Shot Through the Tart

by Chelsea Thomas

  Germany wrapped me up in a hug. I hugged him back. Miss May and Teeny stood a few feet away, holding hands. “Thank God the three of you are here,” said Germany. “Poor Adam. What a terrible thing. He deserves justice, swift and cold, as you always serve it.”

  Miss May stepped forward. “I agree. Let’s begin the investigation now. We all know there was some conflict within this theater troupe. Can you tell us anything more that might be helpful?”

  Germany cast a look toward the stage. The police had cordoned off the area around Adam with caution tape. Analysts crouched beside the body. Chief Sunshine Flanagan and Detective Wayne Hudson took careful notes and spoke in hushed whispers.

  Germany turned back to us. “Are you sure we should talk about this here?”

  Miss May looked past Germany, at the cops on stage. “They’re busy. Documenting the wrong details, I’m sure. Foolishly neglecting to interview you.”

  “Has anyone talked to you?” I asked.

  Germany shook his head. “No. They told me to wait over here. Asked me to get out of the way. Quite rude. I’m the director of this play. I know these people better than their own parents. I know their fears and their insecurities and what makes them tick.”

  Teeny bit her lip. “Great. If you know all that, maybe you know who killed Adam.”

  Germany exhaled. “I wish. Alas, I don’t have a clue.”

  Teeny threw up her hands. “I thought you knew these people so well. Their inside souls and their deepest secrets or whatever.”

  “I was speaking artistically. In the artistic sense they have exposed me to their most vulnerable selves. In practice, my actors rarely opened up to me. I’m sorry. I was talking out of my behind, as they say. Don’t judge me. My lead actor was shot and killed and I’m not thinking straight.”

  I took Germany’s hand. “We would never judge you.” I looked over at Teeny and Miss May. “Right?”

  Teeny and Miss May mumbled something about how they didn’t judge Germany. It wasn’t convincing.

  “Turtle.” Wayne called out to Germany from up on stage. “Get up here. We need to talk.”

  Wayne’s gruff tone rankled me. “Hey,” I said. “Please be polite, Detective.”

  Wayne shrugged. “All I said is that we need to talk.”

  “Your tone was very rude,” I said.

  Germany put his hand on my arm. “It’s fine, Chelsea. I’d be happy to speak with Detective Hudson. And his tone did not offend me.”

  Germany approached the edge of the stage and tried to hoist himself up. He flopped onto his stomach, got onto his hands and knees, and slowly stood. Wayne rolled his eyes as he watched Germany fumble. Sometimes that Turtle moved a lot like his namesake. Awkward, slow, graceless, but somehow still cute.

  Teeny nudged me as she watched Germany stand and speak to Wayne. “Looks like we’ve got two pointy edges of an isosceles love triangle on our hands."

  I shook my head. “No. I told Wayne around Christmas. He and I will not be an item. I’m with Germany now.”

  Wayne looked over at me from up on stage. It was a glance that maybe, I could possibly admit, had a tinge of longing.

  Teeny smirked. “Not so sure Wayne got the message.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Everyone loves Chelsea. Very dramatic. Very romantic. But can we talk about this case?” Miss May licked her lips. “Flanagan is so preoccupied she hasn’t kicked us out of the theater yet. Let’s try to gather some clues.”

  I nodded. “Good idea. But how are we going to gather clues from down here? The dead body’s on the stage.”

  “This crime isn’t like the others we’ve investigated,” said Miss May. “The killer was nowhere near the victim.”

  I nodded. “True. The shooter could have been anywhere in this room.”

  “So this entire theater is the scene of the crime,” said Teeny.

  Miss May touched her nose. “Exactly.”

  Miss May turned and looked up at the mezzanine. “I suspect the shooter was sitting somewhere up there. Or in one of the boxes off to the side.”

  “Like those grumpy old men in the Muppets,” said Teeny. “Those guys always seemed like shooters to me.”

  “So let’s try to go up there,” I said. My eyes widened. “Oh my goodness. Maybe we shouldn’t. How do we know the killer has even left the building?”

  Teeny gave me a dismissive wave. “You know karate. We’ll be fine.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Karate is not effective against bullets."

  Teeny shrugged. “That’s never stopped you before.”

  “Hey.” Deputy Hercules pointed at us from up on stage. “What are the three of you doing in here?”

  Police Chief Sunshine Flanagan followed Hercules’ gaze. With her stunning eyes and shiny red hair, Flanagan seemed more like a TV cop than a real-life cop. But there she was. Glaring right at me with her arms crossed. “How did I forget the Three Stooges? Escort them out, Hercules. Make an arrest if you have to.”

  Miss May held up her hands. “We don’t need an arrest. Or an escort. We’re going.”

  Flanagan pointed to the exit. “Good. Go. Now.”

  Miss May turned and trudged up the aisle, toward the exit. Teeny and I followed. As we walked, images from the play flashed through my head. I remembered Dorothy, Adam’s wife, charging up the same aisle. I remembered Zambia sharing a long and passionate kiss with Adam. And I remembered the anger in Master Skinner’s eyes the prior night. I also remembered Germany’s distant, distressed attitude.

  I wrapped my arms around myself as I walked.

  Adam Smith had been assassinated.

  And so many people had wanted him dead… Including my boyfriend.

  5

  What’s the Scoop

  After Hercules kicked us out of the theater, Miss May, Teeny, and I headed over to Grandma’s to debrief. By the time we got to the restaurant, there was a line out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  We slowed as we approached from the parking lot. Every audience member from the play seemed to have had the same idea we did. And they had all called their friends to come gossip. It was a sea of grave but curious faces. Like a convention of morbid rubberneckers.

  A mother bounced a toddler in her arms as she spoke with her husband. A teenage girl texted furiously with a wrinkled brow. The local reporter, Liz, moved from person to person, getting quotes about what had happened at the play.

  Teeny shook her head as we approached. “My goodness. Why does tragedy always have to be good for the comfort food business?”

  I shrugged. “Communities gather when bad things happen. Your restaurant is so cozy. It makes sense.”

  Liz approached, holding out a small recording device. “The world’s most famous amateur detectives. I was hoping you would show. What did you learn at the scene of the crime?”

  Miss May reached out and gently lowered the recording device. “Please turn that off, Liz. We learned nothing.”

  Liz turned off the recording device. “Even if you did, you wouldn’t tell me.”

  “But we always give you the story when it’s ready, right?” Miss May arched her eyebrows.

  Liz hovered her finger above the record button on her device. “Then don’t give me a quote as an amateur detective. Give me a quote as an audience member who was at the play. What did you think when the shot rang out?”

  “I’m sorry, Liz. You know we can’t give a scoop like that,” said May.

  “I’d be happy to give you a scoop of fresh, hot soup, though,” said Teeny. “We’ve got vegetable barley tonight.”

  Liz grumbled. “Maybe later. Thanks.”

  We entered the restaurant and a waitress rushed by with three dishes balanced on her arm. Another waitress crossed in the opposite direction. The restaurant was loud and chaotic. The staff clearly needed help.

  Teeny looked around and put her head in her hand. “This is nuts.”

  “It’s OK,” said Miss May. “Why don’t Chelsea and I pitch in? It looks like you�
�re short a couple servers. Chelsea, you take the front room. I’ll bus tables.”

  Teeny’s eyes widened. “Really? You’ll help?”

  Miss May give Teeny a nice smile. “We’ve been eating free at your restaurant for decades. It’s the least we can do.”

  The restaurant remained busy until closing at 11 PM. By then, my feet hurt and I was sweaty. Which, to be fair, was a pretty normal condition for me. Either way, I felt proud to have helped Teeny.

  When the final guest left, Teeny locked the door then turned to me and Miss May. “Group hug,” Teeny said, and wrapped us both in her small but firm arms. “Thank you both, so much. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  “Please,” Miss May said, “you would have been fine.”

  Teeny shoved us toward our booth in the back. “Sit down. We’re all having a big bowl of soup. We need to talk about this case.”

  The soup was delicious. It was thick and hearty, with big chunks of celery and carrots. The barley was perfectly chewy and moist. It sank to the bottom like buried treasure. Every bite made me feel nourished and warm.

  “This is why your restaurant gets so crowded when things get bad in Pine Grove,” I said. “You’re an incredible cook, Teeny. And this is true comfort food. Like putting a pair of sweatpants on my tongue.”

  “And the two of you are incredible sleuths,” said Teeny, deferring the compliment as she was wont to do. “So let’s talk suspects.”

  “The first one is obvious.” Miss May slurped a spoonful of soup. “Chelsea, would you like to do the honors?”

  I groaned. “I’d rather not. It’s depressing.”

  Teeny leaned forward. “What? What’s depressing? You gotta tell me now.”

  “Who was in charge of the production?” I said. “Who was seen arguing with the victim? Who did the victim openly hate?”

  Teeny gasped and covered her mouth. “Germany Turtle. Germany Turtle is a suspect!?”

  I didn’t like talking about this, but I knew it was true. “I’m sure he will be. The cops are going to talk to him carefully,” I said. “Plus, I have a hunch that Wayne will be extra hard on Germany. And Germany says so much stupid stuff. His mouth is always going. He might incriminate himself without knowing it.”

  Teeny shook her head. “That poor sweet kid. Sometimes smart people seem so stupid.”

  Miss May chuckled. “Germany is the best example of that in the history of time. He’s done award-winning lion research, but he puts his foot in his mouth more than Chelsea does.”

  “Hey,” I said. “OK. That’s fair. I’m smart but I seem stupid, too.”

  Miss May laughed. “It’s not a competition.”

  “But Germany is not the only suspect,” said Teeny. “Everyone hated Adam. And he publicly cheated on his wife less than an hour before he got shot.”

  Miss May shrugged. “I’m not sure I would call that cheating.”

  “I would,” I said. “I read the script. Nowhere in that document did it specify that Adam’s character should have kissed Zambia’s character for an entire minute. With tongue. In front of the entire town.”

  Teeny giggled. “Chelsea.”

  “I’m just saying. That was not necessary. It was gratuitous.”

  Teeny looked over at Miss May with a smirk. “Now Chelsea is using big words to prove she’s smart.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Dorothy is definitely a suspect. Maybe she never left the theater tonight. Perhaps she went upstairs and got revenge.”

  “Dark but plausible.” Miss May salted her soup.

  “It doesn’t need salt, May.” Teeny shook her head. “I salted it to perfection. I also peppered it to perfection. The soup was seasoned to perfection.”

  “I agree,” I said.

  Miss May took a bite of soup, making a point to ignore us. “Master Skinner is another obvious suspect. He felt he deserved the part. He hated Adam.”

  “More than that,” I said. “If Adam is dead… When the lead actor dies… Doesn’t the understudy get the role?”

  “I suppose. But I doubt Master Skinner would have assumed that there would be another performance after the lead character was murdered on stage.”

  “Not so sure about that,” said Teeny. “What’s that old expression? ‘The show must flow gong?’”

  “The show must go on,” I said.

  “That’s definitely not it,” said Teeny. “Look at you, trying to seem smart again.”

  “The expression is definitely the show must go on,” I said.

  “Dorothy and Skinner are both good suspects,” said Miss May. “But before we go down either of those proverbial rabbit holes, I think we need to take a closer look at the scene of the crime.”

  “That place is swarming with cops,” I said.

  Miss May shrugged. “So we’ll give it a couple of hours. Head over there around 2 AM.”

  My eyes bugged. “Tonight?”

  “That’s too late for me,” Teeny said. “I gotta open Grandma’s bright and early.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe we should just, sleep on this whole situation?”

  Miss May shook her head. “Let’s not forget, Chelsea… There’s an assassin on the loose in Pine Grove.”

  6

  The Show Must Flow Gong

  I’ve never liked napping. I’m not a morning person, and waking up from a nap feels like waking up way too early in the morning, no matter what time of day it actually is.

  But Miss May has always been a big believer in naps. So we headed back to the farmhouse after the soup at Teeny’s so Miss May could power nap.

  While Miss May slept, I tried to keep my mind occupied in all sorts of ways. First, I fed Steve, who ate his food in about seven seconds flat. He looked up at me, like, “More?” I gave him a treat, then played fetch with him for what felt like a half an hour but was actually about two and a half minutes.

  Then I cleaned the farmhouse kitchen so it was spick and span. Steve followed close on my heels the whole time, waiting for crumbs to drop. He was always a helpful cleaning partner. Who needs a vacuum when you have a giant, hungry puppy?

  Then, for some reason, I decided to bake a big batch of dark chocolate, macadamia cookies. Once the cookies were ready, I ate six. That made me feel a little shaky and queasy for about twenty minutes. Once the sugar shakes subsided, I cleaned up the mess I made while baking. I looked at the clock. It was 12:30 AM. Miss May didn’t want to head out until 1 or 2 AM. Ugh.

  I grabbed Steve’s leash, pulled on my favorite old sweatshirt, and headed outside. Steve immediately peed on the muddy lawn, then seemed eager to head back inside. He didn’t like getting the cold March sludge all over his big paws.

  But I had another destination in mind. I turned and trudged down toward the barn to chat with my favorite confidant, See-Saw. See-Saw was the farm’s resident tiny horse. With her mottled coat and soft mane, See-Saw was a fan favorite among visitors to the orchard. But she was also a great listener, as long as I provided food to keep her occupied. And she never hesitated to share her honest opinion in the form of grunting, stamping, or taking a poop.

  I entered the barn carrying a basket of carrots. Steve immediately started sniffing around, fascinated by the strange odors of the barn.

  Luckily for me, See-Saw was awake. She gave me a little snort when I stepped inside then waddled over toward me and ate a carrot straight out of the basket. Did I mention See-Saw was a spoiled little horse? KP, Miss May’s farmhand, was See-Saw’s caretaker, and he tended to overindulge her.

  As See-Saw ate, I explained every detail of what had happened that night. A few times, I interrupted myself to scold Steve, usually something like, “Don’t eat that!” Unfortunately, Steve wanted to eat most things in the barn so the interruptions were more frequent than I would have liked. See-Saw seemed irritated by Steve’s immaturity, but the wise old horse listened intently, nonetheless.

  See-Saw looked over at me with compassion as I told her how much I was worried about Ger
many. Her eyes widened as I told her how Zambia stormed the stage, screaming and crying. And See-Saw let out an angry snort when I told her how rude Wayne had been to Germany.

  After twenty minutes of talking, I began to feel like I was the one being rude, prattling on about my problems to a captive audience. I was about to ask See-Saw how she had been doing when my phone rang. It was Germany. Just in case I hadn’t heard the phone, Steve started barking to let me know there was a new sound.

  “Thanks, Steve,” I said. “I got it.” I answered the phone. “Hey,” I said to Germany. “Can’t sleep?”

  Germany responded in a sad monotone. “I haven’t even tried to sleep. My mind is racing. I keep hearing the bang of the gun. Seeing Adam fall. It’s terrible. Not at all what we rehearsed.”

  I sat on a little stool beside See-Saw and gave her a pat on the back. “I know. You had spent so much time with Adam, you must feel awful.”

  “Awful is an understatement. There is no word for how I feel. Devastated? Heart-wrenched? Shattered to my very core?”

  Even in grief, Germany had a flair for the dramatic.

  “You should try to sleep though, really,” I said as I fed See-Saw another carrot. “It’s important to stay rested and healthy during stressful times, otherwise everything gets worse. Maybe eat some vegetables and get in bed.”

  “I can’t eat vegetables at a time like this,” said Germany. “If it’s not creamy or fried, don’t come knocking.”

  Steve barked softly, like, “I hear that.”

  I ran my hand along See-Saw’s beautiful coat. “OK. If you insist.”

  “I’m sorry for calling so late,” Germany said. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No, no. I’m with See-Saw. It’s fine.”

  “I thought I heard the sound of horse chewing.”

  I laughed. “She doesn’t have the best table manners. Chews with her mouth open all the time.” See-Saw glared at me. I chuckled. “What? It’s true. Steve is here too, wanna say hi?” I held out the phone and Steve let out a cute little yip. I put the phone back to my ear.