Cooking the Books

by Chelsea Thomas

  “We know about you and the dead guy, Linda.” The words were out of my mouth before I even knew I was thinking them. Miss May looked at me with impressed shock.

  Mayor Delgado winced. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. Oh, she knew exactly what we meant.

  Miss May handed over the photos that Liz had given us. “Do these look familiar?”

  The mayor shook her head. “This again?”

  “What do you mean ‘this’?” Miss May said.

  “And what do you mean ‘again’?” I chimed in.

  The mayor looked from me to Miss May and back again.

  “Come on in,” Delgado said. “We better talk about this inside.”

  25

  The Date-Gate Scandal

  I GRIMACED AS SOON as I stepped into the mayor’s office. Her walls were covered in diplomas, and I hate-hate-hated diplomas.

  As an interior designer in New York City, I had fought a constant losing battle with clients over their diplomas. Always eager to show off their accomplishments, my clients had often dedicated entire walls in their homes to their educational achievements. “I get it,” I’d say. “School is hard. But diplomas are ugly.” Sometimes clients would let me take down one or two of their lesser accomplishments. But I had never convinced a single person to hide all of their degrees in a deep, dark drawer where those hideous things belonged.

  Mayor Delgado was the worst diploma offender I had ever seen. By about ten diplomas! How had she had enough time to attend this much school? I tried not to say anything, but my inner design-snob triumphed over my politeness.

  “You have a lot of diplomas,” I said.

  Mayor Delgado took a seat behind her desk. “Thank you. BA, BS, JD, MFA, MBA, PhD. I worked hard for them.” Ugh. That’s what they all say.

  “Very impressive,” Miss May said. “So. What’s up with the photos of you and Vlad?”

  Delgado gestured to a pair of leather chairs across from her desk. “Take a seat.”

  Miss May and I sat. The mayor smoothed her blazer and cleared her throat. “Can I get you water? Coffee?”

  “Answers would be nice.” Miss May crossed her legs and waited. Whenever my aunt got confrontational, I got nervous. Sweat sprang to my forehead and stuck my knees to the fabric of my jeans. Sweaty kneecaps. Gross.

  “OK,” Delgado said. “Fine.”

  The mayor took a sip of her coffee and continued, “I don’t know anything about those photos. That man asked me what time it was, so I told him the time.”

  Miss May scoffed. “And you both happened to be under the bridge by the train tracks when this occurred?”

  “Yes.” Mayor Delgado did not break eye contact with Miss May.

  “Linda, come on.” Miss May sat back in her chair. “That story is fake. Besides, you wouldn’t have asked us in here if it was that simple. Don’t you think, Chelsea?”

  I patted at my sweaty hairline. “Uh, with all due respect, Mrs. Mayor, that story does sound fake.” Faker than at least a couple of these diplomas, I suspected.

  Mayor Delgado grunted and adjusted her lumbar support. “Fine. I’ll tell you why I really met him. But the information I am about to divulge must not leave this room.”

  “That depends,” Miss May said. “Did you hire that man to kill Charles?”

  “Of course not!” Mayor Delgado laughed. “I told you, I didn’t have any money with Fitz, and neither did the town.”

  “But Vlad might have threatened you. Or your run for governor.” Miss May paused to see if Delgado would object. Nope. “Maybe he tried to blackmail you to help pay back his debts.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Delgado said. “That man, Vlad, as you call him, approached me last week. He was desperate for cash, and he wanted my money.”

  Everyone in town knew that Mayor Delgado came from a wealthy family. Vlad must have found out about her fortune and extorted her. But with what dirt?

  “What kind of dirt did he have on you?” Miss May asked. Good thing somebody was around to say what I was thinking.

  Delgado shifted in her chair. “Vlad had uh... pictures of his own.”

  Miss May looked at me. I shrugged. Don’t ask me. So Miss May turned back to Delgado. “What kind of pictures?”

  “They’re private.”

  “You have to show me,” Miss May said. “If you want me to clear your name.”

  “Clear my name of what?”

  “Double homicide.”

  Mayor Delgado’s face tightened. “I haven’t been accused of any homicide. At least not that I know of.”

  “Look, I don’t know anything official,” Miss May said, “but I have it on good information that an article will soon be published, in the New York Times, perhaps, which will allege that you hired Vlad to kill Charles, after Charles got in the way of your gubernatorial bid.”

  The mayor shook her head. “Liz tell you that?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Delgado sighed. “That girl is killing me.”

  “...but is she right about any of it?” I asked.

  “No!” Delgado slid open a drawer and pulled out a folder. “Liz is way off, as usual. Here.” Delgado pushed the folder toward us but kept her hand on it. “Before you see these, I need your word. This must stay private.”

  “Of course.” Miss May reached out and Delgado released the folder.

  Miss May flipped open the manila cover to reveal a shocking image. “Whoa!” I said before I could stop myself. The picture showed the mayor, in a skintight dress, grinding on a tall, red-haired stranger.

  Miss May shuffled to the next photo, which was racier than the first. Liz’s pictures had been surprising, but these puppies were downright scandalous. Miss May was tongue-tied. “Wow. That’s... You’re...”

  My aunt wasn’t prudish or puritanical, but she was still a middle-aged woman living in a small town. And by Pine Grove standards, these snapshots were basically porn.

  “Uh, so what are these pictures?” I normally wouldn’t be so blunt, but my curiosity was raging harder than a metal head in a mosh pit.

  “First, I’ll tell you what ‘Vlad’ thought they were.”

  Miss May unglued her eyes from the pictures and look up at the mayor. “Go on.”

  “The day those photos were shot, I had taken a limo into Manhattan. I had gotten a room at a high-end hotel. And I had met that man, the red-haired man, in the hotel bar. That man convinced me to go dancing with him. Then we went back to the hotel together, where we did more than dance.”

  Whew! Let’s keep this cozy, Mrs. Mayor!

  She continued. “Vlad thought he had caught me cheating on my husband. But the man in those photos is my husband.”

  Miss May shook her head. “Your husband is bald.” And this guy was a carrot top.

  Delgado exhaled. “That’s the embarrassing part. Every couple months, my husband and I go somewhere nice and pretend to meet for the first time. You’ll notice, I have a shoulder tattoo in that photo. The tattoo was also fake.”

  I started to laugh but stopped myself halfway, which produced a weird snort. The snort got stuck in my nose, which made me sneeze. A familiar cycle. It was all so silly that I ended up laughing. The mayor stared me down until I stopped laughing. “Sorry,” I said. “Allergies.”

  Miss May swooped in to alleviate the awkwardness. “I think that’s nice.”

  “It’s unusual, I know, but it keeps things spicy.” Mayor Delgado spoke with such measured diplomacy about her ‘spicy’ relationship, I had to swallow another snort-laugh.

  Delgado reached across the desk for the folder. “May I have the photos back? It’s all innocent enough, but not the kind of pictures you want leaked before you run for governor.”

  “So you are running.” Miss May smiled.

  “It’s not official, but maybe in a few years. The photos?”

  “Of course.” Miss May closed the folder and handed it back to Delgado.

  Delgado tucked the folder back into her desk an
d locked the drawer. “So now you know my secret.”

  “So it would seem,” Miss May said. “And that certainly clears you in Charles’ murder. But... what about Vlad? I’d be furious if someone tried to ruin my life like that. Even if he didn’t get away with it.”

  “I was furious!” Delgado chuckled. “Are you kidding? I called the police right away.”

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “Vlad showed up dead the next morning.” Delgado shrugged. “Of course, part of me said, ‘Good riddance.’ But then, part of me was sad. He was a crook, this Vlad, but he didn’t deserve murder in the first.”

  The mayor looked down and a pall descended on the room. I wondered if Delgado’s show of sympathy and solemnity was more politicking, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Murder is sad, even if you’re running for governor.

  After a few seconds, Miss May stood. “We should be going. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Mayor.”

  “You’re welcome.” Delgado rose and shook Miss May’s hand. “I know I said to keep this between us, but perhaps you could... pass it on to Liz? Keep her from running a bogus story?”

  “She’s tough to wrangle, but we’ll do our best. I think it’ll be fine. You stay safe, OK?”

  Delgado nodded. “You too.”

  26

  Alpacas and Emails

  WHEN WE WALKED UP TO Grandma’s, a line stretched all the way down Main Street. There were at least two hundred people braving the cold for a taste of Teeny’s hashbrown lasagna.

  “Looks like Teeny’s got a sensation on her hands,” Miss May said.

  I laughed. “For real. I can’t remember the last time any business in Pine Grove got this kind of attention.”

  Miss May stiffened. “Prime apple-picking season, the orchard gets lines for hours.”

  I grinned at my aunt. Miss May was the most supportive, and the most competitive, person I knew. She was a sturdy woman, but her ego bruised like an overripe Granny Smith. I amended my statement, “Any business except the farm, of course.”

  Miss May hurried her stride as we got closer to Grandma’s. “Is that a news van?”

  Sure enough, News Channel 12 was parked outside Grandma’s, and a slick, gray-haired anchor was standing out front with a microphone, interviewing Teeny.

  “And how did you get the idea for hashbrown lasagna?” the anchorman asked. “Because the people are loving it!”

  The anchor gestured to the crowd, and a group of teenagers cheered and hooted, jumping on each other’s backs for a chance to be on TV.

  “To be honest, Bart, the idea for this creation came to me on the toilet,” Teeny said. “That’s where I get a lot of my good ideas.”

  “You heard it here first, people! Pine Grove’s very own celebrity chef brainstorms on the toilet. I love it! And this is Bartholomew Baggins, saying good eats make a good day! Signing off!”

  Bart shook Teeny’s hand, climbed into the news van, and just like that... he was off.

  Miss May rushed over to Teeny as soon as the van pulled out. “Teeny! You were on the news!”

  Teeny tittered and hugged Miss May. “I should not have said that toilet thing.”

  “Are you kidding?” I said. “That was the best part.” I hugged Teeny too, and she squeezed me so hard I swore I heard a rib crack.

  “How did all this happen?” Miss May asked.

  “Petey’s Internet virus post infected more people.” Teeny called up toward the roof of the restaurant. “Thanks, Petey! Just think of all you would accomplish with a high school degree!”

  I followed Teeny’s gaze up to the roof, where Petey was on his hands and knees, scraping ice and fixing a broken shingle. He gave a sad little thumbs-up, then got back to work.

  Teeny turned back. “So. What are you two doing here?”

  “Uh, well... we wanted to update you on the case.”

  Teeny smacked her forehead. “The case! I forgot all about the case!”

  “You three talking about the murders?”

  I looked over, and there was one of Grandma’s regulars, Humphrey, waiting with his fat old Bassett hound Semolina.

  “Shush up, Humphrey. Go back to your place in line!” Teeny had no problem scolding her customers, especially Humphrey.

  But Humphrey didn’t budge. “I heard Gigley did it. Did you three see those emails he sent?”

  Miss May and I exchanged a look. How did Humphrey know about the emails?

  Humphrey pulled out a surprisingly new smartphone and began reading. “This one says ‘I will kill you, Charles! I demand my money.’ Then there’s another that says, ‘I wish death upon you.’ And another that just says ‘Hey Charles, wondering what is your height and weight? I need to know so I can measure a fatal dose of cyanide without wasting any cyanide.’”

  Miss May hung her head. “Tom, Tom, Tom.”

  Humphrey nodded. “That’s what I thought. It’s too bad Tom’s a murderer. But damn those emails cracked me up!”

  “How did you get a hold of those?” Miss May asked.

  “Everyone in town got them! Forwarded from Charles’ account. Spooky, right? He’s back from the dead.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Teeny asked.

  Humphrey shrugged. “I don’t know. In general, I don’t have a lot to look forward to, but this stuff cheered me up.”

  Teeny dragged Humphrey to the back of the line. “OK, Humphrey. That’s enough. And I told you no dogs in the restaurant!”

  Humphrey yanked his arm away. “Semolina is an emotional support animal!”

  “So go cry at the dog park with her!” Teeny trudged back over to me and Miss May, shaking her head. “That man makes me nuts!”

  “You want to know who makes me nuts?” Miss May asked.

  “Gigley,” I said.

  Miss May nodded. “Come on. We’ve got to go talk to him.”

  Teeny pouted. “Aw, now!? I’ve got a line out the door!”

  “We’ll fill you in later.” Miss May walked out toward Main Street.

  Teeny sighed. “Fine. Watch your fingers and toes, OK?”

  What’s that supposed to mean? Were our fingers and toes in particular danger? I instinctively curled my hands into little balls to protect my digits.

  Miss May answered my question before I asked it. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll be careful.” So “fingers and toes” was just a Teeny-ism. Miss May continued, “But only if you spend some of your brilliant toilet time thinking about how to solve this case. We need it.”

  “Deal.” Teeny and Miss May shook hands.

  We left to go find Gigley, the author of the most incriminating emails ever sent.

  I wondered as we headed back to the van...Were we going to visit a killer?

  AS SOON AS WE GOT AWAY from the crowd, Miss May answered the question I had been mulling over.

  “There’s no way Tom Gigley killed those men.”

  I had grown to like Gigley since I’d moved back home, so I appreciated Miss May‘s confidence. Still, I hadn’t written him off as a suspect. Those emails were angry and mean. The exact kind of emails someone would send if they planned to murder their accountant.

  “How are you so sure?” I asked.

  “Because I know him. And I won’t suspect him like I suspected Florence, that poor woman.”

  “Why are we walking toward Gigley’s office then?” I asked.

  Miss May picked up the pace as the old colonial that housed Gigley’s office came into view down the street. “Because he’s done enough to incriminate himself. Now he’s being tried in the court of public opinion, and he’s going to need our help.”

  Thirty seconds later, Miss May and I entered Gigley’s office without a knock.

  Gigley’s secretary, Deb, was at her desk. Deb was a polite old woman with a big head of permed gray hair, and the thickest bifocals I had ever seen. She stood when we entered.

  “May! What are you doing, barging in here without so much as a knock?” Deb’s voice was high-pit
ched and frail. Classic old biddy voice.

  “Hi, Deb. How was your cruise?” Miss May could be polite even in the face of direct confrontation.

  “Oh, it was wonderful. We started off in the Czech Republic, then—”

  “Sounds great. We should catch up over lunch. Is Tom in the office?” But she could also be terse.

  Deb looked put off by Miss May’s interruption. “Lunch could be fine, although I have pictures now that I’d love to show you. Germany was nice but too many sausages.”

  “You know, Deb. I want to give those photos my full attention, but right now I’m in a rush. Did you say Tom was in his office?”

  “OK. Lunch. Does next Tuesday work?”

  “Tuesday’s fine, Deb!” Miss May raised her voice but reeled it in before she continued. “Tuesday is great. My treat. I’ll even buy dessert if you tell me if Tom is in.”

  “I can’t have dessert. Doctor says I need to cut back on sugar, flour, marshmallows, anything white.”

  “Deb!”

  “Oh, right. Mr. Gigley. He hasn’t come in yet today. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  Miss May sighed. “He didn’t call?”

  “Nope. He does this sometimes. Sleeps in. Runs errands. He’s the boss, so what do I care?”

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Someone pounded on the door and a voice boomed from outside. “Police! Open up!”

  Deb’s face reddened. “Police? What could they want?”

  Miss May shrugged. “Do you want me to open it?”

  Deb climbed to her feet in a daze, stumbled toward the door and cracked it. There stood Wayne in all his hunky glory. Windswept hair. Cheeks rosy from the cold. Every inch of his broad six-foot frame poised for action.

  “Hi, I’m Detective Wayne Hudson. This is my partner Sunshine Flanagan. We’re here to speak with Mr. Gigley. Can you get him out here right away?”

  “Sunshine?” I couldn’t hide the amused incredulity in my voice.

  Flanagan placed her hand on her holster. “Do you have a problem with that name, ma’am?”

  Wayne turned to Flanagan. “Stay cool, Flanagan.”