Peaches and Scream Read online

  Peaches and Scream

  Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 8

  Chelsea Thomas

  To Boris

  For the milky toast, the tax help, and the memories.

  Contents

  1. Peachy Keen

  2. Field of Screams

  3. Reading Rainbow

  4. Miss Fortune

  5. Murder, She Predicted

  6. Cops and Pie Robbers

  7. The Key to Happiness

  8. Teeny Town

  9. Salazar Speaks

  10. Shedding Layers

  11. Tarot Troubles

  12. Two Towns Over

  13. Eulogy Eureka

  14. In the Wake of the Wake

  15. Curse Smurse

  16. Here, Here, Sudeer

  17. An Architect of Revenge

  18. Secret Ingredients

  19. Illusion of Truth

  20. Love is Magic

  21. Up a Tree

  22. Handwriting on the Wall

  23. Gunning for Trouble

  24. I Know Why the Jailbird Sings

  25. Freebird

  26. Not Three Pines, Not Four Pines

  27. Going Down

  28. Upstairs, Downstairs

  29. Checked Out

  30. Over the Rainbow

  31. Revere Beer

  32. The One That Got Away

  33. Not in the Cards

  34. Pizza is the Best Medicine

  35. Out of Africa

  36. The Earlybird Gets the Muffin

  37. Eternal Questions

  38. Sweating Weather

  39. Dunkin’ Suspects

  40. Loosening the Purse Strings

  41. Eye See You

  42. Hudson and Potomac

  43. The Key to the Case

  44. Off the Record

  45. The Secrets of Happy-ness

  46. Who’s Your Daddy?

  47. Mission, Impossible

  48. The Brothers Grim

  49. Don’t Mess Around with Jim

  50. Reunited

  51. Big James and the Giant Peach

  52. Peaches and Dreams

  Apple Die - Excerpt

  A Note From the Authors

  Also by Chelsea Thomas

  About the Author

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  Peaches and Scream © Chelsea Thomas, 2020

  Disclaimer -- All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including mechanical or electronic, without written permission from the author.

  While the author has made every effort to ensure that the ideas, guidelines and information printed in this eBook are safe, they should be used at the reader’s discretion. The author cannot be held responsible for any personal or commercial damage arising from the application or misinterpretation of information presented herein.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to the actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Want updates, free cozies and recipes? Join the Chelsea Thomas Reader Club at chelseathomasauthor.com.

  Cover Design: Priscilla Pantin

  1

  Peachy Keen

  You know me by now, so you know that if I sit down to tell you a story, it’s going to be about someone who died.

  This particular story begins on a beautiful summer night, the first Saturday in August. That Saturday marked the official start of peach-picking season on the orchard. Miss May was throwing a huge peach party to celebrate, complete with fresh-picked peaches, homemade vanilla ice cream, and peach pie straight from the oven.

  I’m not going to say I was only excited for the party because of the food, but the food was the most exciting part of the party… Yes, I lived on a farm that was primarily an apple orchard, but secretly, peaches were my favorite fruit. Don’t tell my aunt, Miss May!

  It had been a few months since the last murder in our small town of Pine Grove, and those few months had been beautiful. It had been nice to have a break from solving the crimes, even if deep down, I knew another mystery was on the horizon.

  I’d enjoyed spending the long summer days in my hometown — swimming in local watering holes, eating strawberry ice cream to cool down under the noon sun, and wandering the farm as the fireflies lit up the sky.

  The orchard had a resident tiny horse, See-Saw, and in the past year we’d also acquired a limping little puppy dog named Steve and an orphaned cat named Kitty.

  See-Saw, Steve, and Kitty were often my companions on my long walks. That was one of the many wonderful things about living in Pine Grove — there was never a shortage of good company, animal or human.

  Summer was always a romantic season, and I’d spent most of that particular summer with my boyfriend, Germany Turtle.

  Oh, Germany…let me tell you a little about Germany.

  His parents had been murdered in Pine Grove, and I’d helped solve the mystery of their deaths. He was, how should I say this, a weirdo in a denim vest. Pretty cute, too.

  That August night, as I walked across the orchard toward the event barn, my thoughts settled on Germany and my happy summer smile wavered. Before he’d moved to Pine Grove, Germany had been living in Africa and studying lions. The institute where he’d been doing his research had recently asked him to return, and he’d said yes.

  It hadn’t been an easy decision. Germany had insisted that he would stay home if I didn’t want him to go, but I couldn’t do that. Germany was supportive of me in all of my endeavors, and I wanted to offer him the same freedom and encouragement. I was sad to say good-bye to him, of course, but what could I do? Lions were his passion, and there were no lions in Pine Grove. At least not that I knew of.

  When I entered the event barn, the smell of fresh-baked peach pie overwhelmed my senses. Sweet and tangy and buttery and delicious. Miss May had made at least twenty pies for the party and they were all lined up on a picnic table along the far wall.

  Miss May set out plates along the table. She turned and smiled when she heard me enter.

  “Chelsea. I take it from the look on your face that you’re hungry for pie.”

  I chuckled. “I’m always hungry for pie. The look on my face is more about the beautiful summer night. The start of peach-picking season is so exciting.”

  “It really is,” said Miss May. “A good way to bring in a little extra money, too.”

  I looked around, surveying the space.

  I’d spent the prior day decorating the barn for the big peach extravaganza. In my former life as an interior designer living in New York City, I’d done a lot of upscale, modern design. But since moving back to Pine Grove, I’d gotten pretty good at the whole “rustic chic” aesthetic, if I do say so myself.

  For the peach party, I’d arranged two long rows of picnic tables covered in classic red and white tablecloths (a go-to for rustic chic). A peach-shaped piñata dangled from the rafters, ready to be busted open by eager kids (and probably a few adults). A homemade sign reading, “Welcome to the Peach Party!” sparkled above the bandstand.

  “Are Tom and the band going to be here soon to set up?” I asked.

  I was referencing Tom, Pine Grove’s erudite town lawyer. Normally a serious man, Tom loosened his proverbial tie as the frontman of his funky local band, The Giggles.

  Miss May put another pie on the table. “Should be here any minute. Tom has been texting me about it all morning. He wanted to set up last night. He’s so excited.”

  “Not a lot of gigs in Pine Grove,” I said.

  Miss May smiled. “You’re right about that. So I suppose it makes sen
se. Do me a favor and set a pitcher of peach iced tea out on every table? I’ve got them all chilling in the fridge.”

  I clapped. “You made peach iced tea? Miss May, you are a goddess.”

  “I’m glad you finally realized that. Put out those red cups, too. People love drinking sweet tea out of red cups.” I smiled and bounced over toward the large fridge, which we kept hidden behind a curtain.

  As I crossed the room, I listened to the sounds of the evening. Crickets chirped their melancholy chorus out in the orchard. A gentle breeze lifted the edges of the tablecloths as it wafted through the barn. The thick perfume of wildflowers hung on the air. Summer. I felt it in my whole body.

  When I was a little kid, coming to visit Miss May at the farm during the summer months had always been my favorite activity. I think my parents must have loved it too. I would splash in the creek and help bake pies and spend long nights laughing around a bonfire in the backyard. In the sepia haze of memory, those nights had the kind of perfection that only ever exists in the summers of youth.

  After my parents died and Miss May took me in, I was grateful to have the Thomas Family Fruit and Fir Farm to call home. Even though I’d been devastated and numb after my parents’ tragic passing, I’d found solace in the long aisles of the orchard and comfort in the natural sounds — the birds, the crickets, the katydids, the frogs…

  I slipped out the back door of the barn, behind the bandstand, to take a moment to appreciate the quiet before the party began. Sliding my feet out of my sandals, I wriggled my toes in the grass. I closed my eyes for a few moments and focused on my other senses — the floral fragrance in the air, the damp warmth of the evening, the silky plushness of the earth beneath my feet...

  My eyes snapped open when I heard footsteps rustling in the grass behind me.

  “Chelsea. There you are, girl.”

  I turned back. Teeny approached me with an exasperated look on her face. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Teeny was Miss May’s best friend. Tiny in stature with an oversized personality, Teeny ran Pine Grove’s coziest and most delicious restaurant, Grandma’s.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I got distracted. I must have been out here for longer than I realized. It is such a beautiful—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Beautiful night. Summer sounds. Perfect temperature. The peach pie smells amazing. We’ve got a situation in the barn, girl. May sent me out to find you.”

  My eyes widened. “Don’t tell me—”

  Teeny shook her head. “No. No one is dead. At least not yet.”

  I scratched my head. “What’s going on?”

  Teeny jerked her head back toward the barn. “Follow me. And you better high step it. It’s a gorgeous night, but that doesn’t mean the ticks aren’t biting.”

  I took the highest steps I could as I followed Teeny back to the barn, her bleach blonde hair bobbing in the night.

  Teeny was right, no one was dead…yet.

  But murder was high stepping it straight toward us.

  2

  Field of Screams

  I must’ve really been daydreaming out in the field for longer than I’d thought, because when I entered the barn, the party was in full swing. Tom Gigley and his band played “Millions of Peaches,” by the Presidents of the United States of America. Twenty or so townspeople sashayed and swayed on the dance floor. And a little girl ate a big bowl of ice cream, chocolate sauce dripping down her chin.

  I furrowed my brow. “It looks like the party is going fine. What are you so panicked about?”

  Teeny didn’t break stride. “Keep following. This is a classic Jenna and Mr. Flowers situation we’ve got our hands.”

  I cocked my head in confusion.

  Teeny rolled her eyes. “You don’t know Jenna and Mr. Flowers? It’s my favorite new mystery show on the British mystery network. Jenna is a pet shop owner, but part of the pet shop is a cute little bookstore. And Mr. Flowers, well, obviously he owns a flower shop. The two of them never see eye to eye, but—”

  “Teeny,” I said.

  She looked at me with her big, wide blue eyes. “Yeah?”

  “The show sounds great but how about you tell me what’s going on here?”

  “I’m showing you. Patience is a virtue, young cricket.”

  “Grasshopper. It’s young grasshopper.”

  Teeny scoffed. “That’s obviously wrong. Grasshoppers aren’t patient.”

  “I can’t speak to the dispositions of the various insects, but I do know that the expression is grasshopper.”

  “Well in Britain, they say cricket.”

  Seconds later, Teeny led me out the main entrance of the event barn and we stumbled right into the problem. A large bald man and a short, squat woman were in the middle of a heated argument. I recognized the man. He was known around town as Big Jim. Big Jim owned a magic and illusion store on the outskirts of town and had always seemed like a nice guy to me. He was in his 50’s and, like I said, as bald as a baseball pitched at a hundred mph.

  I didn’t recognize the woman with whom Big Jim was arguing. But she was red in the face. Wearing a long gauzy purple skirt and a rumpled, mismatched blouse. She had a ruddy face and stringy hair. The wild look in her eye gave me a sense of unease.

  “You’re a killer, Big Jim. You want to kill me. I know it. I can see inside your head, I can read the evil intentions scrawled on your little brain. Just admit that you want to kill me.”

  Jim laughed. “I told you already, Beth. I don’t want to kill you. Why would I want to kill you? I’m a business leader in this town. I’m not about to give that up to kill someone I barely know.”

  Beth shook her head. “Barely know. You’re acting like we don’t have any history.”

  “We have history. I know that. But there’s no beef between us now. Why would I want to kill you? We’re cordial. We wave at each other from across the street. We make small talk in line the coffee shop.”

  I turned to Teeny. “This is bad. Where’s Miss May?”

  “Not sure,” Teeny said. “I lost track of her whereabouts when I went to look for you. I don’t know how to handle this dispute.”

  “Neither do I.” My voice squeaked with nervous uncertainty. “I’m not the boss around here. It’s not my job to stop these arguments. Sure, I’ve caught killers but I’ve never intervened in an argument about premeditated murder.”

  Big Jim must have heard me. He turned and took a step toward me. “Good. Chelsea. You’re the manager here, right? Can you tell this woman to get off your property? She’s losing her mind.”

  I stammered. “I’m sorry. Uh, let’s talk this over. I understand the two of you are having a disagreement?”

  “It’s not a disagreement,” Beth screeched. “This guy is trying to kill me.”

  I attempted my best reassuring smile. “I’m sure Big Jim is not trying to kill you. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Chelsea. My aunt owns this orchard. You are—”

  “I’m Beth. Just Beth. Don’t call me Elizabeth.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “I’m a tarot card reader. A medium. I know when people are up to evil. When there’s a malicious spirit in the air I detect it and I attack it. That’s what’s happening here. If you’re going to kick anyone off this orchard it should be that demon there.” Beth pointed an angry finger at Big Jim.

  Once again, he laughed. “This is preposterous.” He zipped up his light summer jacket. “No need to kick me out, Chelsea. I’m leaving. I will be informing Miss May about how poorly you handled the situation. I’ve picked my apples here for twenty years. Today, I came hoping to get some peaches, but after this whole encounter… Not so sure I’ll be back in the fall.”

  Jim took a step toward the parking lot. But Beth wasn’t finished fighting. She stepped right in front of him and blocked his path. Her lips were pursed and angry. “Oh no, sir. You’re not getting away like that. You are a killer. You need to be apprehended. If your crime goes unpunished now, th
ere’s no telling the evil that will the follow this community.”

  Big Jim mumbled. “We’ve already had like ten murders in the past year.”

  Beth took a wobbly stride toward Big Jim and got right in his face. “And you like that, don’t you? I bet you had a hand in every single one of them. You’re a despicable human. A horrible beast. I cannot let you leave this property!”

  Beth lunged at Big Jim. I stepped between them with my hands held up to protect my face. “Wait! Hold on.”

  Beth froze. “What?”

  “You say you do tarot readings, right?” I swallowed.

  My change of subject seemed to calm Beth a bit. She stepped back and brushed off her hands on her skirt. She stepped back and composed herself. “Yes. I’m a medium. Magic is a skill that’s been in my family for generations. I’m honored to continue it.”

  “That’s so impressive,” I said. “You must do so much valuable work. I appreciate that you’re helping to keep our community safe.”

  “I’m not a threat to the community,” said Big Jim.

  Beth turned back to Big Jim with balled up fists.

  “Hold on,” I said, once again stepping into Beth’s eye line. “I have an idea.”

  Beth turned to me. “Go on.”