Candy Apple Killer

by Chelsea Thomas

  Linda craned her neck to get a look at the apples. “The candy apples do look quite nice. He's studied art? At a conservatory?”

  “He has not,” Miss May said. “Education is the enemy of creativity, don't you think?”

  I snorted and tried to pass it off as a sneeze by loudly saying, “Achoo!” No one bought it, but I didn’t care. Miss May was losing control of her customer service persona, and I loved it.

  “I should hope not,” Linda said. “I personally hold two graduate degrees in the arts. One in poetry. You may have noticed my eloquent speech. I thank my poetry degree for that. My other graduate degree is in oil painting. A skill for which I am ever grateful but never practice. Aren't I a wonderful painter, Reginald?”

  Reginald nodded, but he still had his eyes on the candy apples. “Do you think it might be time to purchase and perhaps enjoy a caramel-coated apple, my dear? I'm fond of the peanut-crusted variety, and I think I spot one I'd like to claim.”

  “Yes, Reginald. We'll go now.” Linda nodded at me, then at Miss May. “I would like to say this was a pleasure, yet I am in the fart hole that is Pine Grove so I can not.”

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, Linda and Reginald were at the front of the line, face to face with KP.

  I spied from across the room to make sure everything went OK. But the dance floor was crowded, so I could only glimpse KP and Linda once every few seconds.

  Linda did not smile once as she spoke to KP. KP didn’t smile either, but he gritted his teeth the whole time. At first, the transaction seemed to go smoothly. Linda pointed out her favorite apples and KP gathered them into a neat row near the cash register without giving her any trouble.

  But Linda and Reginald did not stop at one or two candy apples. They kept asking for one more, and then one more, and then one more, and I could see KP’s patience wearing thin.

  Miss May sidled over to me. “How do you think that conversation’s going?”

  I did my best Linda Turtle. “And now I would like another apple. That one there. Good little farmhand. How dare you look me in the eye, you low-born trash!”

  Miss May imitated KP’s gruff baritone. “Hey lady! Keep it to yourself, or this'll be the last apple you ever eat!”

  “Hush up and fetch me another,” I said as Linda. “In Manhattan the apples are fresher and yield more juice!”

  “The stores in Manhattan buy their apples from us, you crazy old bat!” Miss May growled as KP. She sounded so much like him I almost forgot we were guessing at the exchange.

  Finally, Linda pointed at one last apple, and I swear I saw steam issuing from KP’s ears. Linda pointed at the apple again, but instead of giving it to her, KP slipped out the back door of the barn. Had Linda demanded the candy apple that broke the camel's back?

  I hurried after KP, but before I made it to the sales table, he had returned with a fresh box of candy apples and a smile on his face. He handed Linda an apple off the top of the box, then she paid him and sat down.

  Weird.

  LINDA SNAPPED IN MY direction before her butt even hit her chair. I hurried over, fingers crossed that I could remain civil.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “You certainly can.” Linda held up a candy apple by its stick and scowled. “How is one supposed to eat these?”

  I furrowed my brow. Was that a trick question? “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean,” Linda dropped the candy apple with a thud. “We don't have utensils. You know, the sharp pointy things with which one cuts and eats food? Are you familiar with these ancient tools of civilization, or shall I draw a picture? Oh wait! I doubt you know what pen and paper are. Would you like us to act them out? Reginald, stand up! I need you to pantomime for this young lady the essence of a pen.”

  I gaped. Linda’s insults were so cutting, so original, I almost wanted to applaud her. I was tempted to retort, but I was no match for the woman before me. What would I say? Uh, I know what a pen is, ma’am. There was no point. Linda Turtle was a master of diminution.

  “I’ll get you a fork and knife,” I said. “Did you want a pen and paper too?”

  “Of course not! Shoo. Go away.”

  I nodded and rushed away. Miss May caught my eye and laughed as I grabbed silverware.

  That would, however, be the one of the last laughs either of us would enjoy for the night.

  THE HOEDOWN WRAPPED up around midnight. By all accounts, it was a huge success. Gigley and the Giggles had started to improvise apple tunes toward the end of the night, and they had returned for an encore with a stirring rendition of “Ain’t No Apple High Enough.”

  Several formerly gung-ho twenty-somethings were asleep at their tables, drunk on too much hard cider. Plus, we had sold out of candy apples, and we’d received over two hundred pre-orders for Christmas trees.

  The whole night had gone off without a hitch.

  Miss May came up and hugged me as I scrubbed candy apple coating off a table. “Great job tonight. You know how many people came up and told me how amazing the barn looked?”

  “Oh, please. That was nothing. The apples were the real star.” I paused for effect. “How many people though?”

  Miss May laughed. “A lot.”

  “Well, it’s easy to decorate a place that feels so authentic and warm. This farm is magic.”

  Miss May scoffed. “That's the hard cider talking.”

  “I haven't had any.”

  “In that case, go wake these other drunks,” Miss May pointed at the sleeping twenty-somethings who dotted the barn. “They don’t have to go home, but they can't stay here. But they can stay here if they're too drunk to drive. Just tell them to come in the farmhouse and crash on the couch.”

  “That!” I said to Miss May. “That's the magic. It’s you.”

  Miss May nudged me away. “Will you go already? You're making me mushy.”

  I went from table to table, rousing the stragglers and offering them a place to stay. The first three were still tipsy, but the fourth was their designated driver — totally sober — so there was no need for accommodations.

  Then I spotted one more sleeping guest in the far corner of the room. Her head was down, and she was surrounded by several half-eaten apples.

  I approached and shook the woman's shoulders gently. “Hello? Wake up. Party's over.”

  The woman didn't stir.

  “You can stay in the farmhouse if you don't have a ride. But Miss May doesn't want anyone sleeping in the barn.”

  No response. Wow, this lady hit the cider hard. It’s not even that alcoholic.

  One more shake. Still no response.

  My feet tingled with a familiar sense of dread. Uh-oh.

  “Please don’t be dead,” I said.

  But the woman did not move.

  “I don't think I can take another dead body.”

  I kneeled down and put my face on the table next to the woman's.

  Her eyes were open and rolled back in her head.

  I shrieked and stumbled back. I tripped over a chair and landed with a thump on my butt.

  Linda Turtle’s blank white eyes stared out at me. If she could have, I’m sure she would have ridiculed me for my clumsiness and lack of aplomb. But she couldn’t say anything.

  Because she was dead.

  And Reginald was nowhere to be found.

  5

  Know When to Hold ‘Em

  NOT LONG AFTER I’D found the deceased Turtle, Wayne arrived in his unmarked cruiser. I fixed my hair as soon as I saw him pull up. I scolded myself for being such a girl. But I couldn’t help it. No matter the circumstances, my hands shot to my hair whenever Wayne was around.

  “What happened here?” Wayne grumbled as he approached.

  “I don't know. I thought she was drunk.”

  “Did you touch the body?”

  “No! And I made sure no one else did either. This is not my first murder, you know.”

  Wayne sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

 
; Wayne looked around the room. KP and Miss May conversed along the far wall. Otherwise, the barn had been vacated. And the remnants of the party took on a spooky energy in light of Linda's death.

  “I know this is your treasured family farm or whatever,” Wayne said. “But it creeps me out.”

  “Good to know,” I said. “Don't you have some investigating to do?”

  “Yeah. I plan to start by questioning the person who found the body.”

  I scanned the room for Wayne’s first interview culprit, then I realized...

  “Oh! You mean me?!”

  Wayne held up a calming hand. “Relax. I’m not accusing you. After three, uh, assists in murder cases, you get a pass on number four. Unless I find a good reason to suspect you.”

  “Oh wow, thanks,” I deadpanned. “I'll get a punch card so you can keep track better.”

  I scowled at Wayne, annoyed that he was begrudging Miss May and me credit for helping in Pine Grove’s last three murders. We had done a better job solving those mysteries than Wayne and the rest of the police force combined. I was about to say so, right to Wayne’s smug, handsome face...but then he smiled at me, and my indignation melted like the Wicked Witch puddling on the floor.

  “You look nice tonight,” Wayne said. “Considering what you've been through.”

  A compliment. Oh no. I froze, unsure how to proceed. Was I supposed to compliment him back?

  I hadn't been in this situation for a very long time. My ex-fiancé Mike’s compliments tended to be backhanded. He’d say things like, “Your hair is better now that you don’t have those weird bangs,” or “That lipstick looks less gross than I thought it would.” To which my usual response was, “Thanks, I think.” So a regular, old-fashioned compliment from a regular old-fashioned man? Total curveball.

  Speak, Chelsea! Speak!

  “I haven't taken a shower in three days.”

  What!? Why did I say that? It was true but irrelevant. Just another entry in the long line of stupid-things-Chelsea-says-to-Wayne.

  My confession stumped Wayne just as much as his compliment had stumped me. “OK. Well, I guess it's working for you.”

  “Yeah, I use dry shampoo,” I mumbled.

  I was about to karate kick myself in the face for piling stupid on stupid, but then I noticed that Wayne had stopped listening. Something across the barn had distracted him. “What’s with that guy?”

  I followed Wayne's gaze across the room. “Oh,” I said with a dismissive wave, “that’s KP. He’s the resident jack-of-all-trades. Have you not met KP?”

  KP cursed under his breath as he loudly collapsed the folding tables from the hoedown. Wayne narrowed his eyes as he watched KP work. “Do you know him well?”

  “Yeah, he’s basically like an uncle to me. He’s worked on the farm my whole life. And you should see him with See-Saw!”

  “See-Saw?”

  “Yeah, our tiny horse. Have you not met See-Saw either? She and KP are basically best friends. It’s adorable.”

  “Uh-huh. Right now I’d say your resident tiny horse-whisperer looks pretty upset.”

  “Oh sure, well, he hates folding the tables. Gets mad at them every time.”

  “So he has an anger problem.”

  I looked at Wayne like he had ice cream for brains. “That's not what I said. He just hates the tables.”

  "Does that sound normal? When you say it out loud?" Wayne asked.

  "I guess not. But he's just...eccentric." We watched as KP stacked the last folding table with a curse I couldn’t repeat. “KP decorates and sells the candy apples all by himself, you know. A lot of people are surprised to learn that.”

  Wayne pulled his detective notepad out of his back pocket without taking his eyes off of KP. He flipped the pad open and made a quick note. I tried to sneak a peek, but Wayne turned away as he scribbled.

  “What are you writing?” I asked.

  Wayne snapped the notepad shut. “Nothing. Would you be willing to introduce me to KP? I'd love to have a quick chat with him.”

  I scratched my nose. “I guess. What do you need to talk to him about?”

  Wayne raised his eyebrows. “Official police business.”

  “KP is not a killer, if that’s what you’re thinking. His best friend is a tiny horse, remember?”

  “People can be surprising.”

  “Not KP. He’s very predictable.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Wayne was making me feel uneasy.

  “Nevertheless. I’d like to ask him a few things about his whereabouts tonight.”

  “Then you can make your own introduction.”

  I brushed past Wayne and stomped out of the barn. What nerve!

  Still, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder at Wayne as I left.

  He said I looked good tonight. I smiled to myself, then resumed my angry departure.

  I EXPLODED OUT OF THE barn and onto the orchard, expecting to find Miss May. Instead, I saw shampoo-spokeswoman-turned-cop Detective Sunshine Flanagan. Flanagan looked stunning, per usual, but I decided not to let it bother me. So her uniform fits really well, so what? She probably gets it tailored.

  Then Flanagan reached back and yanked the scrunchy out of her hair, which sent her long red locks cascading down her back. I stopped in my tracks. So shiny! Was this for real an actual woman’s hair? She must shower all the time.

  I couldn’t look away. I had never been hypnotized, but I imagined it would feel something like watching Sunshine Flanagan fix her ponytail.

  Flanagan turned to talk to another officer, and I snapped out of my daze. Oh right. I came out here to find Miss May.

  “Miss May,” I called out. “Hello?”

  A muffled voice called from somewhere to my left, “I'm in here!”

  “In where?” I asked.

  “In the maze!”

  “Come out!”

  “I can't find the exit! All I see is hay.”

  I hung my head. The maze had been intended for small children, but it looked like I had also created an aunt trap. “You need me to come find you?”

  “Either that or arrange for supplies to be airdropped by the military.”

  I sighed. “OK,” I said. “I'm coming in.”

  I entered the maze, and before I had taken two steps, I was already sweating up a category four storm. Not because I was claustrophobic in the traditional sense. I actually liked small nooks and comfortable, cozy spaces. But something about mazes freaked me the heck out. They’re designed to confuse people. To make you feel lost. And I didn’t need any help with that.

  “Miss May,” I called out. “Say something.”

  “Something.”

  “I'm not laughing,” I said. “Seriously. I want to get out of here.”

  “Relax. It's not scary unless you think about how the walls of hay could collapse and crush you.”

  I wiped sweat from my forehead. And my knees. And my neck. Uch. So sweaty.

  “I just found a dead body,” I said. “Stop trying to scare me!”

  “Sorry,” Miss May said. “I was trying to lighten the mood.”

  “By stranding yourself in the maze?”

  Miss May did not respond. I rounded a corner and ran smack into a dead end. I groaned. Why had I designed a maze for this party?!

  “This is so annoying! Now I'm lost too!”

  “I'm sorry,” Miss May said. “Stay where you are. I'll climb the wall and jump to freedom.”

  “Oh OK. Let me know how that goes,” I said. Silence from Miss May. “Let's do Marco Polo or something.”

  “Good idea,” Miss May said. “You wanna be Marco or Polo?”

  “Uh, I think they’re the same guy.”

  “So?”

  “I’ll be Marco, I guess.”

  “Then I have to be Polo?”

  I couldn’t take any more banter, so I yelled as loud as I could, “MARCO!”

  “Polo!” Miss May responded.

  “MARCO!”

  “You don’t have to keep
screaming Marco, Chels. I’ll just say Polo, and you come find me.”

  With that, Miss May began to repeat the call of “Polo” at the top of her lungs. The maze wasn’t that big, so I knew she couldn’t be far. But every time I rounded a corner, I felt like her voice grew softer instead of louder.

  This is a literal nightmare. I have had this nightmare, and it did not go well.

  I tried to steady myself with a deep breath and a meditative observation. “I am not lost. I am in a small maze for little kids. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  Then, I rounded a corner and ran straight into a thick wall of hay. I lost my balance and fell backwards into another wall of hay. The force of my tumble knocked the top bale over the wall, and I heard a shriek from the other side.

  “Miss May?”

  A hand shot up from behind the collapsed wall. “Polo!”

  I laughed and pulled the second bale of hay down so I could see to the other side. And there was Miss May, looking just as relieved as I was.

  “We should have pushed the walls down sooner,” I said. “I could have found you in thirty seconds!”

  Miss May climbed over the last bale of hay. “That's a good lesson for next time. And for life, in general. Sometimes, it's easier to do the heavy lifting than to find a clever way out.”

  “Great teaching moment,” I said. “Can we go now?”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, I was cleaning up outside the barn when I heard yelling. I rushed inside to find KP and Wayne in a standoff. A matador and a bull, although I wasn’t sure which was which.

  “You're out of your mind!” KP shook his fist. “I didn't kill that crazy woman!”

  “But you already admitted that you hated her,” Wayne said.

  KP laughed and shook his head. “Everyone hated her! Did you meet the lady?”

  “You mean the victim?” Wayne said.

  I didn’t like the way Wayne was turning this around on KP, and I didn’t like the way KP was shouting about hating the dead woman. I marched toward them. “Wayne! What do you think you’re—?”

  Wayne held up his hand to silence me. It worked. “This is official police business, ma’am. Please don’t interfere.”