Candy Slain

by Chelsea Thomas

  The guest room was a mess. A suitcase was half open on the floor. The bed was not made. Papers and garbage were strewn everywhere.

  “Oh my goodness...” I said.

  Teeny laughed. “Peach gave us Lincoln’s room.”

  “But search quick. Flanagan and Wayne are going to figure this out fast.” Miss May’s eyes scanned the room for clues. “I’ll look in here. Chelsea, check the closets. Teeny, why don’t you handle the bathroom?”

  Teeny threw up her hands. “For real? I don’t want to search the bathroom. That’s gross. People go to the bathroom in there.”

  Police boots pounded against the wooden floor in the hallway outside. Miss May lowered her voice to an urgent whisper.

  “We don’t have time for this, Teeny.”

  “Maybe none of us need to search the bathroom. What’s going to be in the bathroom, anyway? Toilet paper has never been used as a murder weapon.”

  “I bet it has,” I said.

  “You are such a know-it-all, Chelsea. You’re not helping my case.”

  Miss May shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll search the bathroom.”

  I looked out the people of the hotel room door. I could see Flanagan and Wayne conspiring across the hall. “They’re right outside,” I said. “And Flanagan does not look happy.”

  Miss May nodded. “Let’s turn this place upside down.”

  I flung open the closet doors. A rumpled suit hung from a bent hanger. A balled-up pair of pants looked like an animal crouched in the corner. I picked up the pants and held them in front of my face. “These pants are so small. They’re child-sized.”

  Miss May looked over from across the room. “Don’t worry about the size. Search the pockets.”

  I nodded and reached inside the pants pockets. I pulled out...a candy cane! I shrieked.

  “What? What did you find?” Miss May asked.

  I held up the candy cane like it was a live snake. “A candy cane!”

  Teeny’s eyes widened. “Has it been sharpened like a weapon?”

  “No. But it’s still upsetting.”

  Miss May called out. “Not as upsetting as this.”

  I turned to face Miss May. She was holding a handgun with a tissue. If my candy cane was a live snake, Miss May’s gun was a dirty diaper. And it smelled.

  I hissed through my teeth. “Yikes. That’s a gun.”

  Teeny took a deep breath. “OK. So this evil little guy did it. Lincoln is guilty.”

  Miss May popped the chamber on the gun. “I’m not so sure about that. No bullets are missing from this gun. And remember... Neither of these guys were killed with a gun. And Lincoln didn’t strangle himself with those lights.”

  “Well, we already thought the elf was sketchy,” Teeny said. “Now he’s obviously a criminal.”

  Chief Flanagan’s voice rang out from the hall. “Hercules. Get up here.”

  Miss May placed the gun down on the bed. “Let’s keep searching. See what else we can find.”

  Teeny emerged from the bathroom, nose wrinkled. “This guy used a lot of Q-tips.”

  Miss May shrugged. “So what?”

  Teeny shrugged. “So that’s suspicious.” Not delicious.

  Miss May sighed impatiently. “It might be cause for medical concern. But it doesn’t make me think that Lincoln killed anyone.”

  Miss May and Teeny started a whisper-argument about whether or not someone with lots of wax in their ears is more or less likely to be a killer. I stepped inside the closet and took a closer look around. There, on the top shelf, I saw a folder.

  I grabbed the folder and opened it. Inside was a photo of Orville Starr. Red X-marks over his eyes. I turned back to Teeny and Miss May. “Look at this.”

  Teeny hurried over, for some reason holding a dirty Q-tip. “Wow. Now that is suspicious.”

  Someone pounded on the door. I heard Chief Flanagan’s muffled voice yelling, “Open up. Now! Please.” Maybe she was still trying to catch more flies with pies?

  “One second,” said Miss May. “We just need one second, because…”

  “I’m naked,” I said. “Sorry. Too much information. Just putting on underwear. I wore the same pair. Yesterday. Need to do laundry. Our laundry machine is also broken.”

  “That’s good, Chelsea.” Miss May looked at me like I was crazy. She, Teeny, and I straightened the room to hide the evidence of our search. Then Miss May opened the door with a smile. “Chief. I was just about to holler to you. I think we may have been placed in the wrong room.”

  Peach poked her head out from behind the chief. “Whoops. I’m always mixing things like that up. Silly me.”

  Flanagan narrowed her eyes. “This is Lincoln’s room. You need to get out. Now.”

  Miss May held up her hands in apology. “We were already leaving. Heading back to the farm. KP called, the heat is fixed! Lucky day!”

  Miss May hurried out. Teeny and I followed behind her. That was a close call. It was not our first on an investigation... And it would not be our last.

  39

  Talk Soup

  The weather turned violent that afternoon, like the forces of nature were imitating the human chaos in our small town.

  Wind howled across the farm. Branches snapped. The clouds turned from lavender to charcoal gray. Ironically, our power and heat went out in the farmhouse.

  So Miss May lit a dozen candles and started a fire in the fireplace. I felt like I was living in a Dickensian novel, with the firelight casting shadows across our worried faces. Steve seemed excited by the storm, not scared like some puppies would be. He ran through the house, bringing me pairs of shoes and hats and scarves in the hopes that I would play fetch with him. Every time there was a rumble of thunder, Steve barked in excitement, like he was talking with the sky gods. It was undeniably adorable.

  The storm was eerie and unexpected, but there was a bigger problem facing us…we were all starving. But with the power out, we weren’t sure what to make or how to make it. Miss May decided to go old school. She perched a big cast iron pot on a small metal stand over the fire, dumped in some ingredients, and smiled at me and Teeny.

  “Twenty minutes and we’ll all be eating the most delicious soup you’ve ever tried,” Miss May said.

  Twenty minutes is not a long time, but it feels like eternity and a day when you’re cold, hungry, and there’s no Internet to distract you. I decided to lean into the coziness of a powerless home, and I read a book by candlelight with Steve cuddled on my lap. A few minutes in and I was drowsy with the warmth and yellow-orange light of the fire. Visions of sugar plums started dancing in my head and I must have dozed off… Because before I knew it, Miss May was announcing that “soup’s on!”

  We all started eating, and yes, the murder was very much on our minds. But we spent at least five full minutes “mmmm-ing” and “yummmm-ing” about the soup before we even thought about Lincoln the elf.

  Miss May had concocted a campfire version of her classic lentil soup. Soft chunks of celery, onions, and carrots bobbed on the surface. The lentils were melt-in-your-mouth smooth and deliciously hearty. And the deep, rich smell made me feel safe and comfortable, despite the impending discussion of a murdered elf.

  Miss May sprinkled fresh Parmesan cheese on each bowl, which added a salty umami flavor that brought the whole soup together. And she gave us both a crust of sourdough bread for dipping, fresh-baked the day before.

  You can imagine, Teeny and I had a lot of praise for Miss May’s creation. But she didn’t let us indulge her much. There was, after all, a killer on the loose.

  “Enough gushing about my delicious, perfect soup,” said Miss May. “It’s good. It came in second in a regional competition and that’s only because the first place winner was friends with the judge. Anyway, I’m glad you like it. The soup will give us all our strength back. But we need to talk about this case.”

  I dipped my bread in my soup. “Well, the way I see it, Lincoln seems like a killer. He had a gun, he clearly
had a grudge against Santa, I mean, Orville, and he was aggressive toward Humphrey that day at Grandma’s. But, then again, if Lincoln did kill Orville, who killed Lincoln?”

  Miss May shook her head. “It’s a conundrum. I agree, Lincoln’s room only complicated things further.”

  “Lincoln was clearly lying about his identity, and his relationship to Orville,” I said. “If Lincoln really was just a Christmas elf, why would his hotel room be room be so sketchy?”

  Teeny nodded. “I thought the same thing. And I’m beginning to doubt whether or not his house in Peekskill was actually staged. Seems to me the guy kept a gun with him wherever he went.”

  “True,” I said. “He was clearly afraid of someone. Or after someone.”

  “Plus,” Teeny said, “a photo of someone with their eyes crossed out is the international symbol for murder.”

  Miss May added a little more cheese to her soup. “That may be, but that symbol is not evidence of murder. Only sentiment.”

  I sighed. “So you don’t think Lincoln did it? We need a suspect! We’re not making any progress.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Miss May. “But I don’t want to rush the end of this case. We’re close. I can feel it. But we need to take our time.”

  I looked away. “I’m not rushing.”

  Miss May put a hand on mine. “I know. I’m not talking about you. But we need to be thoughtful. And I don’t see any motive for Lincoln. Nothing concrete. Except an apparent dislike for the victim.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said. “And if we believe someone staged the evidence at Lincoln’s house in Peekskill there’s no reason to believe they couldn’t have also staged Lincoln’s hotel room at the Dragonfly.”

  “Peach said no one had been in or out of that room other than Lincoln during his whole stay,” said Teeny.

  “And I’m sure she didn’t see anyone,” said Miss May. “But if this person is capable of getting away with murder, then he or she is probably also capable of sneaking into the Dragonfly Inn undetected.”

  Teeny nodded. “Good point. Plus, Peach falls asleep at the front desk all the time. I mean constantly. Sometimes I’m surprised she’s awake. It’s a race between who falls asleep at work more, Peach or our mother.” Teeny’s mom, the eponymous Grandma, was often asleep at the restaurant’s cash register.

  “So Miss May,” I said. “You think whoever planted the evidence in Peekskill also planted the evidence at the inn? That person wants us to think Lincoln killed Orville. And that person is the killer.”

  Miss May nodded. “If anything, the evidence at the Dragonfly strengthened that theory.”

  “I see your point,” I said. “But why would the killer do such a bad job at hiding Lincoln’s death? I mean, they literally strangled him with a strand of lights that led us to the scene of the crime. That makes no sense.”

  Miss May rubbed her temples. “I know, it’s incongruous. But I think the fact is, the killer might be losing control. I think the strand of lights might’ve been an improvised weapon, and the killer might’ve fled the scene in a panic.”

  Teeny took a big bite of bread. “Alright. Who’re we fingering? The mayor never provided a real alibi. Just the peppermint thing.”

  Miss May ate a spoonful of soup. “True. The mayor had the motivation. She’s been so desperate to pull off a successful Christmas season in town. Maybe that desperation turned to rage and she snapped.”

  “Not the worst theory,” I said. “The night of the Christmas tree debacle might have been the catalyst. The straw that broke the mayor’s back.”

  Miss May put her finger on her nose. “Let’s follow that thread. Imagine you’re the mayor. You lose a Christmas tree over public outcry. People from both sides of the tree aisle are calling you out. Then Orville resigns as Santa Claus the same night? Enough to drive anyone crazy.”

  “Sad but true,” said Teeny. “To be honest, I regret voting for her. The mayor hasn’t been guilty yet but she’s always a suspect. Which means she’s always getting her booty involved in bad situations.”

  “Just her booty?” I asked.

  “It’s an expression, Chelsea,” Teeny said.

  Pretty sure it wasn’t, but I decided to let it go. “What about Jennifer Paul?” I asked.

  “Another good suspect,” said Teeny. “She wanted a fake tree, just as much if not more than Dee Dee did. But she had that bogus alibi. Yoga chanting with the trees in the woods or whatever.”

  Miss May frowned. “Perhaps we should find Jennifer. Talk to her some more.”

  I hung my head. “This is so much work. Don’t you two ever wish suspects would come to us and confess, no questions asked?”

  Miss May chuckled. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  Knock, knock, knock. An eager pounding rattled our back door. Miss May looked over at me. “Or does it?” I asked.

  40

  Two Turtle Doves

  I opened the door slowly, as one does when one suspects a crazed murderer might be on the other side.

  But instead of a crazed murderer…there was Germany Turtle, smiling wide. He was wearing a crisp navy blue suit with a brown belt and a sharp, maroon tie. He smelled like cedar and juniper and his hair was neatly parted to the side.

  OK, I’ll say it. He looked cute. Real cute. I might have blushed.

  “Germany. Hi. I was worried you were a murderer.”

  Germany gave me his signature slight bow. “I must confess…I fear I accidentally murdered a moth in my closet this morning. In my defense, though this is no excuse, it flew directly into my mouth.”

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “I’m sorry. That poor moth. I just…it’s a little bit funny.”

  Teeny laughed from inside the farmhouse. “Did that boy just say he ate a moth?”

  “I didn’t swallow it,” Germany called over my shoulder. “But I believe it drowned in my saliva, yes. Heaven forgive me.”

  “You know,” Miss May called out, “some people kill moths on purpose.” I could hear the smirk in her voice.

  “Monsters!” Germany said. I laughed again. I couldn’t seem to hold it in. I knew that some people found Germany’s un-ironic earnestness to be, er, bizarre and off-putting. Even I had, at first. But he had definitely started to grow on me.

  “Good to see you, by the way, Teeny, Miss May,” Germany said. “Merry Christmas Eve.”

  I clapped my hands over my mouth. “It’s Christmas Eve. I totally forgot.” I turned back to Teeny and Miss May and whispered. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

  They held up their hands. Miss May’s eyes widened. “We forgot, too. Merry Christmas Eve, Germany.”

  Germany gave Miss May a nice smile. He turned back to me. “I suppose if you forgot that today was Christmas Eve perhaps you also forgot... We had arranged to exchange gifts this evening?”

  I burped. It tasted like lentil soup. My eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I just burped.”

  Germany laughed. “Yes. I heard. Don’t take this the wrong way, but was the burp an attempt to distract from the fact that you forgot to get me a gift?”

  I cringed. “No. I burped…because I feel sick. Because yes…cuz... Because I have the best gift ever for you. And I can’t wait to give it to you. And I’m so excited I’m going to throw up everywhere.”

  Germany smiled and stood a little taller. “Wow. You remembered. Terrific. Shall we exchange gifts now?”

  “Now? No. No, no, no, no. No. Let’s go somewhere more private. Private. Yes. Meet me down by the barn in five minutes. I just need to gather your gift and make sure it’s still awesome. I’m sure it is. Probably even more awesome than I remember.”

  Germany nodded. “Five minutes it is.” German turned. He picked up a giant, gift wrapped box from beside him. It looked heavy. I gulped as he disappeared into the windy night.

  I turned back to Teeny and Miss May. Their jaws were both dangling from their faces in amused shock.

  “That was not good, Chelsea,” Miss May said.


  I grabbed my hair. “You think I don’t know that? I know. What do I do?”

  “What do you mean?” said Teeny. “Give him the awesome gift. Why are you two freaking out? Chelsea has something that is so good it’s going to make her throw up everywhere.”

  I doubled over. “Teeny! That was a lie. I don’t have anything.”

  “Oh.” Teeny’s eyes widened. “Oh no. You need to give him something. Poor kid had that whole nice big box for you.”

  I looked around the room. My eyes searched for something I could pass off as a gift. “OK. I got it.”

  I crossed to the kitchen. Pulled a spatula from a big cup next to the stove.

  Teeny narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to give him a spatula? For Christmas?”

  “It’s a nice spatula. Right? It seems nice and…heavy. Which is what you want in a spatula. Right?!”

  Miss May shook her head. “It’s a used spatula.

  “It’s a used spatula,” Teeny echoed.

  Miss May stood. “It’s also my favorite spatula.”

  I winced. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you new one for Christmas.”

  Miss May laughed. “OK. You better get out there. It’s freezing. Poor Turtle’s gonna get frostbite.”

  “Yeah,” said Teeny. “Why did you make the kid wait out in the barn?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not good at thinking on my feet. Or off them. I’m not good at thinking.”

  Miss May and Teeny laughed. Miss May grabbed a big coat off the back of the chair and handed it to me. “Here. Wear this. And come back soon, OK? We still have a murder to solve.”

  “I doubt he’ll stay long after Chelsea gives him that spatula,” said Teeny.

  Miss May and Teeny laughed even harder. I hurried out.

  I stepped outside. The wind had died down. The gray clouds had turned white again. Snow gently fell around me. I smiled and headed toward the barn.