Take a moment and imagine it with me. You curl your fingers around the handle of your favorite coffee mug. The whipped cream has begun to melt into the rich, chocolate liquid. You bring the mug to your lips, and you feel the cool whipped cream on your upper lip. You tilt the mug back and your mouth fills with velvety, smooth chocolate. It stays in your mouth a moment, then you swallow and feel the hot chocolate snaking its way down into your stomach and warming your entire body. Any and all your worries and troubles disappear, if only for a moment.
Yeah. I love hot chocolate.
So the morning after Miss May, Teeny, and I spoke to Zambia outside the farmhouse, I was thrilled when Miss May suggested we head into town and go to the Brown Cow for hot chocolate. Brian, the relaxed SoCal transplant who owned our local coffee shop, made the best hot chocolate in Pine Grove-slash-the-universe. I pulled on the clothes I had been wearing the night before, let Steve out to do his morning business, then jumped into the VW bus to join Miss May for a cup.
Small-town conversation can be just as cozy as hot chocolate. So I hung out near the counter and chatted with Brian as he made my drink.
“What’s new in here lately?”
Brian gave me his signature, California surfer smirk. Slow and steady with just a hint of mischief. “Nothing new. Nothing old. Taking it one day at a time.”
I nodded. “Deep.”
Brian laughed. “Yeah. I’ve been listening to a podcast about meditation. Trying to implement the practices in my daily life. You used to be pretty into that stuff, right?”
I laughed. “Yeah. When I first moved to town I had a pretty steady practice. Back when I was living in the city, I think I needed it to stay calm and grounded. But once I moved back here… I started to feel naturally more present in each moment. I didn’t have to center myself, it just happened. But I still love meditation, don’t get me wrong.”
Brian looked up and smiled at me. “I’m glad you like it here. It’s been awesome having you around, even with all the murders. I guess especially with all the murders, since you keep solving ‘em.”
I smiled. “I’m glad I’m back. It’s been awesome having a local coffee shop that isn’t filled with strangers in a hurry.”
“Tell me about it,” said Brian. “Those city coffee shops are ridiculous. Super small. Coffee costs a fortune. The people who work there are always rude.”
“And they’re always crowded,” I said.
Brian pointed at me. “Exactly. And not crowded in a good way. Crowded like you can barely wiggle your way to the counter to order a latte.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
Brian gestured at a middle-aged man who was sitting over by the window. The man was wearing all black and had a bushy, brown mustache.
“Got a classic city snob in here this morning.” Brian spoke in a hushed tone. “I think he’s some kind of important newspaper guy. Took like fifteen minutes to order, asked a million stupid questions, and didn’t leave a tip.”
The snobby man stood and gathered his things. He took his time as he finished his coffee then threw the cup in the trash. Then he smoothed out his shirt, pulled up his sleeves, zipped his jacket all the way up to his turtleneck, and headed out.
“Seems like a particular guy,” I said.
“Particular and demanding. I had to remake his drink three times.”
I gave Brian a small laugh. “I wonder what he’s doing in Pine Grove.”
“I think he was writing an article about Adam Smith. I assumed the guy was a theater critic or something like that. Not sure, though.”
Liz, our very own local reporter extraordinaire, approached from nearby. “You two don’t know who that guy was?”
Brian and I shrugged at the same time in the exact same manner. Liz shook her head. “That’s Edward Frame. The most famous entertainment reporter in the history of time. He’s been the entertainment editor of a very prestigious New York City newspaper for my whole life. Frame’s a legend. I introduced myself and texted him my resume. He seemed impressed by my credentials.”
Brian nodded. “I knew he was a theater guy.”
“You think Edward is in town because there’s some sort of story with Adam?” I asked.
Liz nodded. “Definitely. Maybe they’re doing a retrospective of Adam’s career on Broadway. Maybe Frame and Adam were friends back in the day.” Liz’s eyes widened. “Maybe Adam was at the heart of some kind of long-running scandal and Edward is looking for a scoop.”
“Miss May and I should talk to that guy,” I said.
“You better vamoose.” Liz pointed out the window, where I could see Edward climbing into a little sedan. “He’s about to leave.”
Teeny burst into the coffee shop, just at that moment. “Famous reporter Edward Frame’s outside and he’s about to leave!”
“We know,” I said. “Let’s go.”
24
Two Scoops of Murder
“We’re taking my convertible.” Teeny darted to her car and climbed in. Miss May and I followed.
“Please drive safe.” Miss May buckled up. “He’s not that far ahead of us. We don’t need to drive too fast.”
“Hey, this is my chase scene, May. You just sit there and be a good copilot.”
I leaned forward. “I’d like to cast a second vote for driving at a normal speed.”
“This ain’t a democracy, Chels! Besides, there could be lives on the line.” Teeny jammed her keys into the ignition, yanked the car into drive, and peeled out of her parking spot. “Here we go, baby! Time to see what this pink rocket can do.”
Teeny slammed on the brakes to stop at a crosswalk. Petunia and Ethel were crossing with their walkers. They were not moving fast. Teeny gave them the right-of-way, but I could tell she was itching to speed around them. “Good morning, ladies. Take your time. We’re not in a high-speed chase or anything.”
Petunia glared at Teeny. “Still driving this midlife crisis machine, Teeny? You look like an Over-The-Hill Barbie!”
“Hey, at least I look like Barbie at some age!” Teeny countered. Petunia made an obscene gesture. Teeny smiled and offered a thumbs-up in return. “Love you, too, Petunia.”
Petunia and Ethel reached the other side of the road and Teeny pressed the pedal to the metal once more. Thirty seconds later, we were leaving Pine Grove and speeding up an on-ramp toward the highway.
“Where are you going, Teeny?” Miss May asked.
“You said he’s a theater critic, right? From the city? I’m headed to the city.”
“It’s going to be hard to find one guy in New York City,” I said. “We need to catch up to him.”
“You should have taken the back roads,” Miss May grumbled. “This is going to be longer.”
“Disagree, May. Thank you for your input.”
I pointed up ahead of us. “Isn’t that his car?”
Teeny’s eyes widened. “Told you I was good.”
Teeny laid on her horn. Beep. Beep. I could see Edward’s face in his rearview mirror. He seemed startled and confused. He craned his neck back and held his hand up as if to say, “What’s wrong?”
Teeny stuck her head outside. “Pull over. This is important. We need to talk.”
The man’s eyes widened. He did not appear comforted by the sight of a tiny blonde lady driving a tiny pink convertible screaming out the open top. He sped up.
“Great job, Teeny. He’s getting away.” Miss May stuck her head out her window. “We don’t want to hurt you. All we need is five minutes.”
I leaned forward from the back seat. “There’s no way that guy can hear you. We’re driving 70 mph on the highway. And he’s thirty feet in front of us.”
Miss May turned back to me. “Will you mind your own business?”
“Um, this is definitely my business,” I said. “It’s not like I’m working on something besides this car chase in the backseat.”
Teeny glared at me in the rearview mirror. “Then mind someone else’s business. Spend some time
thinking about peace in the Middle East. Something like that.”
Miss May turned to Teeny. “Is there a toll coming up?”
Teeny shrugged. “Yeah. I have EZ Pass.”
“But I’m sure Frame does too. We need to cut him off before he speeds through the toll.”
“If we take the back roads we can skip the toll, then maybe we can cut him off of the bridge.” I pulled up a map on my phone. “It’ll be close but it’s possible.”
Teeny shook her head. “Put that phone away. I have a better idea.” Edward slowed his car as he approached the toll booth. Teeny sped up. She placed her hands at ten and two on the wheel and held on tight.
Miss May looked at Teeny out of the corner of her eyes. “Teeny. What are you doing? We’re in the cash only lane.”
Teeny took a breath. “Hang on tight, ladies.”
Teeny blasted through the gate in the cash lane of the toll booth, swung her car around, and blocked the EZ pass lane, just in time to stop Edward from getting away. The tollbooth worker, a teenage boy wearing a khaki uniform with wide, garish stripes, hurried over toward us.
“Hey,” the teenage boy said. “What are you doing? You just destroyed my gate.”
“Harry Mendelson. Go back into your tollbooth,” Teeny said. “I know your mother. Everything is fine. This is important adult stuff.”
The teenage boy’s voice cracked. “You know my mom?”
“That’s right. Don’t believe me? Get in there and call your mother. Tell her Teeny says hello. She’ll tell you there’s nothing to worry about. I’m going to cover the cost of the gate. Just leave me alone for five minutes.”
Harry took a couple steps back toward his booth. “OK. Cool car.”
Teeny nodded. “Thank you. I know.”
Edward Frame climbed out of his sedan with his hands held up. “Hey. You’re blocking my path. And you nudged my front bumper.”
Teeny waved Edward off. “Nudge, smudge. There’s not a mark on either of our cars.”
Miss May stepped forward. “Still, if we did nudge you,” she said, “we’re so sorry. The three of us got caught up chatting, we blew through the gate, we made a wild turn. We’re completely at fault. Let’s exchange insurance information.”
Miss May looked over at Teeny. Teeny nodded. “Yes. We should exchange… information.”
“This is your fault.” The man pulled his insurance card out of his wallet and handed it to us. Teeny did the same.
“You’re absolutely right,” she said. “I can be a very distracted driver. Here’s my license… Don’t look at the photo, I was having a bad hair day. Can I get yours, too? Take a photo just in case?”
The man chuckled. “I think this is a nice photo.” He handed his license to Teeny. “I was having a no hair day.”
Teeny laughed and took a photo of the man’s ID. I watched as she zoomed in and took a photo of just the man’s address. I smirked. She looked at me and smirked. And suddenly I knew where we were headed next.
25
Wine and Tease
“I was about to ask him about Adam Smith. You stopped me dead in my tracks.” Teeny put the keys in the ignition and put the car in drive. “I’m a sleuth too, you know.”
“I respect that,” said Miss May. “But you had just run into the guy. He was already on edge. That’s not the best time to get information from a suspect.”
“This guy is a suspect now?” I asked.
Miss May shook her head. “No. He’s not a suspect. But you know what I mean. If you need information from someone you need to butter them up. Bring them a pie. Put a smile on their face. Not cut them off when they’re going through a toll.”
“You have your methods, I have mine,” Teeny said.
I buckled my seatbelt. “So what do we do now? Teeny, I saw you took a picture of his address. But we don’t need to break into his apartment. We need to talk to him.”
“I have an idea,” said Miss May. “Take that exit for New York City.”
An hour and a half later, we were double-parked outside Edward’s apartment in Manhattan’s West Village. Several prior investigations had taken us into New York City. Each visit to the city had been exciting and mysterious. I assumed that this visit would be the same.
At that moment, however, our evening didn’t seem too promising. There were no lights on in Edward’s apartment. Plus, the front door was locked and we hadn’t managed to sneak inside the building.
“I don’t understand this plan.” Teeny reached into her purse, opened a bag of pretzels, and popped one in her mouth. “If we’re not going to sneak into his apartment to see what we can learn, why are we here?”
“Because we need to talk to Edward,” Miss May said, for the millionth time. “As of now, he doesn’t know us at all. He thinks we’re three kooky ladies who damaged his car on the highway. But I don’t think he had a negative experience with us. We were gracious, we seemed willing to pay for the damage, I think he liked us.”
I shrugged. “How does that help?”
“If we stake this place out, we can catch Edward on the sidewalk when he’s coming or going. We can pretend it’s a chance encounter. Maybe take him to dinner or something. Buy him a few glasses of wine. See what we can learn.”
“That’s going to be tough to pull off,” I said. “He seems like a busy guy. And the kind of guy who maybe doesn’t believe in coincidence.”
Miss May shrugged. “Can’t be harder than solving a murder.”
Teeny stuck her head out the window and craned her neck up to get a better look at the top floor apartment where we assumed Edward lived. “He’s got a nice place up there. Plush carpets. Framed photos of himself with famous Broadway actors. The giant TV screen where he probably gathers with friends to watch the Oscars and the Tony’s. And he’s got one of those refrigerators that makes water and coffee and seltzer and dispenses fresh draft beer.”
“I don’t think they make refrigerators that dispense beer,” I said.
Teeny pulled her head back into the car. “Agree to disagree.”
A man crouched down beside Teeny’s open window. “My refrigerator is much more normal than that.”
The three of us shrieked and practically jumped out of our seats.
I pressed my hand to my chest and leaned forward to get a better look at the man in the window. Sure enough, it was Edward Frame, the theater critic. He gave me a small smile.
“I had a feeling that accident by the tollbooth was more than an accident.” He looked at me. “You’re right, I don’t believe in coincidence. How can I help you ladies?”
A few moments later, Edward led us into his top floor apartment. It was decorated in a posh, modern style. A spotless white leather couch faced a double-sided fireplace. The kitchen was sleek, with clean lines and beautiful marble countertops and those cabinets that closed softly and never slammed.
Miss May, Teeny, and I spent a few minutes praising the elegant apartment. Then Edward poured us each a glass of red wine and gestured for us to take a seat on the couch. My interior design brain freaked out at the thought of red wine on a white couch, but I kept my cool.
“Please,” Edward said. “Tell me why you’re really here. Tell me why you crashed into my car on the highway this afternoon.”
“Oh, I barely nudged it!” Teeny protested.
“Sorry again,” said Miss May. “We’ll tell you everything. I’m impressed you detected our ulterior motives with such ease.”
Adam shrugged and settled back into the couch. “I’m a reporter. Sure, maybe I cover entertainment. But still… I make my living sussing out the truth.”
Miss May nodded. “As do we.”
“Well, not really our living,” I said. “We sell apples for a living. Whatever. Sorry I interrupted. Please, continue.”
Miss May shot me a look, then gestured to herself, me, and Teeny. “We’re small-town detectives. Amateur sleuths. Trying to solve the murder of Adam Smith. I suspect Adam’s death is what brought you t
o Pine Grove this afternoon?”
Edward gave Miss May a small nod. “I knew Adam for decades. His death was unexpected. But I take small solace knowing he died during a performance. He was never more comfortable than when he was on stage.”
Edward spoke with a careful precision, like he considered every word before he said it. That manner of speaking was not familiar to me. I blurted out every thought that came into my mind and had a problem with babbling. I bit my fingernails to keep from saying anything stupid.
Edward seemed nice enough. But working murder after murder, I’d learned to suspect everyone. I wondered, Was Edward hiding something? Could he have killed Adam?
Teeny sipped her wine. “But you wouldn’t have come all the way up to our little town just to write an obituary for Adam. There must be something more to the story.”
Frame raised his eyebrows. “There’s always something more to the story.”
“Well what is it? Tell us already.” Teeny threw up her hands.
I laughed. Teeny had never been one for small talk in urgent situations.
Edward laughed right along with me. “I like you. You say what’s on your mind.”
“Sometimes I put my foot too close to my mouth, that’s for sure,” Teeny said. “Wine doesn’t help. Especially when I’m thirsty and it’s good wine.”
Edward sipped from his own glass. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I still want to know what information you’ve got,” said Teeny. “Enough beating around the bushes!”
Miss May leaned forward a bit. “Teeny. It’s OK if Edward doesn’t want to share his inside scoop. He’s a reporter. He makes his trade learning the truth and learning how to keep a secret.”
“Well said,” Edward said. “I also make my living by assessing who I can trust and who I can’t. I can tell… The three of you are trustworthy. You want to find justice for Adam.”
Shot Through the Tart Page 10
