No Cone Unturned (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 12)

by Chelsea Thomas

  “This place is packed. I already know people love my food. If free pie gets them to actually follow through and vote then I’m all for it.” Teeny got a faraway look in her eye. “I want that trophy so bad it’s scary.”

  I shook some Parmesan cheese on my soup and took another bite. “You know what’s scary? Amy’s living situation out in the forest. I know she says she has survival skills but… it gets cold at night.”

  “That’s how humans lived for centuries and centuries before modern times,” said Miss May. “The living situation isn’t what scares me. What scares me is the situation with Amy’s boyfriend, Zach. We need to get a hold of that guy. Find out just how angry he really was when Amy lost that lease to Todd.”

  “We also have to get a hold of Tom Gigley and his alleged poodle,” I said.

  Teeny groaned. “Poodles are ridiculous. They have ridiculous haircuts, they have ridiculous snobby attitudes, they’re just ridiculous. I don’t think Tom Gigley owns one. I think that was a lie.”

  “Really?” said Miss May.

  “Think about it,” said Teeny. “What does Gigley need a high maintenance animal like a poodle for? He should have a snail. Or a turtle. Or a pet rock.”

  “I suppose it’s possible Amy was lying,” I said. “I haven’t seen a poodle around town. Maybe she figured if she sent us on a wild poodle chase she could disappear into the woods and get away with murder.”

  “That’s dark, Chelsea,” said Teeny. “I like it.”

  “There’s nothing to like about that theory,” said Miss May. “And why aren’t we talking to Gigley right now? We need to confirm Amy’s alibi, not sit around eating delicious soup.”

  I wiped my mouth with my napkin and stood up. “Let’s do it!” I picked up my soup bowl and drank the last of its contents. “I’m done anyway.”

  20

  Dog Days of Spring

  There was a note taped to the front door of Tom Gigley’s office. I read it aloud.

  “To whom it may concern,

  “I have implemented ‘work from home Mondays’ as of the new year. Thus, if you are seeing this note, that means I’m working from home. The reasoning behind this decision was a result of a long and arduous thought experiment wherein I repeatedly imagined myself working from home on Mondays and ultimately concluded that it would be a boon to my productivity, physical health, and mental health. As has recently been noted in the New York Times and other publications, there’s nothing wrong with working from home these days. It’s just as professional as working from an office.

  “If you have an urgent legal matter please call me at the below number and I will return your call promptly. If your legal matter is not urgent, I ask that you refrain from reaching out until Tuesday, as this work from home initiative is designed to streamline my working processes and increase productivity.

  Good tidings,

  Tom Gigley, ESQ”

  I turned away from Tom’s letter and looked at Teeny and Miss May. They were both in a hysterical fit of laughter. Miss May slapped her knee. “That letter! That was amazing. Only Tom would cite the New York Times as a justification for working from home. Of course people work from home these days, the Internet exists.”

  Teeny giggled so hard she started coughing. “I like the part about the New York Times, too. But I also liked how he described his arduous decision-making process. It was basically just daydreaming about what it would be like to work from home.”

  I agreed that Tom’s note was funny. But Gigley had surprised me more than once, so I guess I wasn’t as amused as Teeny and Miss May. On first glance, Tom Gigley was the stuffiest resident of Pine Grove. But he was also in a funky band, he had a second house that was a giant pink Victorian mansion, and he was generally quirky. Tom’s note corroborated his many layers more than almost anything could. I chuckled. “Tom is a quirky guy, that’s for sure. I guess that’s that type who becomes a small town lawyer. Should we go see him at his house or do you think that would disrupt his productivity too much?”

  Miss May’s laugh died down and she regained her composure. “No. We need to talk to him today. Besides, those rules don’t apply to us. We’re old friends.”

  We knocked three times on Tom’s front door, waited thirty seconds, and then we were greeted by Gigley himself. He was wearing what I assumed was his work from home attire, nice blue jeans and a tucked-in, button down shirt. It was a far cry from his typical three piece suit but it was still more formal than what most people wear in their houses. Tom greeted us with a businesslike nod. “Ladies. How can I help you?”

  Moments later, we were seated in Tom’s study, an oak-paneled room with a large desk and a roaring fire in the fireplace.

  Tom gestured for us to sit on a maroon, leather couch. “Please. Make yourselves at home. Can I get you anything? Brandy? Whiskey? Scotch?”

  “It’s the middle of the day, Tom.” Miss May chuckled. “You are so old-fashioned.”

  “I take that as a compliment. And while I can acknowledge it’s the middle of the day and I certainly wouldn’t drink in the middle of the day, I wanted to be sure to offer you the best I had. Old friends get the good stuff. New people in my life get tap water if they’re lucky.”

  I laughed.

  “I’m serious, Chelsea,” said Tom. “Now please let me know why you’re here.” Tom settled into an armchair across from our couch and crossed his legs. In the brief moment before the conversation continued I glanced around the room, looking for signs of a pet poodle. There were no dog bones or toys or bowls with food or water. My stomach did a quick somersault. Had Amy provided a false alibi? And if so, what could that mean? Was she our killer?

  “Am I a suspect in a murder investigation or are you here to pick my legal-eagle brain?” Tom asked.

  “Of course you’re not a suspect,” said Miss May. “Why would you want to kill Todd? Unless…you had a motive I don’t know about.”

  “No motives here. And don’t act like you’ve never suspected me before, May. It’s fine. Water under a bridge I’d never like to cross again. But if you’re not here to question me as a suspect, why are you here?”

  “We need to know if you have poodles.” Teeny blurted. “And don’t worry, we won’t laugh if you do. We already laughed about it. Poodles!”

  “Glad I can be a source of amusement for you.” Tom let out a sharp whistle. An elegant poodle pranced into the room with a jaunty gait. She had little puffs on each of her four legs, a pom-pom for a tail, and a matching fluffy pom on her head. Frankly, she had the appearance of a dog that had been expertly groomed.

  Gigley snapped again and the dog sat beside him with perfect poise and posture. “This is Lady. She’s my best friend.”

  Tom’s voice was so serious and monotonous I almost broke into a laugh as he petted Lady’s head.

  “What a beautiful dog,” said Miss May, unable to hide the shock in her voice. “She has so much style.”

  “As do I,” says Tom.

  “And her haircut is so perfect,” I said. “Is it…fresh?”

  Gigley crossed his legs in the opposite direction and sat back. “I see. You suspect Amy of murder.” He laughed. “You three have barked up many wrong trees in the past. Pardon the expression, Lady. But this is the wrongest tree up which you’ve ever pursued a suspect. Yes, Amy was here Friday night. I’m embarrassed to say Lady was feeling rambunctious that evening so her typical grooming appointment took far more than the allotted hour. Amy was here from six in the evening until perhaps nine or ten. Lady and I had a long talk after Amy left. I was loving but stern. We’re both confident grooming will go more smoothly next time.”

  “You had a talk?” Miss May said. “What did you talk about?”

  “I set ground rules and we reached an understanding,” said Gigley. “Anything else? How’s the investigation going in general? Maybe I can help.”

  Gigley had been an important confidante in many prior investigations, so Miss May did not hesitate as she launched int
o a thorough description of our investigation. One by one, she outlined our suspects. There was Amy, of course, although at that point Amy seemed innocent. There was also the landlord, Damien. And there was Todd’s angry, unstable family.

  I cleared my throat and interrupted the conversation as Miss May wrapped up her summary. “You forgot one potential killer.”

  Miss May turned to me. “I did? Who?”

  “Emily from Cherry on Top,” Teeny piped up. “Todd was horrible to her, so she had motive. Plus, we never got an alibi from her before she skipped town.”

  Miss May angled her body back toward Tom. “What do you think about Emily? Have you seen her acting suspicious around town? Anything like that?”

  “Um, no. I can’t— I’m not—not quite sure.” Gigley wriggled in his seat and adjusted his collar. “OK. I must be getting back to work. Work from home Mondays isn’t about chatting with friends as much as it is about increased productivity in a relaxed setting. It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Hold on a second,” said Teeny. “You got weird when we brought up Emily. Even the dog noticed. Why did you get weird?”

  “I don’t think I got weird,” Tom said, wriggling some more. “But if I did, it was for no reason.”

  Miss May leaned forward. “Ah. Are you restrained by a duty of confidentiality to a client?”

  Tom once again squirmed in his seat. “The attorney-client privilege might be at play here, yes.”

  “Emily hired you for something?” Miss May said.

  Tom looked away. Miss May leaned further forward. “Tom if this girl is the killer—”

  Tom stood. “I don’t know who the killer is. And I don’t appreciate you tempting me into breaking attorney-client privilege. My legal career is my passion and my livelihood. I won’t compromise it, not even for you. Now please go. Lady and I need to get back to work.”

  Miss May stood and spoke in a soft tone. “OK, Tom. I’m sorry. I just—”

  “I’m sorry, May. I can’t say more.”

  21

  Wriggly Gigley

  After our meeting with Tom Gigley, Teeny went back to her restaurant to bully more customers into voting and Miss May and I headed back to the farm. We both promised Teeny we wouldn’t discuss the case until she came over for pizza that night. On a slow day, that might have been a challenge for me and Miss May. Us girls can chat. But we had plenty of orchard business to work on so it wasn’t a problem.

  Miss May spent all of the drive from town back to the orchard on the phone with KP. I could hear our crotchety-but-lovable groundskeeper on the other end of the line complaining about all the things he and Miss May needed to do that day. I couldn’t hear KP’s exact words but I didn’t need to. His general tone of frustration was familiar to me. KP was one of those guys who was somehow always frustrated but also in a good mood at the same time. I’d always loved him for that, and he had been my first teacher in the art of bellyaching.

  Despite all that bellyaching, KP was one of the most reliable people I’d ever known. Some weeks, he kept the farm running more than Miss May did, especially if she and I were caught up in a murder investigation. And he had been kind of a second father to me after my dad passed.

  KP was sitting on the porch petting Steve the dog when we pulled up. He climbed to his feet as we hopped out of the pickup and shook his head in mock disappointment. “What did you two do, push Chelsea’s truck up the hill with your eyes closed to get home? Took you forever for you to get here.”

  “You know full well we didn’t push the truck up the hill, KP,” said Miss May. “I was on the phone with you the majority of the drive.”

  “I’m just saying you’re a slow driver, May. Steve the dog drives faster than you and he doesn’t have opposable thumbs or even four working legs. Isn’t that right, Steve?”

  Steve looked at KP with eager, adoring eyes and wagged his tail.

  “Steve agrees with me.” KP crossed his arms. “Now are you ready to get to work, May? I know you’re out there catching killers and that’s important, I guess. But we need to review the Christmas tree stock for next year and we need to talk about our peaches. Peach picking season is coming up sooner than you think, and last year we ran out too early.”

  Miss May nodded. “Why don’t you and I take a walk around the property and discuss everything that’s on your mind?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, I want to do something about it.”

  “That’s the second step.” Miss May turned to me. “We got a big online order for Appie Oaters. Two dozen. Can you whip up the dough in the bakeshop?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But we have dough frozen, don’t we? I can just bake them.”

  Miss May looked over at KP. He looked down and kicked the dirt with his well-worn sneaker. “I may have gone on a cookie bender a few nights ago. I ate a lot of dough.”

  “How much?” I said.

  Miss May stepped forward. “Enough so that you need to make more dough. Head over to the bakeshop and I’ll meet you at the farmhouse around six for pizza. Text Teeny and see what toppings she wants. She can never decide until right when it’s time to order.”

  KP perked up. “I like pizza.”

  Miss May laughed. “I’m well aware. You want onions and peppers?”

  “Yes, please,” KP said.

  For the next couple hours, I bustled around the bakeshop, working on a fresh batch of Miss May’s famous apple pie cookies, aka Appie Oaters.

  At their core, Appie Oaters were oatmeal cookies with a twist. Or a few twists, I guess. We added plenty of apple pie spices like cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla. And instead of raisins, we used caramelized apples that were so delicious they melted in your mouth. Every cookie was about four inches in diameter, nice and big, just how we liked them. And they came out soft, fluffy, and delicious.

  There was one secret to the Appie Oaters recipe that most people would never guess. Applesauce was the main ingredient in the cookie dough. The applesauce added a fruitiness and lightness to the cookies that was delectable. I used applesauce that we homemade from apples on the farm, but any store-bought applesauce worked just as well. It was important to use unsweetened applesauce, however, to control the level of sweetness. The result was a unique cookie that was delicious all year round.

  Want to hear about a miracle? I didn’t eat a single bite of dough during the entire baking process that afternoon. The thought of a nice, hot pizza bolstered my willpower. And whenever I was about to sneak some dough the promise of pizza helped me stay strong.

  Good thing, too, because Teeny showed up at 5:45 with three enormous pies. When I entered the farmhouse kitchen and saw the pizza boxes, I laughed. “Teeny. What’s with all the pizza? You got enough for me, you, and Miss May to all have our own pie.”

  “You said in your text that KP was hungry for pizza, too,” said Teeny. “And I invited Big Dan over for a couple slices.”

  A male voice rang out from across the room. “Hey, Chelsea.”

  I looked over. Sure enough, Teeny’s boyfriend Big Dan was leaning against the far wall, already eating a slice of pizza. “This pizza’s pretty good. Tastes great with water.”

  Big Dan raised a glass of water to me and then took a big sip.

  “Hi, Big Dan. Yeah, water’s delicious. Perfect pairing with a nice slice.”

  “Daniel, sit at the table and eat. Don’t stand there like a goon,” Teeny said, waving Big Dan over.

  “I don’t think goons are known for being standers,” said Big Dan. “Goons are more squatters, in my mind.”

  Teeny shot Big Dan a look. He grabbed a second slice of pizza and settled into a seat at the end of the table.

  Moments later, Miss May and KP bustled into the kitchen, and the pizza party was on. For five minutes straight, all any of us did was talk about how great the food was. Then, after we’d all had our first slice and slowed down a little, Miss May, Teeny, and I began discussing the investigation.

  “Before we get into this conve
rsation,” said Teeny, “Did you two really not discuss the investigation all afternoon?”

  “We really didn’t,” I said. “Too much work to do on the farm.”

  “I do the work,” said KP. “May just bosses me around.”

  “We boss each other around,” said Miss May. “And at least I provide pizza after.”

  “You promise you haven’t talked about it without me?” Teeny asked. “Because if you have, I’m gonna leave right now. Abandon this detective team and go back to being a normal woman without any superpowers.”

  “You don’t have superpowers,” said Big Dan.

  Teeny shot Big Dan a look.

  “Nevermind,” Big Dan said. “You have powers. Super-duper. You can fly.”

  “Thank you,” said Teeny.

  “We haven’t talked about anything,” I said. “We haven’t even talked about Tom Gigley’s poodle. That was so strange. I never pegged him as a poodle guy.”

  “Hold on a second,” said KP, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box. “Tom Gigley owns a poodle? That’s too much. Does he dress the poodle in a little suit and seat it at the dinner table?”

  “Might as well,” said Teeny. “That thing is so fancy and well behaved. Smarter than a fifth grader.”

  “That’s a smart dog,” said Big Dan. “They should make a TV show about it.”

  “The dog is a she,” said Miss May. “Her name is Lady. Tom has her trained to do pretty much everything he wants, as far as I can tell. And they make a cute…couple.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Amy did a great job grooming that poodle.” Teeny sprinkled some red pepper flakes on her pizza. “It’d win Best in Show at the Westminster parade.”

  “It’s not a parade,” said Big Dan. “It’s just a dog show.”

  “Same difference,” said Teeny. “But the poodle doesn’t matter. I want to talk about what’s going on with Gigley and Emily.”