Shot Through the Tart

by Chelsea Thomas

  I mustered a few words. “That’s—that’s nice. Thank you. But uh... I’ve been trying to get more work in the city. So I’m not sure.”

  Miss May gestured out the window. “Jersey City is not ‘the city.’”

  “People call it the Sixth Borough.”

  “Well, I call it New Jersey.” Like a lot of New Yorkers, Miss May had a preternatural disdain for New Jersey, based on nothing.

  “But I’m trying to rebuild the business in Manhattan and Brooklyn.”

  “So? You can have unlimited days off to take work in the city, no notice required, no questions asked. How can you say no to that?”

  A small smile crept across my lips.

  “See! It’s a good idea,” Miss May said.

  “That’s not fair to you!”

  “Sure it is! I get a New York City designer, I can charge more for events. If you’re not available, I’ll charge my regular rates. Easy.”

  “If I break this lease, I’ll lose my deposit.”

  “But you’ll be living for free up at the farm, so it’s cancelled right out.”

  Miss May had been a lawyer on Wall Street before she took over the family farm. She thought everything through and had an answer to every question.

  “You want me to… take my old room back?” I asked.

  “You could also live out in the barn, if you want.” Miss May took a bite of Lo Mein. “Even that place would be an upgrade on what you’ve got here.”

  I looked around the apartment. A water-stain on the wall appeared to be giving me the middle finger. I looked back to Miss May. Smiling and supportive.

  She’s right, I thought. This could be good for me. And maybe I could learn from Miss May. She had warned me about Mike after all. But I had been too trusting. And I didn’t think things through like she did.

  My face flushed with excitement. I was starting over. Unmarried, unemployed, and unshowered. Hopefully, I would be able to fix at least one of those things soon.

  Chapter 3

  My knees thumped against the dash as Miss May drove us into town in her yellow 1971 VW Bus. I bit my tongue, both literally and figuratively, and tried to stifle a quiet yelp.

  Miss May glared at me. “You think you’re so much better, next time you drive.”

  “I’ve been in the city for almost a decade. I let my license expire years ago.”

  “Well, quit gripping your handle, you little scaredy cat. I like to feel the road.”

  I tried to relax my grip, but I only managed to hold on tighter. I didn't love riding with Miss May, but I was also conflicted about coming back to my home town with my tail between my hadn’t-been-shaved-since Saturday legs.

  I may not have been happy in Jersey City, but I was at least making my own way. Like a doughier, less stylish version of Sarah Jessica Parker from Sex and the City.

  Now I was moving back in with the woman who raised me. It was far from a triumphant return, but I tried to focus on the positive as we entered my home town.

  Pine Grove, New York was, by most standards, what one would refer to as a “small town.” Although it was only about ninety minutes north of New York City by train, it was as different from Manhattan as you could get.

  Pine Grove’s population was a few hundred people shy of six thousand. Everyone knew everything about everyone. All the time. And our high school mascot was a giant ear of corn. What’s more small town than that?

  The area Miss May was driving through at that moment was Pine Grove’s only commercial district, but the locals called it “town.” Short and sweet.

  Main Street was cozier than I remembered. Two lanes. Perfect sidewalks. Big oak trees and evergreens. And cute little brick storefronts every dozen feet. The whole scene was picturesque, set against the blue August sky. And I was glad to see plenty of people strolling around and patronizing local businesses.

  Some stores in town had come and gone over the years, but the majority had remained in place since I was a kid. Our coffee shop, The Brown Cow, was in a converted brick house. It had a trellis, wrought iron benches, and even a life-size statue of a brown cow.

  Next to that was the firehouse. Two stories. Two big garage doors. And a bright yellow firetruck out front. I never knew why our fire trucks were yellow instead of red, but when I was a kid, I got to ride on one, which I loved, so I still got all warm and fuzzy every time we passed the station.

  Miss May honked and waved at a young woman crossing the street. “Liz! I’ve got your mom’s order of pies. You want to take them?”

  Liz trotted over. She had a kind, round face and big brown eyes. “Miss May. Hey. Yeah, I’m going over to my Mom’s house later. I’ll take the pies. Thanks!”

  Miss May gestured at me. “Remember Chelsea? She graduated from PGHS a few years after you.”

  “Ohhh yeah.” Liz looked at me. “You do seem familiar. You were in orchestra, right? I played violin.”

  “Uh… yeah. Sure. I remember you.” I lied. I did not remember her, and I was not in orchestra. But I was pretty forgettable in high school, so I figured I might as well embellish my former self with a hint of musicianship.

  “Liz is the editor of the Gazette now,” Miss May said.

  “Impressive,” I said. The Pine Grove Gazette was our weekly newspaper. When I was a kid, the Gazette had been my go-to reading material on the toilet. It surprised me to hear Liz was the editor, and it made me a little jealous. I could be the editor of a local paper if I wanted. Right?

  “I’m trying to bring more real journalism to town.” Liz popped a piece of gum into her mouth. “Not just stuff about missing cats, or the weather, or whatever. I’m going to meet the mayor right now.”

  “Ambitious.” I nodded. “I like it.”

  “Open the trunk,” Miss May gestured toward the back of the bus. “Your mom’s order is labelled.”

  Liz hurried around back and opened the trunk. Miss May called out to her, “And take a few cookies too. New recipe, I'd love your opinion.”

  Liz grabbed her order, thanked Miss May, and strode away, a woman on a mission.

  “Good kid,” Miss May said. “I’ve known her mother forever.”

  “You’ve known everyone’s mother forever,” I said. “And sister. And brother. And dog.”

  Miss May laughed, clunked the bus back into gear and kept driving.

  A little past the firehouse was a track and field and the town playhouse. Pine Grove was so close to the city that a few of our residents were actual Broadway actors. When the actors had time, they would lend their talents to local productions, and people would come from far and wide for the discounted Broadway experience. As a little girl, I had gotten to see the man who played Jean Valjean on Broadway sing “I Dreamed a Dream” on the same stage where I’d had my pre-school graduation. It was unforgettable. Although it might have been even more unforgettable to see Jean Valjean sing “I’m a Little Tea Pot” on that stage, like I had.

  My favorite restaurant in the universe was Grandma’s. Grandma’s had a prime location right across from the theater, and Miss May's best friend, Teeny, was the owner.

  Growing up, Grandma’s had been our favorite spot after school events, dances, and recitals. The restaurant was brick, like most businesses in town. But for Grandma’s, a little white awning and a big green sign gave it extra charm.

  As we passed by, I saw an employee out back chopping maple, ash, and beech for the pizza oven. Grandma’s had always been most famous for its sandwiches and desserts. However, Pine Grove had a lot of Italian-Americans, so a lot of our restaurants made pizza, too. Grandma’s thin crust margherita was transcendent.

  I smiled. I had always been an easy crier, and after my recent fiancé fiasco, tears seemed to flow more easily than ever. Just driving through town made my eyes well up.

  Miss May flipped her turn signal on, and I looked at her, shocked that I hadn’t realized what was going on.

  “Are we going to Grandma’s!?”

  “It’s a special occas
ion,” Miss May said as she turned into the lot. “Of course we're going to Grandma's.”

  ----

  When we entered the restaurant, everything I smelled and saw transported me back to some of the best meals I ever had.

  The scent of fresh coffee was in the air. Little old couples and happy families were at every table. And the dining room looked like a grandmother’s living room, with big wooden chairs, red booths, and the image of a smiling, white-haired granny on every menu.

  I was about to make a comment about the grotesque amount of food I planned to eat when the owner of Grandma’s, Teeny, rushed toward us. Teeny was barely five feet tall, she had bottle-blonde hair, and she had anxious, light blue eyes that always made me want to give her a hug.

  “May! Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to show up with the guest of honor all day!”

  Miss May laughed. “Relax. We’re here, we’re here.”

  Teeny turned her laser-sharp attention on me. “So. Don’t just stand there. Talk. Are you moving back or what?”

  My face turned red. I wasn’t exactly proud to be returning home. “Uh… Actually…”

  Miss May bailed me out with a little white lie. “Chelsea’s just here to help me out with the decorating for a few months,” she said. “She was so busy with clients in the city, I had to get on my knees to get her back up to Pine Grove.”

  I was sure that Teeny, who had a nose for lies of all colors, knew Miss May was stretching the truth, but she played along. “Well, I love that. Family business, you know that’s what I’m all about. Right, Granny?”

  Teeny looked over to her mom, aka “Granny,” a tiny, 95-year-old lady sitting near the cash register. Granny was the original owner and founder of Grandma’s, but she had long ago given up the daily grind. Now, she just “oversaw” the restaurant, which meant she read tabloids all day from behind the counter. Teeny waved and Granny smiled. It was the same smile from the menus. But I don’t think Granny had any idea what Teeny said.

  “Yup. She agrees,” Teeny said. We all laughed.

  I hoped the conversation would end there, but I should have known better.

  “So sorry about that horrible man you almost married.” Teeny put her hand on my shoulder. “When May told me what he did, I wanted to push him down the stairs!”

  “He’d sue you once he landed,” Miss May said.

  “Not if I pushed him hard enough,” Teeny smirked.

  I laughed nervously and tried to brainstorm a way to change the subject before Teeny asked me anything else about the wedding from you-know-where. Luckily for me, a new customer walked through the door precisely at my time of need.

  “Yo! I need to make a reservation for a wedding in two months!”

  I turned. It was none other than Vinny Russo. Vinny had a “Jersey Shore,” vibe. Tight black t-shirt. Slicked back hair. Expensive gold watch. And he was engaged to get married to my cousin Maggie in a few months.

  Vinny owned a successful contracting company with his business partner, Sudeer. The two were unlikely partners, but they built Pine Grove's biggest, most expensive houses. And from what I had heard, they had more clients than they could handle.

  My cousin Maggie Thomas trailed behind Vinny a few steps. He didn’t hold the door for her, of course, and it almost closed right on her face as she pushed it open.

  “Vinny, hold up!” Maggie approached in a tizzy. “I’m sorry, Teeny. We were just wondering —”

  “We weren’t wondering,” Vinny crossed his arms. “We need your party room. First weekend in October. We got people coming in from the city. How much?”

  Teeny scoffed. “The first weekend in October is less than two months out. I’m booked every weekend ‘til spring. Try Divola’s, they might have an opening.”

  “Divola’s made half the town sick at Ferragosto,” Vinny said.

  Ferragosto was an Italian street fair Pine Grove hosted every August. And Vinny was right. Divola’s gave out free pizza at last year’s event, and it made everyone sick. People even made a verb of it, like “I got Divola’d,” or “Don’t drink that expired milk, it’ll Divola you!” A scandal like that was never good, especially in a small town like Pine Grove, and it surprised me that Divola’s was still open.

  “Everything OK, Maggie?” Miss May said.

  “Aunt May, hi!” Maggie said. “I can’t believe I didn’t see you there. We just lost our venue out of nowhere, so I’m kind of scattered. Now we’re scrambling to—” Maggie stopped when she saw me. “Chelsea! Oh my God, what are you doing here? How are you? How have you been?”

  Maggie hugged me. I returned the hug, but my hands got all clammy and nervous. I knew Maggie’s concern was well-intentioned, just like Teeny’s had been, but I was in no mood to talk about my “I Don’t” situation, and I wasn’t sure I would ever be.

  Fortunately, Vinny jumped back in before Maggie asked me any more questions. “Can we cut the small talk? We’ve got a problem to solve.” He took a step closer to Teeny. “I’ll double your rate. How ‘bout that?”

  “How ‘bout you beat it, Vin? I told you. I’m booked.”

  “Three times your rate! Four!”

  “Sorry.” Teeny put her hands on her hips. I got the sense that she wouldn’t have rented the restaurant to Vinny no matter how much he offered to pay. “You’re gonna have to look elsewhere.”

  Vinny fumed. Teeny glared at him. Stalemate.

  Miss May looked at me with her eyebrows raised. She had an idea.

  “You can get married at the orchard.” Miss May turned her palms up and smiled.

  Vinny turned to Miss May, and I got a whiff of his cologne. It smelled like cigarettes and gasoline. Not good. “I’m not getting married in a barn,” he said.

  “It’s not just any old barn.” Miss May pulled out her phone and flicked through some photographs of the orchard. “We’ve got heat lamps. Full plumbing. People love it.”

  “She’s right.” Maggie took a hesitant step forward. “I had my Sweet Sixteen there.” She turned to Miss May. “The farm is perfect. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. I guess I assumed you’d be booked up.”

  “Booked up, how?” Miss May laughed. “You’re my niece! We were planning to close that night so the whole family could attend your wedding. You got my RSVP, right?”

  Maggie slapped her forehead. “Duh! How could I forget?”

  My face flushed with guilt. I had gotten the invitation a few days after my own botched wedding and I’d failed to RSVP. Hard to reply to something you rip into tiny little pieces and shove into the bottom of your trash under mountains of Chinese takeout.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind working instead of coming as a guest?” Maggie bit her lip. She had always been so sweet. It was just like her to worry about whether her wedding would impose.

  “Of course we won't mind.” Miss May smiled and offered one of her favorite refrains. “There's no better path to happiness than hard work.”

  “Hold up!” Vinny stepped between Maggie and Miss May. “You two can’t just decide this without me!”

  “OK,” Maggie put her hand on Vinny’s arm. “What do you think, babe?”

  Vinny scrunched up his face. “I got ice sculptures I ordered that you gotta make room for.”

  Teeny scoffed, but Miss May kept her composure.

  “Not a problem,” Miss May said. “And I’ll charge you my normal rate, since Maggie’s family.”

  “You better,” Vinny said.

  And thus began the most catastrophic wedding in Thomas family history. Including mine.

  Want to find out what happens next?

  Get Apple Die.

  A Note From the Authors

  Hey Cozy Crew,

  Wow. Another book in the, well, books. This one was a lot of fun to write. But if you know me, you know my favorite part is always my letter to you, so let’s get to it!

  I’m writing this letter to you while sitting beside my Christmas tree in my living room. We had fifte
en minutes of snow and hail earlier today. Then the sun came out and everything melted.

  Have you ever seen trees entombed in ice just as it all melts away? Let me tell you, it’s beautiful. Especially if you’ve spent the last decade living in the desert like we have.

  Hard to believe last year at this time Matt and I were living in his parent’s house and we hadn’t even found an apartment yet.

  Even HARDER to believe that last year at this time we hadn’t published a single book . Over the last year, Matt and I have published seven novels and two novellas. Most importantly, we’ve met all of YOU.

  I mention this in almost all my letters to you, but thank you so much for reading and for coming along on this cozy ride.

  Matt and I have loved writing these books but without the cozy crew the process would have been far less rewarding.

  As always, reviews are helpful for new authors like us. So if you liked the book hop onto Amazon and let us know!

  Until next time!

  Chelsea Thomas

  Also by Chelsea Thomas

  Thank you for reading SHOT THROUGH THE TART. We hope you enjoyed it. Want more from Chelsea, Teeny and Miss May?

  PEACHES AND SCREAM is the next book in the Apple Orchard Series.

  You'll love this story because it has a mystery that's tough to solve, plus a peach pie recipe that's been in the family for generations.

  Tap the link below to for more:

  PEACHES AND SCREAM (BOOK 8)

  About the Author

  Chelsea Thomas is married writing team Chelsea and Matthew Thomas. Chelsea and Matthew are screenwriters and mystery authors. They live and work in Peekskill, NY.