KP chuckled. “Now hold on one pretty little second. Why would the two of you be in the possession of a locked briefcase, but not have the key?”
“And you’ve discovered the secret we need you to keep.” Miss May looked sheepish.
KP perked up, excited. “I’ll be! Don’t tell me you and little missy over here stole this thing?”
“We didn’t steal it,” I said. “We just failed to return it to its owner. And now we need you to open it.”
“Whoa Nelly. Yes, I may have a troubled history with the local library’s outrageous overdue fees. But I’m no common criminal. I’m not a jewel thief!”
“I’m not saying you’re a jewel thief,” Miss May said. “I doubt there are jewels in the briefcase. But I’ve seen you jimmy the lock on the farmhouse. Remember? That time I got locked out. And that other time. And that other time.”
KP turned to me with a smile. “You know, for a top sleuth, your aunt can’t seem to figure out where she puts her own keys most days.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve suggested gluing them to her hand.”
KP guffawed and slapped his knee.
“Enough already,” Miss May said. “This isn’t bully Miss May Day. KP: will you help us or not?”
“Those locks on the farmhouse are easy. A blind monk could pick ‘em with his pinky finger. This here... This is a whole different story. I’m going to need more information before I agree to a project like this.”
Miss May sighed. “What do you need to know?”
Thus began the onslaught of questions.
KP wanted to know everything about the briefcase, so we told him. Then he wanted to know about the trailer. And the dead body. And Flanagan. So we relived the whole stressful, muddy evening in great detail.
Then he wanted to know what brand toilet paper had been used to vandalize Rosenberg’s house. And that’s where Miss May drew the line.
“I can’t tell toilet paper brands just by looking at the squares,” Miss May said. “Now will you help us or not?”
KP laughed. “I was wondering when you were gonna put your foot down! You let me get in a lot of questions.”
Miss May glared. KP threw up his hands in surrender. “OK, OK, yes. I can help you open the briefcase. But not tonight.”
Miss May stood in a huff. “What do you mean, not tonight?”
“It’s late,” KP said. “Or early, depending on how you look at it.”
“Yeah and it got even later since we spent the last hour answering your questions!” Miss May crossed her arms.
KP shrugged. “Don’t get your Dockers in a ditch, lady. I couldn’t crack this case tonight if my life depended on it. I need special tools. I’ll pick them up in the morning.”
Miss May sighed. “You can get it open tonight, KP. I know you can.”
“I cannot, May. Not unless you want me to strap fireworks to the thing and send it to the moon. But that’d bring that new police chief over here faster than you can say ‘you need a permit for those fireworks in this county, sir.’”
“OK,” Miss May said. “First thing in the morning. Promise?”
KP smirked. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
THE NEXT MORNING, KP got to work on opening the briefcase. Miss May and I hovered over him as he worked, but KP didn’t seem to find our presence all that useful. In fact, he threatened to quit and flee to Turkmenistan if we didn’t leave him alone. So we went to Grandma’s for some breakfast.
Granny was nose-deep in her newspaper when we arrived. But the door chimed as we entered the restaurant, and she looked up.
“Table for two?”
I stammered. That was one of the first and only times I’d ever heard the matriarch speak and her smooth, commanding voice surprised me.
“Table for two would be great,” Miss May said. “Thanks.”
Granny nodded and swung her legs off her stool. But before Granny’s ancient feet reached the ground, Teeny hurried out of the kitchen and bustled toward us. “What are you two doing here?”
“What do you mean?” Miss May asked. “We’re doing what we always do. We’re coming for breakfast. Oh, and we wanted to fill you in on a new case.” Miss May smirked. Teeny loved being involved in investigations, so it was always fun to share the scoop with her.
“New investigation. Yippee! Wait. Aw. Who died?” Teeny took a step closer to Miss May. “I hope it was that rude old woman who works at Ewing’s Eats. She refused to give me my extra sprinkles the other day. Tried to charge me sixty more cents!”
“So you wish death upon her?!” I exclaimed. “That seems harsh.”
“Trust me, you didn’t hear her tone,” Teeny said.
“It wasn’t the Ewing’s lady,” Miss May said. “And you should really cut back on the sprinkles. And try to be less vengeful.”
“Don’t tick me off and you’ll be fine,” Teeny said. “Anyway, who croaked? Is it a scandal? Is there intrigue? Do you need my expert insight and investigative prowess?”
“We might need you, yeah.” Miss May eyed Teeny’s jacket and purse. “But are you headed out? We wanted to talk now.”
“I’m just going over to have breakfast at Petey’s new restaurant. I promised him I’d go but I’ve been too busy. Come with me!”
“I can’t believe Petey opened his own restaurant,” I said. “It seems like just yesterday he was that high school dropout you were nagging to get his degree.”
“That did happen yesterday,” Teeny said. “And I was right. From what I’ve heard Petey’s new place isn’t attracting many customers.”
“It’s too expensive,” I said. “People in Pine Grove don’t want to break the federal bank for a night out, unless they’re going into the city for a special occasion.”
“I think our town is more than ready for a fancy restaurant,” Miss May said. “I’d love to join you for breakfast. Chelsea? What do you think? Can we get Teeny up to speed over at Petey’s place?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Do you think he has at least one variety of fried potato?”
“If he doesn’t I’ll jump back in the kitchen and make some,” Teeny said.
I laughed. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”
Just like that, off we went to Petey’s new restaurant.
Peter’s Land and Sea was all the way up a hill outside of town, nestled onto the first floor of a large Revolutionary War era home. The building was beautiful. Two stories. White with charcoal gray shutters. And it had a sprawling backyard with a gazebo that would be perfect for weddings and other occasions.
Miss May, Teeny, and I walked the mile or two up to the restaurant. For the first ten minutes, Miss May and I filled Teeny in on the details of Rosenberg’s death. Then we started our way up the hill to the restaurant, and the conversation halted so we could huff and puff to the top.
When we made it to the peak of the hill, we were sweaty, out of breath, and hungry.
As we entered, I stopped to look at the restaurant’s signage. “Peter’s Land and Sea. That’s an interesting name.”
Miss May shrugged. “Seems a bit basic for such a fancy place.”
“What do you suppose it means?” Teeny asked.
“I think it means what it says,” Miss May said. “They serve land food and seafood.”
“Land food?” Teeny said. “That’s everything other than fish.”
“Basic,” Miss May replied. “Like I said.”
“So is my restaurant technically a land food restaurant?” Teeny asked.
“Nope,” Miss May said. “You serve shrimp poppers on your appetizer menu. So that’s land and sea. Just like this place.”
Teeny beamed. “I knew it. I taught this kid everything he knows.”
The second we entered the vestibule, Petey rushed toward us with his arms spread. As he got closer I noticed a tiny mustache on his upper lip. I almost laughed out loud but disguised it with a cough at the last second. A gleeful, amused cough. Which probably fooled no one.
“Teeny! Miss May. Chelsea. Welcome to Peter’s Land and Sea. It is my privilege to have you.”
“It’s a privilege to be here, Petey,” Miss May said.
He leaned in. “What do you think of my mustache? Too much?”
“Just enough,” I said. “Very European.”
“OK, good,” Petey said. “I’m going for that ‘French Mime who discovered a love for cooking and opened a hit restaurant’ look.”
“Nailed it,” I said.
Petey turned to Miss May and Teeny. “What do you two think? French mime who can cook? Or teenage loser with a bad mustache?”
“The first one,” Teeny said. “Très cool.”
“Agreed,” Miss May said. “Too cool to be a mime. Just cool enough to be a five-star chef.”
Petey breathed a sigh of relief. “OK cool. ‘Cuz I think the dishwashers are calling the ‘stache ugly in Spanish.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said. “Why do you think that?”
“Whenever I enter the kitchen they laugh and use their fingers to make little mustaches on their lips.”
“Yup. They’re making fun of you,” Miss May said. “But who cares! Look at this place. You have your own restaurant. That’s amazing!”
Petey looked over at Teeny. “Do you think it’s amazing too?”
“That depends,” Teeny said. “Do you serve French fries?”
Petey laughed. Teeny looked at him over her sunglasses. ”I’m not joking, kid.”
“Oh,” he said. “Right. Uh. We offer steak-frites with several dinner options.”
“Steak-frites. That’s French for fried potatoes, right?” Teeny asked.
Petey nodded.
“Then whip us up a batch! This is my new favorite restaurant!”
As soon as Petey led us to a table and walked away, Teeny leaned in and whispered. “I didn’t see a mustache. Did you?”
I laughed. “It’s there. If you really look.”
“Do you have to make your eyes blurry?” Teeny asked. “Like one of those books of magical illusions?”
I shook my head. “Next time stand real close. You’ll see it.”
Teeny sighed. “I hope this place survives. Petey is such a hard worker. Remember when I used to make him scrape the gum off every table in the restaurant? He never complained once.”
Miss May looked around. “Kind of empty in here though.”
Teeny shrugged. “People lined up around the block to eat his food when I let him take over the kitchen at Grandma’s.”
“I remember,” I said. “And that food was good. Especially the fries.”
“I can’t wait for those fries.” Teeny rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait to learn more about this mystery, either.”
“We told you pretty much everything on the walk,” I said. “Oh! Except for the briefcase.”
Teeny gasped and covered her mouth. “There’s a briefcase? What’s in it? Secret files? Photos of Russian spies? Cash money millions? All hundos? Unmarked? Now we’re talking!”
I laughed. Then, over the next few minutes, we answered all of Teeny’s questions. We also ate a giant mountain of delicious fries, then ordered another. And by the time we finished with our second helping, Teeny was all caught up.
“Wow,” she said. “Dead developer. Aloof chief of police. Signs of a struggle. A shadowy figure who disappeared into the night... This is the best case yet. A classic whodunit.”
“Try not to be so gleeful,” Miss May said. “Someone died.”
“You think I’m going to cry the Hudson over Hank Rosenberg?” Teeny said. “I hated that guy. Everyone knows I hated that guy. Ah! Am I a suspect?”
“Considering that no one is investigating except for us, I think you’re safe,” Miss May said. “Although I should ask... Did you kill Rosenberg?”
“How dare you, May,” Teeny said, aghast.
“I mean, you did want the waitress from Ewing’s to die a horrible death because she deprived you of sprinkles,” I said.
“I did not kill Hank!” Teeny said. “Although I am small enough to have gotten out that window. But do I know enough about poison to kill the guy without using a weapon? I do have access to lethal kitchen chemicals. Oh no! Now I’m questioning myself.”
“Yeah,” Miss May said. “Save those questions for our actual suspects. And try to keep it down. Petey is coming over.”
We all turned in unison as Petey approached, carrying three dishes capped with silver covers.
“Ladies. Your breakfast is served.”
“Oh,” I said. “I think this might be the wrong table. We only ordered the fries. Twice.”
“Don’t be silly,” Petey said. “I want to serve you the full breakfast.”
“Still,” I said. “We haven’t ordered.”
“The customers at my restaurant don’t order for themselves. I make one dish every day and serve that to everyone. That’s how they eat in Japan.”
Teeny, Miss May, and I exchanged glances. Then, Petey served each of us with a flourish. When he uncapped my dish, it surprised me to see what appeared to be a luxurious egg and cheese sandwich on a plain bagel.
“This looks delicious,” I said. “Did you say this food is Japanese?”
Petey hung his head. He rubbed his temples. “OK. Fine. Fine! I’m a fraud. You caught me!”
Petey sat down at our table and buried his head in his hands. His voice wavered as he spoke. “I’m working hard at this place. I am. But this business is impossible. Customers are so rude. Not you guys. Other people. And cooking every day is hard! Plus, my place got broken into last night. Someone stole all my farm-to-table produce. Two boxes of tomatoes. A hundred dollars' worth of bok choy. They even took my sweet potatoes! And those farm to table vegetables are so expensive. I don’t get it. It’s just from a farm! Isn’t all food technically from a farm? When did farms get so fancy?”
Miss May and I looked at me and Teeny, then back to Petey. “It’s OK, Petey,” Miss May said. “You’re going to be fine.”
“And I really love your mustache!” Teeny added.
“I am not going to be fine,” Petey said. “I’m a failure. And my mustache is ridiculous! I just shaved it in the bathroom!”
Teeny placed a comforting hand on Petey’s back and sneakily squinted at his upper lip. She looked at me and mouthed, “I can’t tell the difference!” Then she turned back to Petey. “Hey. It’s OK. This place will be a huge success. I know it. It just takes time.”
Petey looked up. “You think?”
Teeny nodded. “Of course! You just caught some bad luck. Did you call the police about your stolen ingredients?”
Petey jutted his lower lip out. “Chief Flanagan said they don’t have time to investigate stolen lettuce.”
“Doesn’t sound like they investigate anything,” I said.
“What does that mean?” Petey asked.
“Um. Well...” Shoot. Why did I so often talk when I had nothing to say?
Thankfully, the restaurant phone rang and bailed my loose lips out of a tight bind.
Petey stood up. “I should get that. I hope it’s a giant order. But it’s probably just one of my friends. They prank call me every hour on the hour. It’s a lot of fun. For them.”
Petey trudged away and Miss May, Teeny, and I exchanged glances.
Petey’s distress worried me. And I was even more worried about Pine Grove. Murders? Break-ins? Whatever happened to peaceful small-town living?
I was on the verge of a panic attack. But then I took a bite of Petey’s egg and cheese bagel and it transported me to a beautiful, serene place.
It was the best sandwich I had ever tasted. The cheese was melty, the eggs were rich and fluffy. And the bagel, in true New York style, was chewy yet soft. I let out a loud, involuntary moan and took another bite.
If only we can catch Rosenberg’s killer, I thought, this egg sandwich would make the happiest woman in the history of human kind.
But that was a
big if. And it scared me.
So I took another bite.
10
Water Fountain Chatter
MISS MAY SWALLOWED her last bite of sandwich, then let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. "OK. Now that those sandwiches are out of the way and safely in my stomach, we can discuss Rosenberg's death."
Teeny perked up. “Wait! I have a question.”
Miss May glared.
“It’s important!” Teeny said.
“OK, T. What’s up?” Miss May asked.
“You two are definitely taking the case, right?”
Miss May nodded. “At this point, we’re sleuths. It’s in our bones.”
“OK. Because I can talk you into it, if you need me to.”
Miss May shrugged. “You don’t have to talk us into it.”
“Are you sure? Because I will, if you need that,” Teeny’s eyes lit up. “I can be motivational. Remember last time?”
“Last time KP was in jail. That’s why we got involved,” Miss May said.
“Not true,” Teeny said. “You weren’t going to take the case. But I convinced you. I motivated you with my personal brand of fiery enthusiasm. I instilled in you the confidence that you carry with you to this day.”
Miss May shrugged. “If you say so.”
Teeny jutted her lower lip out. “Why can’t you just say I’m an integral part of the team?”
I laughed. “Miss May’s messing with you, Teeny. I don’t know what we would do without your personal brand of fiery enthusiasm.”
“Really?” Teeny asked.
I nodded.
Teeny smiled. “In that case, let’s talk suspects. I’m thinking it was that crazy guy, Wallace the Traveler. He scares the deer corn out of me. And I’ve heard him threaten to kill several people.”
“Yeah, I heard him threaten a puppy once,” I said. “Apparently it looked at him ‘all cute-like’ and Wallace didn’t appreciate that. But I don’t know if we can suspect a guy just because he’s got a few screws jumbled up in his head. I mean... Did you ever hear Wallace say anything bad about Rosenberg? Did he and Rosenberg argue in public? Anything like that?”
Berried Alive Page 6
