“What do you mean ‘would’ve?’” Miss May asked. “You’ll still be OK, right? Rosenberg will still buy the business from you.”
Sudeer shook his head. “Rosenberg wanted us to come work for him after the acquisition. The contract is null and void if Vinny’s not alive. That’s why I’m here. Looking for a loophole with Gigley. Trying to salvage the sale.”
Miss May furrowed her brow. “I don’t get it. If Rosenberg wants to eliminate the competition, why not go through with the sale? Make sure you don’t keep stealing clients in the next town over?”
“Because our business is nothing without Vinny, and Rosenberg knows it,” Sudeer said. “I’m a good architect, sure. But Vinny was the visionary. He made the sales and identified the opportunities. Vinny was the secret sauce. I was just... the lettuce. Nobody wants just lettuce.”
Miss May nodded, looked around, and sighed. She was giving Sudeer time to incriminate himself. She had used the same tactic on me as a kid, and it had worked.
Even at that moment, I almost blurted out confessions. “I didn’t refill the toilet paper last night!” “I spilled ketchup on my pillow and just turned the case inside out!” But I kept those sins to myself.
Finally, Sudeer spoke. “I’m telling you. The business is worthless now that Vinny’s gone.”
“It’s not worthless just because you can’t sell it anymore,” Miss May said. “You can keep going. No more partner means you get all the profits.”
“Look, I see what you’re doing, but you will not pin this murder on me,” Sudeer said. “Vinny’s death is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!” Sudeer slammed his fist against the wall. A dusty encyclopedia fell off a bookshelf and onto the floor. “I’m telling you, this business is nothing without Vinny!”
“Why?” Miss May asked.
“I couldn’t close a client if my life depended on it,” Sudeer said, raising his voice. “That guy was a jerk, but people liked him. Heck, I liked him. Vinny was my best friend. I... I miss him.”
Sudeer hung his head and rubbed his eyes. Was he crying over Vinny?
“And I wouldn’t own the business, anyway. Maggie gets Vinny’s half. The two of them got married in Atlantic City six months ago.”
My eyebrows shot up. “They did?!”
Sudeer nodded. “This whole weekend was just for show. They got all swept up on vacation this past summer. It was actually romantic. He called me down at midnight, so I could be the best man.”
“Did you go?” I exchanged a look with Miss May, who appeared even more shocked than I.
“Of course,” Sudeer's eyes watered again. “I told you. I would have done anything for him.”
“So does Maggie make money off the business if Vinny’s dead?” Miss May asked the question we were all thinking.
“Not unless she’s as good a developer as he was,” Sudeer said. “Like I said, without Vinny, there’s no money to make.”
Miss May, Teeny, and I nodded. “I have one more question,” Miss May said.
Gigley stepped forward. “May—”
“One question. That’s it.”
“It’s fine," Sudeer said. "What is it?”
“Why do you live down by the pond, but Vinny had that big new house?”
"I’ve got three college funds going. Trying to save.”
“Smart,” Miss May said. Then we left, and I wondered...
If Sudeer didn’t kill Vinny, who did?
And why?
16
Ideas and Investigations
When I emerged from Gigley’s office back onto Main Street, the sun was much brighter than I expected. It was so bright, in fact, that I stumbled when I stepped outside. But I had a pair of sunglasses in my purse, so I dug them out and put them on.
A few seconds later, my eyes adjusted, and I could see Pine Grove in all its small-town glory. My glasses were scratched to oblivion, and they were far from rose-colored, but it didn’t matter. I could have been looking through puke-tinted lenses, and the scene before me would have been no less charming. A local artist painted a smiling cupcake on the bakery window. A happy mother pushed curly-headed twins in a double-stroller. A Cocker Spaniel and a German Shepherd sniffed one another as their owners laughed.
Sudden anxiety overtook me as I looked around and realized that everyone on the street believed the police report that declared Vinny’s death an accident. They had no inkling of a clue that a murderer was loose in Pine Grove. And they had no idea they could be the killer’s next victim.
Before I knew it, my heart was racing, and my chest was tight. Yep. I was having a full-blown panic attack, right there on Main Street.
I took my glasses off and rubbed my temples, taking a few breaths to calm down. After a few seconds, I put my sunglasses back on and tried to center myself, returning to the meditation techniques I had been using when I found Vinny. “My chest is tight. My hands are sweaty. I am overwhelmed. The sun is too bright.”
I was so caught up in my miniature panic attack that I didn’t notice Teeny and Miss May emerge from Gigley’s office.
“I think Chels is talking to herself,” Teeny said.
“She does that,” Miss May said.
I opened one of my eyes. “You two know I can hear you, right?”
Miss May smiled. “Oh good, you’re awake!”
“I was never asleep!”
“Meditating and sleeping are the same thing.” Miss May turned to Teeny. “What do you think? Time for a snack?”
“Snack! Yes! I love snack,” Teeny said. “I want something with whipped cream. And a cherry on top.”
“So you want ice cream,” Miss May said.
“Or hot chocolate!”
“They don’t put cherries on hot chocolate.”
“They do for me. And sprinkles, if I ask nice.”
My face got hot. My nostrils flared. “Are you two seriously talking about sprinkles right now?”
Miss May and Teeny exchanged a surprised look, eyebrows raised. “What would you have us talk about?” Miss May asked.
“I don’t know. How about...what should we do now? What happens next? How do we live with ourselves if the murderer kills someone else?!”
“OK, OK,” Miss May sounded like one of those soothing public radio announcers. “Everything’s alright.”
“How?” I asked. “Sudeer was our only good suspect, and he's innocent."
“The way I look at it, we’re closer to finding the killer now than we have been this whole time," Miss May said.
“Glass-half-full,” Teeny said. “I like that.”
I shook my head, annoyed by Teeny and Miss May’s optimism.
Miss May rubbed my shoulder. “We’re gonna come up with a plan. I promise. We’ll talk it out over a nice snack.”
I took a step back from Miss May, shrugging her off. “I want to discuss the plan now. We’re at a total dead end.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Miss May said. “I’ve worked plenty of cases like this.”
I scoffed. “Yeah. Twenty years ago.”
“And you think I forgot?” Miss May took a step towards me.
Teeny laughed. “Hoo-hoooooo. Now you’re in it!”
“She’s not ‘in’ anything,” Miss May said. “I’ve got a process, that’s all. We just need to think. Did we learn anything with Sudeer that could lead us to a new suspect?”
I replayed the conversation we’d had with Sudeer in my head. Most of it seemed innocuous. Then I remembered something. I took my sunglasses off, almost breathless.
“What about that Hank Rosenberg guy? He wanted to buy the business. Maybe he figured it was cheaper to kill the competition than pay out.”
“Whoa,” Teeny said. “Rosenberg’s a big-time developer. He's a great suspect. I bet he even hired a hitman to take Vinny out for him!”
Miss May held up her hands like a crossing guard. “I don’t think Hank Rosenberg did it.”
“Why not?” I asked. “He had the motive.�
��
“Perhaps. But if Hank wanted to kill Vinny, he would have planned it. He wouldn't have used a rock on the night of Vinny's rehearsal dinner."
I sat on the stone wall outside Gigley’s office. Miss May had a point.
“Think back to the rehearsal dinner,” she said. “Try to remember other details that may have been unordinary.”
“Someone died,” I said. “Everything was unordinary.”
“Think about before Vinny died. Was anyone acting odd earlier in the night?”
Teeny crossed her arms and pouted, “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t invited.”
“Yes, you were! You declined the invite because you were hosting a bar mitzvah at Grandma’s that night.”
“Oh, yeah. That was fun. I forgot. L’chaim.”
Miss May shook her head. I thought back to the rehearsal dinner.
“I remember there was a bridesmaid who drank champagne out of the bottle," I said.
“She was silly but not suspicious,” Miss May said. “What about that girl who snapped about the spilled cider? Was that Rita Sorrento?”
“Yeah. That was Rita," I said. "I had history with her sophomore and junior year. She was always difficult. But you’re right. She seemed inordinately upset about that spill.”
“Did the spill happen before or after you found Vinny?”
“I think...before.” I picked at a piece of peeling plastic on my sunglasses, trying to remember that night. “Actually, I don’t remember seeing her at all after I found Vinny.”
“She didn't get questioned by that hot detective?” Teeny asked.
I shook my head. Then I had what I would classify as a disturbing realization.
“I think she was...gone.”
Miss May stepped toward me. “If Rita went missing after Vinny died, that means—”
“I know,” I said. “But why?”
“No idea,” Miss May said. “But I guess we’re getting our snack at the coffee shop."
“Seriously?” I asked, incredulous.
“Rita works at the Brown Cow. We can talk to her there.” Miss May tied her scarf around her neck and started up Main Street.
Teeny affixed her own scarf and trotted a step or two behind Miss May. “They’re gonna put sprinkles on my hot chocolate! You’ll see!”
17
Suspects and Sprinkles
The Brown Cow was one of the coziest places in the entire Eastern hemisphere. It was furnished with big, leather armchairs. Books and board games were stacked everywhere. A long, wooden counter was nestled along the back wall. And the whole place smelled like fresh roasted coffee beans and cinnamon.
The aroma was strong enough to perk you up before you took your first sip of coffee. It lingered on your clothes and in your hair for hours even if you hung out in the shop for a few minutes. And it made you all warm and tingly just thinking about it.
The shop’s owner, Brian, was a shaggy-haired coffee aficionado who had moved to Pine Grove fifteen years ago all the way from Los Angeles for a “slower pace of life.” Brian was a Mexican-American with a SoCal drawl. He had a gentle smile that spread across his face like molasses, and once he smiled, it stayed planted on his face all day. At around forty-five, Brian had salt and pepper hair, but a younger energy than most suburbanites his age.
When I was a kid, business at The Brown Cow was slow. But a few years ago, the New York Times deemed Brian’s drip coffee “The Best Cup Outside the City.” And the Brown Cow had been packed ever since.
When we entered the shop, I spotted Brian chatting with a customer at the coffee bar. I scanned the room for Rita, but she wasn’t there.
“Not her shift,” I said.
“She might be on her break,” Miss May said. “Let’s order.”
I tried to get a peek back in the employee break room while Teeny and Miss May ordered their drinks, but I couldn’t spot anyone. Then it was my turn to order. Brian and I did a quick catch up, then Brian asked me the million-dollar question. “What’ll it be?”
I froze. Brian laughed. “Uh-oh. No idea what you want, huh?”
I felt stupid for not planning out my order ahead of time. The truth was, I didn’t like coffee. I fact, I had never liked coffee. But in my mind, I thought that I would never be “grown up” until I learned to love the drink, so I hadn’t given up on the beverage altogether.
Usually I drank coffee just on Fridays. I called these “coffee Fridays,” so that the coffee seemed like a treat rather than a chore, but I still had to choke down every cup of joe I ever drank.
Although that day was not a Friday, murder-solving seemed like a grown-up activity, so after much deliberation, I decided I would order a cappuccino, wet. Which just meant more milk and less gross, I mean delicious, coffee.
As Brian made my drink, I joined Miss May and Teeny at their favorite table in the front corner by the window. The table had a great view of Main Street. But Miss May and Teeny didn’t care about the view. They liked the table because it was far from all the other tables, so they could gossip without anyone hearing.
“Ooooh, cappuccino,” Teeny said. “Fancy city girl.”
“This is the first cappuccino I’ve ever tasted,” I said.
"So?" Teeny said. "Give it a try."
I took a sip. The drink was bland yet strong, and it was so hot it singed my tongue. The foam was soppy and reminded me of the fizzy crust that topped Hastings Pond on its more repulsive days.
“What do you think?” Teeny asked.
“I love it!” I said. I took another enthusiastic sip. I cringed, imperceptibly I thought, but Miss May caught my micro-expression.
“Oh, you hate it,” Miss May said. “I don’t know why you’re still insisting on drinking coffee!”
“Leave her alone, May,” Teeny said. “She said she likes it.”
“OK. If she says she likes it, she likes it.” Miss May mmmmm'd as she took a big, satisfying sip of her drink — something blended and creamy-looking — and I resolved to take my coffee like that from now on.
“OK. We get it. You like your drink. You can stop rubbing it in,” I said. “What’s with the Frozita, anyway? I thought you took your coffee black?”
“I got old,” Miss May said. “And I wanted everything to taste like a milkshake.”
“Amen to that,” Teeny said.
“You want a sip of my drink?” Miss May edged her cup toward me. “It really is delicious.”
“No,” I said. “I like my wet cappuccino. A lot. It’s the best drink I’ve ever had.”
Miss May laughed. “OK. Then let’s figure out what we’re going to say to Rita when she comes in.”
“How do we know she’s coming at all today?” I asked.
“She’s late,” Miss May said. “Brian told me.” She took a sip of her drink and wiped her mouth. “Also, there she is.”
As if on cue, Rita entered the coffee shop and marched behind the counter to take her place beside Brian. She tied her apron on, sprayed water in a blender, and tossed coffee grounds into the trash like they had slept with her boyfriend.
“Whoa,” Teeny said. “That little lady’s got spunk. I like that.”
“Shh,” Miss May said. She was laser-focused on Rita, who continued to throw a tantrum behind the counter.
Brian stayed chill as Rita freaked out. Then, once she was spent, he said something to her. Lip-reading was one of my favorite hobbies, so I gave it a shot.
Teeny leaned in. “What’s he saying?”
“I think he said, ‘More fluff on the dream machine,’” I ventured.
“Trying to read lips again?” Miss May said.
“Yeah, I could be wrong,” I admitted.
Teeny’s eyes widened. “What if they’re lovers?”
“I don’t think Brian swings that way,” I said.
“That never stops ‘em in North Port Diaries,” Teeny said. “They swing in every direction.”
“We’re never going to hear if you two don’t shush.” Miss May sai
d, still hyper-focused on Rita.
We watched as Brian and Rita talked. Then Rita slammed down a big metal coffee sifter and stormed toward the back of the store, and I caught a rare eye-roll from Brian as she charged away.
“She went into the bathroom,” Miss May said.
“Looks like it,” I said.
“So what are you waiting for?” Miss May nudged me. “You got to go talk to her.”
I put down my cappuccino mid-sip. Shook my head. “Rita hates me.”
“Looks to me like Rita needs you,” Miss May said. “It looks like she needs a peer with whom she can share her young woman problems. Not a male boss or two old ladies like us.”
“I’m not old,” Teeny said.
“Yes, you are,” Miss May turned her attention back to me.
I sighed. “Can we draw straws?”
Miss May took a big sip of her drink, as if that were the only answer required of her.
Ugh.
WHEN I ENTERED THE bathroom, I was hit with the sound of Rita sobbing from the far stall.
A brief flicker of judgment crossed my mind when I noticed she’d taken the handicapped stall, then I steadied myself and tapped on the door.
“Rita? Are you OK?”
“Who’s there?” She sniffled.
I cringed. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “It’s Chelsea. From high school. Well, more recently from the orchard? I poured cider all over you.”
“Oh.”
There was another sniffle. Then came the longest silence in the history of time. The kind of silence that existed before mankind and will be the only thing remaining in a post-apocalyptic world. A silence that’s at once heavy and completely weightless. It felt so long that it could not be quantified in seconds, minutes, or hours, and would instead require the invention of an entirely new unit of time in order for it to be properly measured.
Apple Die Page 9
