Granny Smith Is Dead

by Chelsea Thomas

  42

  Ricky Ricardo

  Big Dan drove us toward Granny Smith’s house in his tow truck. We wanted to get there fast, before Ricardo hurt someone else. But the tow truck wasn’t built for speed. So we didn’t go much past thirty miles per hour.

  I called the Pine Grove Police Department on our way over. At first, the line was busy. Ridiculous, I know. Then Hercules picked up. I told him what was going on and he promised he’d send a squad car over.

  Nonetheless, there were no squad cars in Granny Smith’s driveway when we arrived.

  Big Dan stopped parked at the foot of the drive. “So what do you all do now? Go in, karate chops blazing?”

  “In a typical situation, we might wait for the police to arrive before we headed inside. But this may be an extenuating circumstance.” Miss May turned to me. “Do you hear that sound?”

  I cocked my head and listened. Banging sounds rose from within the house. Then came the furious growl of a power tool and more banging.

  “It sounds like construction,” I said.

  “Or something worse,” said Miss May. “We should get in there. Sooner rather than later.”

  “Are you positive?” I bit my nails. “The police will be here any minute. If Ricardo killed Granny Smith, then framed Buster... there’s no telling how unhinged he may have become.”

  “That’s why we need to go in,” said Miss May. “We have to make sure Ricardo isn’t hurting anyone else.”

  The power tool sounds flared up and I winced. “If he wanted to hurt someone, it sounds like they’re already hurt.”

  “Or he’s hurting them as we speak, and we’re the victim’s only hope.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled. “OK. Let’s go inside.”

  “I’ll be the getaway driver,” Big Dan said. “I’m not scared of much. But I am scared of murderers.”

  “I think I’ll wait out here too,” Teeny said. “So I can tell the cops what’s going on when they arrive.”

  “You sure?” Miss May asked.

  Teeny gulped. “Be safe, OK?”

  ——

  Thirty seconds later, Miss May and I were back in Granny Smith’s kitchen. Dust covered every surface. Shadows streaked across the room. And the basement door was ajar.

  I stepped toward the door and peered down. A plume of dust exploded at the foot of the stairs. The jagged, metallic sound of the power tools ground louder than ever before.

  “What is that sound?” I said. “Jackhammering?”

  “Sounds like it.” Miss May nodded. “What is that guy doing?”

  I took another look downstairs but I couldn’t see anything through the cloud of dust and debris.

  “I can’t see anything,” I said. “Do you think we should go down?”

  Miss May nodded. “I’ll go first.”

  Miss May and I walked down the steps with slow, careful movements. The deafening crescendo of power tools intensified with each step. But we were not emboldened by the cover of sound. In fact, each new decibel slowed our pace more. Until we were both frozen about three steps from the bottom of the staircase.

  I lifted my foot to continue my descent. Then the sound abruptly halted. Miss May held up a hand to stall me. I obeyed.

  She turned toward me, eyes wide with terror. “Go back. Go back.”

  It was too late. Ricardo stood at the foot of the steps. Wielding an enormous jackhammer like a submachine gun.

  “You can’t go back now.” Ricardo flashed a creepy smile. He had dark circles beneath his eyes and was wearing tattered gym clothes. Not at all his normal, slick realtor vibe. “You’ve just arrived.”

  Miss May closed her eyes for one second, maybe two. Then she turned to face Ricardo. I could tell by the sound of her voice that she gave him a big, ebullient smile. “Ricardo. So good to see you. Chelsea and I stopped by to... uh...”

  “We wanted to learn to speak Spanish. We thought you might teach us.”

  “Why? Because my name is Ricardo, you think I speak Spanish?”

  I stammered. “I’m sorry. You don’t speak Spanish?”

  “Of course I do,” Ricardo said. “But that’s still offensive.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  Ricardo snarled. “Get down here. I want the two of you to see what I’ve done with the place.”

  “Oh. That’s OK,” said Miss May. “You’re busy. We’ll come back another time.”

  “I said come down.” Ricardo’s nostrils flared.

  Miss May looked back at me. I shrugged. We were in too deep to turn back at that point.

  As we arrived at the bottom of the staircase, I got a complete view of Granny Smith’s basement. The place was in shambles. There was a wide hole in the cement floor with a pile of rubble beside it. Ricardo had jackhammered the cinderblock wall into pieces. And he had pulled the water heater from the wall and pushed it on its side.

  Miss May swallowed. “Wow. Are you remodeling down here?”

  Ricardo rubbed his temples. “You know what I’m doing, May.”

  “We really don’t,” I said.

  “I’m hunting for Dolores’s treasure!” Ricardo sneered. “Just like the two of you! You think you can steal this treasure from me. Just like Buster thought he could. But you’re mistaken.”

  I stammered. Neither Miss May nor I had known anything about treasure. I wondered if Ricardo had suffered a mental breakdown after losing his wife.

  “What treasure?” Miss May said. “Are you talking about Dolores’s Revolutionary War artifacts? That collection of old stuff?”

  “It wasn’t ‘stuff,’” said Ricardo. “It was a trove of priceless artifacts. Tools used during the war that formed our country. Blades that drew the lines in the earth that formed a nation.”

  “Are you talking about those hairbrushes and pots and pans she used to display during house tours?”

  “No, Chelsea,” Ricardo said. “Those were her lame artifacts. She kept the good stuff hidden in the walls. Then she died and left it all to that idiot kid!”

  “Buster?” Miss May’s voice was small.

  “Can you believe it?” Ricardo clenched his fists. “At first, I was OK with it. Dolores left all her most treasured possessions to her son. Fine. I could learn to live with that. But then I saw that car key in Buster’s room. At that moment I knew... that boy killed his mother for her fortune. And I had to make things right.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Wait. Buster killed Granny Smith?”

  Ricardo nodded. “Now you understand why I did what I did.”

  Miss May cocked her head. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  Ricardo smirked. “I killed Buster, May. You need me to say it?! I killed him. Shot him. Because he deserved to die. And if you stop me before I find my fortune in the walls? That murder will have been for nothing. So, I hate to say it, but... You can never leave this house.”

  Ricardo switched the jackhammer on and took a step toward us.

  “OK, got to go!” Miss May turned to go back up the stairs, knocked me back on my butt, and fell on top of me.

  Ricardo stepped up one stair. Then another. He lifted the jackhammer high above his head.

  Then Miss May leaned back, tucked both her legs up into a fetal position, and kicked Ricardo in the chest. He tumbled down the last few steps and landed on the basement floor.

  Miss May turned to me, her eyes wild. “Get him!”

  I jumped to my feet and hurried down toward Ricardo.

  He took a swing but I dodged it. Then I delivered a knee to his gut, tucked my foot behind his ankles and swept his legs out from under him.

  Thud.

  Ricardo hit the cement floor hard. He clutched his elbow and moaned. I acted fast, grabbing his arm and flipping him onto his stomach.

  “Get off me!” Ricardo struggled against me. I tried to hold my grip, but he was too strong. In one swift motion, he bucked me off his back and delivered a kick straight to my jaw.

  Ouch!

&nb
sp; I reeled back. Caught my foot on the broken floor. Landed on the ground with a loud whumph.

  “Chelsea! Fight back!” Miss May said.

  “I’m trying!” Not a helpful pep talk.

  Ricardo loomed over me with the jackhammer. He turned it on. His eyes exploded with anger. Then...

  “Freeze! Don’t move.”

  Deputy Hercules bounded down the stairs, two a time. I cried when I saw him. And I didn’t stop crying until Hercules led Ricardo back up the stairs, hands cuffed behind his back.

  ——

  “You OK?”

  I looked up from my perch on the curb outside Granny Smith’s house. Wayne approached with an ice pack.

  “Sounds like Ricardo clocked you right in the jaw.”

  “That might not have happened if the cops showed up on time,” I said.

  “Hercules helped. Didn’t he?”

  “Hercules saved my life, I said. “But he isn’t a detective.”

  Wayne nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. We got here as fast as we could.”

  “So how did he end up inside before you?” I asked.

  “Hercules went in the back. I went in the front. So he got to you first. Can I sit?”

  I shrugged.

  Wayne sat beside me on the curb outside Granny Smith’s house. “So you won the bet, I guess.”

  I nodded. “I guess. If you believe Buster killed Granny Smith.”

  “You don’t?”

  I shrugged. “Ricardo was digging in the walls for buried treasure. Not sure I trust any conclusions he drew about who killed Granny Smith.”

  “Flanagan says case closed,” Wayne said.

  “Flanagan... is Flanagan.”

  Wayne nodded. “Either way. At least one murder is solved.”

  “Yup. So no date.”

  “Unless...”

  I looked over at Wayne. We made eye contact. “Unless what?”

  “What about instead of the date, I take you out for a congratulatory dinner?”

  “I think that would qualify as a date,” I said.

  Wayne shrugged. “Call it whatever you want to call it.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think hard,” Wayne said. We can go anywhere you want. And I promise I’ll show up before you get punched in the jaw.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Funny.”

  Miss May stepped out of Granny Smith’s house and waved me over. “Chelsea. Come here for a sec? I want to show you something.”

  I walked over to Miss May. She had a big smile on her face and she was holding an old, yellowed document. “Look at this.”

  I took the paper. “What is it?”

  “Found it in the rubble downstairs.”

  I scanned the paper. It was covered in elaborate, old-timey writing. But I couldn’t figure out what it was, or why it made Miss May laugh. “Too many mysteries for today,” I said. “Will you just tell me what this is?”

  Miss May’s eyes sparkled. “It’s a letter from Jedediah Brewster. About how he was secretly housing British troops.”

  “For real?” I took a closer look. “Granny Smith was right? The Brewsters were traitors during the war?”

  Miss May nodded. “Guess so.”

  “Bev is going to be so disappointed,” I said.

  “Sure,” Miss May said. “This would disappoint her...if anyone found out.”

  I smirked. “What are you thinking?”

  Miss May slipped the paper into her purse. “I’m thinking no one needs to find out.”

  Miss May held her arm out. I took her by the elbow and we walked back toward the tow truck, where Big Dan and Teeny were waiting.

  I assumed they’d had a real flirt fest while a madman had attacked me with a jackhammer. Nothing brings people together like a whiff of danger.

  “Another case solved!” Teeny said. “Woo hoo! We did it again!”

  “Not quite,” Miss May said.

  “Why not?” Teeny asked.

  Miss May let out a deep breath. “There’s no way Buster killed Granny Smith.”

  43

  Donut Mess with the Best

  After the cops arrested Ricardo, Teeny and Big Dan headed back to Grandma’s. Miss May and I were also eager to get going, since there was likely still a murderer afoot. But we had to linger awhile, waiting for Chief Flanagan to get around to questioning us.

  As per usual, Flanagan suspected us of wrongdoing and implied we had crossed lines in our investigation. But by that point, Miss May and I had grown accustomed to Flanagan’s drill, so we kept our wits and said nothing stupid. Well I said a few stupid things, but that’s just normal. Then we asked the chief a question of our own.

  “Do you believe Buster killed Granny Smith?”

  Flanagan scoffed. “One hundred percent. Buster killed his mom, so Ricardo killed Buster. Case closed. “

  Flanagan seemed confident. But Miss May and I did not trust that theory. So when we left Granny Smith’s house, we went straight over to Grandma’s to talk things over with Teeny.

  We arrived to find Teeny and Big Dan in a booth by the window with a big plate of donuts between them.

  Teeny waved when she saw us, so we walked over.

  I had a dozen snarky comments I wanted to make about Teeny and Big Dan’s little date. But Teeny beat me to it.

  “Yes, Big Dan and I are sharing donuts. So cute. So wonderful. So what? We need to figure out who killed Granny Smith. And fast.”

  “Hold on here,” said Big Dan. “You three don’t need to discuss anything? You’ve already decided Buster didn’t commit the crime?”

  “If I don’t believe it, they don’t either,” Teeny said. “It’s not that the kid wasn’t capable of murder. But it doesn’t add up.”

  “The car key was in his room. All his stuff was in the car. The car smelled like Buster to the moon and back. Isn’t that evidence?” Big Dan took a big bite of donut.

  Miss May scratched her chin. “That’s circumstantial evidence. It would make sense if we had cold, hard proof. But by itself, it’s not enough to close the investigation.”

  “And if you think about it,” I said. “If Buster killed Granny Smith, our theory about the Buick makes little sense.”

  Big Dan tore a piece off of a donut and ate it. “How do you figure?”

  “Well... Like you said, all that evidence in the car made Buster seem guilty. The smell, the drink, the receipt. Based on all that, we assumed Ricardo framed Buster.” I shifted in my seat. “It wasn’t an elegant framing. But it provided good circumstantial evidence, like Miss May said.”

  Miss May nodded. “But if Buster was guilty, that means he had hidden the car himself. And I know the boy wasn’t brilliant, but not even he would have left such obvious evidence in a car he had taken the time to hide so well.”

  Big Dan nodded. “I have no words. Other than ‘I feel stupid.’”

  “You’re new to this. You’ll catch up,” Teeny said. “So you two still think someone framed Buster?”

  Miss May nodded. “I do. The question is... who framed him?”

  “And why,” I said.

  Big Dan took another bite of donut. “You three are impressive. You could sell popcorn for this conversation. With butter. And donuts.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Teeny said. “Buttery popcorn on a maple donut. Yum!”

  “Yes, delicious. Sure. But let’s stay focused here.” Miss May’s eyes hardened. “Who killed Granny Smith?”

  I shrugged. “All our suspects have alibis for Sunday. Beverly Brewster was working at Murphy’s. Wendell hadn’t left his house in days, and he can’t drive.”

  “Aldo Alfonsi was giving Sudeer that mediocre haircut,” Teeny said. “So it wasn’t him.”

  “Right,” said Miss May.

  Teeny bit her nails. “Are we sure it couldn’t have been Ricardo?”

  “I just don’t think he would have confessed to one murder and denied the other, especially considering he was about to uh, silence us,” M
iss May said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Has this ever happened before?” Big Dan asked. “Two killers, one case?”

  Miss May shook her head. “The more mysteries we solve the more complex our investigations become. The more difficult to predict.”

  “Good thing we’re getting better at solving them,” I said.

  “Don’t speak too soon,” said Miss May. “We’re out of suspects.”

  Teeny sat straight up. “Wait! What about Willow?”

  “Aldo’s daughter?” Big Dan asked. “How’s she involved in all this?”

  “Long story,” Teeny said. “She sort of dated Buster. Or got stalked by him. And Granny Smith snitched on her for doing graffiti.”

  “Yes, Granny Smith was a rat,” Miss May said, standing up. “But I don’t think Willow Alfonsi did this.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Miss May exhaled. “Because I just realized who did.”

  44

  Snitches Get Stitches

  The lights were on at the offices of the Pine Grove Gazette.

  Miss May, Teeny, and I stalked through a curtain of fog, across the parking lot. I hit the buzzer to the building and a voice crackled from a speaker near the door.

  “Under deadline. Come back tomorrow.”

  “Liz,” Miss May said. “It’s us. We need you.”

  Three seconds of silence. Then the door buzzed us in. We entered.

  A narrow stairway led to Liz’s second floor office. Liz had lined the wall along the stairs with framed newspaper articles she had authored.

  Each headline announced a development in a big Pine Grove murder case. Every few inches, the face of a killer confronted me. Each face belonged to someone I’d once known, someone who’d been to the orchard or whose house I’d visited. They were faces I’d tried to forget, but as I traipsed up the stairs toward Liz’s office I remembered them all too well. By the time we reached the top of the steps, my palms were clammier than a bucket of clams.

  Liz met us at the top of the steps and held the door open for us. “Get in here. Hurry up.”

  Liz’s office was large and lined with bookshelves, which overflowed with reference books, fiction, and biographies. A Tiffany lamp cast a warm glow in the corner. A simple, maroon area rug defined the center of the room and made the office feel welcoming. My nerves steadied as Miss May, Teeny, and I sat in and chairs opposite Elizabeth’s desk.