“I know who you are. You are with them.”
“I just want to say… I know you lost your costar last night. So sorry that happened. It was a tragedy. Miss May, Teeny, and I want to help bring Adam justice. That’s all.”
“We tried to tell her that,” said Teeny.
Zambia scoffed. “You think I’m a suspect, Little Woman! You and your stupid candy bars that you won’t stop eating.”
Teeny froze. Her hand was in her purse at that very moment, searching for a candy bar. She removed her hand from the purse and dropped a candy bar back inside. “I’m stressed. I eat candy when I’m stressed. Also, I eat candy when I’m happy and when I’m sad and when I’m angry.”
“Everyone eats candy all the time,” said Zambia. “Candy is delicious.”
“I don’t care for candy much, myself,” said Germany. “Not unless it is homemade by Chelsea or her dear aunt.”
Zambia shrieked once more. “Stop this inane chatter. Why haven’t you ejected these women from my dressing room?”
“You’re right, Mrs. Mayor,” said Germany. He turned to Teeny and Miss May. “Would you ladies be so kind as to vacate the dressing room?”
Teeny rolled her eyes. “That’s what we were trying to do before she held us hostage with the hairdryer.”
“I didn’t hold anyone hostage.” Zambia pulled at the hairdryer cord. “This thing isn’t even plugged in.”
Germany gestured toward the dressing room door. “Please. Let me have a moment alone with my actor.”
Miss May nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry we disturbed you, Zambia.”
Zambia seethed. “Get. Out.”
Ten seconds later, Miss May, Teeny, and I were alone in the hall. Miss May paced back and forth. Teeny shook out her hands to try to relax. I watched them, dumbfounded.
“What happened in there?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Teeny turned to me. “We asked a couple gentle questions about Zambia’s relationship with Adam Smith. And she just lost it.”
Miss May looked at Teeny over the brim of her glasses. “I asked a couple of gentle questions. You directly accused Zambia of murder. And adultery. And I also think you insulted her hair.”
“I said I like the hair. It’s perfect for her goofy face shape.”
I put my head in my hands. “Oh my goodness. So what do you think? Is Zambia the lead suspect right now?”
Miss May shook her head. “It’s hard to know. What you said was true, Chelsea… The poor woman just lost her costar. And if she and Adam were having an affair, she lost her lover as well.”
“I hate the word lover,” said Teeny. “Can we stop using that word? It creeps me out. Lover. Yuck.”
“They were lovers, Teeny. That’s the word.”
“Maybe manstress? Or mister?” I suggested.
“Oh gross, even worse.” Teeny wrinkled her nose.
I grabbed a candy bar from Teeny’s purse, unwrapped it and took a bite. “Why did Germany call Zambia Mrs. Mayor, by the way? That was weird. Is that her character name or something?”
Teeny shook her head. “No. Zambia was mayor of Pine Grove for fifteen years. You didn’t know that?”
“Chelsea was a little girl when Zambia was mayor. Little girls don’t usually stay current on local politics.”
“I guess that’s true,” said Teeny. “Local politics are the most boring thing in the universe unless you live in a town where people get murdered all the time.”
“What if she had a political motive for the murder of Adam Smith?” I asked. “Our current mayor is a suspect in a lot of the cases we investigate. When people are in power it seems to put them in precarious situations more often than not.”
Miss May shook her head. “Zambia was mayor so long ago. I don’t think she killed for political reasons. Especially not if she and Adam were actually lovers.”
“May. I’m not kidding.” Teeny stuck out her tongue like she had just taken a sip of rancid milk. “I can’t hear that word anymore.”
I took another bite of candy bar. “So what should we do now?”
“Well… We need to find out more information from Zambia,” said Miss May.
“So you want to watch the play? Try to talk again when she gets out? Maybe apologize and have a real conversation?”
Miss May moved her head from side to side. “We could do that. But this play is three hours, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. So?”
Miss May grinned. “That means Zambia’s house is going to be empty until almost 11 PM.”
Teeny smiled her biggest, most enthusiastic smiled. “Breaking and entering. My favorite.”
19
Hunks of Junk
When we got back to Zambia’s house, a junk removal van was parked in her driveway. The van was about fifteen feet long, and a logo on the side read “Junk Boys: We’ll get rid of your junk.” Not the most original slogan, but it got the point across. Below that, there was a phone number and address.
Miss May scratched her head as we walked up the driveway. “What the heck are the Junk Boys doing here? It’s almost 9 o’clock.”
“You know the Junk Boys?” I asked.
“Yeah, of course,” Miss May said. “They’re the boys you call when you need someone to move your junk.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I bet you they were moving junk for Zambia.” Teeny cupped her hands and looked in the back of the van. “These windows are tinted. I can’t see anything.”
“Wow. Nice detective work,” I said.
“I’m doing my best, Chelsea.” Teeny pointed around the back of the house. “There’s a light on in the basement. Should we check it out?”
Miss May peered into the darkness. “I think I see a dumpster back there too. This is so weird.”
I shrugged. “Looks to me like Zambia might be destroying evidence. Like maybe she paid the Junk Boys to come in the middle of the night. So no one would notice?”
Miss May chewed on her lower lip. “Maybe. But who hires a third-party to destroy criminal evidence? If Zambia had something to hide don’t you think she would destroy the evidence herself?”
“Time is of the essence,” I said. “And her ego is pretty big. She wanted to destroy the evidence but she wasn’t willing to miss the second night of the play.”
Teeny shook her head. “These actors are such narcissists. Look at me, look at me. Everything is about them. I had a cousin who was an actor once. She played a donkey in the school production of some play about donkeys.”
“There aren’t any plays about donkeys,” said Miss May.
“Not after that production,” said Teeny. “It was the one and only performance of, ‘Donkeys are Funny, Hee-Haw, Hee-Haw.’ It was terrible. You should consider yourself lucky if you’ve never seen a chorus of donkeys singing about falling in love.”
Miss May laughed. “I’m going to go talk to the Junk Boys. See what they’re up to. Are you two coming?”
I nodded. “Let’s do it.”
As we rounded the side of the house the Junk Boys dumpster came into full view. It was overflowing with furniture, papers and other odds and ends, presumably all from Zambia’s home. Two men hurried in and out of the basement, grabbing stuff from inside and tossing it into the dumpster carelessly. Both of the men were big and bearded. They each wore large black headphones over their ears and worked silently and efficiently. Like killers of junk.
Miss May turned down the sides of her mouth. ““These guys are effective. And oblivious.”
Teeny smiled. “And hunky.”
I looked over at Teeny. “Hunky like…hot?”
Teeny shrugged. “Yeah. Why throw junk if you’re not gonna get a good workout while doing it?” Teeny waved at one of the men to get his attention. He removed his headphones and walked over to us, eyes narrowed.
“Can I help you?” The man’s voice was even bigger and burlier than he was.
Miss May stepped forward. “I think you can help us, thank you.
We’re here on behalf of Zambia, the homeowner? As she may have told you, she’s performing in the play tonight so she couldn’t be here.”
“Oh, she told me,” Junk Boy growled. “A few times.”
“I’m sure,” Miss May said. “Anyhow, she wanted us to come by and make sure you don’t throw away her prized lamp collection.”
The Junk Boy lit a cigarette. “Prized lamp collection? I haven’t seen any prized lamp collection.”
“I assure you she has one,” said Miss May.
“Actually, she doesn’t. I’m her brother, Al,” the Junk Boy said. “My sister couldn’t care less about lamps.”
Miss May stammered. “Did I say lamps? Maybe I was confused. I’m just the messenger.”
“Then what are these two?” Al asked, pointing at me and Teeny.
“Also messengers,” Teeny said. “Don’t shoot us!”
I laughed, a little too long and loud. “Yep, don’t shoot the messengers. My uh, fellow messenger has the details a little off. Zambia didn’t send us here for lamps. She sent us here for documents. Important documents. Life insurance papers. Home insurance papers. Stuff like that.”
Al let out a puff of smoke. “Who did you say you were?”
Teeny stepped forward with a small wave. “Hi. I’m Teeny.”
The man nodded. “I can see that.”
“No. My name is Teeny. I’m also small. That’s why they call me that. They call you Big Boy? Or Tall Guy?”
“They call me Al,” Al said.
“Well you’re very tall, Al,” Teeny demurred.
Miss May looked over at Teeny. “You know who else is tall? Big Dan. Remember him?”
Al gave us a small smile. “Hey. You girls know Big Dan? Love that guy. He does great work.”
“Yup. Wonderful mechanic. OK, so we’re going to head inside and grab those papers. Then we’ll be out of your hair.” Miss May walked toward the basement door.
Al blocked her path. “I can’t let you in there.”
Miss May held up her hands. “I understand. You’re in charge of the house while Zambia is gone. And you’re her brother. You’re protective. You don’t know me. But I can assure you, I’m here to help. I’m a nice old lady, I promise.”
Al scoffed. “Yeah, right. You think I don’t know who you are? You three are those detectives. You think my sister’s a killer.”
Miss May let out a nervous laugh. “That’s not true. Zambia’s a brilliant actor and a kind woman and you seem like a wonderful brother.”
The second man, Junk Boy Number Two, emerged from the basement. He crossed his arms. “What’s going on out here?”
“Those local detective ladies are here. They said they’re ‘messengers,’ but really they’re here ‘cuz they think Zambia killed Adam Smith.”
Junk Boy Number Two stood tall and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the cops.”
“No need for that,” I said. “We’ll get out of here. Just… If you see those insurance papers set them aside for Zambia, OK?”
Junk Boy Number Two did not put his phone away. “Get off this property. Now.”
Teeny shook her head. “You two are so rude. I don’t even think you’re handsome anymore.”
“Leave.” Both men took a step toward us.
“OK,” said Miss May. “You let Zambia know we came by. Tell her we saw you loading this dumpster. Tell her how suspicious that might seem, if viewed in a certain light.”
The men laughed. Miss May shook her head and walked away. I followed. Teeny took one last look at the Junk Boys, then tagged along behind us.
“What now?” I asked.
Miss May exhaled. “Now we try to find a way inside that dumpster.”
20
Deep Sea Dumpster Diving
We killed an hour eating potato chips in the gas station parking lot. Then we went to the Junk Boys building outside of town and parked along a chain-link fence. Miss May told me and Teeny we were headed there to scope the place out for a visit the next morning. But once the VW bus was in park, she turned to me with a mischievous glint in her eye and I knew she had other plans.
“I think one of us should sneak inside tonight and try to get a look at that dumpster.”
I groaned. “You mean get a look in that dumpster?
“I guess,” Miss May said.
“Ugh,” I said. “You told me this was a stakeout. Not a deep-sea dive!”
Miss May shrugged. “I say a lot of things. My mind moves fast. I find a thread, I pull it. One duck, two duck, three duck, four.”
“Don’t confuse me with counting ducks,” I said.
“I agree,” said Teeny. “I was with you and then you started talking about ducks and now I’m completely lost.”
Miss May removed her glasses and looked me in the eye. “Chelsea. Zambia is the number one suspect in this murder. She had her brother removed evidence from her home under the cover of his junk removal company. See that smokestack on the other side of this fence?”
Miss May pointed. I looked. Sure enough, there was a large smokestack about a hundred yards into the junk removal complex.
I gulped. “Yes?”
“That means there’s an incinerator in that complex. Which means they have the capability to burn whatever they found in Zambia’s home. Which means if one of us doesn’t get in there tonight and investigate that dumpster… We might not have the evidence we need to solve this case.”
Teeny bit her nails. “But we have a perfect record. We can’t compromise our perfect record because we’re too afraid to break into a junk removal place and dig around in a dumpster for a few minutes.”
“I agree.” Miss May looked back at me. “But neither Teeny nor I are young and spry enough to climb over that fence and hop into a dumpster.”
“Hey. I’m young and spry.” Teeny crossed her arms. “Maybe not spry. Or young. But I have a childlike energy. And people love the zest I bring to conversation. They say so all the time.”
“What do you think, Chelsea?” Miss May unlocked the doors on the van. “You want to do some sleuthing?”
Did I want to climb a fence and sort through garbage in the middle of the night? No. Did I think I had a choice? Definitely not.
Miss May and Teeny had a bad habit of suggesting me for the tough jobs in our detective work. In our prior investigation they had convinced me to give a hairy man a massage to try to get information out of him.
“I’m still scarred by that time you two convinced me to give Lincoln the Elf a massage.”
“That was a brave sacrifice,” said Miss May. “Lincoln’s back was disgusting. This is different.”
I scoffed. “This is also disgusting. You’re asking me to climb into a dumpster.”
Miss May opened her door and stuck her foot up. “OK. I guess your little old aunt will go. I hope I don’t dislocate a hip or get stuck at the top of the fence.”
“Miss May—” I started
Teeny leaned forward. “Are you sure you want to do that, May? You’re a weak old lady and there’s no telling how hurt you might get attempting these acrobatics.”
Miss May shrugged. “There’s a killer on the loose. I’m willing to do whatever it takes for the greater good.”
“Wow. You are a wonderful woman,” said Teeny. “I admire and respect you for all you do for this community.”
I sighed. “OK. I get it. I’ll climb the fence and dig around in the dumpster.”
Miss May turned back to me with big, puppy dog eyes. “Really? You’d do that just to protect my hips?”
“Your hips are fine,” I said. I opened my door and stepped outside. “Just keep the van running.” I closed the door and looked over at the junk removal building. It was two stories tall. Gray and foreboding. Surrounded by large green dumpsters.
I swallowed hard. Grabbed on to the chain-link fence and started climbing.
Climbing the fence was easier than I’d expected. When I’d first moved back to Pine Grove, I’d been out of shape
and low on confidence. But since I’d started solving mysteries, I’d been walking more, running more (mostly after criminals), and I’d brushed up on my karate. I hadn’t realized it, but I was slowly getting back into fighting shape. Crime-fighting shape, that is.
Look, I’m not going to say I was graceful. I almost fell a few times. And by the time I got to the ground on the other side of the fence my underarms were drenched in sweat. And I was also sweating behind my knees. But I made it without so much as a scrape. So when my feet hit the pavement, I felt proud and confident.
When I turned and looked at all the dumpsters, my heart sank. There had to be at least twenty. There was no way I would have time to look through every single one in order to determine which contained Zambia’s belongings.
I surveyed the area. Half of the dumpsters had been stacked deep against the building. They were blocked by a second stack of dumpsters so none of those could belong to Zambia. But any one of the remaining ten could possibly hold Zambia’s things.
I crept toward the dumpsters with caution. How would I be able to figure out which dumpster belong to Zambia? I stopped walking, closed my eyes and thought.
Images of the burly men darted through my mind. I saw them tossing furniture into the dumpster. And I remembered seeing them dump box after box of paper into the dumpster as well. Then I remembered seeing one of the Junk Boys toss an entire mini refrigerator filled with food into the dumpster.
I remembered thinking, “What a waste of perfectly good food.” And that gave me an idea… I scanned the dumpsters, looking carefully. Then I saw what I was looking for…
A raccoon.
I knew from my time at the orchard that raccoons were like heat-seeking missiles for food, no matter how disgusting that food might be. I reasoned that the raccoon was drawn to the food from Zambia’s miniature fridge and plodded toward that dumpster.
I approached and saw I was right — I recognized the mini fridge and also the hideous sofa from Zambia’s house. One problem… I groaned. How did I let Teeny and Miss May talk me into this stuff? And how was I going to scare off those raccoons so I could jump into the dumpster?
Shot Through the Tart Page 8
