Miss May shook her head. “It pains me to tell you, Noreen. You're wrong.”

  Noreen returned to the coffee station. Added more cream to her cup.

  “Here's how I see it,” Miss May said. “You robbed a bank in the Hamptons. July. Ten years ago. It was the last robbery in a long string of crimes you committed. Including, for some reason, the theft of several hot dog carts while wearing the mask of an unspecified President. That bank robbery was the final and most tumultuous of your offenses. A security guard unmasked you. Customers in the bank saw your
face. So you were forced into hiding. You traveled the world for the first few years to stay off the radar, a habit you maintain to this day. But you tired of life abroad so you moved to a quiet little town in upstate New York. To start again. And that worked well until the Turtles came to town. And Linda Turtle spotted you. And remembered you. And wanted to turn you in.”

  Noreen didn't turn back from the coffee bar. She stayed statue-still and listened.

  All was quiet until I opened my big, stupid mouth again. “Wait, but the statute of limitations on robbing a bank has to be less than 10 years. Linda Turtle couldn’t have turned Noreen in.”

  “Your niece makes an excellent point," Noreen said, back still turned to us.

  “Of course,” Miss May said. “Thank you, Chelsea. It makes even more sense this way. Linda didn't want to turn you in, did she? That would have been pointless, and what would she have had to gain? Justice was hardly a suitable motive for a woman like Linda Turtle. No…Linda wanted the money you stole. For her dream retirement in Milan.”

  Noreen laughed. “That's some tale, May. And I'm sorry to disappoint you. But I'm just a local dry-cleaner. That reality may not fit into your vision of the world, where everyone is a criminal, everyone a suspect. But I would never rob a bank. Nor would I kill Linda Turtle. Or her husband. Murder doesn't quite jive with my Eastern philosophy. I’m surprised at you, May. I’ve been nothing but kind to you.”

  “I know,” Miss May said. “Strangely enough, your kindness will be your undoing.”

  Hmm. Cryptic. I listened closer.

  “You didn’t need to kill Reginald, but you got paranoid that prying eyes would turn to you, especially when you noticed we were working so hard to free the first person you tried to frame — KP. It was a smart idea, I guess, staging Reginald’s suicide. But you left proof of your involvement behind.”

  Noreen scoffed. Miss May turned to me. "Chels, can I borrow your phone?”

  I handed Miss May my phone, and she scrolled to the photo of Reginald's suicide note. She put the phone down beside Noreen. “See the note Reginald left? Look at the way he crosses his T’s. Very low. And the D. The way he writes it, it's barely visible. I've never seen anyone with handwriting like that.”

  Miss May reached into her purse and pulled out the book Noreen had brought her from India. “Other than you.”

  Miss May opened the book to the note Noreen had written. Sure enough, all Noreen’s D's and 'T's were as Miss May described. Noreen didn’t even look at the proof in front of her.

  “So now the amateur detective has turned into a handwriting expert?” Noreen asked.

  “Well, it’s not just the handwriting that looked odd to me,” Miss May said. “It was also the fact that Reginald Turtle misspelled his only son’s name. Unlikely, isn’t it, that Reginald would write ‘German’ instead of ‘Germany’ in his own suicide note?”

  For the first time, Noreen paled slightly. She recovered quickly and said with a smirk, “Seems to me you're getting rusty, May. There's no way I could've killed Reginald Turtle. I was at a church fundraiser that night.” Noreen pointed at the coffee maker. “I won that coffee maker. Half the town was there. Feel free to ask around. Or taste the coffee. Both proof enough. Are you sure I can't get you a cup? Or are you so embarrassed you’d like to leave?”

  “I'm not embarrassed,” Miss May said. “I’m just getting started.”

  “Do you believe the alibi?” I whispered.

  Miss May nodded. “I do believe the alibi. And that's what has led me to my new theory.”

  Noreen laughed. “I told you, May. I wasn't anywhere near that man when he died.”

  “I know you weren't," Miss May said. "But that's only because you instructed someone else to do the killing for you.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The getaway driver.”

  28

  The Plot Gets Chunky

  “Everybody put your hands where I can see them!”

  Dennis Turtle exploded toward us from the back of the shop, pointing a gun straight at Noreen. Noreen's jaw dropped when she saw him. “Dennis! What are you doing here? You idiot!”

  “I am not an idiot!” Dennis' face reddened. “I am good enough. And smart enough. Just as good as any other Turtle!”

  “The other Turtles are dead,” Noreen said. “Now put the gun down, Dennis. You look foolish.”

  “I am not a fool!” Dennis took a step toward Noreen. “I may have been once. But getaway drivers deserve more than a 10% cut. And they deserve love. And to be treated well. Not forced to do the dirty work as you go gallivanting across the globe and run your cute little business in your cute little town. Do you know how hard it has been to stretch that 10%? I’m the laughing stock of my family!” Dennis’s voice caught in his throat. “At least I was. Before you made me kill them off. But your threats mean nothing now. I demand my fair share of the money. I don’t want to have to steal any more hot dog carts just to make a quick buck! I hated that mask and the hot dog juice burned my hands every single time!” Well, that explains that, I guess.

  Dennis removed the safety on the gun and took another step toward Noreen. “Give me the money, Noreen. Now.”

  “There's nothing left, Dennis. Why do you think I opened this store? For my health?”

  Dennis's hands shook. His nostrils flared. “You're lying! You're always lying. Why can't you respect me? Why can't you treat me fair?”

  Dennis was, to put it bluntly, freaking the heck out. He was shaking and panting, and the gun rattled in his hands. Noreen approached and took the gun from him. He seemed relieved as Noreen slipped the weapon out of his hands.

  “It's okay, Dennis,” Noreen said. “I do respect you. But now you've messed up. And I need you to get on your knees.”

  This wasn’t looking good for the last Turtle. I elbowed Miss May and nodded toward the door. We backed slowly toward the exit.

  “You two aren't going anywhere.” Noreen cut behind us and locked the door. “On your knees beside him.”

  “You don't want to do this,” Miss May said.

  “What are you even planning to do?” I asked. “Some kind of firing squad? You'll never get away with that.”

  “Shut up, cheesy Chelsea! I'm trying to think.”

  Dennis hung his head. “Don't make her angry. She's a beautiful woman. But she gets very angry.” He lowered his voice. “We were lovers once, you know.”

  “Really?” I asked, with a note of incredulity in my voice.

  Dennis nodded. “I used to be very handsome. Noreen liked my full head of hair.”

  “I said, ‘shut up!’” Noreen pointed the gun at us with renewed fury.

  “We better do what she says,” Miss May said.

  “Thank you,” Noreen said. Then she turned to the windows and closed the blinds. I don’t normally have quick reflexes, but for some reason, in that split second when Noreen’s back was to me, I had the courage and presence of mind to act.

  I swung my left foot out and around in a wide half-circle, and the full force of my kick hit right at Noreen’s calves, sweeping her legs out from under her. Reminder to self: Thank Master Skinner for your karate skills. Noreen yelped as she fell. She dropped the gun and it spun across the floor toward Dennis. Miss May dove toward the gun, but she and Dennis reached it at the same time.

  Noreen tackled me and clawed at my face. “No,” I yelled. “Get off of me!” Noreen and I were both pretty bad at fighting, and we rolled and flopped around on the floor like a couple of overweight seals.

  Miss May was not faring much better. Dennis was stronger than her, and he quickly wrestled the gun away.

  “I have the gun again,” he declared. “Now I'm the boss!”

  Another voice boomed from behind the racks of clothes. “Not for long,” the voice said. I recognize that voice, I thought, with a grateful sigh.

  Sure enough, Wayne entered from the back, gun trained on Dennis. “Drop it, Turtle.”

  “Drats!” Dennis lowered
the gun and got back on his knees. “I'm just the getaway driver!”

  Wayne tossed me a pair of handcuffs. “You want to do the honors?”

  I blanched. “Me? Is that legal?”

  Wayne shrugged. The respect felt good. But I had no idea how to work handcuffs. I tossed them back.

  “Maybe next time.”

  29

  Jailbird, Jailbreak

  I entered the police department later that night with my head held high. I had helped catch not one, but two criminals. I had karated a woman and kept her from killing three people, including me. That may not be a feeling with which many people are familiar but let me tell you…it's nice. I held my head even higher when I saw that it was Wayne, rather than Hercules, at the front desk.

  “Where's Hercules?” I asked.

  Wayne looked up from his computer. “Oh hey. He's on assignment. Something about a Big Bertha pothole on Commerce Street?”

  “I heard all about it,” I said. “Sounds more like a regular hole to me.”

  “I agree,” Wayne said. “Those measurements are astronomical for a pothole.”

  There was a brief silence, then Wayne and I both burst into nervous giggles. OK, I burst into nervous giggles and Wayne let out a single guffaw. But he was nervous, I could tell.

  “OK,” I said, bracing myself for what was to come. “Give me the speech.”

  “What speech?”

  “The one where you say my aunt and I shouldn’t be doing this. We’re just ladies who bake cookies and pick apples. We don’t know what we’re doing, we could’ve been in real danger and Teeny is a wildcard liability. Etcetera, etcetera.”

  “I wasn’t going to say any of that,” Wayne said. “You and your aunt are decent detectives. Not real detectives with the twelve years of training I have, mind you. But I can’t argue with results.”