Candy Apple Killer

by Chelsea Thomas

  “And good riddance.” Petunia poured herself another cup of black coffee. “Linda Turtle was a scourge on Pine Grove. You met her, right?”

  Miss May nodded. “She was a difficult personality. But sometimes difficult people are sweet inside. Don't you think?”

  Petunia scoffed. “I think that Turtle was rotten to the shell.” That didn’t make sense, I thought. But I held my tongue.

  Petunia’s hand trembled slightly as she sipped her day-old brew. “I could have paid off that house, if they had given me more time. You saw that spread on the card table. I have funds. Don't think of me like some homeless bum.”

  What did this lady have against the homeless?

  “No one thinks of you that way,” Miss May said. “Foreclosure happens to tons of people.”

  “But I'm not like those people. Those people are bums. Homeless bums! I'm telling you, I could have paid. I just, I ignored the notices until it was too late. I hate mail. I never open it. When they showed up to take my house, I didn't have the liquidity to pay them right away. So they sold it out from under me. Taxes! The greatest scam ever perpetrated on the American people. Isn't this why we threw the tea overboard?”

  “I think that had more to do with taxation without representation.” Welp, so much for holding my tongue. I wanted to stop talking but I couldn't. “The colonists didn't object to the taxes entirely,” I said. “They just wanted to have a say in who taxed them.”

  Miss May held up a hand to stop me. “OK, Chelsea.” She turned back to Petunia. “Sounds like Linda and Reginald took advantage of an unfortunate situation.”

  “That's a kind way to say it.” Petunia leaned on the counter. “That house had been in my family for 96 years. Almost a century. We moved there when I was only two years old.”

  “You’re 98?!” I covered my mouth. Stupid tongue, just couldn’t sit still. “Sorry. You look amazing for 98. I thought you were maybe 78, at most.”

  Petunia furrowed her brow. “May. You bring this girl out in public? Does she have irritable bowel syndrome of the mouth? Does she have a leaky brain? Because I have medicine for that stuff.”

  Miss May laughed. Petunia allowed a grudging chuckle, but it quickly morphed into a hacking cough. Still, my stupidity had smashed the tension to pieces. I let out a sigh I didn’t know I was holding.

  “A brain pill sounds great,” I joked.

  Petunia grabbed her bag full of pills, not joking at all. “What flavor do you like? Orange, strawberry, or whiskey sour? I’m not kidding.”

  We laughed again. Petunia smacked Miss May on the back.

  “It's good to see you, May. Even if you are here to backhandedly accuse me of murder. But I blame the government for losing my house more than I blame that horrible dead lady and her slimy husband. So go find someone else to suspect.”

  "Petunia...I'm not...we don't..." Miss May stammered.

  "Ninety-eight years, I know when I'm suspected of something, May. Hey, I get it. No hard feelings. Whatever."

  Ethel, the old woman who Petunia had left in charge of the money, poked her head into the apartment. “Petunia? Ladies are antsy. They want to start.”

  Petunia turned on Ethel. “Ethel! If you're here, who’s watching the pot?” Ethel scratched her head. Petunia crossed over to the door and held it open for us to leave. “I knew I couldn’t trust her,” Petunia muttered. “Alright, May. I've got bigger fish to fillet. Out!”

  Miss May and I exited, with Petunia and Ethel right behind us. We watched as Petunia scolded Ethel all the way back to the clubhouse.

  “That lady is something,” I said.

  “Yeah, Petunia is a character." Miss May smiled as we watched her go, but the smile faded. "Do you think she could have killed Linda?"

  “I hope not," I said. "She grew on me after a while.”

  “She does that,” Miss May said. "But I still think she's hiding something."

  13

  Hawaiian Horror

  MISS MAY WANTED TO check in with KP and update him on the case, so our next stop after Petunia's was the police station.

  As we approached, I worked my anger at Wayne into a rich and foamy lather and vowed to give him a piece of my mind as soon as we entered the station. But as it turned out, it was all for naught because the place was empty.

  In fact, just like our prior visit, the only person in the entire department was the young officer standing at the front desk. He was on the phone as we entered, so we waited patiently for him to finish.

  The officer gulped as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Occasionally, the officer said something like “Of course,” or “We’re taking this matter seriously.” But for the most part, he just stood there, sweating. I almost started to sympathy-sweat, wondering what serious thing could demand such urgency. Then the officer said, “Missing cats and dogs are a top priority for this department,” and I laughed.

  Hearing the echo of my laughter, the officer finally realized he had company. He hung up the phone and cleared his throat. He did his best impression of an authoritative voice, but the kid was so young and squeaky, he looked and sounded like he was dressed up as a cop to go trick-or-treating. “Hello. What can I help you with? Is there crime you would like to support? I mean report!”

  Miss May chuckled. “Where are all the other officers? Out rescuing cats from trees?”

  The officer put on his best serious face. “If by ‘rescuing cats,’ you mean ‘solving murders,’ then yes.”

  “This isn’t a competition, you know. We all want the murderer behind bars. So I hope you're right.” Miss May's tone surprised the officer.

  “Oh. Yeah. Well, that’s what they’re doing, I think. I mean, they are also helping with some lost pets. But generally, I think they're somewhere in the process of murder-solving, so...” The officer interrupted his own rambling. “Are you here to report a crime or not?”

  “Not quite,” Miss May said. “We're here to talk to your prisoner. KP? We were in here the other day. Have you forgotten us already?”

  The officer stood and puffed out his chest. “I do recall your previous appearance. Unfortunately, you will not be permitted to visit with Mr. Miller at this time. Visitors are not welcome at this department unless it is during official visiting hours.” The way the officer spoke, it sounded like he was reciting something Detective Wayne Hudson had forced him to memorize.

  Miss May leaned forward. “I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?”

  The officer cleared his throat, once again. “My name is Hercules.”

  I giggled. Not exactly apt.

  “Hercules. What a wonderful name. Well, I'm sorry to tell you, Herc, but visiting hours are right now.”

  Hercules narrowed his eyes. “They are?”

  Miss May pointed at a sign behind the officer. Visiting hours: 9 AM through 1 PM. Daily.

  Hercules took on inordinate amount of time to read the sign, then turned back to us. “Oh.”

  WHEN WE SAT DOWN WITH KP in the visiting room, he looked exhausted. Big bags hung under his eyes. Grease matted his hair to his head. And somehow, he had gained significant weight in only three days. Not good.

  He smiled when he saw us, and his grin erased the wear on his face. He seemed happy to hear how hard we had been working the case. But as Miss May dove into the details, KP seemed to be losing hours of sleep right in front of us.

  Each time Miss May mentioned a new suspect, KP insisted that person was guilty. He was so desperate to get out of jail, he barely let Miss May speak before pounding his fist after every name.

  “The husband did it! I knew it!” “The flower lady! I knew she was a maniac!” “Psychics can never be trusted. That's a fact!”

  KP also suggested that the mayor could have killed Mrs. Turtle, for a particularly outlandish reason. “This town wasn’t big enough for two Lindas! Linda Delgado killed Linda Turtle to even the field.”

  When Miss May dismissed the two-Linda theory, KP said he suspected that Lind
a's brother Dennis could have done it. Then he went totally off the rails and asked Miss May if she thought it were possible that aliens could have committed the crime.

  At first, Miss May was patient with KP. But at the mention of aliens she put her foot down.

  “KP. This crime was not committed by extra-terrestrials. You need to get a grip.”

  “I don’t care who did it, I just want to get out of here!”

  Miss May leaned in and whispered, “Are they not treating you right? Tell me. I'll get an inspector from county in here right away to fix any subpar conditions.”

  “Ah, this place is fine. I get potatoes with every meal. And I don't have to feel guilty about the carbs, because it's my only option.”

  Well, that explains a few things, I thought.

  “We’re doing our best, KP,” I said. “And I’m keeping an eye on See-Saw for you.”

  “Yeah, that’s great and all that you’re looking after the little horse,” KP said, “but I’m working on a tight timeline here. I'm going to Hawaii in six days! Remember?”

  Miss May smacked her head with her palm. “You're leaving that soon!? KP. You need to get your money back.”

  “I don't think airlines and resorts have a refund policy for jailed vacationers," KP said. "It's not like someone died.”

  “Technically Linda Turtle died,” I said.

  “You know what I mean! I don't care about the refunds, anyway! I’ve been looking forward to this trip to Hawaii for years. It’s the only state I haven’t been to yet. I want to eat pig that's been cooked in the dirt. I want to see a volcano, get a fruity umbrella drink, and walk around with a lei and a t-shirt that says, ‘I got lei’d in Maui.’ You know all I get to drink here is a little tiny carton of milk? Umbrellas don't make sense in cartons of milk!”

  “OK,” Miss May said. “We're working on it.”

  “Work harder!”

  The door to the visiting room clicked open. I turned, hoping it wasn't Wayne. Or was I hoping it would be him, shirtless? Who can say?

  Either way, it was only Hercules, pointing at the clock on the wall.

  “Time’s up. That's it, Miller. Back in the cell.”

  Hercules waited as KP took his time standing up. KP yawned, stretched, and shuffled toward the exit, clearly messing with Hercules. When he finally got to the door, KP paused and shot a pleading look at me and Miss May.

  “Please get me out of here."

  Miss May and I nodded and assured KP we would do our best, then we said our “Alohas” and headed out to the parking lot.

  Once we got outside, Miss May tossed me the keys to my pickup. “You drive for a while. I need to think.”

  “OK," I said. "Where are we headed? Home?”

  “Not yet. I've got to pick up some dry-cleaning from Noreen, then we should probably brief Teeny.”

  “You got something dry-cleaned?” I asked. Miss May’s usual uniform was a flannel and jeans.

  “Noreen gave me a coupon,” Miss May said. “Anyway, why are you so surprised? I have nice clothes.”

  “You have nice flannel and not-so-nice flannel,” I said. “That's pretty much it.”

  “Just drive the truck,” Miss May said.

  I sighed and started the engine. I wanted to make progress in the investigation. And picking up dry-cleaning from Noreen was nothing more than a detour on our way to finding the killer.

  TEENY GRABBED OUR COFFEE cups and herded them all on her side of the table. “If you don't stop investigating without me, no more free coffee! That's it!”

  “We would have brought you along, but we're trying to keep a low profile,” Miss May said.

  “My profile is low, May! Come on. My name's not ‘Teeny’ for nothing!”

  Miss May laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. You think I slow you down.”

  “I think...the cops have turned against us on this one. So we need to be careful,” Miss May said.

  “Can I have my coffee back?” I asked.

  “You may not.” Teeny turned to Miss May. “I am a valuable member of this sleuthing team, I’ll have you know.”

  “I know, Teeny,” Miss May said.

  “I help! I gather information. Heck. You don't know. I might have information right now.”

  “Do you?” Miss May asked.

  “Tell me I'm valuable.”

  “Teeny.” Miss May rolled her eyes.

  “Tell me I'm valuable. And beautiful. And young. I'm a teenage beauty sleuth!”

  “OK,” Miss May said. “You're a teenage beauty sleuth.”

  Teeny smiled. “Thank you. That's so sweet. But before I tell you what I know, I need you to tell me what you know.”

  “I know I want my coffee,” I said. One track mind.

  Teeny slid my cup back to me without looking away from Miss May.

  “Fine,” Miss May said. Then she recapped the case for Teeny with clipped brevity.

  Reginald Turtle. Salazar the Psychic. Petunia the gambling flower shop lady. Ethel. Not that anyone suspected Ethel, but she did seem to be wrapped around Petunia’s little green finger.

  I listened as Miss May talked through our investigation, and my frustration mounted. The more she talked the clearer it became...we didn't have any solid leads. And every second we wasted meant another second KP had to spend in jail.

  After three or four minutes, Miss May finished the recap. “Alright, T. Now you know what we know. So spit it out. What's the dirt?”

  Teeny leaned forward. “OK. Ready?”

  “Yes!” Miss May and I said in exasperated unison.

  “Word has it, Reginald Turtle has been splashing money all over town. Shopping around for a new car. Extra-large lattes at the Brown Cow twice a day. He even came in here and ordered a deluxe appetizer sampler. Ate it all himself.”

  Miss May shrugged. “So? The Turtles are extravagant. That's their thing.”

  “I heard from a customer who shall not be named, who heard from someone else whose name I also can't say, who heard from someone else whose name I also can't repeat, that Reginald isn’t spending any of the Turtle money. They were mostly broke anyway, and whatever’s left goes to their son Herman or something. Reginald's spending life insurance money. The rumor is he took out a big policy on Linda. Recently.”

  I gnawed at my cuticle. “So Reginald got a big payday when Linda died? Like he had a financial incentive to kill her? In addition to apparently just not liking her very much.”

  Miss May nodded. “And didn't Linda mention that Reginald came from a less than wealthy family? He even took her name when they got married.”

  Teeny nodded. “That's the first thing she told me when I met them. ‘Reginald’s family is poorer than mine,’ I think were her exact words. So it seems to me like he killed her to get some money for himself. That way he wouldn't have to share it anymore. Or put up with her nonsense.”

  Miss May lifted her cup to sip her coffee but paused halfway. “Why are you just telling us this now?”

  “Mr. Turtle just started spending his dough last night. You want me to wake you up to let you know the new guy in town is eating too many appetizers?”

  “That makes sense,” Miss May said. “Probably takes a few days for insurance to pay out. Honestly, I'm surprised he got the money as quickly as he did.”

  Teeny shook her head. “I'm not sure he has the money yet. Gigley was saying Reginald had a problem with the insurance company.”

  “Gigley said that?” Miss May sat up a little straighter.

  “He was in here earlier. I gave him some free pie, got him chatting,” Teeny was practically bursting with pride.

  “Why would Gigley have that information? Do lawyers deal with insurance companies?” I asked.

  “All the time,” Miss May said. “Especially when the circumstances surrounding a death are suspicious.”

  “Good intel, huh?” Teeny said. “Next time, make sure I'm involved from the beginning. I'll save you guys all that runni
ng around.”

  Miss May wiped her mouth and stood to go. “OK, then. Let's get going.”

  Teeny grabbed her sunglasses and put them on. “Woohoo! Wait. Where are we going?”

  I grabbed my own sunglasses and put them on. "Yeah, where are we going? Do you want to talk to Reginald again or something?”

  “Nope,” Miss May said. “I've got a better idea.”

  14

  Speculation and Spam

  AS FAR AS I KNEW, TOM Gigley was the only lawyer the town of Pine Grove had ever called its own. Miss May had retired before she moved from the city (or was disbarred, I thought darkly). His offices were housed in a converted colonial at the end of Main Street, and he had a little shingle hanging out front that said, “Law Offices of Tom Gigley.”

  Until a few months ago when I moved back to Pine Grove, I had never been to Tom's office. Gigley was an old friend of Miss May’s, and she’d often left me to wander around town while she sorted out taxes or parking tickets or legal business about the farm in Gigley’s office.

  But after investigating three murders with Miss May, Tom's office had begun to feel like a second home to me. And Gigley, whom I had formerly known as the erudite, white-haired stickler in town, had emerged as a quirky oddball.

  When we entered the office, Tom's secretary, Deb, was asleep, face down at her desk. For a split second, I worried she might be dead. I did have a knack for discovering dead bodies, after all. Then I heard a loud snore and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Miss May pulled a homemade cookie from her purse and left it beside Deb. I smiled. Classic Miss May, finding kindness in small moments. I resolved to start carrying cookies in my bag and leaving them by sleeping citizens. Probably not going to happen though, I lamented. If I carry cookies around, I’m just going to eat them all.

  Miss May, Teeny, and I chuckled as we tiptoed past Deb and made our way down the hall toward Tom's office. The door was open a crack, which was unusual. Every other time I had been there, the door had been closed, and Tom had been “with client.” Not that it ever stopped Miss May from entering. But at that moment, he was sitting at his desk reading a document under a microscope.