Candy Slain

by Chelsea Thomas

  “I understand,” said Miss May. “But I’m Miss May. This is Chelsea.”

  The volunteer shrugged. She hadn’t heard of us.

  “We solve every murder in this town. We’re the ladies from the orchard? The amateur sleuths?”

  The volunteer’s eyes widened. “Ah.. OK.”

  Miss May smiled and stepped past the volunteer.

  Deputy Mayor Matt was on the phone when we entered his office.

  “I told him everything is going as planned.” He spoke in a hushed whisper. “I told him it’s still the holidays in Pine Grove. Everyone should be happy. But I got people calling from all over the place. They’re not sure it’s safe to visit town this holiday season.”

  Deputy Mayor Matt glanced up and noticed us. “I need to go. Miss May is here with that short blonde girl. I know. OK. Bye.”

  Matt turned to us. “Ladies. Hi. Crazy around here, as you can see. You heard what I said out there? That’s the whole story.”

  Miss May shook her head. “Matt. Come on. That was Linda, right?”

  Matt tugged at his tie. “Linda who?”

  Miss May rolled her eyes. “Linda Delgado. As in, Mayor Linda Delgado. Your boss?”

  “No,” Matt said, sweating like a polar bear in the Kalahari. “That was my mom. She is a wonderful woman. We talk ten to fifteen times… a day.”

  Miss May crossed her arms. A look of distress passed over Matt’s face.

  “Fine. That was the mayor. Ever since we lost Orville, she hasn’t left her house. It’s been complete mayhem, I’m in way over my head.”

  “Wow. So you’re handling all this by yourself?” Miss May looked concerned.

  Matt nodded.

  I cleared my throat. “Hey, I’m Chelsea, the little blonde one. Is Linda sick?”

  Matt nodded. “Sick with worry. Sick with depression. This no-Santa, no-tree debacle is the worst thing that has happened to Pine Grove in years.”

  Miss May narrowed her eyes. I cringed. “We’ve had nine murders since I moved here last fall.”

  “You know what I mean,” said Matt. “Pine Grove depends on holiday tourism.”

  Matt leaned back with an enormous sigh. “Don’t tell me she’s a suspect in this murder.”

  I looked over at Miss May. She remained focused on Matt. “We don’t rule anyone out until we know for sure.”

  Sigh. Matt buried his head under his hands on his desk.

  “Are you OK?” Miss May asked.

  Matt looked up and for the first time I noticed his bloodshot eyes. “I am not OK. If the mayor killed Orville, there’s no way I can take over this job. It’s way too much for me. I have two kids and three dogs.”

  The phone rang. Matt picked up the receiver then slammed it down to hang up on the caller.

  “Do you think the mayor killed Orville?”

  Miss May swallowed. “Do you?”

  12

  Sleepy Holler

  The mayor lived up on a hill on the outskirts of town, across from the Church of the Assumption. Her home was a large Victorian, painted mustard yellow and olive green with two chimneys, a nice little porch, and a tower with a turret. The plaque out front announced the home as the residence of Pine Grove’s mayor and a sign welcomed visitors anytime.

  I’d often thought how challenging it would be to live in a home that welcomed visitors anytime. But, truth is, Miss May was the same. If someone in town found themselves in need, our door was always open. Plus, sometimes strangers just wandered onto the farm at odd hours, not realizing that the farmhouse on the orchard was someone’s literal house.

  That day, the mayor’s home, which was usually neat and tidy, was in disarray. A strand of white Christmas lights dangled off the porch. The lawn had a few holiday lawn ornaments which were also tipped over or had not yet been set up. And the Christmas tree was bundled in netting along the side of the driveway. Miss May pulled up and parked beside the tree.

  “Linda bought that tree up at the farm a couple weeks ago. She said she wanted to get a head start because the prior because last year she waited until Christmas Eve and couldn’t get a good one.”

  “So much for her head start,” I said, looking at the unwrapped tree. “There’s been so much drama about the tree at town hall. She probably doesn’t even want to put a real tree up in her house anymore.”

  Miss May shook her head. “Sad. That was a good one.”

  We climbed the porch and rang the doorbell, but no one answered.

  “That’s odd,” said Miss May.

  “If she’s home feeling depressed, it makes sense to me,” I said. “When I’m depressed, I stay in bed and won’t climb out for anyone unless they have a hot, fresh carbohydrate in their hands.”

  Miss May looked back toward the driveway. “There’s her car. I parked right behind her.”

  “I’m sure she’s just in bed.”

  Miss May shook her head. “No. This is the mayor’s house. Open to anyone at any hour. Linda’s never denied a visitor. Something’s wrong.”

  Miss May knocked on the door with force. Once, twice, three times. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called up to the second floor. “Linda. It’s Chelsea and May. Come let us in.”

  “We have a freshly baked carbohydrate,” I said. “Hot and delicious.”

  No reply. A familiar bad feeling rose from the bottoms of my feet up to the pit of my stomach. Often, in Pine Grove, when someone isn’t home… That means they’re dead.

  “Don’t go thinking the worst,” I said, talking to myself as much as I was talking to Miss May.

  “I won’t.” Miss May lifted the welcome mat and pulled a key out from beneath. “But we need to see inside.”

  The foyer floors creaked as we entered the mayor’s house. That was one unfortunate thing about living in such a historic old town. All the houses had a spooky vibe. All the floors creaked.

  I whispered, “I can’t believe the mayor of Pine Grove leaves the key under her doormat.”

  Miss May shrugged. “Small-town life. It’s a beautiful thing.”

  We crept toward the living room and I noticed that the interior of the house was half-decorated, much like the exterior. Garland had been draped over the railing but puddled in a sloppy coil halfway down. A wreath rested against the wall, waiting to be hung. A nativity scene poked out from a cardboard box near the coat closet.

  “Linda.” Miss May’s voice boomed. “This is May and Chelsea. We’re here to help.”

  Miss May started up the stairs. There were more creepy creaks. My aunt took the stairs one at a time like each one could be an active landmine.

  We reached the top of the steps. Sunlight leaked through the windows and cast eerie shadows down the hall. The light seemed to lead to an open door at the far end of the corridor. “We’re upstairs now.” Miss May used a loud and confident voice. “We’re approaching the master bedroom.”

  Miss May walked. I followed behind her. My heart pounded and my palms clammed up.

  After what felt like a four-hour documentary about walking down a hallway, we reached the bedroom door. Miss May pushed open the door.

  Guess what? It creaked.

  We stepped inside the mayor’s bedroom. And there she was, lying in bed.

  “There you are,” said Miss May. “Please don’t be dead.”

  13

  Peppermint Twist

  “Nudge her,” Miss May said.

  “I don’t wanna nudge her,” I said. “You nudge her.”

  The mayor remained motionless in her bed. Not moving.

  “You’re the real detective,” I said. “You should do the nudging.”

  “Oh, now I’m the real detective,” said Miss May. “You are also an incredible detective. Plus, you handle all the physical altercations at the end of our investigations. Karate. Kicking. Whatever you do. This falls into the category of physical altercation.”

  “I disagree,” I said. “I think this falls into the category of basic detective work. It’s a n
udge, not a fight.”

  “I’m not dead.” A muffled voice sounded from under the comforter. “I’m lying very still.”

  I shrieked and jumped back. My heart pounded in my chest. “Mayor Delgado. Hi.”

  “Seriously, Linda. How long were you going to let us argue like that?” Miss May asked.

  Linda propped herself up on an elbow. “How long would you have continued?”

  Miss May chuckled. “You don’t want to know.” Miss May took a step toward the bed. “How are you? Not feeling too well?”

  “My life is a sopping pile of disappointment and regret. Did someone mention fresh, hot carbohydrates?”

  I closed my eyes. “Sorry. I did make that promise but it was a lie. We owe you something delicious.”

  “And fresh. And hot,” I said.

  Miss May shook her head. “I was wondering why you promised that.”

  I shrugged. “You almost always have a pie in your purse.”

  “I hope no one saw you two coming in here. I’m already doomed in this town. No Santa. No tree. No hope for reelection. I don’t need to bring you two down with me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Miss May.

  “We both know I’m not being ridiculous,” Mayor Delgado said. “And here’s the unspoken truth… If anyone saw you come in here, they’ll assume I’m a suspect in this murder. Am I a suspect?”

  “Well…” Miss May said.

  “We both know your sister didn’t do it. Anyone with half a brain knows that,” the mayor said. “So you’re trying to find the real killer. You want to set her free.”

  Miss May sat on the edge of the bed. “You shut yourself into your house after the body was found. That doesn’t look good.”

  “Haven’t you suspected me and been wrong often enough to stop suspecting me at this point?” Linda asked.

  Miss May shrugged. “I wish that was how it worked. But the truth is… We’re not really here to interrogate you as a suspect. More than anything, we were hoping you had information about Orville. You’ve had more contact with him than anyone in town. You might have information that could help solve this.”

  “And if I happen to incriminate myself in the process, even better, right?” The mayor sneered. A life in politics had trained Linda Delgado to always suspect ulterior motives. Those instincts had gotten her to the highest office in Pine Grove, and the same instincts always kicked in whenever we asked the mayor questions.

  “What do you want to know about Orville?” Mayor Delgado asked.

  Miss May shrugged. “Start at the beginning. Where did you find him?”

  “It was a couple months ago, I think,” said the mayor. “I was in the midst of dealing with Humphrey’s weight loss problem when Orville arrived in town. He came straight to me and offered his services at the exact right moment.”

  “So you hired him on the spot?” Miss May turned and looked at the mayor.

  “Of course not. I looked over his resume. He’s been the Santa for some of the most prestigious institutions in America. The Macy’s on 34th St. The Macy’s in Chicago. He even appeared on television a number of times. I called three references and each had glowing reviews. I thought it was a safe hire.”

  “It turns out it wasn’t safe in any sense of the word. It was a ho-ho-horrible idea.” I covered my mouth. “Sorry. Bad time for a Santa joke.”

  “Nothing we haven’t heard before,” Miss May said, with a gentle chuckle.

  “At first, Orville was great,” Mayor Delgado said. “He had an incredible Santa costume and an even better disposition. Plus, he had so many ideas about how to best utilize a world-class Santa during the holiday season.”

  “But he didn’t have a good personality to work with children.” I moved my hair out of my face. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

  “Orville was so friendly for the first couple weeks. Gregarious, even. Then his real personality came out and by that point, we were locked in. We had paid him most of his salary up front and we couldn’t afford to hire someone new.”

  Miss May looked down. “I see.”

  “Now you think I killed him to free up money in the budget so we can get a new Santa?” Mayor Delgado said. “Come on, May.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Miss May made eye contact with the mayor. “But that kind of thing sounds suspicious, I’m sure you can see that.”

  I paced in front of the bed. “So when his real personality came out, what happened? Did you try to fire him? Did you ask for the money back?”

  The mayor shook her head. “I was afraid.”

  I turned to the mayor. “You were afraid of Orville Starr?”

  The mayor nodded. Her lip quivered, a rare crack in her poised veneer. “These past few weeks have been terrible. I had no way to get rid of him. He was so mean to me and I had to work with him almost every day. Arranging this event. Coordinating for that event.”

  “It sounds like he was difficult. But why are you afraid of him?” Miss May knit her eyebrows.

  The mayor swallowed. “He threatened to kill me. He said if I found another Santa, that would be the end of me as Mayor of Pine Grove.”

  Miss May hung her head. I stopped pacing. The mayor curled back up under the covers. We all sat there in quiet for a few minutes. We were three women who had worked together in many regards for the past year. At a loss for how to proceed.

  “Orville threatened to ruin the tourist season in Pine Grove because he is an angry, mean Santa. He was horrible to you on a daily basis. And then he threatened to kill you. That’s correct?” Miss May did not look up as she spoke.

  The mayor nodded. “Come on, May. It all makes me seem guilty. I know. But I wouldn’t tell you all this if I weren’t innocent.”

  I chewed on my lower lip. “Do you have an alibi for the time Orville was murdered?”

  “I was running all over town. I’m sure someone saw me somewhere. But at the time they think he was murdered I was by myself. In my office. Catching up on paperwork. I’ve been so busy, I try to find any moment I can to get ahead. Please tell me you think I’m innocent.” Mayor Delgado sat up in bed. “Please, May.”

  “I think you had plenty of reason to kill Orville,” Miss May said. “But when I think about the scene of the crime, I can’t imagine you as the killer.”

  The mayor nodded. “Because you know I would never kill.”

  Miss May shrugged. “Because I know you never kill like that. A candy cane plunged into an artery? So cold and calculated. So precise.”

  “That’s true.” I sat beside Miss May. “Whoever did this… This was a premeditated kill. By someone who had planned on committing a murder. Someone who had taken the time to learn how to inflict a fatal wound.”

  The mayor’s eyes widened. “Wait. Chief Flanagan has refused to share any of this investigation with me.”

  “I’m sure she thinks you’re a suspect, too,” Miss May said. “Which means Dee Dee might have a chance, after all. If Flanagan is considering alternatives, she may be aware that Dee Dee’s arrest was a mistake.”

  “Sure. That’s great. But the point is… Did you say Orville was killed with a candy cane?”

  “Yeah. Horrific, I know. The end had been sharpened so precisely, with such care. That’s what I’m saying. That’s why I know you’re innocent.”

  The mayor laughed. “Of course I’m innocent.” She jumped out of bed. “I’m allergic to peppermint.”

  14

  Detectable Delectables

  Miss May and I left the mayor’s house and went straight to Teeny’s restaurant to debrief her on what had happened. But when we arrived at Grandma’s, Teeny was in no place to talk.

  The kitchen was filled with smoke, two chefs were huddled against the wall, and Teeny was covered head to toe in flour.

  Nonetheless, she smiled when she saw us. “May. Chelsea. What’s the update?”

  Miss May looked over at the line cooks. “I was thinking we could tell you in a bit more of a private setting. No of
fense, guys.”

  The line cooks shrugged. They couldn’t care less about the murder investigation. From the looks on their faces, all they really wanted was to leave that crazy kitchen.

  I craned my neck to get a look at what Teeny had been cooking. Despite the smoke, I got a whiff of cinnamon and butter..

  “You want to know what I’m making, don’t you?” Teeny smiled her biggest grin. “Go wait in our booth. I’ll bring a tray out and we can talk.”

  Miss May grinned, impressed. “Whatever this is gets served on a tray?”

  Teeny waved Miss May away. “It’s a figure of speech. But in this case, accurate. I think these delicious morsels will do well on a tray. Now I need to find my trays.”

  Miss May laughed and exited. I followed after her, eager to taste whatever had caused the small kitchen fire.

  Miss May and I settled into our favorite booth in the back corner of the restaurant. Twenty minutes later, Teeny emerged holding a tray of what appeared to be tiny balled up donuts. She placed the tray on the table. The little donuts were dusted with powdered sugar and they appeared to have been rolled in cinnamon.

  “These smell delicious! What are they?”

  Teeny took a seat across from us of the booth. “Try one. You tell me.”

  “You said the magic words.” I grabbed one of the little dough balls. Popped it in my mouth. Smiled. “Oh my goodness. These are French Toast Balls.”

  “Ding, ding, ding. You hit the hammer on the head.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the expression,” Miss May said with a smile. “But these are delectable. And creative.”

  Teeny beamed. “That’s my trademark. Delectable and creative. Now finish the tray and then we can talk.”

  I laughed. Then I did as I was told. There had to have been twenty French Toast balls, but Miss May and I polished them off as Teeny watched like a proud mother. Her little jug of fresh, Vermont maple syrup didn’t hurt, either. Once we’d polished off every morsel, Teeny leaned forward, elbows on the table. “OK. Tell me everything.”