“I haven’t seen one of these in a long time.” Miss May took the tape from me. “It doesn’t have any markings whatsoever.”
“It must have something to do with the investigation,” I said. “Should we watch it?”
“Sure. If we can get the VCR to work.”
The only VCR in the house was connected to the television in Miss May’s bedroom. Surprise, surprise. We could not get it to work. Whenever we tried to turn the VCR on all we got was that gray and white scribble you probably remember from TVs back in the day. We tried every setting and every input but we couldn’t get the tape to play.
“What should we do now?” I asked.
Miss May popped the tape out of the broken VCR. “Follow me.”
Moments later, we were standing on the doorstep of KP’s little cabin at the edge of the orchard. Miss May knocked on the cabin door three times. After a few seconds, KP opened the door, looking disgruntled and a little concerned. “What’re you two girls doing here? Don’t tell me. You want me to beat you in Monopoly again.”
“We haven’t played Monopoly in ten years. And I let you win that time.” Miss May stepped inside. I followed her in.
“So what is it? I’m about to have my microwaved pizza and I like to eat in peace and quiet.”
“We need to use your VCR.”
KP frowned. “I don’t want to watch any old home videos or anything like that. It’s not fun looking at yourself from the past. I always hate the way my hair was and I hate the way my clothes were and I don’t like how much better I looked then in spite of my bad hair and my bad clothes. My Memory Lane is a seedy back-alley filled with trash cans and I don’t like visiting.”
“Funny, you failed to mention how annoying your voice is on old videotapes,” said Miss May with a good-natured grin. “Come on. We need to watch a tape for an ongoing investigation.”
KP shuffled over to his little living room, where an 80’s action movie was on pause. “I’m going to have to take out my tape just to put yours in. I better not lose my spot.”
“You’re watching a VHS right now?” I said.
“Of course I am. That’s the good stuff. I don’t need any of this BlueTeeth or streaming or Internet to watch movies. I know what movies I like and they were all made before 1991.” KP popped his movie out of his VCR and put ours in its place. “Let’s see what you’ve got here.”
We stood huddled around the TV for a few seconds. At first, that same gray and black fuzz showed up. I thought about how I missed static now that it was never around. But before I had a chance to ruminate aloud on my love for fuzz, the static was replaced by a dark, grainy image. It was hard to make out what was going on but I spotted the shapes of two men talking under a broken streetlight.
“Who are those guys?” I said.
“Quiet down,” said Miss May. “I think I can hear them talking.”
KP increased the volume on the TV. The two men on the tape argued and raised their voices. The one on the left shoved the one on the right. Then the one on the left pinned the one on the right against a nearby lamp post. “Give me that lease, or I’m telling your wife everything I know.”
The voice belonged to Todd. And the next voice belonged to Todd’s would-be landlord, Damien Hamilton.
“Fine. Whatever you want. Just back off and I’ll do as you say.”
38
Calling for Help
Wayne picked up on the first ring. “Chelsea, heu. I was just thinking about you.”
The purpose of my call wasn’t to flirt but I couldn’t resist. “You were? Tell me more.”
“I was thinking about your laugh, actually. I was watching this old show on TV, and the laugh track is so annoying. I kept wishing it would just be the sound of your laugh instead. Maybe that’s weird or stupid, I don’t know. But there. I was thinking of you.”
It wasn’t weird or stupid, it was flattering. And was it my imagination or was Wayne…being shy? Awkward, even? “No one has ever told me they like my laugh before.”
“Get outta town. Your laugh is one of your cutest features.”
I laughed.
“There it is. Like…exploding angels.”
“Alright, I’m not sure this is a compliment anymore. Why are the angels exploding?”
“They’re…so happy? I don’t know, Chels. Why’d you call me? Were you thinking of me too?”
“Yeah. Totally. I was thinking about your laugh and how it sounds like a motorcycle driving through loose gravel.”
“I’m flattered,” said Wayne, chuckling. “But I have a sneaking suspicion about why you really called so late.”
“Why do you think I called?” I said.
“The tape.”
My eyes widened. How did Wayne know about the tape? There was only one explanation… “So you got it too?”
“Got sent to the precinct a few days ago.”
“I think we’ve had it a few days too,” I said, feeling competitive. “Steve the dog had been chewing on it for a while. So whoever sent the tape probably sent it to us before the cops. Then when we didn’t do anything with the evidence because of canine interference…that’s probably when they sent it to you.”
“Whatever you say, Chels,” Wayne turned off the TV in the background. “So what do you think of the tape?”
“You want to talk about what I think…about a piece of evidence? In an ongoing investigation? Me, a civilian, and you, a police detective?”
“You’ve got a working brain and you already saw the VHS. Why shouldn’t we compare notes?”
“Wow, you think my brain works and my laugh sounds like combusting angels? You’re full of praise tonight.”
“You wanna tell me what you think or not?”
I told Wayne that Miss May and I thought the tape showed an intense conversation between Damien Hamilton and Todd. He agreed. And we both concurred that Damien had emerged as the leading suspect in the investigation into Todd’s murder.
“Does that mean you have him in jail already?” I asked.
Wayne scoffed. “Yeah, I mean, for sure that joker would be locked up. But we can’t find him.”
My throat dried up. “You can’t?”
“That’s not an invitation for you to go on one of your manhunts or stakeouts or whatever you three do. We’re taking care of it. But no…the guy went missing. Like he’s Siegfried and Roy or something. Roy was the fun one, did you ever think that?”
“I’m not familiar with their work. But uh…the dog is barking, the cat is meowing, I’ve got to go.”
“Chelsea. Promise me you’re not going to hunt this guy down. He’s dangerous.”
“I can promise that I will be extremely careful, no matter what I do. We’ll talk soon.” I hung up, hurried up the stairs to Miss May’s room and told her about my conversation with Wayne. Miss May, like Wayne, agreed that Damien must have killed Todd. But she said she didn’t know what we should do next.
“What do you mean you don’t know what we should do?” I said. “You’re Miss May. You need to have a plan.”
“I have a loose plan. But I’m not sure what our course of action should be, in an exact sense.”
“What’s the loose plan?”
Miss May shrugged. “We need to find Damien.”
I resisted the urge to respond with a frustrated, duh… Instead, I said, “Do you think he might be…in the woods? Should I call Amy to help us track him?”
“I don’t think so. Damien is a landlord. He owns tons of buildings, so he’s got way better places to hide than in the forest. Sadly, we can’t get a hold of a list of those places until the morning. So for now, all we can do is sleep.”
I woke up early and snuck out of the farmhouse, wanting to get a head start on the investigation, and hopefully impress Miss May with my go-getter attitude.
Peggy, the part-time town hall clerk, smiled as I entered the building. “It’s 9 AM on the dot. You must be here for something important and mysterious and detective related.�
�� Peggy had cat-eye glasses, a wide grin, and a cat on her T-shirt. “Is this about the dead sleaze who wanted to open the payday loan place? May he rest in…somewhere other than here.”
“It may or may not be about Todd. By the way, I love that calico on your shirt.” I pointed at Peggy’s shirt. “That’s your cat, isn’t it?”
“Yup. That’s my baby Buddha. She’s a treasure. Wise like the Buddha, peaceful like the Buddha, fat like the Buddha.”
I laughed and had a quick flash memory of my conversation with Wayne. Did he really like my laugh or was he just flattering me? Did it even matter?”
After another few minutes of small talk, Peggy was sufficiently buttered up. So she allowed me access to the town records. I grabbed a big stack of papers and took them over to a desk a few feet away. I was ready to spend hours poring over the documents, but before I could even start, Miss May shuffled in with a cup of coffee and a self-satisfied smirk.
“Looking for information on buildings owned by Damien Hamilton?”
“Yes,” I said, sheepishly.
“I don’t think the town has those records,” Miss May said.
“So what’re you doing here?” I asked.
“When you weren’t home, I figured you’d probably be here.”
I’d wanted to impress my aunt, but once again, she was a few steps ahead of me. Oh well.
“Anyway,” Miss May continued, “I did a quick, what do you call it? Deep dive on the web? And during my google expedition, I learned that Damien owns properties all over Pine Grove. Private homes, industrial warehouses, and commercial spaces — just like the one where Todd wanted to have his payday loan spot.”
“You found this on the internet? Using a computer? By yourself?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Miss May said. “I’m not technologically illiterate. Here. I wrote out all the locations by hand.”
I chuckled. My aunt might have figured out how to use the World Wide Web, but she still had some Luddite tendencies, like taking detailed handwritten notes instead of just, I don’t know, printing out the information she needed? I looked over the first page of her notes…and then the second page…and then the third…
“This guy has so many properties.” I hung my head. “He could be hiding in any one of them. There’s only two of us. Checking every spot is going to take two full days and he might bounce around between them.”
“He does have quite a few properties in Pine Grove. But he only has one property out of town. And that’s where I think we should be looking.” Miss May slid a paper over to me. It was an address for a building in the Bronx, a borough of New York City a couple of hours away. “If the guy is hiding, he’s in this building right here.”
“So we’re going to the Bronx?” I asked.
39
A Bronx Tale
“I’m driving.” Teeny bustled out from behind the hostess stand at Grandma’s, grabbed her coat and pulled it on. “Haven’t been to the Bronx in a long time. And my convertible needs to stretch her legs.”
“That’s another new expression,” said Miss May.
“Fine. She needs to stretch her engine or flex her transmission or whatever. Point is, my car is pretty and I’m sick of riding in your clunky trucks and buses. I want to travel in style.”
Miss May raised a finger. “Technically my vehicle is a van. Subtle but important difference. Chelsea’s clunker is a truck.”
“Perhaps the clunkiest of all trucks,” I said, with a wistful note in my voice.
“Whatever. Can I drive or not?”
Miss May shrugged. “Will you promise to go the speed limit?”
When we first got in the car, Teeny handed both Miss May and I scarves to wrap around our heads like we were Audrey Hepburn. Then she set off for the Bronx, going at least ten miles per hour over the speed limit. Of course.
At first, Miss May attempted to discuss the case as we drove down to the city. But the wind noise was too much so my aunt eventually sat back, buttoned up her coat and relaxed for the ride.
I sat in the backseat. With a driver of typical height I might have been crunched up back there but Teeny was behind the wheel, so I had tons of leg room to spread out and get comfortable. As we drove, the landscape changed from Pine Grove’s bucolic rolling hills to the grittier, more urban landscape of the Bronx, populated with big, brown buildings and blacktop parks. The scene change relaxed me. It was a nice reminder that I was close to New York City, even though I sometimes felt far away in Pine Grove.
After some time, my mind wandered off course, into the strange realm of abstraction. I was lost somewhere in a thought about skyscrapers being manmade trees when the car swerved off the highway and onto a local, Bronx street.“Whoa! Teeny! You almost gave me whiplash.”
“Oh get over it. I couldn’t be on the highway anymore. I like these little Bronx neighborhoods. They’re so much fun to drive.”
“I agree with that decision,” said Miss May. “But the address for Damien’s warehouse is in the Mott Haven section of the Bronx. You’re all the way up near Fordham Road.”
Teeny smirked. “Am I? I didn’t realize.”
Miss May shook her head. “That’s why you wanted to drive. You want to stop at Arthur Avenue.”
Teeny grinned. “We might as well. Since we’re in the neighborhood.”
Arthur Avenue was New York’s real Little Italy, a little street in the Bronx packed with charm and authentic Italian vendors, which ranged from cheese shops, to bakeries to coffee shops. Teeny loved the place and so did Miss May and I. I was happy to be there, even if it delayed our investigation a tiny bit.
Teeny got lucky. There was a parking spot right on the main drag. And it was in front of her favorite bakery, Adagio’s. She hopped out of the convertible and rubbed her hands together with anxious excitement. “This place is like Disney World for food lovers. Why don’t we come more often?”
“If we came to Arthur all the time I don’t think we’d ever have the will to leave,” said Miss May. “Let’s stop at Randazzo’s fish market after this. They have fresh, wonderful salmon. I want to make a nice dish for KP to thank him for helping with the VCR. And to apologize for interrupting his movie.”
“That’s awful nice of you,” I said. “KP is going to be gob smacked with gratitude.”
“I like to show my appreciation for the important people in my life,” said Miss May.
Teeny shot a little look over at Miss May. “Maybe you should get two pieces of salmon. That way you can cook a nice dish for John Wentworth, too. It’s true what they say. The stomach is the fastest way to a man’s heart.”
I chuckled. “Miss May already has Wentworth’s heart. The question is does she even want it? Wentworth should cook her some fish.”
“If we keep up this conversation I’m getting back in the car,” said Miss May.
“That’s an empty threat,” said Teeny. “We both know you wouldn’t miss this bakery for the world.”
Teeny turned on her heels and entered the little bakery. Miss May sighed. “When she’s right, she’s right.”
The bread shop had hundreds of loaves of delicious bread stacked on metal shelves. The place smelled like flour and warm yeast. And the little Italian lady behind the counter looked like a classic, cartoon Italian grandma. Big glasses, curly gray hair and a warm but no-nonsense smile.
Teeny ordered a loaf of olive bread, the Adagio’s specialty. It came in a white, paper bag. And it was fresh from the oven. Teeny paid and then hurried out to the sidewalk, where we all reached into the bag, grabbed a slice, and stuffed it into our mouths.
The olives were salty and warm. And the bread was perfectly soft with just the right amount of crust. Teeny chewed silently for what felt like five minutes. Then, with quiet seriousness, as if she were making the most important declaration of her life, she said, “I love this bread.”
Miss May chuckled. “Are you gonna cry, Teeny? It’s OK if you do. I understand. It’s…very good bread.”
>
I laughed. “I’m with Teeny.” I pumped my fist and yelled up toward the sky. “Olive bread is my one true love.”
Miss May hid her face and looked away. Teeny and I laughed and collapsed onto each other’s shoulders, like conspiring school girls.
After we visited Adagio’s, we walked a few stores down and visited the Italian fish store Miss May wanted to see. The store owner, Frank, give us a big smile when we entered. “Welcome. How can I help you?”
Turns out, the guy remembered Miss May from her other visits. He introduced himself to me and Teeny with a firm handshake. Then he wrapped up a few pieces of big, pink salmon for Miss May, along with a handful of shrimp as a little bonus.
“There you go. Best salmon you can buy in New York City. Making a special dinner?” Frank’s eyes sparkled as he asked the question.
“No,” said Miss May. “Not really. Maybe. I don’t know.”
Frank laughed. “OK. I didn’t mean to get you flustered. I’m just saying… If you’d like a cooking lesson sometime, I’m great with salmon. I’d be happy to share my secret recipes.”
Teeny and I exchanged a thrilled look. Was it possible that the owner of the store was hitting on Miss May just like John Wentworth?
Miss May blushed. “Maybe I’ll…fish are good. And you know them better than I do. Obviously. You’re a fish man. I’m not saying you’re a man that’s a fish. But—”
“I get it. Hey, I’m at the store all the time. Literally. Every day. If you want to take me up on my offer, give me a ring and let me know. I’d love to come up to the country. Maybe you can teach me to make apple pie.”
No Cone Unturned (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 12) Page 18
