I wondered, how would we be able to connect all those disparate dots?
And had we come across a single genuine clue yet?
I remained lost in thought as we left the Brown Cow, all the way until we pulled up in front of Coach’s small, split-level ranch outside of town. Then, when I saw the house, I skidded back into reality.
And I suddenly knew exactly the reason Brian had gotten so weird…
7
Monster Under the Bed
I pointed at the house next to Thornton’s. “Isn’t that where Brian lives?”
Miss May nodded. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize this back in the coffee shop. Brian and Thornton were neighbors.”
I looked from one house to another. Brian’s house was a cute craftsman with a nice garden and flowers in every window. Thornton’s house was the polar opposite. The lawn was overgrown, the paint was peeling, and there were three spare tires flopped in the yard.
“Yikes,” said Teeny. “Compared to Brian’s house, Thornton’s place is an absolute dump.”
“This must be why Brian clammed up at the coffee shop,” I said. “I bet Brian thinks if we knew that he and Coach Thornton were neighbors that we might suspect Brian of the murder.”
“You’re right,” said Miss May. “Brian didn’t seem to like Thornton at all.”
“I don’t think Brian’s capable of murder,” said Teeny. “His teeth are nice and white. And his manners are impeccable. And he’s so friendly!”
“Nice, polite people commit murder all the time,” said Miss May. “We need to get inside Thornton’s house. See what we can learn.”
Teeny put her hands on her hips and looked up at the home. “I’m sure there’s an open window somewhere that Chelsea can wiggle through.”
“Aren’t you tired of seeing me wiggle through windows yet?” I asked.
Teeny shook her head. “I never tire of that. It’s so funny. Gets me every time.”
I spotted a rock near the front door of Coach Thornton’s house that had been painted to look like a basketball. Smiling, I walked over to it. “Not going to have to climb in through any windows today.”
“Why not?” Teeny asked.
I lifted the rock. Sure enough, a spare key was hidden underneath. I grabbed the key and held it up in triumph. “This is why.”
“Wow,” Miss May said. “That rock does not blend in.”
“Coach Thornton was not a…subtle man,” I said. “May he rest in pieces. Whoops. Peace. Freudian slip.”
“Too soon, Chelsea,” Teeny said, clucking her tongue.
--
We entered the house through the front door and found ourselves in the middle of Coach Thornton’s living room. A massive flatscreen TV floated on the far wall like a picture frame. And the only furniture was an enormous, black recliner, pointed directly at the television.
The walls were decorated with framed newspaper clippings detailing Coach Thornton’s glory days at Pine Grove High School. There were also a few framed, autographed sports jerseys, and there was a good deal of other Pine Grove High School memorabilia scattered throughout.
Several photos showed Thornton with tall, happy children, presumably his players. Those pictures were captioned with years and some variant of the line, “WINNER OF THIS YEAR’S PRESTIGIOUS RON THORNTON SCHOLARSHIP FOR ATHLETES IS…”
“This guy was a really into his career as a basketball coach,” said Teeny. “It looks like he was obsessed with this chair, too. I’ve never seen a butt groove this deep.”
“Quit investigating the butt groove,” said Miss May. “We’re here for clues, remember?”
Teeny exhaled in annoyance. “Fine. I won’t investigate the butt groove. Even though that could be a clue.”
“How could it be a clue,” said Miss May, “unless you think someone killed Coach Thornton because he watched too much TV?”
“Oh, pish-posh. Fine. But then…what are we looking for?” Teeny asked.
“All I see is sports stuff,” I said. “And the butt groove, of course. That’s hard to miss.”
“Let’s split up,” said Miss May with a clip of impatience in her voice. “Teeny, see what you can find in his bedroom. Look for suspicious medications, important papers, stuff like that.”
“Fingers crossed I find a love letter from a mysterious partner,” said Teeny. “I hope it’s written in code. Wouldn’t that be exciting? Reminds me of an episode of Jenna and Mr. Flowers. Mr. Flowers had a secret admirer. But he didn’t realize it for the longest time because the secret admirer only delivered her messages in a coded language. Such a cute way to seduce a detective, I think. I don’t want to give away the ending but Mr. Flowers falls in love. There. I said it.”
“Miss May, why don’t you search this room?” I asked. “There might be a clue in one of these newspaper articles. See if any of these stories detail a particularly strong rivalry or something like that. I’ll take the rest of the house.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Miss May. “Team on three?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“This is a sports murder so I’m trying to use sports language. Let’s get in a huddle and put our hands together. Then we’ll say team after I count to three. Sports people do that, right?”
I shrugged. “Sounds right.”
Teeny smiled. “I love that.”
We got together and placed her hands one on top of the other, as Miss May had suggested. Then Miss May counted to three and we all called out in unison, “Team!”
I began my search in Coach Thornton’s kitchen. There were coffee grounds in the coffee pot. A half-melted stick of butter pooled on the counter. And an unwashed pan rested on the stovetop, a few ants nibbling at its crusty edges.
Coach Thornton didn’t have any time to clean up before he was abducted, I thought. Either that, or the guy is a slob. Both theories seemed viable.
I opened the refrigerator. Found a dozen eggs and a few packages of hot dogs. Both food items had been expired for the better part of a month. That lined up with our timeline for the body. But it was hard to believe Thornton had been missing for that long.
Coach Thornton’s office was a wood-paneled room in the back of the house. Like the living room, the office was plastered with memorabilia of Thornton’s career at Pine Grove High School. There were photos of Thornton celebrating with his players. There were newspaper clippings. There was even a picture of a young, skinny Thornton taking a jump shot during his own high school basketball career.
A large desk was cluttered with books about sports strategy, leadership, and motivation. But nothing struck me as a clue. Then I noticed a shredder and a wastebasket filled with shredded paper. I grabbed a few shreds and tried to piece together the contents of the document but I couldn’t make much sense of the writing. So I grabbed the whole shredder and made a mental note to piece its contents together later. Miss May would enjoy the puzzle. Me? Less so.
I caught up with Miss May and Teeny in Thornton’s bedroom, yet another shrine to his athletic accomplishments. “Find anything?” I asked.
Teeny shook her head. “Nothing good. Just some dirty clothes. Oh, and I spotted a few hundred hot dogs in the refrigerator. I stopped at the kitchen on my way in here.”
I laughed. “I saw that too. Strange diet.”
“Typical bachelor,” said Teeny.
“What did Big Dan eat before you met him?” I asked.
“Hummus, mostly,” said Teeny. “That’s still the majority of his diet. Hummus, crackers, and mixed nuts. Pizza on special occasions.”
“You should cook for him,” said Miss May. “Plenty of men would marry you just for your cooking skills.”
“Oh I know,” said Teeny. “One time I made Big Dan hummus. He said it’s the best he’s ever had. He didn’t pop the question, but it was pretty early on in our courtship.”
I laughed. Then I heard a car pulling into Coach Thornton’s driveway. I peeked out the window. Sure enough, there was Sissy Th
ornton, climbing out of a gray sedan and headed toward the front door. My eyes widened. “Sissy is here. We need to escape.”
Miss May looked out the window. “Too late. We need to hide.”
I spun around. “Where?” I heard the sound of Sissy’s key in the front door. “What are we going to do?”
“We have to get under the bed,” said Teeny. “We have no other choice.”
With that, Teeny dropped to her knees and crawled under the bed. I looked over at Miss May for a better idea. She shrugged. “Careful not to make too much noise.”
I was still holding the shredder, which I couldn’t just leave lying around next to Thornton’s bed. So I climbed under the bed, then dragged the stupid machine with me, staying as quiet as possible. Seconds later, Miss May slid under the bed. Then we were all together, pushed together in the darkness.
“Good thing you don’t really have that toe problem, Chelsea,” Teeny whispered. “That would make this experience much less pleasant on the nostrils. I’m assuming your fictional fungus smells pretty ripe in close quarters.”
“Thanks, Teeny,” I said. “Do either of you see anything suspicious down here? Any potential clues?”
“The man keeps things surprisingly clean under the bed,” said Miss May. “I think it’s just us under here. Not even any stray socks.”
Suddenly the front door lock clacked. I heard the sound of Sissy entering the home. And I listened as her footsteps pounded from the foyer straight toward the bedroom where we were hiding.
“Everyone quiet,” I said. “She’s coming toward us.”
I balled up my fists and held still as Sissy’s footsteps got closer and closer. My heart dropped as I heard the door to the bedroom open. It dropped further as Sissy approached the bed.
A series of terrifying questions raced through my mind. Did Sissy know we were in the house? Was she coming after us? Was she the killer, on the hunt for more victims?
Sissy came right up to the bed. I watched her feet as she kicked off her shoes. I could have sworn she was getting ready to drag us out from under the bed by our wrists. But then…
…Sissy flopped onto the bed. Then she turned out the lights. And I heard the sound of her snuggling up under the covers.
I looked over at Miss May. She held a finger to her lips to indicate that we should all remain quiet.
Duh. But for how long?
We were trapped under the bed with Sissy on top. How did we allow ourselves to end up in such a precarious situation?
Before my thoughts ran away with themselves, loud snores erupted from the grieving sister on the bed above us. The snores were hard and fast and they sounded like thunder. Still, neither me, nor Teeny, nor Miss May dared to move or even speak.
After about five minutes of snoring, I whispered, “I think we should try to get out of here.”
Teeny and Miss May nodded. I crawled out from under the bed on my elbows and they followed behind me. The three of us rose to our feet in perfect silence, then we turned in unison to look at Sissy. She was lying on her stomach with her arms around an enormous pillow.
Poor lady, I thought. She’s exhausted from everything that happened with her brother.
Then I remembered the shredder. As silently as I could, I tiptoed back toward the bed, slid the shredder out from under the bed, and slunk back toward the exit.
I didn’t let out a full exhale until we had exited Coach Thornton’s house and climbed back into my light blue pickup, which I’d thankfully parked a few doors down from Thornton’s house.
“That was close,” I said.
Miss May swallowed loud. “You’re right about that. We need to be more careful.”
I nodded, put the truck in drive, and pulled away.
Although our encounter with Sissy hadn’t been violent or confrontational, I was shaken. Coach Thornton’s killer had chopped the poor guy into pieces. And I didn’t want the same to happen to us.
8
Piecing it Together
Miss May and I dropped Teeny back at Grandma’s and headed up to the farmhouse for dinner. We invited Teeny but she declined, reasoning that she should probably spend at least a few minutes in her restaurant that day. Besides, Teeny claimed she’d had enough sleuthing for one day and she needed to curl up under a blanket to watch one of her shows until she fell asleep.
I understood where Teeny was coming from. As soon as I entered the farmhouse and kicked off my shoes, a wave of exhaustion overtook me like an avalanche. I sat down at the kitchen table and slumped down in my sturdy wooden chair. “I am so tired. I think my feet hate me.”
Miss May plopped into the chair opposite me at the table. “This was a tiring day, for sure. Can you believe just last night we were celebrating the end of our previous investigation?”
I clucked my tongue. “Can you believe Germany proposed to me two days ago? It feels like a lifetime ago.”
“We haven’t had much chance to talk about that,” said Miss May. “How are you feeling?”
“Swept up in the investigation,” I said. “Haven’t had much time to think about it.”
“I get that,” said Miss May. “But don’t let all of this investigative work get in the way of your life. It’s important to catch killers, don’t get me wrong. But you can’t put everything else on hold or you’re going to get a big back log of emotions and it’s all going to come spilling out when you least expect it.”
“I know.” A warm knot of anxiety formed in my stomach . “But I’m not putting off marrying Germany so I can investigate crimes with you.”
“But you are putting off talking to him about your future together?”
I picked at a dirty spot on the table. Warmth flooded my cheeks. The truth was, I had compartmentalized my Germany drama so effectively that I hadn’t thought about him much at all since he proposed. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to think of it. Honestly? Part of me wished he would go back to study the lions in Africa so I would have time to get my head around everything. But that thought made me feel guilty, so I pushed it down beside all the others.
Miss May was good at detecting when I was ignoring my feelings. So she kept trying to open me up.
“You know you can talk to me, Chelsea.”
Some might think I’d resent Miss May pushing as she did. But without her, there’s no telling how many feelings I’d keep locked up and rotting in my brain. And even though I wasn’t quite ready to talk yet, it helped to know she was there.
“Thank you,” I said. “If I have anything to talk about, I’ll tell you post haste.”
Miss May chuckled. “You know you deserve anyone who’s lucky enough to love you, right? You’re beautiful and smart and—”
“Quit buttering me up.”
“I’m not! If you want butter I would be happy to expand the list. Let’s see. You’re an expert sleuth. And a great interior designer. And you’re funny. And—"
I laughed. “I get it. Thank you. I could talk endlessly about your wonderful attributes as well. We’re both terrific in every single way. Hooray for us.”
Miss May smiled. “What do you want for dinner?”
“I’m too tired to cook. I bet you are too.”
Miss May opened a little drawer under the microwave and pulled out a dozen take-out menus. She fanned them before me with a flourish. “Pick a card, any card.”
“I don’t need to see the menus,” I said. “I want Chinese.”
--
Miss May and I tried to piece Coach Thornton’s shredded papers together as we waited for our food to arrive. We found a few pieces of paper that seemed to be the title of Thornton’s never-to-be-completed memoir, Winning is Everything. But we couldn’t fit together much beyond the title. The shreds of paper were so small. The whole endeavor was a genuine challenge, harder than any jigsaw puzzle I’d tried.
“Winning is Everything,” I said. “Coach Thornton was…intense.”
“Makes sense, considering that video you showed me. Seems to me Thornt
on had a dangerous obsession with competition and victory. I don’t think we need to piece together the rest of his book in order to deduce that the contents reinforce those ideas.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Assuming these papers are the pages of his book, it’s probably just the memoirs of a sore loser with a temper. And based on our conversation with Sissy, it seems that attitude was a Thornton family trait.”
“We haven’t talked much about Sissy,” said Miss May. “She looks just like her brother. Did you notice that?”
“It’s crazy,” I said. “No offense to that woman, but she looks like a man. And not an attractive man, either.”
“She seems like she might be even more intense than Ron was,” said Miss May. “Remember when she said Coach Thornton was too tough to be murdered? No one is too tough to be murdered. That’s what murder is.”
“Of course I remember, that’s when I deeply offended her. You think she’s a suspect?”
Miss May bit her bottom lip. “I suppose it’s possible. Although I don’t know what her motive would’ve been. And she slept so soundly back at the Thornton house. It may be old wive's logic or whatever, but I don’t think folks with a guilty conscience can fall asleep that fast.”
“Good point.”
Miss May turned on the little kitchen TV and flipped to the local news. A pretty, young weather girl warned the residents of Pine Grove about a blizzard that was headed to town. The girl spoke at a frantic speed, yelled every word of her report and seemed generally panicked by the prospect of an October snow storm.
I furrowed my brow. “This girl is freaking out!”
“For good reason,” said Miss May. “It’s not even Halloween yet. We’re not supposed to have snow ‘til Thanksgiving, at least.”
“Have you ever had a snowy Halloween in Pine Grove?”
“Happened once when I was a little girl. But I hope it doesn’t happen again this week. We’re in the middle of an investigation. I don’t want to have to deal with a blizzard on top of everything else. My toes don’t like being cold. And neither does my nose!”
Dropping Like Pies (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 11) Page 4
