Granny Smith Is Dead

by Chelsea Thomas

Creak.

  Moan.

  I’m melting!

  I grasped the banister to steady my steps. Peeling white paint scratched my palms. And the banister wobbled under the weight of my grip.

  “Granny Smith was so obsessed with history, I’m surprised this place isn’t better preserved,” I said.

  Miss May looked down at me from the top step. “I know. She used to keep this home in immaculate condition. Its disrepair shocks me.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could speak, someone pounded on the front door.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  I froze. So did Teeny and Miss May.

  A deep, male voice called out. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

  I whispered up to Miss May. “What do we do?”

  “Should we reply and say no one’s home?” Teeny asked.

  Miss May shook her head. “Just stay quiet.”

  The voice boomed again. “I know someone is home.”

  “Maybe we should answer the door,” Teeny said.

  Miss May shook her head. “We can’t do that. Let’s just... get upstairs. Try not to make the steps squeak.”

  I climbed the last three steps on my tippy-toes, like they were made of porcelain. Teeny followed behind me. And we made it to the top without eliciting any additional creaks.

  Miss May gestured toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. “I think that’s Buster’s room. Follow me. Stay down.”

  Miss May hurried toward the room with careful steps. Teeny and I followed. Seconds later, we slipped inside the room and closed the door behind us.

  More pounding on the front door. “Hellllooo!? I know you’re home! Show your face, you coward!”

  Miss May cringed. “Let’s stay low. So he can’t see us through the windows.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Maybe I should look and try to see who it is.”

  Thump. Pound. Pound. “Buster! Get out here.”

  Miss May shook her head. “He’s around back now. No point.”

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  I could hear the windows rattle in their frames.

  “Ricardo! I know your despicable step-child is up there. Bring him down now.”

  Teeny covered her mouth. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. What are we going to do if that angry man comes in here? We left the back door open.”

  Miss May shook her head. “Don’t worry. Try to stay calm. We’re in Buster’s room, so we might as well look for clues. Chelsea. What do you see?”

  “Uh...” I scanned the room for clues. The place looked like it had been inhabited by a teenage boy. Video game posters on the walls. An unmade bed. A dresser with half the drawers open. I saw a lot of mess. But not a single clue. “I don’t see anything.”

  “What about these?” Miss May dangled keys from her hand. “Aren’t these the keys to Granny Smith’s car?”

  I crossed over. Miss May handed me the keys.

  “I think so. Yeah. But that car is missing.”

  “Exactly.” Miss May tucked the keys into her purse. “And I found them sitting on top of Buster’s dresser. Let’s keep looking.”

  I stepped away from Miss May and scanned the room once again. But I held still as the angry voice once again boomed from outside the house.

  “You stay away from my daughter. You hear me, you scum? Stay away.”

  “Who is that? What’s he talking about?” I asked.

  “I have no idea. I don’t recognize that voice at all.” Miss May took a quick peek out the front window. “And I don’t see a vehicle out there.”

  Teeny dug through the closet, tossing jackets and sweatpants behind her as she searched. “How will we know when we find a clue?”

  “You’ll just know,” Miss May said.

  I noticed a small box on top of an old television set. I grabbed it and opened it. My eyes widened. “I found a clue.”

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  The man screamed a long string of expletives as his fist pounded on the house. Mostly he insulted Buster, but he also threw in some random curses I wouldn’t dare to repeat here. Finally, he let out a long, primal yell.

  Then all was quiet.

  Neither Teeny, Miss May, nor I moved for a couple minutes. Then I broke the silence. “I think he’s gone.”

  “I’ll check the window,” Teeny said.

  She crossed to the window and looked outside. She gasped. “I see him! He’s walking away. Pulling keys out of his pocket. My goodness. He must have parked down the street like we did.”

  “Who is it?” Miss May asked. “What is he driving?”

  “I can’t see through the trees,” Teeny said.

  We heard an engine start, then the crunch of tires. Just like that, the man had disappeared.

  “He’s gone,” Teeny said.

  Miss May gasped. “I can’t believe you saw him. What did he look like?”

  Teeny shrugged. “He looked like a man. With hair. And normal-sized legs.”

  “So you got nothing.” Miss May rubbed her temples.

  “It’s not my fault! He was walking away from me. He parked behind a bush.”

  Miss May nodded. “I know. It’s no one’s fault. I’m sorry.”

  I remembered the box in my hands. “Excuse me. I found a clue. Remember?”

  Teeny and Miss May turned back to me.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got,” Miss May said.

  I stepped over a pile of dirty laundry and placed the box on a computer desk. I opened the box to reveal a set of cooking knives.

  Teeny wrinkled her nose. “Cooking knives. So what?”

  “These aren’t random knives,” I said. “These knives match the one that was used to kill Granny Smith. Same handles, same details. Same era, for sure. But there’s one important detail that can’t be overlooked...”

  Miss May gasped. “The butcher knife is missing.”

  29

  Pizza and Planning

  My legs wobbled as I walked back to the van. The sound of my feet on the gravel pounded in my ears like a monster eating bones. A warm dread filled my stomach.

  I looked down at my hands. There was the box of knives. Buster, or whoever the killer was, had slipped the largest knife from that box. Hid it away in a bag or a pocket. Entered the house on Beacon Hill. Slipped into the tunnels. Plunged the blade into Granny Smith’s back.

  Thinking about the violence made me homesick. Like I needed to be on the couch, snuggled under a blanket, in the safest place I knew.

  I climbed into the front seat and buckled my seatbelt. “Can we go home now?”

  Miss May nodded.

  “Take me back to the restaurant,” Teeny said. “I gotta check on Mom.”

  Teeny’s request brought tears to my eyes. I wiped a tear from my cheek. Miss May noticed and placed a hand on my shoulder. “We haven’t found too many murder weapons.”

  We didn’t discuss the case much on our way back to Grandma’s. But my mind raced with thoughts and memories. I remembered the cobwebs scaling Lincoln’s face. The creaking stairs. The angry man. And the pounding on the door. It all felt like part of the answer to our mystery. But I couldn’t make the connection.

  ——-

  “Pizza is the answer to all life’s problems.”

  Miss May set an extra-large pizza on the kitchen island. She opened the box and steam leaked into the air, along with the unmistakable smell of fresh, authentic pizza.

  I filled a pitcher of water at the sink. “What kind did you get?”

  “Half plain. Half white.”

  I peered into the box. The plain cheese side bubbled with fresh mozzarella and deep red sauce. The white side featured generous dollops of ricotta cheese and a sprinkle of parsley. A beautiful black char spotted the edges of the crust.

  That black char meant the pizza could have only been from one place. Antonio’s. The spot had only been open a few weeks. But the owner had bought a century-old brick pizza oven from a defunct pizzeria in Brooklyn, and you could taste the
history in every slice.

  “Antonio’s?”

  Miss May nodded. “We’ve got a lot of discussing to do tonight. So I sprang for the good stuff.”

  I pulled a slice out of the box. The cheese stretched for six inches before the slice separated.

  “I’m not sure we need to discuss as much as you might think,” I said.

  Miss May sprinkled red pepper flakes on her pizza. “No?”

  I shook my head. “I mean... We found the missing knife. We should go to the cops. Shouldn’t we?

  Miss May shook her head. “Technically we found a bunch of other knives. Not the murder weapon.”

  “We found matching knives. From the right era. That must count as evidence.”

  Miss May wiped her mouth with a napkin. “That’s a decent point, I guess.”

  “It’s a great point! How many authentic Revolutionary War-era knives can there be in Pine Grove?”

  “I know,” Miss May said. “I just wish we had taken more time in Granny Smith’s house.”

  I took a big bite of pizza. “So don’t you think it’s worth letting the police know about this evidence? What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “The wrong person could end up in jail,” Miss May said. “Like what happened with Jim Murphy’s dad.”

  I sighed. Thinking about Jim Murphy’s dad awakened me to a reality of our investigations I hadn’t yet considered. The stakes had always been simple math.

  Murder + Clues = Finding the Killer

  I had never thought about the other side of that equation.

  What if Miss May and I got something wrong and sent an innocent person to prison for life?

  A whirring, whining sound snapped me out of my thoughts. “What’s that sound?”

  Miss May dropped her slice and went to the front window. “I think it’s—”

  “Sirens. Yeah. They’re getting closer.”

  Miss May and I rushed out to the front porch just as three police cars zoomed past the farm, rubber screeching on the asphalt.

  Miss May pulled out her phone and dialed a quick number. “Dee Dee? It’s May. Do you hear sirens headed to that side of town?”

  Like before, Dee Dee was audible even though she wasn’t on speaker. “I hear the sirens, all right! They’re disturbing a restful moment for me. Honestly! Does the Pine Grove Police Department need such loud —”

  “Sorry, Dee Dee,” Miss May interrupted. “I’ve got to go.”

  Miss May hung up and dialed her second source on speaker. Two rings and a familiar voice picked up.

  “Brown Cow Coffee. This is Brian. How may I help you?”

  “Brian,” Miss May said. “Tell me what you know about the sirens.”

  “Hey May,” Brian said. “I was just about to call you.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Do you want me to leave room for cream? No worries. Sounds good.”

  Miss May wrinkled her nose. “Brian?”

  “Sorry. Customer. What were we talking about?”

  “The sirens,” Miss May said.

  “Right,” Brian said. “I’ve got a customer in here who says the cops were heading back up to the house on Beacon Hill.”

  Miss May shot a concerned look at me. I shrugged.

  “Why would they be up there?” Miss May asked.

  “I have no idea,” Brian said. “But the guy said there were three, maybe four cop cars racing up that way.”

  “Thanks, Brian. Stay safe.”

  “You too. And hey... get that killer.”

  “We will.”

  30

  Tunnel Vision

  We rolled to a stop in front of the house on Beacon Hill and I gulped. A purple hue shaded the night sky. Big, gray clouds gathered like mourners at a vigil. Police lights whirled, casting red and blue beams through the darkness.

  The cops had parked across the yard, near the tunnel. A dozen officers had gathered over near the entrance to the tunnel. Wayne stood next to Chief Flanagan, taking notes as she spoke.

  Miss May climbed out of the van and approached the scene. But we hung back about a hundred feet.

  “Look at all those cops,” I whispered. “I didn’t realize Pine Grove had a dozen police officers.”

  Miss May nodded. “Flanagan probably woke up the farmers and cobblers and told them to join in the field with pitchforks and guns.”

  I craned my neck to get a better view. “Do you think they’re here because of...just because of the graffiti?”

  “That’s a hopeful prognosis,” Miss May said. “Maybe they’re here looking for new clues in the Granny Smith case.”

  “Too many cops for that.”

  Miss May hung her head. “I guess that’s true.”

  My heart rate spiked. “You don’t think they found out we had been exploring the tunnels, do you? Did we leave anything down there?”

  Miss May shrugged. “Let’s see what’s up.”

  Miss May and I walked toward the cluster of cops. At first, the lights from the cruisers were blinding. But as we got closer, I noticed the cops had blocked the tunnel entrance off with bright yellow police tape.

  The kind the police department used for break-ins.

  Or car accidents.

  Or murders.

  Chief Flanagan spotted Miss May and I on the approach. She whispered something to Deputy Hercules and he rushed out to greet us in the middle of the field.

  Miss May spoke before Hercules had a chance.

  “Hercules! Hi. How’s your mother?”

  Hercules stammered. “She’s OK, I guess. But I need to talk to you about—”

  “And how are the dogs?”

  “Oh they’re great,” Hercules said. “Nacho just had a litter so she got her paws full.”

  “No kidding,” Miss May said. “How many?”

  “Five. My mom wants to keep them all. But my dad says if she keeps them he’s going to move to Antarctica and bury himself in the ice.”

  Miss May laughed. “We’ll take a puppy, if one needs a home.”

  Hercules’ eyes widened. “For real? That might save my parents’ marriage.

  Miss May shrugged. “Why not?”

  I smiled. “Sounds good to me!”

  “Do you have my mom’s number?” Hercules asked.

  “I believe so,” Miss May said. “We can iron out the details later. But for now why don’t you tell us what’s going on here.”

  “Oh.” Hercules gulped. “I can’t do that.”

  “Come on, Hercules,” I said. “You’ve got to tell us something.”

  Hercules hung his head. “Sorry.”

  “Can we at least talk to Wayne?” I asked.

  “You mean Detective Hudson?” Hercules said. “Do you want to talk about this crime or something romance-related?”

  I glared at Hercules.

  Hercules blushed. “Sorry. Not my business. Bad joke.”

  “Just tell Wayne we need a word,” Miss May said. “OK?”

  Hercules nodded. “OK. I’ll give it a try. But only because you’re taking one of Nacho’s pups.”

  “Thank you.”

  As soon as Hercules was out of earshot Miss May turned to me. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

  “What? Where are we going? I thought you said we needed to find out what was going on here. Don’t you want to wait and see what Wayne says?”

  “Wayne’s not talking to us. At least not tonight.”

  “So what are we doing to do?” I asked. “How are we going to find out what’s going on in the tunnel?’

  “See how those cops are gathered by the entrance to the tunnel, twiddling their thumbs? Most of them with nothing to do?”

  “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

  Miss May grinned. “It’s also the solution.”

  ——

  Miss May drove away from the house on Beacon Hill with a smile on her face.

  “Please tell me where we’re going,” I said.

  “You’ll see.”
Miss May made a quick left, up the next door neighbor’s driveway. That driveway was even longer than the driveway to the house on Beacon Hill. And more wooded.

  “I don’t get it. You know the people who live here too? Are we going to wait for the cops to leave or something?”

  “Patience, my child.”

  Miss May turned a corner and a large, brick building came into view.

  It was four stories and as long as a football field. Crumbling white columns flanked the entrance. And a long row of broken windows stretched from one side of the building to the other.

  I swallowed. “...this place looks abandoned. Does anyone live here?”

  Miss May shook her head. “No one has lived inside that building for over a hundred years.”

  Thunder rattled the windows of the van and rain erupted from the sky.

  “OK. I want to go home.”

  “What are you, one of Nacho’s puppies? I thought you loved the rain.”

  “I do. But I don’t love exploring creepy old buildings in the rain.”

  Miss May chuckled. “So you know the backstory of this house.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No. What backstory?”

  Miss May glanced away. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

  “Too late!”

  Miss May wrung her hands. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Just talk!”

  “OK. Fine.” Miss May exhaled. “This place is way before your time. But when I was growing up in Pine Grove, it was still open. It had patients and everything. I even volunteered in there during my senior year of high school.”

  “Back up,” I said. “What do you mean, ‘patients?’”

  “Fine. I’ll say it. But you have to promise not to freak out.”

  “Say what?!”

  “This was an insane asylum!” Miss May winced. “At least that’s what they called it then. I believe the correct term is ‘mental institution.’“

  Thunderclap.

  My face blanched. “You’re joking, right?”

  Miss May shook her head. “I’m serious. And that’s not the worst part...”

  I glared at Miss May. “What’s the worst part?”

  “People say the place has ghosts.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why would they say that?

  “It’s a really sad story.”

  “Miss May! Tell me.”