My eyes bulged. “That’s harsh.”
“I thought journalists were supposed to be non-biased and nonjudgmental,” said Ace.
“The story I write will present the facts in a clear and concise manner. As a person I still have opinions. And that sounded a little harsh.”
“Fine. You’re right. It was harsh. But it was the truth.”
“So the two of you became competitors and that ruined your friendship?” Miss May asked.
“More or less,” said Ace.
Teeny leaned forward. “Was a tiny part of you happy when you found out what happened to Adam?”
Ace gasped. “Of course not. That’s disgusting. When I learned Adam had been shot on stage… The news devastated me. Adam was a great friend to me for years. After that, yes, he was my competitor. But his greatness drove me to try harder and compelled me to always improve myself as an actor. When he gave up and moved to that little town upstate… It didn’t make me feel good. You never want to see someone you came up with retreat like that.”
“Pine Grove is wonderful,” said Teeny. “Maybe he was just ready to get out of the rat race.”
Ace let out a small laugh. “No one thinks of this business as a rat race if you experience real success. When Adam left New York, it was a sign he had given up. Like I said, that made me sad. When I heard he had been murdered…”
Ace looked down. He brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. He let out a stifled sob.
Miss May looked over at me. I could tell she was wondering… Was Ace really crying? Or was this a performance?
Miss May reached out and took Ace’s hand in hers. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Teeny nodded. “We all are.”
“Yep,” I added.
I was sorry for Ace’s loss, yes, but I was also keenly aware that Miss May, Teeny, and I were there on a mission. Ace had not provided an alibi. He remained a suspect in the murder of Adam Smith. And we needed to gather more information before he left that diner.
I took a deep breath and continued the conversation. “Did you mention how you found out Adam had been killed?”
Ace looked up at me. His eyes hardened. “Why are you asking me that?”
I held up my notebook. “The more details I gather the better story I can write.”
“I heard from a friend.”
I nodded. “I see. And where were you exactly when Adam was killed?”
Ace narrowed his eyes. “That’s not relevant.” He sat back. “Why do you need to know where I was when Adam was shot?”
“It’s for the story.”
“Let me see your press credentials. You said you write for a small-town paper? What was the name of the paper? What’s your email address?”
“Um… the paper is the Pine Grove Gazette, and my name is uh, Liz—”
Ace stood. “You think I killed Adam Smith? You think I shot him because he stole my roles?”
I tried to remain impartial and poised, like a real reporter would. “No. Of course not.”
Miss May stood. “Everybody calm down. Ace: no one thinks you’re a killer.”
The owner of the restaurant, Nicholas, approached holding a cup full of sprinkles. “Ace. Everything OK here? These ladies giving you a problem?”
“Yes. They’re giving me a big problem, Nicholas. I think it’s time for them to leave.”
Nicholas sat down the bowl sprinkles and turned to us. “I’m so sorry, nice ladies. Ace is my most loyal customer. If he is unhappy with you, I am unhappy with you.”
Miss May held up her hands. “I understand.”
“You three have ruined my post-show meal.” Ace trained his angry glare on me. “And you’re far too stupid to be a reporter.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because I was on stage Friday night for three straight hours. I couldn’t have possibly killed Adam Smith.”
I nodded. “That’s a good point.” I turned to Miss May. “We should’ve thought of that.”
Ace pounded his fist on the table. “Get. Out.”
I nodded and hurried to the exit. Miss May and Teeny followed. We reached the door. Then Teeny darted back toward our table and took one last sip of milkshake.
Ace’s voice boomed. “Leave.”
“Sorry. I love milkshakes.”
Seconds later, Teeny, Miss May and I were back on the streets of New York City. But we were not walking fast and determined like locals. Instead, we stood perfectly still, shocked, dumbfounded, and at a total dead-end.
28
Life in the Fast Lane
The traffic getting out of the city that night was horrendous. We sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Westside Drive for nearly two hours. But the gridlock give us time to process what had happened with Ace and it helped us decide what we should do next in our investigation.
At first, Miss May was hung up on all the time we’d wasted in the city. “We should have stayed in Pine Grove and looked for the killer there. This was a mistake. It was my fault and I feel bad.”
Teeny patted Miss May’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. So the theater critic was a red seagull. That happens in every investigation.”
“Red herring,” I said.
“Whatever,” said Teeny. “This whole trip was a red bird of some sort. But at least we saw a play.”
“We saw half a play,” said Miss May. “And I don’t think I understood any of it any better than I did the first time I saw CATS.”
Teeny wrinkled her brow. “Really? I thought CATS was easy to understand.”
I leaned forward to get a better look at Teeny. “Go on.”
“There were a bunch of cats in a junkyard. They were fighting over garbage. But at the end of the day they realized they should all be happy and share the garbage. There was also a mystical, magical cat and I think he was supposed to be God or something. And God had a wonderful singing voice, I thought.”
I laughed. “Yep. Sounds like you understood it perfectly.”
Teeny looked over at me. “Whatever, Chelsea. So I didn’t summarize it like your fake newspaper would have. But I’m telling you, I understood every second of that play. I’m a cat inside my heart. That’s why.”
The traffic ahead of us sped up and Miss May sighed with relief. “Finally. I didn’t think these cars were ever going to move.”
“Get in the fast lane,” said Teeny.
“We’re fine where we are.” Miss May did not move at all.
Teeny crossed her arms. “Come on. I let you drive my car. The least you could do is take my direction when it comes to what lane to be in.”
“You didn’t let me drive your car,” said Miss May. “You asked if I could drive it because you don’t like driving at night.”
“That’s true,” said Teeny. “But it’s a lot of fun driving my little pink convertible. It’s a privilege and you should respect that.”
“I agree with Teeny.” I leaned back in my seat. “But I also had a great idea just now…”
“What’s your good idea?” Miss May asked.
“Let’s talk about the case.”
Miss May chuckled. “Oh so your good idea is that we should stop bickering about the traffic and solve the stupid murder?”
I shrugged. “Do you have a better idea?”
“What do you girls think we should do next?” Miss May asked.
“What was the plan we went to the Brown Cow this morning?” I asked.
“I was going to get a triple hot chocolate with quadruple sprinkles,” said Teeny. “But Brian said he couldn’t in good conscience do triple hot chocolate so I got double hot chocolate and it was still good.”
“I’m not talking about our plans for hot chocolate,” I said. “Before we followed the theater critic to New York City, what were we planning to do to continue our investigation?”
Miss May bit her lip. “Last night Zambia came to the farmhouse and admitted she was having an affair with Adam. She said Adam’s
wife Dorothy had no idea, remember?”
I nodded. “That’s right. But that seems a little far-fetched to me. Everyone in town knew that Adam and Zambia had fallen for each other. And Dorothy was really angry at the play that night.”
“So let’s find out if Dorothy knew about the affair,” said Teeny. “If she knew Adam was canoodling with Zambia, that means Dorothy had a strong motive for murder.”
Miss May nodded. “That’s correct. And if Dorothy murdered Adam that means Zambia might be next.”
I groaned. “I hate when these cases start to feel scary.”
“They always feel scary. They’re murders.” Miss May pulled into the left lane and stepped on the gas.
Teeny threw up her hands. “Now you get into the fast lane?”
Miss May looked over at Teeny. “This is a matter of life and death. I don’t have a choice.”
29
We’re Not in Kansas Anymore
Dorothy and Adam shared a beautiful Victorian home about a one-minute walk outside of town. The home was gray with plum trim. It had gorgeous lattice details and a big turret and a wraparound porch big enough to hold fifty people all sipping mint juleps. As if that weren’t enough charm for one house, there was also a white picket fence out front. A tongue-in-cheek “Beware of Actors” sign was hung on the fence.
It was almost midnight when Miss May, Teeny, and I arrived. The night was cold. But the moonlight was sharp and bright, and made the large house seem peaceful and inviting.
I slowed as we approached the white picket fence. I placed my hand on Miss May’s arm to stop her from walking any further. “Are we sure we want to bother Dorothy right now?”
“I just sped home all the way from the city in Teeny’s pink death-mobile. Dorothy might be a killer. No time like the present.”
Teeny stepped between us. “I’m with Chelsea. Not sure this is the smartest move. Dorothy’s gonna know we’re here on sleuth business.”
Miss May sighed. “So the two of you want to go home and sleep?”
Teeny shrugged. “I’ll probably have a snack or a cup of tea first. Then I’ll put on one of my late-night shows and fall sleep on the couch. I don’t like going straight to bed. You know, it’s important to unwind after a big day like this.”
Miss May shook her head. “We’re already here. One of you should have mentioned these hesitations on the drive.”
I winced. “Sorry. I saw the sign on the fence and it spooked me.” It also reminded me of my own dog, Steve, who was undoubtedly feeling lonely and annoyed that he hadn’t had his puppy supper yet.
A light on the porch turned on. It was yellow and eerie and cast long shadows across our faces. Miss May grumbled. “Great. She’s awake.”
Teeny’s eyes widened. “Should we make a run for it?”
A sultry, deep voice rang out from the porch. “Too late to run, baby. I’m awake and I’m ready to talk.”
Teeny perked up. “Dorothy. Hiiiii. Sorry to bother you.”
Dorothy stepped into the light. I admired her sharp nose and high cheekbones. She had such distinguished features it made me a little jealous. “Please. You are not bothering me. I’ve been expecting you.”
I sighed and pulled out my phone. I surreptitiously sent a quick text to KP: “Sorry but can check on Steve again before you go to bed?” There was no telling how long we might be out now that Dorothy was awake.
Dorothy opened the door to her home and stepped aside for us to enter. The steps creaked as we ascended to the porch. We had no choice but to enter. We were there to talk to Dorothy and Dorothy wanted to talk.
Moments later, we were sitting in a beautiful Victorian drawing room. There was a large, plush rug on the floor and a few puffy armchairs. The walls were decorated with newspaper clippings detailing Adam’s success during his time on Broadway.
Dorothy poured each of us a cup of herbal tea, then settled into one of the armchairs to talk. She had a relaxed and confident demeanor. Almost too relaxed. Almost too confident.
“I suppose you girls are here because you think I’m a suspect.”
Miss May gave Dorothy a tight smile. “Suspect is a strong word. But it’s our habit to always question the spouse of the deceased.”
“No need to mince words, May. You want to know if I was aware of Adam’s relationship with his costar Zambia offstage?”
Miss May shrugged. “I suppose that would be helpful information.”
Dorothy looked away. The moonlight streamed through the window. Her cheekbones looked pronounced and distinct, like she was in a scene in an old black-and-white movie. “Marriage is a funny thing. Not ha-ha funny. More like… Tragically funny. A man and a woman walk into a church. The priest says some stuff in Latin and you’re bound together for life. That’s the part where the three of you laugh at my funny joke.”
I offered a small laugh. Miss May and Teeny joined in. Teeny scooted forward on her seat. “I get the joke, Dorothy. I’ve been married so many times I know that Latin stuff by heart.”
Dorothy did not look back toward us. She kept her eyes trained on the window, so much like a movie star delivering a monologue. “I loved Adam. I was devoted to him. We lived in the city together and I supported his dreams. Worked three jobs so he could have the freedom to go to auditions. Then I agreed to move up here with him and start anew. It wasn’t long after that he met Zambia. And the two of them took up together. I realized then I had a very poor intuition when it came to deciding who I could trust.”
Dorothy turned to me. “You understand, Chelsea. I know all about how you almost married the wrong man. And that’s because you trusted someone who didn’t have your best interests at heart. When you looked into his eyes you saw kindness and warmth and you felt safe there.”
My jaw dropped. I did not expect Dorothy to bring up Mike. Why does everyone have to know everything in a small town?
Dorothy continued. “Don’t you know what I mean, Chelsea?”
I swallowed. It seemed Dorothy would not rest until I engaged in the conversation. “I guess I know what you mean. But I don’t know that I ever saw much kindness in Mike’s eyes. I was with him because I didn’t want to be alone, I think. My parents died when I was young. That’s why it was so hard for me to move on after what happened with our wedding. But I’m stronger now and I know it was for the best. I’m lucky I didn’t end up with him.”
Dorothy pointed at me. “Right. You’re lucky. You got away. You never had to experience the feeling of devoting yourself to a man and then learning that he’s fallen in love with another woman.”
I looked down. “I guess that is lucky. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I looked up. Dorothy’s mouth was pressed into a flat line. Her hands were white-knuckling the arms of her chair. She seemed tense. Tense like a guilty person might seem tense. Miss May looked over at me and I could see that she felt that vibe too. Dorothy noticed us noticing and relaxed her grip.
“I’m angry. So what?” Dorothy snapped. “Don’t look at each other like you think I’m a killer. I’m a woman scorned. And I have fury. But that doesn’t make me a murderer.”
Teeny shrugged. “If you’re so innocent give us an alibi.”
Dorothy chuckled. “I’d be happy to. Remember that night at the play? Adam and Zambia shared that long, disgusting kiss, and everyone saw me storm out of the theater?”
Miss May nodded. “I think I do remember that.”
“Of course you remember it,” said Dorothy. “Everyone remembers it. I made a fool of myself in front of the whole town. Or Adam made a fool of me. What’s the difference?”
“I definitely remember it,” said Teeny.
“Great,” said Dorothy. “Anyway, I didn’t go up to the mezzanine and shoot Adam after that. I went straight to Peter’s Land and Sea and drowned my sorrows in a monumental ocean of whiskey.”
Miss May raised her eyebrows. “And the staff at the restaurant saw you there?”
Dorothy nodded. “I’m s
ure you’ll go there and find out. But yes.”
Miss May stood to leave. “Thank you for talking to us.”
Dorothy stood too. She took Miss May’s hand and her voice cracked. “Wait. Before you go…”
Miss May made eye contact with Dorothy. Dorothy continued. “If you’re around town and you hear people gossiping about me or even about Adam… tell them… we were happy once. We were in love. I would have never hurt him.”
Miss May nodded. “OK. Thank you for the tea.”
30
Mayor Mayor, Take the Fall
The next morning, I took Steve out for an extra-long walk around the farm. He was one grumpy puppy, and I couldn’t blame him. Miss May and I hadn’t been around nearly as much as we should have been. Steve had seen plenty of KP. But he wanted attention from me and Miss May, and he deserved it.
As I meandered through the muddy grounds, between apple trees, fir trees, and all sorts of other trees, I heard another grumpy voice mumbling from nearby.
“KP?” I called out. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” the gruff voice called back. “It’s me and this here little-bitty horse.”
I passed through a thicket of trees and sure enough, there was KP with See-Saw. I’d known KP forever, but for some reason on that particular day it struck me how sturdy and dependable he was. With his thick dark hair and broad frame, he didn’t look a day older than the age he claimed to be — which had been 29 or 39 for the past fifteen years. He liked to change the decade occasionally, depending on his mood. OK, maybe he looked a few days older than 29. But in his eyes and his smile, he was still youthful and mischievous, and I couldn’t imagine thinking of him as an old man.
Shot Through the Tart Page 12
