Miss May and I waited for Germany to exit, then we hovered as Master Skinner continued to straighten the mats for his next class.
He addressed us without looking up from the mats. “Is there something I can help the two of you with?”
Miss May nodded. “There is something you can help us with. Yes.”
Master Skinner stood and gave us a small bow. “Please. Speak quickly. For you, I am a setting sun.”
“What does that mean?” Miss May said.
“In moments I will be dark. For I will have a new mountain of minds to mold.”
Miss May nodded. “Oh. I get it. Cool.”
Master Skinner narrowed his eyes. “Cool? Is that a word in your vocabulary now?”
Miss May shrugged. “I don’t know. You said the setting sun thing. So I blathered. We’re here to talk about Rosenberg.”
Master Skinner turned away. He pressed his palms together in a prayer pose. “What about him?”
“Well... We’re trying to gather information about his death. He was your landlord. Did you know him well?”
“I paid the rent online. I doubt we met more than a handful of times.”
I looked over at Miss May. Master Skinner was lying. Why?
“And how did you feel about the demolition of the Rosenberg building? You’ve had your dojo here for decades. It’s hallowed ground.”
“Rosenberg’s plans for demolition did not bother me. I intended to retire to Orlando later this year.”
Wait, what?!
“That makes little sense,” Miss May said. “These mats you’re arranging are brand-new. I also noticed three new air-conditioning units outside the dojo. And are those new hardwood floors beneath the mats?”
I looked around. The dojo had seemed so similar to me. But Miss May was right on all counts. Master Skinner had poured a lot of money into the place and it looked like he had done so in the past few months.
“OK. My plans to retire emerged after I learned of the demolition. I loved teaching in this building. I can’t imagine doing so anywhere else. Other than Orlando.”
“Why Orlando?” I asked.
Master Skinner looked confused, like, “Why not Orlando?”
I continued. “I’m just saying... Central Florida is hot all the time. And you’re not even near the beaches. I’m sorry. But like, do you love Disney? Do you enjoy unrelenting humidity? I should stop talking. I’m going to stop talking.”
“Look, Master Skinner,” Miss May said. “I’m just going to come out with this. Because I respect you. Did you kill this guy?”
Master Skinner blanched. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
“We know about the Foot-Fist Fight-a-thon for charity. You said you had only met Rosenberg once or twice but the two of you have a deep history. He defeated you in battle. Why did you lie?”
“Because I don’t like talking about that time in my life,” Master Skinner said. “I could have been a karate champion. But Hank Rosenberg’s victory derailed my plans and damaged my vulnerable young ego. I gave up the competition circuit and worked at Pizza Plus to earn enough to open my dojo. It is a fine life, but not the life I might have had, in another dimension.”
“I love Pizza Plus,” I clapped my hands over my mouth. “Sorry. That was an insensitive response to the very profound thing you said.”
“It’s fine,” Master Skinner said. “Their crust was delicious, but I always thought the sauce was too bitter.”
“So you had the motive,” Miss May prodded. “The man banished you to a life of mediocre pizza-making.”
Master Skinner nodded. “I’ll admit. I’ve fantasized about hurting Rosenberg. I have the skills. But that’s not what karate is about. I teach my students to achieve prosperity through peace. And that’s how I live my life. At least this life, in this dimension.”
Miss May turned and looked at the slogans on the wall. “You weren’t at the town hall meeting the night Rosenberg died. Where were you?”
“You need an alibi?” Master Skinner asked.
“She’s just being thorough,” I said. “As you would be.”
“Fine. I was on a date.” Master Skinner looked away, embarrassed.
“OK,” Miss May said. “Thank you. Can you tell us who you were with?”
Master Skinner shook his head. “Technically I was supervising a date.”
Miss May and I exchanged a confused look.
Master Skinner threw up his hands, exasperated. “I brought my cat to go meet Deb’s cat, OK? Sandra Day O’Connor is looking for a mate and I thought she might get along with my kitty Bruce Lee.”
“But Deb made her announcement about Sandra at the town hall meeting,” I said. “How did you...”
“I have also been actively looking for a life partner for Bruce, alright?” Skinner said, sounding more defensive than he had when we’d accused him of murder. “Deb said I could make the introduction while she was at the meeting. Apparently, Deb likes to give her cat ‘purring room’ when Sandra meets new people.”
Miss May stifled a laugh. “I take it things didn’t go well?”
“Apparently Bruce Lee is not a good enough listener for Sandra Day O’Connor. That’s ridiculous! She yowled for a full hour and he sat there the whole time, licking his paw.”
“Love is a difficult thing,” Miss May said. “Thank you for talking to us.”
“Please,” Master Skinner said. “Tell no one. Bruce Lee has a delicate ego.” Like his owner, I guess.
Miss May locked her lips with an imaginary key. She handed me the key, and I did the same. Then I ate the key. Then I realized, eating the key with my locked lips created a problematic paradox. I sighed. Life can be so complicated.
“Thank you for your discretion,” Master Skinner said. “And Chelsea. Remember. Lean in. In karate and in life.”
15
Lunches and Hunches
TEENY SWALLOWED AN enormous bite of cinnamon bun and chased it with a glug of coffee. “That’s ridiculous. Bruce Lee would never be a good match for Sandra Day O’Connor!”
Miss May laughed. “I don’t know either feline well enough to say.”
“I do,” Teeny said. “Sandra Day O’Connor is a special cat. Beautiful, of course. But particular. And Bruce Lee? That tomcat is so full of himself, he thinks his kitty litter don’t stink. Like I said. Not a good match.”
I laughed. “I like that you have such strong opinions about these things.”
“They’re not opinions,” Teeny said. “They’re facts.”
“OK. We’ve discussed the cats enough.” Miss May sipped her coffee. “I thought you’d be more interested in the case, to be honest.”
“You know I’m interested in the case,” Teeny said. “Master Skinner is innocent. So where do we go from here?”
I took a big bite of cinnamon bun. The frosting smushed on my nose and I tried to reach up with my tongue and lick it off. That’s what a classy lady would do, right? Still chewing, I said, “We never got an alibi from Rosenberg’s wife.”
“That’s true,” Miss May said. “She redirected us to the trophy case and kept the attention off herself. We got so distracted we never got around to her alibi.”
“She was cagey,” I said. “And that castle-mansion gave me the heebie-jeebies.”
Teeny leaned in. “How are you spelling heebie-jeebies?”
“Uh, I don’t know, I guess, H-E-E-B-I-E dash J-E-E-B-I-E-S?”
“Huh. No Y. Interesting.” Teeny took a bite of cinnamon bun. “I would have used a Y.”
Miss May rolled her eyes. “As fascinating as this conversation is, Chelsea’s right. Rosenberg’s home had an unsettling air.”
“Like... Susan and Hank had separate rooms for everything,” I explained to Teeny. “There was a reading room for her. Billiards room for him.”
Teeny waved me off. “So what? Ample alone time is the secret to a strong marriage.”
Miss May poured herself more coffee. “Teeny’s right.”
“You’re both single!” I said.
“I was married. A few times,” Teeny said. “It never worked out.”
“Not enough alone time?” I asked.
“Well, I always did get along better with my husbands after the divorce.”
Miss May nodded in affirmation. “She did.”
How romantic...
“Besides, Susan doesn’t fit the scene of the crime,” Miss May said. “Remember... the killer was on foot. He or she escaped out the back. And the assailant scuffled with Hank before killing him.”
“So what?” I asked. “Susan is thin enough to have slipped out that back window. And if it were her, she would not have needed to force entry into the trailer. That fits the profile for the killer, too. And she seemed like she might have crazy adrenaline strength.”
Miss May shook her head. “Point is, Susan had thousands of opportunities to kill Hank. And she is such a meticulous person. Why would she have murdered her husband in such a sloppy way?”
“Plus, neither of you have any idea what Susan’s motive might be. Other than that she was Rosenberg’s wife.” Teeny took another bite of cinnamon bun.
“That’s true,” I said. “But then who do we question next?”
Teeny smiled her devious smile and rubbed her hands together. “I’ve got a theory.”
“Please don’t tell us about some episode from the North Port Diaries,” Miss May said.
“Hear me out, would you?” Teeny laid her hands flat on the table. “Yes. This theory is from North Port Diaries. But I think it’s a good one... What if the mayor was being bribed by Rosenberg? Rosenberg might have been controlling Delgado with money. Forcing her to support a project she would otherwise hate. What if, after months of abuse, the mayor got sick of being under Rosenberg’s dirty little thumb, so she killed him for her freedom?”
Teeny sat back and turned her hands up like she had just performed a magic trick. “Now that’s what I call a theory. With sprinkles on top. What do you girls think?”
Miss May looked at me. I shrugged. I had heard crazier ideas. From Teeny. In the past week.
Miss May looked back at Teeny. “Honestly?”
Teeny leaned in, excited.
“It’s the best theory we’ve got,” Miss May said. “So let’s go talk to the mayor.”
PINE GROVE’S TOWN HALL was a two-story brick building set two blocks off Main Street. There was a small lawn, a parking lot in back, and a sign posted out front that said: “Pine Grove Town Hall.”
On that day, Wallace the Traveler paced in front of the sign, screaming at the top of his lungs. “We want a pitcher not a belly itcher!”
Miss May slowed her step as we approached from the parking lot. “Poor guy. Should we give him a few bucks?”
Wallace punched the air and screamed, “Come on, ump! What kind of call is that? Go suck a sewer!”
“It sounds like he’s at a baseball game,” I said. “And his team is not winning.”
”Good point,” Miss May said, “we’ll catch him next time.”
We hurried up the steps to Town Hall as Wallace continued to yell. But once we slipped inside, the sound disappeared, and the quiet of the building absorbed us.
Upon entering, a simple sign greeted us, “Press Conference Upstairs.”
Miss May shrugged and followed the sign up to a meeting hall on the second floor. There we found Mayor Linda Delgado speaking at a podium.
There were several rows of chairs set up in front of the podium, but Liz was the only person in the audience. And she took diligent notes in her pad as the mayor spoke.
Miss May and I slipped inside and stood along the back wall to watch.
The mayor said a few kind words about Hank Rosenberg and mentioned that her thoughts were with his family. Beyond that, her speech indicated that everything in Pine Grove was business as usual.
The mayor emphasized that the Massive Mart would still be built in Pine Grove, despite Rosenberg’s death, and confirmed that the demolition of the Rosenberg Building would begin on Monday. She claimed that Pine Grove needed an influx of business and argued that the townspeople should be grateful any business would build in town after so many murders. After fifteen solid minutes, she opened the floor to questions.
Both Liz and Miss May shot their hands up.
The mayor smiled down from her podium. “Liz, Miss May, nice to see you both. I’m sorry, May. I’m only taking questions from those with press badges this afternoon.”
Miss May groaned. “That means you’re only taking questions from Liz. Pine Grove only has one newspaper. We have no television stations. We only have one member of the press.”
The mayor offered a tight smile. “I don’t make the rules. But I do enforce them.”
You also make them, I thought.
Liz stretched her hand into the air like an eager elementary school student.
The mayor pointed at Liz. “Liz. Question?”
Liz stood and spoke. “Yes. It seems everyone but you hates the idea of a Massive Mart in Pine Grove. How do you think your support of this initiative will affect your next campaign?”
“The people of this fine town elected me to represent their needs, not their wants. It’s difficult for me to turn away from my constituents when they oppose what I think is right. But as their representative, it is my duty to do so.”
Miss May scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“No comments unless you’re a member of the press,” Mayor Delgado said. “Thank you so much. Anything else, Liz?”
Liz asked the mayor for a detailed financial breakdown of the economic benefits that the Massive Mart would have on Pine Grove. The mayor launched into a long-winded answer and Miss May and I slid into the seat next to Liz.
Miss May nudged Liz’s elbow. “Psst. Liz.”
Liz didn’t take her eyes off the mayor. ”What’s up, Miss May?”
“Will you ask some of my questions? I’ll give you free pie for life.”
Liz shook her head. “I’m a proud member of the press. You can’t bribe me with pie. That said, I’m willing to ask your questions if they’re good.”
Miss May leaned in and whispered her questions. Liz jotted the questions down, nodding or making the occasional comment as she listened.
The next time the floor was open for questions Liz shot her hand back up.
“Expansion. Growth. Big business. These have never been the fundamental tenets of your role as mayor of this town. You’ve always been a small-town mayor. You supported the festivals and the farmers market. You supported the people. Yes, you were in favor of installing traffic lights, but that is a far cry from supporting a monstrosity such as the Massive Mart. Can you explain this change of heart?”
The mayor sighed. “Do we have to do this, Liz? It’s early. I haven’t even finished my coffee from breakfast.”
“Please answer the question,” Liz said. “Unless you’d rather I report you’re an enemy of the press.”
Miss May laughed. She loved Liz’s tenacity and so did I.
“Okay,” the mayor said. “Can you repeat the question?”
“How about I ask a different question, mayor? And I’ll be blunt so you can understand. Are you being blackmailed or bribed by Hank Rosenberg’s parent company to support the Massive Mart in Pine Grove? That’s the only way I can explain your behavior.”
Delgado blinked, stunned. “How dare you insult me like that at my press conference! One more inappropriate question and I will revoke your press badge.”
“You can’t do that!” Liz stood on her chair and thrust her fist into the air. “Freedom of the Press! Freedom of the Press!”
The mayor turned beet red. “Elizabeth! Get off your chair. I’ll call your mother right now!”
“Go ahead,” Liz said. “Call my mom! She hates this Massive Mart just as much as everybody else. If you get her on the phone, tell her I said hi!”
The mayor gathered her papers and walked off the stage. “This press conferen
ce is over!”
The mayor slammed the door as she exited. My jaw dropped as I listened to her heels clack down the hall.
Then Liz climbed off her chair with a smile. “I think that went well, don’t you?”
16
Bakin’ Break-in
WHEN MISS MAY AND I emerged from Town Hall, perfect summer weather greeted us like a puppy after a long day at work. It was 80 degrees. The air was warm and moist. And a light breeze kept things cool. It was, by all accounts, a beautiful summer day. Not counting the murder, of course.
“That was some press conference,” Miss May said.
I chuckled. “Sure was. A lot we need to discuss.”
Miss May side-eyed me. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s a warm summer day. Maybe a cold, creamy treat might get our brain juices flowing.”
Miss May broke into a wide smile. “Cohen’s Cones or the Big Pig?”
“Only the two most legendary ice cream shops in the tri-state area,” I said. “How lucky is it that they both happen to be in Pine Grove?”
“Lucky. So? What do you think?”
I looked up into the sky and thought about it. “Well... Those big puffy clouds put me in the mood for a giant scoops from the Big Pig. But I’m craving soft-serve.”
Miss May headed down Main Street on foot. “Let’s walk. By the time we get there, we’ll have burned enough calories to get two scoops instead of one.”
I laughed. That wasn’t true, but I leaned in. “Or three scoops instead of two.”
Miss May laughed. “That’s my girl.”
Cohen’s Cones was housed in a little white shack about a five-minute walk from the center of town. The spot was popular because it was right off the Pine Grove bike trail. And because the proprietor, Sam Cohen, served the creamiest, softest ice cream in the world.
Sam smiled big as we approached. He was in his sixties, with curly salt and pepper hair. And he had a space between his front teeth just wide enough to fit a Tic-Tac. ”The Thomas sisters! I don’t officially consider it summer until I see your smiling faces. You’re a little late this year, but I’m thrilled to announce the start of the season!”
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