Cooking the Books

by Chelsea Thomas

  Miss May stood. “That’s exactly what I think. Which would also explain this...”

  Miss May handed me a post-it note. A few dozen random characters were scrawled on top. Some capital letters. Some lower case. Plus numbers and symbols and punctuation. It looked like the most complicated password ever created. Below that was a dollar amount. $1,345,534.00. The same amount listed on the falsified bank statement.

  I dropped the post-it, and it fluttered to the floor. “He moved the money.”

  Miss May tapped her nose three times. “And where’d he move it?”

  I scratched my ear. “I have no idea. I don’t know how to move money! I only know how to accidentally lose it.”

  Teeny peeled the post-it up off the floor. “This could be the combination to a hi-tech safe.”

  “Ooooh, a safe,” I said. “That’s smart.”

  Miss May shook her head. I could tell she was having fun teasing out this mystery even though it involved her missing money.

  “Then just tell us,” I said. “What's with the note!”

  “No, no! We can figure it out.” Teeny paced back and forth and muttered to herself. I picked up a few more pieces of paper to hunt for a new clue, but there was nothing left except junk mail and coupons.

  There was a twenty-percent-off coupon for a bed and bath store. There was a ten-percent-off coupon for a three topping pizza if you bought a drink. There was a big, full-page ad for a sale on Swiss cheese at the local grocery story.

  I threw the papers down in frustration. I wasn’t in the mood to play games, and I didn’t know why Miss May was toying with us. I looked down at the coupons and stuck out my lower lip.

  “Will you just tell us?! There’s nothing here but expired discounts for Swiss cheese!” Stupid Switzerland, with their cheese and their neutrality, and their fancy secret banks. Fancy banks, that was it! I jumped up and down in excitement. “I got it! The money's in a Swiss bank! It's the number to a secret account!”

  Miss May smiled. “Ding ding ding! The account may not be Swiss, but it's definitely overseas.”

  Teeny smacked my arm. “I was about to say that!”

  Miss May scooped up every piece of paper on the floor and folded the whole pile up.

  “Most of that is junk.” I handed Miss may the ad for Swiss cheese. “See?”

  “Still.” Miss May shoved the papers in her pocket and zipped up her coat. “You never know what might be a clue.”

  Miss May zipped her coat and pulled on her hat.

  I looked around the seedy studio and contemplated what our next move might be. “All right. So now we know Charles had the money, right?”

  “Heck yeah, we do!” Teeny gave me a fist-bump and I giggled. “And it's out there, in a secret account!”

  “That's what we think,” Miss May said. “And this is good. It’s a good step.” Miss May exhaled. “But we still have to figure out who killed Charles, who killed the bookie, and how we’re going to find that money and get it back.”

  Miss May strode out of the apartment, and I felt like her exit was the punctuation mark of her previous sentence. But I wasn’t sure if her departure was an exclamation point, or a comma, or a period, or what. Maybe it was an ellipsis...

  Miss May turned back and called out, “I’m taking the stairs back down!”

  Teeny hurried towards the door. “Me too! Come on, Chels.”

  “Coming. Just give me a second.” Teeny was already out in the hall. I was left alone in the apartment.

  Looking around at the junk mail and the crappy couch, it reminded me of my old place in Jersey City. I had hated that apartment, and I had felt like a prisoner between those four dingy walls. Sometimes, I thought, we trap ourselves in lives we don’t want. I felt lucky. I wasn’t trapped anymore. Then my heart swelled with surprising sympathy for the late Charles Fitz, CPA. He might have been a thief and a cheat, but he must have been trapped too. And he’d taken the hard way out.

  I turned out the lights and exited. Whatever was coming next, I felt ready. But I had no idea how ready I would need to be.

  17

  Pot Roast and Planning

  THE NEXT NIGHT, MISS May made a big dinner and invited Gigley over to give him an update on the case. Miss May told Gigley every detail as we ate a nice pot roast with potatoes and gravy. And although Miss May tried to be succinct, Gigley interrupted every thirty seconds with a clarifying question.

  “What kind of computer did this Vlad use?”

  “Where was this secret apartment?”

  “Are you sure you saw a squirrel, or could it have been a chipmunk?”

  Over an hour later, Miss May got to the part about the post-it note with the number for the overseas bank account. She pulled the note out of the stack of papers she’d taken from Charles’ apartment and handed it to Gigley.

  “Can you make anything of this?” she asked. “I never had to deal with any anonymous banks in my practice, but I figured you may have.”

  “I have.” Gigley took a sip of wine. “Once. With a client.”

  “Who was it?” I scooted to the edge of my seat.

  “They prefer anonymity.” Gigley put on his reading glasses and held the post-it up to his face. “Hence the secret account.”

  “That makes sense. Dumb question.” Didn’t have to make me feel even dumber though.

  Gigley looked over the note for a few seconds. “Yep. This is an overseas bank account number. At least I think it is.” He lowered the note and took off his glasses. “Problem is, that’s all I know.”

  Miss May cracked a knuckle. “That’s what I feared.”

  Gigley ran his thumb over the note on the table. “Did you bring any of this to the cops? Or that new detective? What’s his name?”

  “Wayne,” I said, a little too much enthusiasm. “Er, Detective Wayne Hudson.”

  Miss May side-eyed me, then turned back to Gigley. “I haven’t looped in the police. No.”

  “Good. Don’t.”

  I looked at Gigley in surprise. He was by far the most law-abiding citizen of Pine Grove, so his desire to keep something from the police was way out of character. “Why not?”

  “This kind of money, you never know who you can trust.” Gigley ripped into a piece of roast and swallowed it in one bite. “Especially when it comes to the authorities.”

  “You’re right about that.” Miss May buttered a small hunk of bread.

  “Besides, you two are better cops than those cops will ever be,” Gigley said, gesturing at me and Miss May.

  Miss May waved Gigley away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “That’s not saying much around here.”

  “Wayne seems like a decent cop to me,” I said.

  “Decent being the operative word.” Gigley took another big bite of roast. “When it comes to my money and my town? I want way better than decent.”

  “Amen to that.” Miss May put her fork down. “How did I ever trust Charles Fitz? Remember what a terror he was as a teenager?”

  Gigley nodded. “Egged my house every year at Halloween. Ten years straight. With hundreds of eggs!”

  Miss May pushed her plate away, annoyed. She looked down. I could sense her energy shifting, and my energy was a notorious copycat.

  “Miss May, are you OK?” I prodded.

  “I’m fine.” She angled herself away from me and Gigley. “I’m embarrassed, that’s all.” Miss May dabbed the corners of her eyes with a napkin. I sat forward to get a closer look. Is that... Could Miss May... Was she crying?

  I wanted to help, but I didn’t know what to do. Miss May was rarely vulnerable, even around me. But here she was, busting a leak in front of Gigley? How much money did she stand to lose?

  I looked over at Gigley for help. He shrugged. Gigley was a very smart man, but his emotional IQ rested somewhere in the low teens.

  Miss May sniffled. “That money was everything I had for retirement. Every penny.”

  Gigley lowered his fork. “It’s not your fault, May.
He got me too.”

  “He got me worse!” Miss May raised her voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t mean to snap.”

  “I get it.” Gigley said. “You know I do.”

  Miss May nodded. Dabbed her eyes again. “I wanted to leave that money to Chelsea one day. You know?”

  I swiveled to my aunt, touched and upset at the idea that Miss May would ever leave me anything. “Miss May. I don’t need your money.”

  “Well, I wanted you to have it!” Miss May banged her glass down on the table.

  “May. Calm down.” Gigley reached across the table and rested his hand on her arm. “We're going to get that money back. No doubt about it. I’ve got the best investigators in all of Pine Grove on the case.”

  Miss May picked at the tablecloth. “Best investigators, my left boot. I thought we were on the cusp of a breakthrough. But what do we have? An anonymous bank account. A coupon for Swiss cheese. And an extra dead guy we've never even met.”

  “It sounds to me like you’ve got a whole big pile of clues, May. And all you have to do is follow them.” Gigley voice was soft and calm. “If I could, I’d join you.”

  “Why can’t you?” I asked. “Because you sent all those threatening emails?”

  “Thank you for reminding me, Chelsea. That’s partially it. I also have a law firm to run.” Gigley patted Miss May’s shoulder. “You just need to do what you always do. Assess the situation, pick a course of action, and pursue it.”

  Miss May sniffled one last time. “Thank you, Tom.” She turned to Gigley with a small smile. “You’re right. And I think I know exactly what we need to do next.”

  “You do?” I didn’t mean to sound incredulous, but I had no idea what we needed to do next.

  Miss May nodded, then looked up. ”And I’ll tell you. Just as soon as soon as you clear the table and help me serve dessert.”

  “Oh come on!” I pushed my chair back. No point arguing with Miss May.

  Gigley laughed and rested his hands on his stomach. “Good to have you back, May.” I started to clear the table, and Gigley chuckled again. “Good to have you back.”

  18

  Tiny Horse Therapy

  I WAS STILL FULL FROM pot roast when Miss May and I arrived at Grandma’s the next morning. But when we entered the restaurant, and I caught a whiff of Teeny’s fresh-baked hashbrown lasagna (#HBL on social media), my hunger awoke like a dragon from a long slumber.

  From the looks of it, I wasn’t the only one with a hunger dragon.

  Out-of-towners packed the restaurant, lining the vestibule as they waited for tables. The patrons buzzed in happy conversation and snapped photos of their #HBL. Granny perched on her usual stool, oblivious to the increase in business. The place felt so warmly and cozy, I felt guilty for showing up with news about a murder investigation.

  Miss May flagged Teeny down as Teeny bustled toward the kitchen with a stack of dishes.

  “What happened here!?” Miss May gestured to the crowd. “You get a write up in the New York Times?”

  “Better.” Teeny pointed at something under a table. A kid was on his back, pulling gum off the back of an out-of-commission table. “Petey put some type of video on his Internet, and it turned into a virus.”

  “It went ‘viral.’” Petey pulled a long strand of blue gum off the table and flicked it into a bucket.

  “Viral. That’s right. You are so smart, Petey. Might be good to finish high school and get a real job that will make your parents proud.”

  Petey grimaced and scraped at a new piece of gum. “But scraping gum is so rewarding.”

  Teeny dropped her stack of dirty dishes at the kitchen pass-through and turned to Miss May. “So! What’s up?”

  “You know what’s up,” Miss May leaned forward and whispered. “I’ve got an update.”

  “Nice!” Teeny smiled and waited for Miss May to spill. “Let's hear it.”

  Miss May looked at the crowded restaurant. “I was hoping we could talk about it somewhere more private.”

  “Works for me!” Teeny took me and Miss May by the hands and led us out the front entrance, onto the sidewalk. As soon as we got outside, she turned to us with an excited smile. “All right. Let’s hear it!”

  I looked back at the line of people inside. “You don’t need to be in there?”

  “Nah. Granny’s got it under control.”

  I peeked inside. Granny was still sitting motionless behind the counter. I guess that counts as 'under control'?

  Teeny clapped her hands together. “Come on, then. Out with it already!”

  “Well.” Miss May tightened her scarf around her neck. “I think we should change our focus. Try to figure out who killed the bookie.”

  “Smart. I bet whoever was after Vlad knew how to get at that cash.” Teeny applied lip balm — vital in the Pine Grove cold — but didn’t take her eyes off of Miss May. “Hold up, though. Does that mean you’re not going to figure out who killed Charles anymore? Gigley hired you to find out who killed Charles. You need to stick with your original assignment, if you want to build the Thomas Girls Sleuthing Agency brand.”

  Miss May snatched the lip balm from Teeny and used it herself. “We’re not building a brand, Teeny. And even if we were, my theory is that the same person killed both victims. If we find Vlad's killer, I suspect it will lead us to whoever killed Charles.”

  Teeny gasped and clutched her necklace. “Get out of here! Chelsea, are you hearing this theory!?”

  “I heard it last night,” I said. “It makes sense.”

  Teeny rubbed her hands together to warm them up. “So we’ve got a classic ‘two birds, one murderer’ situation here.”

  “It could be.” Miss May pulled her gloves off and handed them to Teeny. “Here. My hands are fine.”

  “May! You are too sweet.” Teeny took the gloves and slipped them on. “So what’s next?”

  “Right,” Miss May said. “We figured you might want to tag along for the next part of the investigation.”

  Teeny erupted with glee. “OK!”

  “Like I said,” Miss May continued, “if we get more information on the bookie, Vlad, we think it might lead us to the killer.”

  “So?” Teeny asked.

  “So we want go back to Peach and look at her records. But I figured you’d want to tag along.”

  “Uh, yeah! Can you wait until it slows down a little here?”

  Teeny held the door open as a group of fifteen people entered Grandma's. “My swamp just got a little swampier.”

  Miss May shook her head. “I don’t know. We need to get moving on this investigation.”

  Teeny stamped her foot. “May! Peach is my sister. You can’t go without me. Plus you need me! You catch Peach in the wrong mood, that girl can be tough.”

  Miss May crossed her arms. “I’ve known her since before I knew you.”

  Teeny stood tall. “So you know I’m right!”

  Miss May and Teeny looked at one another for a long moment. Then Miss May broke. “Fine. We’ll wait. But at least let us help you handle this rush.”

  Teeny waved us off. “I’ve got it under control. I need ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

  “Are you sure? I’m a great helper,” I said. “I’ve been Miss May’s sous-chef for years!”

  “Don’t know what a sous-chef is, but I don’t need any more cooks in that kitchen! I’m breaking health codes left and right as it is.”

  A passing customer gave Teeny a funny look as he entered the restaurant. Teeny held the door for him. “Just kidding! Health department loves me!”

  She looked at us and shook her head like, “the health department does not love me.”

  “Fifteen minutes?” Miss May confirmed.

  Teeny darted inside, calling over her shoulder, “Tops!”

  AS IT TURNED OUT, TEENY’S rush lasted until almost five o’clock that evening. Miss May and I waited the first hour at Grandma’s. Then Miss May got antsy, so we went back to the orchard to p
ass the time until Teeny was free.

  Once we got back to the orchard, the first thing Miss May did was meet with KP to plan out next year’s crops. Even though it was the dead of winter, Miss May was diligent about prepping for apple-picking season. Last fall the Red Delicious hadn’t grown as Miss May had hoped, so she and KP talked about adjusting the soil pH to improve the crops.

  I won't say listening to Miss May and KP talk about fertilizing dirt for over an hour bored me, but it wasn’t the most interesting conversation I had ever heard. Especially not compared to our investigation, which had gotten me hooked on clues and gossip like they were hard drugs. So I went out to the barn to review the details with our resident tiny horse, See-Saw.

  Some people talked to See-Saw in a baby voice, because she was so little and, OK, cute. But I preferred to speak to her in a grown-up voice, like we were chatting over a cup of coffee, or whatever horses drink to perk up. Horse coffee? Whatever. See-Saw was a grown woman, so that's how I treated her.

  I fed See-Saw some hay when I entered. Then I got down to brass tacks.

  “Can you believe we've got another murder on our hands?” I asked. “But this time, there’s two bodies. Plus, all that missing money. Miss May got so upset last night. I’ve never seen her like that.”

  See-Saw stomped her back leg. I decided it was a supportive gesture.

  “Yeah. I guess maybe I’m a little stressed. I try to push that stuff down, but I’m worried. I don’t want half of Pine Grove to lose their life savings. And I don’t know if I'm helping much.”

  My throat got all lumpy and tight. I hadn’t realized it, but everything I was saying to See-Saw was true. I was full-on stressed. My voice wobbled like an old record as I continued.

  “When we solved the first murder, I thought I took good strides, you know? I was bold and brave, and I even drove a car. Took the literal and figurative wheel.”

  See-Saw snorted. I fed her more straw.

  “I feel stronger now. For sure. But it’s still a journey. Like with Jennifer Paul! At the festival. Why did I pay for her donuts? And then agree to have her cut my hair? And why did I let Teeny guilt me into competing in that sled race? Why do I care so much about pleasing other people?”