“Do you hear that?”
Miss May halted beside me. “How could I not?”
Miss May and I held still for a few seconds and I could hear the lyrics.
“Cleaning the floor, cleaning the floor, what a wonderful day to be cleaning the floor. Holding the broom, caressing the mop, what a terrific evening to be scrubbing up slop.”
Miss May laughed. “Wow. Wendell has become quite the songbird.”
“More like a song crow,” I said. “He’s terrible.”
“Don’t judge, Chels.” Miss May bounded up the steps to Wendell’s apartment. “Maybe he’s singing so bad on purpose.”
Miss May knocked on the door. The singing stopped and a hostile voice called out from inside. “Hello? What do you want? Who is it?”
“Wendell. It’s Miss May and Chelsea,” my aunt said. “From the Thomas Family Fruit and Fir Farm. Can we talk to you for a quick sec? We brought you a fresh baked cookie.”
There was a long silence, then Wendell opened the door. He was wearing a pair of khaki pants with a sleeveless white T-shirt. Both the pants and a T-shirt were stained, which struck me as odd considering that most of Wendell’s song seemed to focus on cleaning.
Wendell narrowed his eyes and glared at us through the screen door. “Did you say fresh-baked cookie?”
Miss May smiled. “Yup. Here it is!” Miss May held a cookie toward Wendell, but he didn’t budge. “Do you want to perhaps open the door so I can give you the cookie?”
Wendell opened the door a crack and took the cookie, never breaking eye contact with Miss May. “You want something else too, don’t you?”
Miss May smiled, demurring. “Well. Now that you mention it. I was hoping perhaps we could chat for a few minutes. Do you know my niece, Chelsea?”
Wendell looked over at me. “Chelsea. She’s the sweaty one.”
“Wow. I didn’t realize the whole town knew about my habitual sweatiness.”
“I’m talking about right now,” Wendell said. “You’re sweating through your shirt.”
I looked down. Wendell was correct.
“Ah. I was just doing yoga. That’s why.”
Wendell took a big bite of his cookie then turned and disappeared into the apartment. “Are you two coming inside or what?”
Miss May and I exchanged a nervous look. Then we followed the suspected killer inside.
15
Wondering Wendell
The first thing I thought upon entering Wendell’s apartment was, This is a murder apartment.
A Chinese food container was splayed on its side with noodles spilling across the coffee table. Old newspapers were strewn across the kitchen counter. A pair of stained gray recliners faced an ancient TV. And the curtains were drawn.
Talk about a crime scene. That place was a felony.
I remembered the song Wendell had been singing and I wondered what mess he had cleaned. Maybe he was pretending to clean? Or maybe he was singing about something that had happened in the past? A cleaning spree of yesteryear?
I wasn’t judging Wendell for being sloppy. OK, I was a little. But goodness knows, when Miss May had rescued me from my apartment in Jersey City, I’d had the same sad Chinese takeout décor in my place. But that had been a temporary living situation, and I got the impression that Wendell wasn’t on the cusp of moving someplace nicer or cleaner anytime soon.
I cringed as I stepped inside, despite my best efforts to remain neutral. But Miss May wore her trademark smile.
“This is a nice little set up you’ve got here, Wendell.” She looked around and nodded. “I like that you’ve got the two recliners. You get sick of one, you can pop right over to the other.”
Wendell grunted and waved Miss May away. “It’s disgusting in here. Don’t pretend it’s not disgusting. Look at that Chinese food. It’s from Saturday.”
“That’s not that long ago,” I said.
“I didn’t say which Saturday, sweetheart.”
Miss May leaned down toward the noodles as if she was expecting them to be a clue. She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose the place could use a touch of tidying up. Did I not hear you singing about cleaning as we approached?”
Wendell shrugged. “I was cleaning the bathroom or bedroom or whatever. Not in here.”
Wendell dragged a kitchen chair over toward the recliners and gestured for us to join him in the living room. “Come on. Sit. You can ask me all about my murdered ex-wife.”
My eyes widened. Wendell smirked. “Look at the sweaty one. Shocked to hear me say it out loud. It’s OK, dear. Someone murdered her. We can talk about it.”
Wendell sat in the far recliner, sending a plume of dust into the room. Miss May sat in the other recliner and stirred up her own dust cloud. I took the kitchen chair. At least it wouldn’t be dusty, I thought. Then I sneezed.
“I take it you two super detectives know about me and Bev Brewster?”
Miss May nodded. I looked down. I felt embarrassed for Wendell. Like I was an intruder into his private affairs.
“Beverly’s terrific. But even after she and I got together I never stopped feeling palpable emotions for my ex. Even after she left me for that walking toothpaste commercial, Ricardo.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Miss May said. “Granny Smith was a town treasure. Librarian, historian.”
“General pain in the bottom?” Wendell laughed. “I was married to her so I can say it. Plus she’s gone now so I’m not afraid of retaliation.”
Miss May let out a small laugh. I wasn’t so sure Wendell was in the clear. If anyone would come back as a ghost to haunt the town, it would be Granny Smith. And she was no Casper.
“And I suppose you’ve heard about our much-discussed trip to Sonoma?”
Miss May and I nodded.
“Everyone in town seems to be talking about that trip I wanted to take but no one has a clue why it was so significant.”
Miss May leaned in. “What do you mean?”
“We went on our honeymoon there. Me and Dolores. 1971. The most beautiful week I’ve ever lived. With the most beautiful woman. Ever since then, I’ve wanted to go back.” Wendell cleared his throat and looked away.
I thought about how love can turn sour. My relationship with my ex certainly had. But even after things go bad in a relationship, love never goes away. I couldn’t decide if that was beautiful or tragic. Probably both.
Wendell looked sad as he reminisced. “I loved every second of that honeymoon. We drank incredible wine, not that we knew it was incredible then. Held hands without letting go, for days at a time. We fell asleep holding hands, for heck’s sake. Me and my Penny.”
Wendell looked down and smiled, lost in a memory.
I leaned forward. “I’m sorry... Penny? We’re talking about Dolores ‘Granny’ Smith, right?”
Wendell snapped out of his reverie. “She was no granny when I met her. And she wasn’t a Smith yet either. She was Penny.”
“She, erm, didn’t seem like a ‘Penny,” I said. “I’ve never heard anyone call her that.”
“Nobody did, except for me. It was my pet name for her,” Wendell said, his gaze shifting, like his eyes were looking back into the past. “Our first date together, we’d planned to go to the Bronx Zoo. We both grew up in Brooklyn, so the Bronx might as well have been Timbuktu. Neither of us had ever been. Anyhow, she had a job in Manhattan. Typing on a typewriter something like that. Keep in mind, Manhattan was nothing like it is now. It was seedy. But we were young. You remember being young, May?”
Miss May nodded. My aunt had never seemed young to me, or at least not youthful. She’d always had an air of practiced authority. But she must have been a little girl once too. And a young woman, too. She had never been married. But I wondered... had she ever been in love?
“So we have dinner over by Penny’s office, then we stroll. We make it to the water. The Hudson River. And as soon as we get to the water’s edge, these two gorgeous swans swim right up to us. I’m talking, what
are these birds doing in New York City? It was beyond me. Neither of us had ever seen anything prettier than a pigeon in the wilds of New York. We were both gob smacked by those swans. We had such a time, talking and watching the birds, we never even made it to the zoo.” Wendell paused, then with a sad chortle, said, “Swans mate for life, you know?”
I knew that, of course. I knew a wealth of useless animal trivia. But I didn’t say so. Considering the unhappy ending of his own marriage, Wendell was bittersweet about the monogamy of swans. I doubted the man wanted me to show off about bird facts. Still, I couldn’t resist.
“That’s why you called her Penny, isn’t it? Because a male swan is a cobb, and a female is called a—”
“Penny. Yep.” Wendell dabbed at a tear in the corner of his eye. “You still think I killed my girl?”
Miss May looked down. “We never said that, Wendell.”
“But that’s why you’re here. That’s why you two go anywhere. If it’s not to buy sugar or chocolate chips or butter for your bakeshop, it’s to find out who the most recent killer is in Pine Grove .”
“We’re just trying to do her justice,” Miss May said.
“Well then you better try to find the real killer. Because I was with Beverly that whole weekend. Up in the Catskills looking at a little cottage for us to buy. Something to get me out of this putrid apartment.”
Miss May looked over at me. I could tell she and I were thinking the same thought.
Beverly had said she was at work that night. But Wendell claimed they were together in the Catskills. So one of them was lying. Which meant one of them might be the killer.
Miss May glanced back over at Wendell and maintained her nonchalant tone. “You were with Bev that night? Bev Brewster?”
Wendell nodded. “You don’t believe me go talk to Beverly. Although I’m assuming you already have.”
“We believe you. And we shouldn’t take any more of your time. Thank you for having us.” Miss May stood to go. “Ready, Chelsea?”
I nodded. “It was nice talking to you, Wendell.”
Wendell stood. “Come on. I’ll walk you out. That can be my exercise for the day.”
Wendell hobbled to the front door and held it open for us. As soon as we emerged onto the front porch, we came face to face with Wendell’s son, Buster.
I remembered Buster, and his strong, off-putting scent, from the argument with Ricardo. He had been upset that day. But he seemed even more upset there on Wendell’s porch, gasping and red in the face. Buster took a long chug of Goose Juice, a cheap and disgusting energy drink, then he tossed the empty can on Wendell’s porch.
“Dad. There you are!”
Wendell looked confused. “Of course I’m here. Why are you here? And why are you so out of breath?”
Buster looked up at Wendell, indignant. “Mother’s car is missing, remember? So I had to walk even though I have those corns.”
“What corns?” Wendell asked.
“Do you ever listen when I talk? The corns on my feet. I might have to get one removed.”
“You can borrow my car, son. Or you can use my bicycle. It’s a very nice bicycle.”
“That’s great, thanks. But I didn’t have access to your car or your bike before I got here. So I had to walk on my painful corns.”
I cringed as Buster talked. He said everything like Wendell was stupid and it hurt to hear.
“OK,” Wendell said. “We’ll get your transportation figured out. You’ll be the coolest dude in town whether it’s on two wheels or four.”
Buster rolled his eyes. “Yes. So cool. Living with my dad and riding his cruddy old bike.”
Wendell narrowed his eyes. “Buster. This is a one-bedroom apartment. You can’t live here! There’s no space. And the place is disgusting.”
Miss May edged toward our car. “Maybe we should—”
Buster stepped toward Wendell. “I don’t care how disgusting this apartment is. I can’t stay with Ricardo anymore. He doesn’t want me. And Mom was sick of me anyway. May she rest in whatever. I called you about this!”
Buster pushed past Wendell and into the apartment. Wendell sighed and turned to us with a weak smile. “Kids, right? Such a miracle.”
Miss May returned Wendell’s weak smile. Then we said our goodbyes and walked back down to the car.
We could hear Buster and Wendell arguing as we left. It was much less pleasant than the sound of Wendell’s singing. Still, I remembered his song as I walked away.
“Holding the broom, caressing the mop, what a terrific evening to be scrubbing up slop.”
16
Pain in the Wayne
That night, I wanted to keep talking about the case. But the day had tired Miss May and she wasn’t in the mood to char. So I sought a conversational ally in my old standby — See-Saw the tiny horse.
Although See-Saw was KP’s horse, I considered her one of my best friends. She had been a valuable confidante in all our cases up to that point. So I gathered an armful of hay and plodded down to the stables to bend her tiny little ear.
As See-Saw munched, I told her all about Wendell. His Catskill’s alibi contradicted Bev’s alibi, so something there was amiss. It felt good to process things with See Saw.
I also complained about my Wayne/Germany love triangle. And I asked if See-Saw considered me a “sweaty person.” She offered no reply.
After a few minutes, a long shadow fell across the floor of the barn. My neck tingled and I felt a surge of nervous energy.
Could a killer be lurking behind me?
“Germany?” I said. “It that you?”
A deep voice answered back. “It’s not Germany.”
I spun around. Detective Wayne Hudson’s large frame filled the doorway.
I sighed, relieved. “Wayne. Hi.”
Wayne took a step toward me. “May I enter? Or should I hang back? From the sounds of it you might be really sweaty.”
“I’m not sweaty,” I said. “What are you, an eavesdropper? I thought that was against the law.”
“First, if eavesdropping were against the law you and your aunt would be in prison serving a dozen life sentences. Second... Can we start this conversation again?”
I crossed my arms. “Maybe we should.”
“OK. Thank you,” Wayne took a few steps into the barn. “I’m sorry for all that. I wasn’t trying to talk about your sweat.”
“We can stop bringing that up now, Wayne.”
“Right.” Wayne stood a little talker. “Oh! Almost forgot. I brought a treat for See-Saw.”
See-Saw looked up at the mention of her name.
“That’s right, girly.” Wayne pulled a Granny Smith from his pocket. “This here’s for you.”
Wayne tossed the apple down with See-Saw’s hay and she gobbled it up.
I smiled. “That was nice of you. But taking an apple from the orchard is stealing, so you know.”
“This apple was on the ground already. I was helping clean up.”
I crossed my arms and gave Wayne a playful glare. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”
Wayne chuckled. “You telling me Germany Turtle hasn’t plucked an apple or two from these trees?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just... you thought I was him. So he must come around a lot.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You sound jealous.”
“I’ll never be jealous of a dog-walker.”
“He’s training fire dogs, Wayne.”
Wayne scoffed. “I saw him the other day in town, two dogs urinated on him at the same time. Not a great trainer, if you ask me.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m sorry. Are you here for a reason?”
“Oh. Right,” Wayne cleared his throat. “I am here for a reason.”
“Which is...”
“You never gave me an official answer on my wager.”
“What wager?”
“Remember?” Wayne said. “I solve the case first, you go on a date with
me?”
I smirked. “Oh. That.”
“Yeah. So. We on?”
Wayne lowered his chin and looked up at me. His blue-green eyes sparkled. It was dazzling. But I didn’t want to give in too easily.
“I don’t know. It depends.”
Wayne shifted his weight to his other foot. “Depends why? You losing your confidence?”
“No. We’re doing fine.”
Wayne pet See-Saw with a few long strokes. “I could help you out, if you want. What have you got so far?”
“Well. I guess it could help to have a more experienced perspective,” I said.
Wayne glanced at me. He looked like a Pixar character. Big eyes, drawing me in one millisecond at a time. Making me emotionally invested even though I resisted. “Tell me more.”
“Well,” I said. “There’s a whole issue with conflicting alibis. We’ve never dealt with that before.”
“All right. Back up a second. Who have you talked to? And what were their alibis?”
I looked up and noticed Wayne’s eyes had changed. No longer big and wide open. They were sharp and focused. Something didn’t feel right.
“Hold on a second. Why do you want this information?”
“I told you,” he said. “I want to help. We’re on the same team, right?”
“I thought we were competing,” I said.
“Only if you accept my wager.”
“Fine,” I said. “I accept. And that’s all I’m saying until the case is closed. So stop trying to steal my information.”
“Wasn’t doing that, Chels.”
“Whatever you say, Detective. Do me a favor, if See-Saw uses the bathroom, scoop it up and bring it around back? There’s a composter for manure. You can’t miss it.”
I strode past Wayne and left the barn. I couldn’t tell if I felt empowered, stupid, or scared, but I walked with my head held high.
Until I tripped and fell down. Nice.
17
Donuts and Deliberations
The next morning as Miss May and I drove to Grandma’s, I couldn’t muster the energy to tell Miss May what had happened with Wayne. But I played my conversation with him over and over in my mind.
Granny Smith Is Dead Page 8
