Dropping Like Pies (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 11)

by Chelsea Thomas

  Fine, she wasn’t doing all of those things at the same time. But she moved so fast and with such grace she might as well have been.

  “Morning, everyone,” I said.

  “Chelsea,” said Miss May. “I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up. Did you see outside?”

  Miss May and I had so much fun back when I was a kid playing in the snow. She had clearly not forgotten those days and had likely spent the morning anticipating my reaction.

  “It’s incredible,” I said. “I missed days like this so much in New York City. While I was living down there, the snowfall was romantic and gorgeous, just like it is here. But when you woke up the next morning, it had usually already turned brown and sludgy from the cars and the foot traffic. The snowfall out here on the orchard is unparalleled.”

  Miss May nodded. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Sit down. Eat.”

  As I sat, I remembered the plan Teeny, Miss May, and I had made to visit Pine Grove High School. I served myself some eggs and called back to Miss May. “Looks like a lot of snow out there. I bet school’s not open.”

  “Yep,” said Miss May. “This is an official school snow day. Although it’s melting fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if they called it a two hour delay. Bus the kids in for afternoon classes.”

  I chuckled. It was fun talking about our plan right in front of Wayne without him knowing. And by the glimmer in her eye, I could tell Miss May liked it too.

  “I’ve got friends who drive plows for the town,” said Big Dan. “They were texting me this morning. Seem to think the road should be good pretty soon.”

  “What a bummer,” I said. “I want everything to stay frozen for as long as possible.”

  “Me too,” said Teeny. “I hope Thornton’s murderer freezes, too. I hate the idea that he’s out and about, running around Pine Grove when it’s so beautiful outside. It’s not right.”

  “We’ll get him,” said Wayne.

  “More likely we will.” Miss May winked at Wayne. “But I like your optimism.”

  Wayne smirked at Miss May. “I want to make a sarcastic comeback but you just served me the best breakfast I’ve had in years, so I’m going to keep it inside.”

  “Smart man,” said Miss May. “Just for that, how about I warm up your coffee?”

  Miss May came over and added more coffee to everyone’s mugs. I thanked her, then took my coffee out to the porch so I could listen to the sounds of the melting snow. I watched my breath rise in a milky haze, mingling with the steam from the hot mug of coffee.

  But…what does melting snow sound like, you might ask?

  It sounded like an orchestra of tiny instruments, played by the warm fingers of the sun. The icicles cracked and popped as they shrank. The snow shifted like a rustling blanket. The tree branches groaned and yawned under the melting weight of the snow. Birds cautiously flitted around, shaking up the fresh snow whenever they took off or landed. And the bursts of falling snow sounded like a million little footsteps dancing across a desert of white.

  I closed my eyes and listened. I felt like I was out there in the cold forever, but when I went back inside, I wished I’d stayed out longer. Because as I walked back into the farmhouse, I realized an argument had erupted.

  Wayne was standing near the recycling bin, holding the shredded papers I had recovered from Coach Thornton’s shredder. “Please don’t lie to me, Teeny. The only way you could have gotten these is if you broke into Thornton’s house or office and took them.”

  “That’s not true,” said Teeny. “And hasn’t anyone ever told you, it’s rude to go through someone’s recycling bin?”

  “I wasn’t going through the recycling! I looked down and I saw Coach Thornton’s name staring back up at me from a big pile of shreds. What would you have done?”

  “Everyone calm down,” said Miss May. “Nothing bad has happened.”

  “Yes it has,” said Wayne. “I’ve asked you girls a million times to cool it with your investigations. Yes, you’ve solved some murders. And I’ve even helped you. But you can’t break the law when you’re trying to solve a crime. You clearly ransacked the house of a dead man to recover this shredded paper. That’s not right. I can’t stand for it as an officer of the law.”

  “You’re being a little ridiculous, Wayne,” I said. “You don’t know what those papers are. All you saw was Thornton’s name, right? You’re jumping to crazy conclusions.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” said Wayne.

  “No,” I said, trying to adopt a tone of offended defiance. “I can’t believe you’re standing in my aunt’s kitchen with her delicious scrambled eggs in your stomach accusing all of us of wrongdoing.”

  “OK. Fine,” said Wayne. “I don’t want to be rude. But the three of you can’t go around breaking and entering. It’s not legal and it’s not safe.”

  “We’ll do our best,” said Miss May. “But sometimes our investigations demand—”

  “Can you just tell me what I want to hear?” Wayne asked.

  “OK,” said Miss May. “We won’t break. Or enter. Is that good?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Sorry for getting upset.”

  “It’s fine,” said Miss May. “You’ve had a lot of coffee. You’re probably all jittery.”

  “Jittery, sure. But I’m also annoyed because I know I’m right. Want me to tell you how I know these shreds are from Thornton’s house?”

  “Of course we want to know,” said Teeny. “Spit it out.”

  “I don’t think I should be here for this conversation,” said Big Dan. “I think I’ll go to the bathroom for a long time. Maybe twenty minutes. Don’t come looking for me.”

  Big Dan shuffled out of the kitchen and disappeared up the stairs.

  “Weird guy,” said Wayne. “Anyway, I know the shreds are from Thornton’s house because I saw the shredder when I was there.”

  I furrowed my brow. “If you saw the shredder, why didn’t you take it as evidence when you were there with the police?”

  Wayne sighed. “I wanted to take the shreds and piece the papers together but Flanagan forbade it. So we had to leave them behind.”

  “Well. We can neither confirm nor deny the origin of this shredder,” I said. “We don’t want to get arrested or something.”

  “I’m not gonna arrest you,” said Wayne. “Relax.”

  I shifted my weight to my right foot. “Well… if these papers are in fact from Thornton’s house, and you wanted them for your investigation, you must be glad we have them here.”

  “Depends,” said Wayne. “Did you find anything useful? Or was I wrong?”

  “You might have been wrong,” I said. “They were just random pages from Thornton’s unfinished memoir. And from what we can tell, the book wasn’t very good.”

  “Can I see the rest of what’s in there?” Wayne asked.

  “You won’t report this or anything?” Miss May asked.

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” Wayne said.

  Miss May shuffled past us, on her way out of the kitchen. “I’ll grab it.”

  Moments later, the shredder was resting on top of the kitchen table and we were all gathered around. Wayne poked and prodded the device, then he tried to open the teeth to get a better look inside.

  “What are you doing?” Teeny asked. “Were you a shredder technician in a previous life?”

  “Back when we were at Thornton’s house I thought I spotted something stuck in the teeth. Flanagan didn’t give me enough time to get it out.”

  Snap. Wayne popped the teeth of the shredder open. Then he reached in and pulled out half of an old Kodak photograph. The photo showed Coach Thornton standing outside an old house. But he looked different. Younger. And with a fuller head of hair.

  “This picture looks old,” said Teeny. “Thornton was less ugly then.”

  “When do you think this photo was taken?” I said.

  Miss May leaned in and inspected the picture. “No championship rings. So it must have bee
n a long time ago. Before his glory days.”

  Wayne stuffed the photo in his shirt pocket. “I’ll take this thing down to the station and see what else I can learn.”

  I scoffed. “No way! That’s our evidence. Not yours.”

  “Let him take it,” said Miss May.

  “Fine,” I said. “But first…” I snatched the photo from Wayne’s pocket and took a quick picture of it with my phone. Then I tucked the photo back into Wayne’s shirt and patted his chest. His firm, firm chest.

  “Thanks,” said Wayne. “Appreciate it.”

  I shrugged. “No problem. Seems to me, you and your police buddies need all the help you can get.”

  34

  Plowing Ahead

  The snow plow arrived in our driveway like a prehistoric monster lurching across the frozen tundra of the Ice Age. Miss May and I watched from the porch as the monster cleared snow from our driveway. Then, when the growling hulk of a machine turned around and got ready to leave, Miss May handed me a wad of cash.

  “Give this to Mr. Wentworth. Tell him he’s gotta take it. For the whole season. Don’t let him give it back.”

  “Why would he try to give me the money back?” I asked.

  Miss May shook her head. “I’m not sure. But he always does.”

  Mr. Wentworth, the driver of the snow plow, had a white beard and a florescent smile. He gave me a wave as I approached. “Don’t tell me that’s little Chelsea Rae! I haven’t you since you were shorter than a bale of hay.”

  “I’ve seen you plenty of times since then,” I said. “It’s just I haven’t grown much. That’s why you’re confused.”

  Mr. Wentworth exploded with a big, scratchy laugh. “You crack me up, Chelsea. How are you, shortstop?”

  “OK. Miss May wants me to pay you for plowing the snow. For the season.”

  I extended the wad of cash to Mr. Wentworth. He pushed my hand away. “No, no, no. I’m not taking a dollar from you.”

  “Miss May said you might try to give some of the money back. But she didn’t warn me that you weren’t going to accept a single dollar. Why not?”

  Mr. Wentworth looked over my shoulder to where Miss May stood on the porch with her hands on her head. “Your money is no good here, May.”

  “Take it now or I’ll send it in the mail,” said Miss May. “Don’t make me go through the inconvenience of sending mail I don’t need to send.”

  “I like when you send me notes, May,” said Mr. Wentworth.

  “They’re not notes. They’re simple payments.”

  Wentworth let out another scratchy laugh. “Has your aunt ever told you how she has a big old crush on me?”

  With a smirk, I answered. “Are you sure it’s not the other way around?”

  Wentworth chuckled. “Hmm. You might be right. Hey, how do you think I can win May’s heart? I’ve been trying since we were too short to ride the Ferris wheel at the town carnival.”

  “You can start by accepting her payment in full,” I said. “Miss May likes to be treated just like anybody else. She’s practical. She pays what she owes and not any less.”

  “Fine,” said Mr. Wentworth. “In that case, fork over the cash. But I think I’m going to use it to buy May something nice around the holidays. Maybe a turkey.”

  “Turkeys are not romantic gifts,” I said. “How are the roads looking, by the way?”

  “I’ve been plowing for hours. They’re pristine. Did you hear the schools are calling all the kids in? That’s how you know I did a good job. Must’ve cleared about a million metric tons of snow in order to make a path for those school buses.”

  “And I’m sure the kids of Pine Grove love you for it,” I said, chuckling.

  “Never thought of it like that. You think all children hate the plow man?”

  “No. I’m sure they know you’re just doing your job. And I remember from experience that they all blame the principal when a snow day is ruined.”

  “OK. Tell your aunt she looks radiant today.”

  I chuckled. “She’s teased me about my love life for so long, I can’t wait to tell her that.”

  “That’s right. You got left at the altar. I had almost forgotten.” John shook his head. “That fella didn’t deserve you! That’s a fact!”

  I chuckled. “Goodbye, Mr. Wentworth.”

  “Adios.”

  Wentworth and his plow rumbled away. I watched him go, thinking about unintended consequences. The snow plow and the school children are a perfect example. If Mr. Wentworth does a good job, the children are robbed of a glorious snow day. He doesn’t set out to ruin the snow day. It just happens like that.

  I bet some murders unfold thanks to unintended consequences, I thought. And I wondered what domino fall of events might have led to Coach Thornton’s demise.

  A few minutes later, Big Dan, Teeny, Wayne, and I piled into Miss May’s Volkswagen bus. Miss May dropped the boys off at their respective workplaces and us girls went over to the high school to investigate. We didn’t tell Wayne where we were headed, of course. But it wasn’t his business anyway.

  We entered the high school lobby at a brisk pace. We hadn’t gone far when we ran into the security desk where visitors were required to check in. As luck would have it, Mr. Brian was sitting on a stool behind the desk, wearing a school security jacket.

  Mr. Brian was balding. He had a cute little goatee and wore small circular glasses, perched at the end of his nose. The poor guy had heavy dark circles under his eyes. Those circles probably came from worrying about his jailhouse husband, I thought. Or from covering up a murder…

  “Welcome to Pine Grove High School,” Mr. Brian said. “Please sign the visitor book and let me know who you’re here to see. Once your visitor information has been confirmed, I’ll issue your visitor passes and you’ll be allowed to continue on. Please provide your licenses for identification.”

  “Mr. Brian,” said Miss May. “It’s May, Chelsea, and Teeny.”

  Mr. Brian looked up and squinted as though he were looking directly into the sun. “May. Hi.”

  Mr. Brian removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. As I watched him I wondered if the man before me seemed capable of murdering Coach Thornton.

  “Are you OK?” Teeny asked. “You look like you’ve been crying for a week straight.”

  “It’s been hard at home without Brian. I miss his smile! And his kindness. And his face! Plus, he does all the cooking. So it’s been mostly crackers and old cheese for me. Not aged cheese, mind you. Old cheese. Oh my, isn’t that pathetic? I can’t even buy myself new old cheese.”

  “I understand,” said Miss May. “I’m impressed that you’re still coming into work. It must be hard to focus.”

  “It’s impossible to focus,” said Mr. Brian. “I’m surprised they’re letting me report for duty. I’m not doing a good job. I should be fired. I didn’t even recognize the three of you!”

  “Oh, don’t talk like that. Keep your chin held high,” said Miss May. “We don’t think Brian committed this murder. And we’re going to get him out of there.”

  “I know he didn’t commit the murder,” said Mr. Brian.

  How do you know that? I thought. Is it because you committed the murder? And if that’s true, how can you let your husband go to jail for a crime that you committed?

  “How do you know?” asked Teeny. “Does he have an alibi?”

  “I heard Thornton was found chopped up on your farm. How have they defined a date and time for when that murder happened? It’s a window, as I understand it. Hard to have an alibi without more information.”

  Mr. Brian pulled a hunk of cheese from his desk drawer and took a bite. I cringed. The cheese looked like the cheap stuff from the grocery store. Not delicious.

  “The police claim to know a date and time that the murder happened,” said Miss May. “They won’t tell us exactly when, of course. But they said they know for sure.”

  Mr. Brian sat up. “That’s a good thing, right? Maybe Brian will be ex
onerated based on where he was at the time the murder took place. That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

  “I thought you might like that,” said Miss May.

  I looked over at Miss May, confused. The police had not established a date and time during which the murder happened. I wondered why she had lied to Brian, and I wasn’t sure I agreed with her tactic. It seemed cruel to lead on a man suffering from obvious devastation.

  “We’re doing everything we can to help Brian get out of this,” said Miss May. “I promise you that.”

  Mr. Brian took Miss May’s hand in his. “Thank you so much. This town is lucky to have all three of you. If there’s any way I can help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Actually there is something you can do to help us,” said Miss May. “Do you know Mrs. Wimple, the English teacher?”

  Mr. Brian sat back. “Oh yeah. And I know where you’re going with this. Wimple hated Thornton, for good reason. He was a bad neighbor to me and Brian, for sure. But he was an even worse colleague. Thornton bullied Wimple in front of students, teachers, you name it. And he was constantly pressuring Wimple to pass failing players so they wouldn’t get held out of games. Wimple despised the guy and it was no secret.”

  Miss May nodded. “Is Mrs. Wimple in today?”

  Mr. Brian hit a few keys on his computer. “Yes. As a matter of fact, she has a free period right now. Should be in room 202.”

  “Perfect,” said Miss May. “Do you think you could get us some visitor passes?”

  35

  Diary of a Wimple, Kid

  Room 202 was empty. The walls were decorated with images of literature’s heavyweights – Mark Twain, Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson. Basic writing rules were stapled to the wall. A few rows of desks faced a chalkboard with a lesson plan titled, “Red Herrings in the Modern Mystery: Outsmarting Your Favorite Authors.”