Dropping Like Pies (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 11) Read online

  Dropping Like Pies

  Chelsea Thomas

  Contents

  1. Digging for Clues

  2. Put Me In, Coach

  3. Sister, Sister

  4. Hand to God

  5. Redial

  6. Sit, Stay, Roll Over

  7. Monster Under the Bed

  8. Piecing it Together

  9. Shooting Hopes

  10. Halls of Gory

  11. Oreo Blizzards

  12. Best of Times, Worst of Times

  13. Ancient Artifacts

  14. Masked Marauder

  15. Fireside Sleep

  16. Coaching Strategies

  17. Dribbling Disaster

  18. James and the Giant Date

  19. To Date or Not to Date

  20. Missing Pieces

  21. First Degree Jitters

  22. Post-Game Analysis

  23. How Now, Brown Cow?

  24. Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Snowstorm

  25. Spinning our Wheels

  26. Interrogation Station

  27. Big Dan’s Dirty Laundry

  28. Surprise, Surprise

  29. Racing Around

  30. Barnstorming

  31. Teeny Tiny Problem

  32. Sleeping on the Job

  33. A Shred of Evidence

  34. Plowing Ahead

  35. Diary of a Wimple, Kid

  36. Team Spirit

  37. You Only Die Twice

  38. A Thornton in Our Side

  39. A Flick of the Wrist

  40. Turn Me Right ‘Round, Teeny, Right ‘Round

  41. Needle in a Paper Stack

  42. Winner Winner

  43. Shred Delicious

  44. Wimpledon

  45. Bench Press

  46. One for the Money, Two for the Show

  47. Thinking Twice

  48. Waffle Good Time

  49. Teeny’s Big idea

  50. Family Problems

  51. Three Strikes

  52. Sheriffs and Deputies

  53. Dance Party

  1

  Digging for Clues

  Miss May, Teeny and I solved the Mystery of the Murdered Chef on a crisp, clear evening in October.

  That night, I found the first big clue in our next investigation: a disembodied hand wearing three big, gold rings.

  Yup. We were in the middle of celebrating the conclusion of one mystery when a new investigation plopped right onto the orchard.

  By 3 AM, most of the Pine Grove Police Department had gathered on the orchard.

  As the sun rose, the place looked like the site of an important archaeological dig. The cops had set up a massive white tent adjacent to our event barn. Floodlights washed the apple trees in a florescent glow. And every few feet, a police officer dug a fresh hole with a big, steel shovel.

  My aunt, Miss May, had parked her big, yellow VW van beside the archaeological site. She and I hung out in the van, brewing hot coffee in the van’s kitchenette. We poured endless cups for the cold, tired police force.

  Miss May did it all with a smile. But I was not feeling quite as hospitable.

  “I don’t know why they can’t bring their own coffee,” I said.

  “Be nice, Chelsea,” said Miss May. “It’s the middle of the night. These guys are exhausted. And it’s not like they want to be here. I’m sure Flanagan bullied each and every one of them into showing up. Or maybe she pulled them out of bed by the ankles.”

  “I know,” I said. “I guess I’m just frustrated. The cops are never on our side. It feels wrong to have them swarming our home turf like caffeinated bees.”

  “The sooner we solve this mystery, the sooner this all goes away.” Miss May kissed the top of my head and turned away to prep more coffee. “Besides, aren’t you a little excited? You found a hand to match the foot that turned up a few weeks back.”

  “I guess,” I said, recalling the foot that had turned up on the orchard a little while back, plus the other foot the cops had found downstream from the orchard. “It’s nice to have a hand to match the feet. But it would be even nicer if there weren’t any body parts at all.”

  “Try to relax for a bit.” Miss May handed me a cup of coffee. “Sip some joe.”

  I held the cup of coffee to my nose and inhaled. It was dark, rich and, I’ll admit it, calming. I took another big whiff and my mind drifted back to my childhood.

  After my parents died, Miss May had adopted me and brought me onto the orchard to live with her. Eventually, I grew up, went to college, and moved down to New York City to start my own interior design business. Things had gone well, for a bit.

  Then my former fiancé, Mike, had left me at the altar on our wedding day. When I’d checked our shared business accounts, I’d realized he had stolen the business along with my heart.

  After that disastrous “I don’t,” Miss May had once again welcomed me onto the orchard. She had given me a place to stay and put me in charge of decorating for all the orchard’s events. Gradually, I came to spend most of my time in the bakeshop with Miss May, where she taught me her top secret recipes and showed me the value of kneading bread on a stressful day.

  But baking wasn’t the only new hobby I’d developed since moving back to my small hometown. I’d also picked up a talent for solving murders. That night wasn’t the first time the PGPD had been crawling all over our farm because of a dead body. And I wasn’t sure it would be the last.

  Miss May shook my arm and I snapped out of my memories.

  “Can you believe that?” Miss May said.

  “Sorry. Lost in thought. Can I believe what?”

  “I just overheard a couple of cops talking. They’re going to bring an excavator up here to dig on the farm.”

  “An excavator? They can’t do that,” I said. “That would ruin the grounds. And the trees. That’s our heritage. And our livelihood. And our apples!”

  “I know.” Miss May zipped up her jacket and charged out toward the police line. “Come on. We need to fix this.”

  We found Detective Wayne Hudson at the back of the tent, standing by a folding table, sifting through what appeared to be a pile of dirt.

  Miss May charged up to Wayne and addressed him with a stern voice. “Detective Hudson.”

  Wayne looked over at us. For an instant, I was overtaken by his startling eyes, sharp jaw, and perfect five o’clock shadow. Wayne and I, well, we weren’t quite a thing. But I think Wayne wanted to be. And I had no idea what I wanted.

  Just a few days prior, Wayne had been steps away from me when my boyfriend, Germany Turtle, proposed to me. I’d thrown a heavyhearted “maybe” on Germany’s proposal, and I wasn’t sure where I stood with Wayne or Germany at that moment.

  But Wayne clearly wasn’t in romance mode. He was in full-on, annoying cop mode. “May. Chelsea. Sorry. Busy here.”

  “You’re sorting through a pile of dirt,” I said.

  “I’m looking for clues.”

  “You look like a monkey sifting through its own excrement,” said Miss May.

  Wayne stood upright and crossed his arms. “Excuse me?”

  I stifled a laugh.

  “That’s not funny, Chelsea. I’m an officer of the law. That was insulting. I’m not a monkey.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Miss May. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way. I shouldn’t talk to anyone that way. But I’m the one who should be insulted.”

  “Why is that?” asked Wayne.

  “I just heard a couple of deputies talking. They said an excavator’s on its way up to the farm to start digging big holes.”
r />   Wayne looked down.

  “So it’s true,” said Miss May. “I thought you were our friend. You didn’t think you should warn us about that? A machine that size could do considerable damage up here.”

  “Flanagan said—” Wayne began.

  “It doesn’t matter what Flanagan said,” I said. “We deserve to know if the Pine Grove Police Department plans on destroying our family orchard.”

  “I know,” said Wayne. “It’s just Flanagan thinks there might be more body parts on the orchard. She says if we can find the entire body, we might finally be able to identify the victim.”

  I threw up my hands. “I already identified the victim! I told you this when I found that hand. The dead guy is Pine Grove’s high school basketball coach, Coach Thornton! The hand was wearing all three of Coach’s championship rings. And I would recognize those hairy knuckles anywhere. Plus, he had a very distinct tattoo. Did you see the wrist tattoo? It’s like, a Thornton family crest or something.”

  “You played basketball?” said Wayne with more than a hint of disbelief.

  “No. But thank you for the extreme skepticism. Thornton was also the physical education teacher. I hated him.”

  Wayne looked at me with wide eyes.

  “Not like, in a murdery way. I hated him because he made me participate in team sports and wouldn’t let me read on the sideline during class. Not enough reason to kill the man.”

  Wayne held up his hands. “OK. Sorry.”

  “Have you looked into Chelsea’s theory one bit?” asked Miss May.

  Wayne stammered. He clearly had not.

  “What are you waiting for?” asked Miss May. “Go by Thornton’s house. Call those closest to him. Do a little bit of metaphorical digging before you literally dig up our land. I’m sure you’ll find there’s no reason to ruin my orchard.”

  A strong, clear female voice rang out from behind us. “We will not abandon this investigation to follow one of your ludicrous hunches.”

  Miss May and I turned in unison to face the illustrious and effortlessly gorgeous Chief Sunshine Flanagan, her red hair blowing gently in the breeze.

  “This isn’t a hunch, all due respect,” said Miss May. “Chelsea knows that hand.”

  “I don’t care what Chelsea thinks she knows,” said Flanagan, emphasizing the word think. “I’m the Pine Grove Chief of Police. She’s a bakery girl. See the difference?”

  “Whoa,” said Wayne.

  “Do you have a problem, Detective?” said Flanagan.

  “No. Sorry.”

  “I didn’t think so. Now keep sifting through the dirt. No more chatting with the locals.”

  “We’re not ‘locals,’” said Miss May. “I own this farm. I’m giving free coffee to all your officers.”

  Flanagan gave Miss May a tight smile. “Feel free to invoice me for that.”

  Miss May scoffed, then Flanagan’s smart phone buzzed with a text. Flanagan read the text. Then she looked up with a smirk.

  “Perfect. The excavator will be here in a couple hours.”

  2

  Put Me In, Coach

  Miss May climbed into the VW bus and sat in the little booth. “I am so annoyed right now. This is our orchard! She can’t come in here and do whatever she wants.”

  I followed Miss May inside the van and closed the sliding door behind me.

  “Good. Lock the door. Free coffee is over.”

  I sat across from Miss May in the booth. “Maybe we should call Gigley. I mean, I know you were a lawyer too. But—"

  “No!” Miss May pointed at me. “That’s a great idea! Tom is much more well-versed in small town matters like this. And I haven’t practiced in years and years. Hand me my phone.”

  I handed Miss May her phone and she dialed the town lawyer, Tom Gigley. She tapped her finger as the phone rang. Then she hung up with a harumph. “Of course. Gigley doesn’t answer when we need him.”

  “It is the middle of the night,” I said.

  “Outside of office hours. Inside sleeping hours. I know. But we need help.”

  I put my hand on Miss May’s arm. It wasn’t like her to get so worked up. “It’s OK. We’re going to figure this out.”

  “I know.” Miss May took a deep breath. “But I don’t like people messing with my farm. And, if I’m being honest, I think I’ve had about fifteen cups of coffee.”

  I laughed. “OK. Now I understand.” I took the coffee cup out of Miss May’s hands and set it where she couldn’t reach. She stretched her arm out for the cup but I blocked her path. “This is for the best. I promise.”

  Miss May groaned. “Fine. I know you’re right. But we need more ideas. Coffee gives me ideas. Not always good ones, granted. But a lot of them.”

  “Maybe we can chain ourselves to an apple tree and say if you dig up this land, you’re gonna have to dig us up too.”

  Miss May shook her head. “We can’t chain ourselves to the entire orchard.”

  “I’ll call Liz from the Gazette,” I said, referring to the editor and sole reporter of the Pine Grove paper. “She can come and start questioning the police officers and tell everyone she’s doing a story on the injustice of destruction of property. The Thomas Family Fruit and Fir Farm is a local treasure.”

  “It’s not the worst idea. Give her a try.”

  I called and I got no answer, so I sent a text instead.

  “You think Liz is going to wake up in the middle of the night and check her texts?” Miss May asked.

  I shrugged. “If anyone’s going to do that, it’s going to be Liz.”

  There was a soft knock on the door the van.

  “Go away. No more free coffee.” Miss May crossed her arms.

  A small voice called from outside. “May! It’s me.”

  Seconds later, my aunt’s best friend, Teeny, slid into the booth beside me. Teeny was tiny, true to her name. And she had bright blue eyes that always looked wide awake, no matter the hour. She pulled a big blueberry muffin out of her purse and took a bite. “OK. Catch me up.”

  Over the next twenty minutes, Miss May and I told Teeny everything that had happened on the farm, up to and including our altercation with Chief Flanagan.

  Teeny set her jaw. “Flanagan is so annoying. This isn’t her orchard. She can’t mess with you just because she feels like it.”

  “I know,” I said. “But who’s gonna stop her? We called Gigley. We called Liz. No answer yet and Flanagan said the digger’s on its way.”

  Teeny leaned forward. “So you really think Coach Thornton was chopped up and buried on your farm?”

  “I know it was Coach Thornton,” I said. “No doubt about it.”

  “Everyone in town loved that guy,” said Teeny. “He won three basketball championships, you know. He made our basketball program relevant on a national scale.”

  “Those championships were almost twenty years ago,” I said. “He got a few good players on his team and didn’t ruin their natural talent. So what?”

  “Well. Clearly somebody doesn’t have much respect for coaching.” Teeny took a bite of her muffin.

  Miss May chuckled. “Coach Thornton may have given Chelsea a bad grade in gym class. He failed to recognize that her brilliance should have exempted her from doing a single successful pull-up.”

  “I did a pull-up once. Halfway. Sort of.”

  Teeny chuckled. “I didn’t realize Thornton did physical education, too.”

  “I heard he was going to officially retire this year,” said Miss May. “He’s been part-time, mostly doing after-school clinics and summer-school for a while.”

  “Retiring is for wimps,” said Teeny. “I’m gonna work ‘til I drop. Just like my mom.”

  “Your mom sits at the hostess stand doing crossword puzzles all day,” I said. “I’m not even sure she knows she’s in a restaurant.”

  “She knows,” said Teeny. “She doesn’t care, but she knows.”

  “I thought Coach Thornton would never retire,” I said. “Even thou
gh I prayed for him to retire early every single second I spent in gym class.”

  Miss May nodded. “Yeah. Nobody wanted him to leave the team, even though he hasn’t won in forever. He was legendary. People still loved him.”

  “Not everyone,” I said.

  “Pretty sure everyone loved him,” said Teeny.

  “You two just think that because you never attended Pine Grove high school while he was coach there. He was kind of a monster at school. A bully, even. He yelled and screamed. Don’t you remember that big scandal that happened when I was in school? He lost it during a playoff game. Got ejected or something.”

  Miss May and Teeny shook their heads.

  “I don’t have any memory of that,” said Teeny.

  “Me neither,” said Miss May.

  “I don’t have any memory of a lot of things,” said Teeny. “I can’t even remember all the stuff I can’t remember.”

  “Let me see if I can find a video of the incident on my phone,” I said, searching on my smart phone.

  “The internet has a great memory,” said Teeny. “That’s why I don’t go on there. You can’t trust anyone who remembers everything. It’s dangerous.”

  “Found it!”

  I pressed play on a video and held my phone screen out for Miss May and Teeny to see.

  The video showed a Pine Grove high school basketball game. Everything seemed normal. Then the referee made what must have been a questionable call. That’s when Coach Thornton, a big, burly man with a mustache, stormed onto the court with a folding chair. He threw the folding chair at the referee. Then he turned to his players and screamed at them and called them losers for thirty seconds straight, without taking a breath.