Dropping Like Pies (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 11)

by Chelsea Thomas

  “I’ll be fine for a couple hours. No need to take me home yet.”

  Miss May shook her head. “You just want to gossip about Chelsea’s giant new baller-turned-plumber boyfriend. I know you.”

  “I missed my date with Big Dan, I might as well get to live vicariously through Chelsea,” said Teeny. “The two of you would have unique babies, I’ll tell you that. Half-Asian, half-tall.”

  “Oh my gosh we’re not having babies! Never, ever, ever,” I said. “First of all, I didn’t agree to see him. Second of all, if I did see him, it would not be a date. I don’t want to date him. I don’t know if I want to date anyone!”

  “If you say so.” Teeny leaned back in her chair and looked out the window. A few seconds passed in silence. But then Teeny piped up again. “But you should never say never.”

  Much to my chagrin, we continued the conversation as we bustled into the farmhouse kitchen. “I don’t know why the two of you are so focused on this James guy, anyway. Sure, he had a reason to hate Coach Thornton or Little Ron or whatever. But to me, the clear suspect is Coach Sheila. What’s with that woman?”

  “Honestly, I can’t hate her,” said Teeny. “She was very businesslike and she had great posture. Plus, it’s nice to see a woman coaching a men’s team. Men coach female teams all the time.”

  “I appreciate your feminist perspective,” I said. “But Coach Sheila not only had the motivation to kill Coach Thornton, she also appeared physically capable. I wouldn’t be surprised if that lady is former military.”

  “I can’t continue this conversation without a snack.” Teeny said abruptly. “May. What have you got?”

  Miss May opened the fridge. “Apple pie?”

  “Apple pie, what a surprise.” Teeny smiled. “I take mine with lots of whipped cream and sprinkles, thank you.”

  I went to my room to change into comfortable clothes. I wanted to be cozy if there was going to be a snowstorm. So I chose my favorite sweatpants and a big, oversized sweatshirt from Disney World.

  Steve the dog was splayed out on my bed with Kitty sleeping against his stomach. I laughed when I saw them. “Are you two being this cute on purpose?”

  Steve wagged his tail in his sleep as if he heard me. Kitty didn’t move a muscle. I pulled out my phone and took a picture, then I stepped into my slippers and shuffled back downstairs.

  When I got back into the kitchen, Miss May and Teeny were seated at the table, each with an enormous slice of pie in front of them. True to form, Teeny’s pie was obscured by whipped cream. And the whipped cream was almost entirely obscured by sprinkles.

  “Well hello, cozy monster,” said Miss May. “Somebody’s ready for a blizzard, whether it’s coming or not.”

  I laughed. “I like to be comfortable. Especially for inclement weather. Can we make a fire later, too?”

  “KP dropped off firewood by the back door earlier today. I guess he knows our habits by now. He left enough for about ten winters but something tells me we’ll use it.”

  I did a little happy dance. “We’re entering the coziest time of the year. I hate being cold but I love winter. It’s the best season for reading mysteries by the fire.”

  “You’re not going to be reading anything if these murders keep piling up,” said Miss May. “Don’t forget there’s a killer on the loose. He or she could strike again at any millisecond. So let’s talk more about what to do next.”

  Miss May slid a slice of pie toward me. I sat down and took a bite.

  Mmmmmmm.

  Miss May’s crust was so buttery and flaky. I’d watched her make it a million times, and she’d trained me to make it herself. But somehow Miss May’s creations were always a bit more buttery and a bit flakier than mine. Even if we used the exact same ingredients and even if I followed her movements step-by-step.

  “Please tell me how this is so good,” I said.

  “Your pie is just as good as mine, Chelsea,” said Miss May. “It’s going to be better than mine soon.”

  “No way that’s true,” said Teeny. “Sorry, Chelsea. But you don’t have a butter thumb like Miss May does.”

  “Is that an expression now?” I asked. “Butter thumb?”

  “Of course.” Teeny took a big bite of pie. “People have been saying ‘butter thumb’ for hundreds of years. It’s just like a green thumb but for baking. Miss May is such a good baker I think all of her fingers are butter.”

  “Are you saying I have butter qfingers?” Miss May asked with an arched eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s a compliment.”

  “Yes it is, in conjunction with butter thumbs!” Teeny insisted.

  “Then thank you, I guess. I’m glad you like the pie. Now what’s our next step in this investigation?”

  “I think Chelsea should set up that date for tonight.” Teeny smiled.

  “No way. There’s a blizzard headed straight for us! And I’m gonna break my neck just looking up to talk to James. Can we please drop this?”

  “Chelsea. You’re being an irresponsible detective. Someone died. They were parceled out in bits and chunks all over this farm,” Miss May said. “We have an obligation to do all we can to find the killer.”

  I threw back my head and groaned. I hated it when Miss May was right. “Fine. I’ll meet up with him. But you two have to stop calling it a date. Can we all agree on that?”

  “Fine with me,” said Miss May.

  “OK,” said Teeny. “But I’m going to be thinking about it as a date in my mind.”

  “Whatever.” I pulled out my phone and typed out a text, speaking the message aloud as I composed it. “‘Hey James. It’s Chelsea from the memorial. I would love to show you around Pine Grove.’ How’s that?”

  Miss May leaned forward. “Say, ‘How about tonight?’”

  “That’s so…soon. And the blizzard…”

  Miss May looked at me over the brim of her glasses. “The blizzard is exactly why you should do it tonight. You’ll be fine in town as long as the snow remains at a flurry. But if the blizzard comes soon this might be your last chance for days.”

  “Ugh. Fine!”

  I sent the text. Ding! I got a reply back seconds later.

  “That was fast,” said Miss May. “This guy must be on his phone all the time.”

  “It’s a real problem with the younger generation,” said Teeny. “They’re glued to their phones every single day. Even Christmas.”

  “Do you two want to know what he said?” I asked. “Or are you just going to sit around and insult Millennials?”

  Miss May and Teeny leaned forward in unison, ready to hear my update. I opened the text and a little spark of happiness shot from my toes to my chest. “He’s busy until Saturday. I’ll try to pressure him to see me sooner but—”

  “No,” said Miss May. “He’s a suspect. We can’t spook him. Tell him Saturday is fine.”

  “I thought you wanted to pursue this lead!” I said.

  “Teeny was the one that wanted to pursue James now,” said Miss May. “And I think we should investigate him, for sure. But I agree with you. Coach Sheila is an equally viable suspect. So let’s focus on her for now. Play it cool with James.”

  I replied to James, agreeing to meet up on Saturday. “Alright. That’s settled. Now let’s talk Sheila. Should we go see her now?”

  “Not a good idea,” said Miss May. “I asked around. Sheila lives down a long back road over in Lakeland. The road is tough to navigate on a good day. I know there’s not a ton of snow on the ground as of now. But I don’t think we should risk getting stuck out there. Not tonight.”

  “OK,” I said, growing frustrated with the back and forth. “So no James. And no Sheila. What do you suggest we do now?”

  “Not sure,” said Miss May.

  “Why don’t we go talk to Liz at the Pine Grove Gazette?” said Teeny. “Maybe she has coverage of Coach Thornton’s rivalry with Coach Sheila. Or she might have information about Sheila or James that could help us prepare to question them as suspec
ts.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” I said. “It’s all main roads to town. So even if the snow comes down harder we should be fine. What do you think, Miss May?”

  Miss May looked out the window. I followed her gaze. The wind had picked up and the flurries had turned into a steady snowfall.

  “OK,” she said. “But let’s go now. Before it’s too late.”

  12

  Best of Times, Worst of Times

  Downtown Pine Grove was beautiful in the snow.

  Snowflakes drifted though the amber light cast by the street lamps. Every storefront looked as though it had been plucked from a Charles Dickens novel. And the trees, dusted with just a bit of white, looked like lace doilies silhouetted against the sky.

  Although the snow was falling steadily, not even an inch had accrued by the time we arrived in town. Nonetheless, Tom Gigley, the town lawyer, shoveled the walkway to his office.

  Miss May rolled down her window as we passed him. “Already shoveling, Tom? It’s just gonna keep snowing.”

  Tom gave Miss May a vigorous nod. “If you get a head start, you can prevent the ice from forming. Ice is a silent killer and I for one refuse to fall victim to it. I suggest you do the same at the farm.”

  “No point in shoveling with a massive blizzard on the way,” said Teeny. “You’re shuffling deck chairs on the Titanic, Tom!”

  Tom scraped a sliver of snow off the walk. “Shoveling calms me. OK!?”

  Teeny laughed. “Whatever you say, Tom!”

  We drove another block, then pulled into the parking lot in front of the Pine Grove Gazette. The newspaper was housed in a long, two-story building with a few storefronts on bottom and a few offices on top. There was a single light on in the office of the Gazette. Liz, reliably, was working late.

  Liz opened the door with an urgent look in her eye. “What do you need? Snow is falling. I’m juggling three hundred different things. I don’t have time for questions or answers.”

  “We were just hoping—” Miss May began.

  “Do you know how many hits the Gazette website gets before big weather events? Weather is a moneymaker, ladies. I’m usually locked and loaded to report on storms of any sort. But it’s the middle of October! I wasn’t prepared for this. I need to write a dozen blizzard articles by morning and I’m way behind.”

  “So you think this flurry is the blizzard everyone’s been talking about?” Miss May asked.

  “It doesn’t matter to me. People are talking about the weather. And my site is still filled with articles about potholes and foliage and kids’ soccer. Why are we talking? I don’t have time to talk to you.”

  Liz hurried behind her desk and started typing at her computer.

  “Are you writing an article about the weather right now?” I asked.

  “Of course.” Liz did not look up. “This article is called: 10 Things You Never Knew About Snow. I’ve also written an article called: True or False: Can You Eat Snow? I think it’s going to be a hit. But I need to more articles and I need ‘em fast. I called all my freelancers but they’re busy. So it’s on my shoulders.”

  “I see.” Miss May took a gentle step deeper into Liz’s office. “I understand you’re busy. The work you do for this town is so important. We’re all grateful—”

  “Get to the point. Please.” Liz didn’t look up from her typing.

  “We need you to give us access to the archives room. And, if it’s not too much trouble, to help us find our way to some articles written about twenty years ago.”

  “Articles about what?” Liz’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she continued to type.

  “Pine Grove basketball,” I said. “We’re looking for information about the rivalry between Pine Grove and Lakeland high school.”

  Miss May nodded. “We’re especially interested in Coach Thornton’s relationship with the coach over at Lakeland. Sheila something or other.”

  “I can’t help you. Not tonight.”

  “Elizabeth,” said Teeny, trying to be stern. “You have a duty to help us. There’s a killer on the loose and the information in those articles might help. If you don’t help us gain access to those archives, you’re betraying justice.”

  Liz sighed and finally looked up from her computer. “Listen, I understand that what the three of you are doing for this town is important. I respect that. But I know for a fact that the archives aren’t going to help you either way. I’ve studied the history of this newspaper. Buddy Nielsen was a sports columnist from the 60’s all the way through the 90’s. He covered Ron Thornton’s career as a coach in Pine Grove. But Buddy wasn’t a hard-hitting reporter like me. If he saw a good story, he turned away from it and wrote the fluffiest piece he could. Buddy’s time was before small-town reporting meant anything. But in today’s America, an honest and fair press is more important than ever. That’s why I’m vigilant in every story I pursue.”

  “I remember Buddy,” said Miss May. “He really was a gentle reporter. Never looked too deep at anything.”

  “Right,” said Liz. “You must realize now that you wasted your time coming here. Can you show yourselves out?”

  “Of course.” Miss May turned to exit, then she turned back to Liz. “You don’t have anything that might help with this case?”

  Liz softened a bit. “I’m sorry to say I don’t have anything for you. Really. But why don’t you stop by the Pine Grove Sports Museum? They might have answers. And if you hurry you might able to get over there before the weather shuts the place down.”

  Miss May scratched at her nose. “Pine Grove has a sports museum?”

  Liz scribbled an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Miss May. “Yes. It’s called the Pine Grove Sports Museum. How do you not know that?”

  “I suppose I’ve never been too involved in local sports.” Miss May took the paper from Liz and looked at the address. “You think this place might bring us closer to the killer?”

  “I think you need to let me get back to my work. And be careful out there. Snow and ice can be dangerous.”

  “Not as dangerous as freewheeling killers running through the streets,” said Teeny.

  Liz gave Teeny an efficient nod. “Either way. Bye now.”

  13

  Ancient Artifacts

  “I don’t believe it!” I stepped onto the sidewalk and zipped my coat. “How can Pine Grove have a sports museum none of us know about?”

  “I’m not sure.” Miss May pulled on a pair of gloves. “And I have to say, I’m embarrassed. I’m supposed to be a business leader in this town. Beyond that, I’m supposed to be a sleuth. The people in this town trust me to have my ear to the ground. But I’ve never heard a whisper about this place.”

  “Don’t freak out,” I said. “Just ‘cuz you didn’t know about the sports museum doesn’t mean you’re a bad detective.”

  “I agree with Chelsea,” said Teeny. “And if I’m being honest, I’m shocked that you have any insecurity about your investigative skills. The three of us have solved probably ten million murders together. And we’re about to solve ten million and one. I have a hunch.”

  “That number might be a bit high,” said Miss May with a smile.

  “Nope,” said Teeny. “Ten million. I’ve counted.”

  I checked my watch. “It’s almost 6 o’clock. You think the sports place is still open?”

  Miss May shrugged. “I think it’s worth a try.

  --

  Sure enough, there was a modest brick building about a mile outside of town with a sign that designated the place as the official Pine Grove Sports Museum. I pulled up and parked right beside the main entrance. “I’ve driven past this building so many times. But I never bothered to read the sign.”

  “Me neither,” said Teeny. “It’s like we all have sports blindness.”

  “Well, we’re here now.” Miss May pointed toward the building. “And it looks like the lights are still on.”

  We all got out of the car and bounced
up the steps to the front door of the museum. In my heart, I doubted that the front door would be unlocked. But when I pulled the handle, it opened up with a satisfying hiss of air.

  The front lobby was clean, with white tile floors and immaculate white walls. A sturdy reception desk rested in the middle of the room. But everything behind the desk was dark, so I couldn’t get a good view of any of the displays.

  A familiar face looked up at me from behind the desk. It was Pine Grove’s most lovable old grouch, Humphrey. Humphrey was one of Teeny’s best customers at Grandma’s. He was bald with wild, bushy eyebrows. And he had the thickest glasses that I’d ever seen.

  “Good evening, ladies,” said Humphrey. “You three lost?”

  Teeny gasped. “Humphrey. You work at the sports museum!? None of us even knew this place existed ‘til tonight.”

  “Like I said…” Humphrey chuckled. “Are you three lost?”

  “No,” said Teeny. “But I’m not over this. I serve you breakfast every morning. How have you never mentioned this place to me?”

  “We don’t make a lot of small talk,” said Humphrey. “I suppose you haven’t noticed that. Usually I say ‘how are you,’ then you say ‘good, how are you.’ Then you take my order and that’s about it. Forgive me if I haven’t spilled the contents of my heart or filled you in on my volunteer shifts at the sports museum.”

  Teeny held up her hands to calm Humphrey down. “You don’t have to be so put off. I just feel like I know you, that’s all.”

  “Well, you don’t. You know how I like my eggs. That’s about it.”

  “I know your dog’s name is Semolina,” said Teeny. “And I know you like your bacon burned and bountiful. That’s more than I knew about most of my husbands.”

  Humphrey laughed. “Fine. We know each other a little. I’ll acknowledge that on occasion you make me laugh. Unfortunately, this evening, no matter how close we are… I’m going to have to turn you away. The weather’s bad. I was just about to turn out the lights, go home, and eat a plate of bacon.”