Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery series Box Set 1

by Chelsea Thomas

  “Oh. Well. Thank you.” I smirked. “Twelve years, huh? Shouldn’t you be chief of police by now? What do you do on that computer all day, play solitaire?”

  “More of a hearts man, actually,” Wayne said.

  I laughed. “By the way, how did you figure out Noreen was behind all this?”

  “I didn't. But I've had a tail on Dennis since Linda's funeral.”

  “So that's how you ended up at the dry-cleaners the minute after he did.”

  Wayne nodded.

  “I guess that means we were working the case from different angles. And we both turned out to be right.”

  “That's one way to look at it,” Wayne said. “Another way is, I saved a couple of amateur sleuths from being gunned down at a local business. Thereby also saving a lot of nice clothes from being ruined by blood spatter.”

  “I thought you said we were decent detectives," I protested. “Besides! You did not save us. I saved us by karate-kicking Noreen’s legs right out from under her. Have you not heard about my mad karate skills?”

  “Oh, I’ve heard,” Wayne said. “I’m going to have to check out Master Skinner’s dojo for myself. He trained you well. Seems he's quite the sensei."

  “He is. If he managed to mold my uncoordinated limbs into blue belt shape, imagine what he could do with your um…” Stunning physique? Masculine splendor? Ginormous muscles? “Your uh…the body…the limbs you have.”

  Wayne laughed and stood up. “Wait here. I'll get KP.”

  Moments later, KP emerged from the holding area clutching a small plastic bag with his personal effects. He actually looked pretty good, like he’d gotten a little rest and all those potatoes were agreeing with him.

  “Are you ready to go home, KP?" I asked. "Or do you want to stay another night?"

  “There is something nice about that cell. But my flight to Hawaii leaves in under 36 hours. I gotta get packing.”

  I laughed. “I hope you're hungry. Miss May’s throwing a party in the event barn in your honor. A sort of welcome home/sendoff combo. An aloha party, I guess.” Hello and farewell in one.

  “Oh, I can always eat.” KP patted his stomach. “But I thought you did your mystery wrap parties at Grandma’s? Isn't Teeny going to be offended?”

  “She's swamped at the restaurant. Pete took over the kitchen. He’s cooking up this fancy organic stuff that people are loving. Grandma's has been so crowded that Teeny barely even had time to throw a fit about missing the big arrest again!”

  KP chuckled. “Good. I want to get back to the orchard anyway. Spend some quality time with that little horse of mine. Poor See-Saw. Probably dying of lonesomeness.” KP looked from me, to Wayne, then back to me again. “I'll be in the car.”

  I watched KP leave then looked over at Wayne. “How about you? Hungry?”

  Wayne smirked. “You want me to come to KP’s party?”

  “Just wondering if you're hungry.”

  “Maybe I'll stop by,” he said. “I mean, if you’re asking me out. It’d be rude to say no.”

  I gave Wayne a playful shove. “Whatever.”

  “Hey. You're assaulting an officer of the law. That's a federal offense.”

  I grinned. “So lock me up.”

  ---

  KP’s aloha party was a smash hit. The bash was even more well-attended than the Candy Apple Hoedown. Maybe it was because people were happy that KP had finally been freed or — more likely — because Miss May gave a complimentary candy apple to everyone who showed up.

  Whatever the reason, people showed up in droves, and KP’s wrongful incarceration and subsequent release turned out to be great for business. Miss May booked dozens of apple-picking appointments and pre-sold lots of Christmas trees for the winter.

  Plus, Liz's Gazette article about the unfortunate fates of the Manhattan Turtles had been picked up and reprinted in several regional newspapers, so we even had some first-time visitors to the orchard. And each one of them was eager to meet the famed local sleuths who had cracked the case open wider than the Commerce Street pothole.

  Oddly, it seemed like the string of murders in Pine Grove might be turning our town into a popular destination in the area. People’s curiosity brought them in, and Pine Grove’s charm and hospitality made the newcomers stick around for a few days. Some even stayed the weekend at the Dragonfly Inn. I had the feeling that our slow business was about to speed up.

  After the last guest left, I convinced Miss May to get off her feet and go to bed, and I promised to clean up the barn by myself. So I was sweeping up alone when Wayne arrived.

  “Party over?” Wayne asked.

  I wasn’t expecting to hear his coarse voice in the dark barn, so when he spoke, I shrieked and almost jumped straight out of my party outfit. Wayne laughed, but I played it off like I was totally calm.

  “Been over for a while now,” I said. “You must have just finished the world’s longest game of hearts.”

  “Hercules needed help down by the pothole. Twisted his ankle and couldn't get up.”

  “That is the most pathetic thing I've ever heard.”

  Wayne laughed and strode toward me. “Can I help clean up?”

  “I'm almost done here.”

  Wayne came right up to me and stopped when he was only inches away. He placed a hand on the broom handle. “Please. I insist. I missed the whole party.”

  Just then, a romantic ballad blasted from inside the farmhouse. I blushed and shook my head. “Miss May must be watching from inside.”

  Wayne turned and waved up at the farmhouse. The lights in the house switched off but the music stayed on.

  He chuckled. “I think your aunt wants us to dance.”

  Wayne gently pried the broom from my hands and set it aside. He turned back and extended a hand to me.

  I smiled and took his hand. He wrapped his arm around my waist. I leaned in toward him, stepping awkwardly at first and out of time with the music. It was a slow song, but time seemed to be in fast-forward, and I couldn’t persuade my legs to move at the right speed. But Wayne guided me, keeping a steady rhythm and being chivalrous enough not to protest when I repeatedly stepped on his toes.

  I looked down, closing my eyes and surrendering to the feeling of comfort I had in Wayne’s arms. It was the first time I had relaxed since the moment I had met Linda Turtle. I let myself sink into Wayne’s solid chest, relishing our first dance. Nothing could ruin this moment.

  Then my phone rang.

  I grumbled and checked the ID. You guessed it. Mike.

  “You can take that,” said Wayne. “If you need to.”

  “I think… Maybe I do.”

  I fumbled for the phone but dropped it. The plastic case clattered against the barn floor. You cannot live a plastic life, I thought. I looked back at Wayne.

  “You want to keep dancing while we talk?”

  “Your hand-eye is already pretty strained,” Wayne said, but wrapped his arm around me as I answered the phone.

  “Hello,” I said. I could tell Mike wanted to talk, but I didn’t give him much attention. “Yeah. I can't talk. No. As it happens, I'm slow-dancing with a handsome police officer." Mike didn’t love that. “No. I don't want to talk about it. And I don't want to talk about what happened. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not now. Not ever. Bye!”

  Wayne raised his eyebrows after I hung up. “Who was that?” He asked.

  “Telemarketer. I think he’ll stop calling after tonight.”

  Wayne spun me under his arm, then I twirled back toward him. We kept dancing even after the end of the song. And I forgot all about the murders and everything else bad in the whole wide world.

  Until I discovered the next body, that is. But that's a story for another day.

  The End

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  Berried Alive, Chapters 1-2

  “Chelsea and Miss May! Get over here. I need you to solve a super mysterious coffee shop mystery!”

  Brian smiled at us from behind the counter at the Brown Cow.

  I squinted at him through a fog of early morning grogginess. “Mystery? At this hour?”

  Brian laughed. But I was serious. It was 7:56 AM on a Sunday. I was wearing sweatpants I had owned for twenty years. My blond hair was frizzy with a nest of tangles.

  It was too early for me to be awake, let alone solving mysteries.

  Miss May, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and mushy-tailed. Is that the expression? Mushy? Bushy? Whatever. She was wide awake. And her eyes flickered with anticipation as soon as Brian said the word ‘mystery.’

  She leaned toward Brian with a smirk. “You say something mysterious has occurred at your quaint, small-town coffee shop?”

  Brian smiled and gave us the low-down on the crime.

  Apparently, he had shown up about half an hour late for work that morning. And when he’d gotten there, his cash register and counter had been covered in sticky notes.

  “It was a mosaic of sticky yellow squares,” he said in his SoCal drawl. “I think it was a prank pulled by one of my sneaky staff members. But I’m not sure whodunit.”

  Miss May gave Brian a playful grin. “Hmmm. I don’t know. Not sure we want to help Boss-Man Brian punish a light-hearted prankster at work.”

  “You know I’m not going to do that, Miss May. I want to figure out who the jokester is so I can get them back with a prank of my own.” Brian said. “And you two are expert mystery-solvers by now. So I need your help.”

  “The technical term for ‘mystery-solvers’ is ‘sleuths,’” Miss May said.

  “You know what I mean.” Brian looked off into the distance. “I think for my revenge, I shall fill their shoes with slime.”

  I grunted. “I think your victim will suspect something is amiss as soon as you ask them to take off their shoes.”

  “Good point,” Brian said. “I’ll plot my revenge later. But I can’t do anything if I don’t know who did it. And I can’t figure it out for the life of me.”

  Brian gestured behind me and Miss May. “Plus. All these people want to see the famous Pine Grove detectives at work! You’re not going to disappoint your fans, are you?”

  Miss May and I turned around. Indeed, an elderly couple, a young family and a few stragglers had gathered behind us.

  “I think this crowd has gathered for coffee,” Miss May said.

  The elderly woman stepped forward. “You’re wrong about that one, missy! I want to see you two genius sleuths at work.” The old woman held up her phone. “Also can I get a pic with you gals?”

  Miss May smiled. She and I had solved several mysteries together by that point, and the selfie request from the old woman was not our first. But our minor celebrity status still felt novel and surprisingly flattering.

  “Of course,” Miss May said.

  The old woman handed her phone to her grouchy husband. Then she jumped between me and Miss May, smiled and held up a peace sign for the photo.

  “OK,” she said after reviewing the photo. “Great pic. Now. Solve the mystery!”

  Miss May wavered but the crowd egged her on.

  “Yeah!”

  “Solve it!”

  “Crack the case!”

  Miss May held up her hands to quiet the onlookers. “OK. We’ll take a look and see what we can do. Brian, can you bring your employees out here?”

  Brian pumped his fist. “Nice. This is so fun. You and Chelsea are local treasures, you know.”

  “Just get them over here,” Miss May said.

  A few seconds later, Brian had lined up the two members of his staff in front of the counter to be questioned by Miss May.

  First came Rita, an old high school classmate of mine. Rita and I had gone from frenemies to friends after I’d moved back to Pine Grove, and she had played a huge role in the first mystery Miss May and I had solved.

  That day, Rita looked striking as always. Curly hair. Olive skin. Perfect smile. I wondered how she managed to look so good while raising a baby on her own, but that was a mystery for another day.

  Brian’s other employee was a girl in her early 20s known as Willow. I had no idea if Willow was her real name or not, but it was fitting. Willow was a genuine 21st-century hippie, with dreadlocks and a nose ring and a tattoo of every phase of the moon climbing gracefully up her forearm.

  “Both these girls were here before I got in this morning,” Brian said. “And neither will fess up to anything.”

  Rita and Willow looked at one another and smirked.

  “I see,” Miss May said. “Perhaps there is a bond of secrecy between them. What do you think Chelsea? Any initial theories?”

  Although Miss May had been hesitant to begin this ‘investigation,’ once she started, she was all in. That meant that I was all in with her.

  “It’s possible they worked together,” I said.

  “True,” Miss May said. “Would you ladies to me a favor and empty your pockets?”

  Another smirk between the employees. They both emptied their pockets onto the counter, but neither was carrying anything suspicious. Mostly spare change and lint. Plus a tube of cherry-flavored lip balm.

  A balding man called out from the crowd, “This store has security cameras! What if you check those?”

  Miss May shook her head. “That’s cheating. And I don’t think it’s what Brian had in mind when he asked us to solve the mystery.”

  “You got that right,” Brian said. “I want some genuine detective work.”

  “May we walk around the counter?” Miss May said.

  Brian nodded and Miss May stalked behind the cash register. I followed like a loyal hound dog on the scent.

  Once I got a look at the counter, I cracked up laughing. Almost half the work surface was still covered in sticky notes. And each sticky note had a little message written on it in messy handwriting.

  I turned to Brian. “I thought you said you cleared off all the sticky notes!”

  Brian chuckled in chagrin. “Yeah. That’s just my personal collection. I guess I do kind of have a thing for convenient, sticky paper. That’s why it was a good prank.”

  “That’s not even as bad as it gets,” Rita said. “Some days there’s like three times as many.”

  Miss May squatted down and read a few of the notes out loud.

  “Greet every customer as if they are your mom!”

  “A smile goes a thousand miles!”

  “Make each cup with genuine kindness!”

  My aunt looked up, eyes twinkling. “No wonder the service in this place is so good, Brian.”

  “I hire good people,” Brian said. “When they aren’t playing tricks on me.”

  “I don’t suspect your employees actually committed this crime,” Miss May said. “Would you agree, Chelsea?”

  No clue. Need coffee, I thought. But I managed to sputter out a few words. “Yup. Agree. Totally! The prankster is not Rita or Willow. Someone else sticky-noted this joint.”

  Miss May scratched her head. “Then tell us, Chels. Who could it have been?”

  I glared at Miss May. She was having fun putting me on the spot, and she knew I didn’t know the answer. But the crowd was waiting for me to speak, and I could feel my hands starting to clam up with stress.

  I looked around the room to figure out who, other than the employees, could have played the practical joke. That’s when I spotted a conspicuous table along the far wall.

  There were only two cups o
n the table, but there were seven or eight used tea bags on saucers beside the mugs. Whoever had been sitting at that table had been there for quite a while.

  Perhaps, I reasoned, he or she was already at the Brown Cow before even Brian had arrived that morning.

  Miss May followed my line of sight over to the table and smirked. “What do you think, Chelsea? Could the suspect be one of Brian’s customers, not an employee?”

  An excited murmur erupted throughout the room. The patrons were thrilled by the prospect that one of their own could’ve perpetrated the practical joke. But the trill of excitement exacerbated my hand clamminess. Gross.

  “I do think it’s possible,” I said, wiping my hands on my jeans. “But which one of these fine people could it have been?”

  Suddenly, an angry man stormed into the shop, pushed his way through the crowd, and slammed his fist down on the counter. “I want my coffee and I want it immediately and I want it now and I want it dark and I want it rich!”

  I recognized the man as local rabble-rouser Wallace the Traveler. Wallace was bald. And paunchy. He wore the same pair of stained, oversized khakis every day. And he also wore a light blue sweater with a large hole in the back. The look was topped off with a pair of bifocals that Wallace wore down on his nose. And he never left home without a personality so gruff, it could shock a lightbulb out of its socket.

  Pine Grove did not have a lot of strangers like Wallace roaming the streets, and his recent emergence in our small town was one of the biggest mysteries of the prior months. Neither Miss May nor I had tried to solve that particular quandary. We agreed that Wallace’s life was none of our business.

  But questions swirled about town, nonetheless. Many suspected Wallace was homeless. Others thought he might take the bus up from the city every day for the fresh country air. No one knew for sure, but everyone seemed to have had their own uncomfortable “Wallace experience.” Including me.

  One day, when I was running errands in town, Wallace had followed me across the street singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb” at the top of his lungs. I’d tried to keep my head down and continue walking, but Wallace had jumped in front of me and screamed, “I’m the lamb! Look at me. I am the lamb!”