Berried Alive Page 11

  “Hi Sam. How are your grand-kids?” Miss May asked.

  “Their pop makes the most delicious soft-serve in the universe. How do you think they are?”

  Miss May laughed.

  “Good point,” I said. “Every kid dreams of having an ice cream legend for a grandpa.”

  Sam pointed at me. “I always knew you were the real genius of the sleuthing team. Miss May is only there for the looks.”

  Sam winked at Miss May. She blushed.

  “Look! I made her blush. That’s the highest compliment you could pay me. Just for that, ice cream’s on the house.”

  Miss May giggled. I looked after her. That was one of the few times I’d ever seen Miss May flirt. Her blue eyes twinkled against her rouging cheeks. It was so cute, I started blushing too.

  “What’ll it be?” Sam asked.

  Less than a minute later, I held in my hands the most beautiful ice cream cone I’d ever seen. Dipped in that chocolate sauce that hardens in about 30 seconds. Covered in crushed peanuts. Six inches high and swirled to perfection. Miss May got a medium cup with vanilla and chocolate swirl, hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry. Then we promised Sam we’d be back soon and we strolled off toward town.

  Admittedly, the first chunk of our conversation revolved around the incompatibility of Sandra Day O’Connor and Bruce Lee. The thought of those two cats together made both Miss May and I crack up. But the mayor’s behavior at the press conference also concerned us. Liz’s questions had flustered Mayor Delgado. And, as Miss May pointed out, the mayor had not denied any of Liz’s accusations.

  Was it possible that the scandal of Rosenberg’s death ran all the way to the top of the Pine Grove government? The thought scared me. Even scarier? What if the scandal went higher than that? To the governor, or the president, or an unnamed foreign leader with plans to unravel American democracy, starting in suburban New York.

  OK, my imagination needed a shorter leash. But the point is... We had more questions than answers. And that didn’t feel good.

  Miss May and I spent a few hours doing chores in town, so it was dark as we drove up Whitehill toward the orchard. It was a gorgeous night, but neither of us felt quite right. Questions filled our heads. Ice cream sloshed in our stomachs. And the steep climb toward the orchard did little to calm us.

  I tried to measure my breathing and put my anxiety to rest with positive thinking, but no amount of positivity could have prepared me for what we discovered as we rumbled down the driveway toward the bake shop.

  The front windows were shattered. The door was splintered and kicked in. A light flickered inside the shop.

  Miss May’s face turned white as she parked. “What in tarnation?”

  She climbed out and rushed toward the shop. I followed, even queasier than I had been before.

  As my feet crunched over the gravel I entertained the optimistic notion that perhaps there was an explanation for everything we had seen. But once inside the bakeshop, my worst fears were confirmed.

  The alarm system flashed and whined. Donuts and baked goods were strewn everywhere. The cash register was split open and its contents were strewn across the floor.

  I covered my mouth as I looked around, not sure if I was trying to suppress a scream or hold back vomit. And after a moment I mustered a few squeaky words. “Who would have done this?”

  Miss May turned back to me. Face white. Hands trembling. When she spoke, her words were barely audible. “I have no idea.”

  I looked around and tried to stay calm. “Do you think this is connected to the murder? Is someone sending a signal?”

  “There’s one way we’ll be able to tell for sure,” Miss May said.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Miss May crossed the bakeshop floor, stepped over some debris and entered the back office. I heard a rustling, and five seconds later her voice rang out from within. “I knew it!”

  Miss May poked her head back out into the bakeshop. “They took the briefcase.”

  “Rosenberg’s briefcase?”

  “Of course, Chelsea. What other briefcase would I be talking about?”

  “Sorry. Stupid question.”

  “No. I’m sorry,” Miss May said. “I’m rattled. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

  “But no one even knew we had the briefcase. Isn’t it possible it’s just a coincidence? Maybe the burglar took the briefcase just because it’s a nice briefcase.”

  “There are no coincidences in investigations like these.” Miss May picked up a lopsided chair and sat. Then she grabbed an apple cider donut off the floor and took a bite.

  I laughed. “Good donut?”

  Miss May nodded. “Big Dan’s going to have to work hard if he wants to compete with me.”

  Miss May grabbed another chair off the floor and righted it. She patted the seat, and I crossed over and plopped down.

  I grabbed my own donut off the floor and clinked it with Miss May’s as if to say ‘cheers.’ Then I took a bite.

  “I’m just saying,” I said, with my mouth full. “There have been break-ins around town. Flanagan mentioned one at the meeting. And Petey’s produce got stolen. So it’s possible that this isn’t connected to the murder.”

  “That’s what they want you to think. Whoever did this staged it. Look around... My delicious donuts are tossed everywhere. The money from the cash register is gone. The burglar even took my antique signage off the walls. That stuff gets good money at antique shops.”

  “All of that seems like it was a genuine burglary. Not connected to the murder. That’s what I’m saying.”

  “That’s all just a cover so the cops don’t make the connection.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because the door was kicked in.”

  “So what?”

  “I forgot to lock it this morning,” Miss May said. “No burglar would kick the door down instead of opening it right up. You would only do that if you were staging it to look like a break-in.”

  I sighed. “So you think this is the same person who killed Rosenberg? You think that’s why someone went to the construction trailer that night? Looking for the briefcase?”

  “That’s an interesting theory,” Miss May said. “Perhaps the killer never intended on murdering Rosenberg at all. They were just there for the briefcase. That would explain the struggle. The hasty escape.”

  “That’s not my only theory,” I said. “What if the mayor did this to send a signal? She didn’t like our presence at that press conference.”

  “She didn’t know we had the briefcase,” Miss May said. “Otherwise, that’s a sound theory too.”

  “Maybe she did know about the briefcase,” I said. “Whoever did this has been following us. Or watching us somehow. Otherwise how would anyone have known we had the case?”

  Miss May tilted her head, considering the sinister possibility that someone was stalking us. A stalker! “Well, whoever did steal it,” I said, “joke’s on them. KP used every trick in the proverbial book to open that case.”

  “Except opening it the right way,” Miss May said. “Maybe whoever stole it has the proverbial key. Or the literal key.”

  I shuddered. The whole scenario chilled me, and I hated contemplating the evil genius behind the break-in.

  Miss May got to her feet. “Toss that donut back onto the floor and stand up. Whoever did this must have left a clue. It’s up to us to find it.”

  “You really think we’re going to find something in this mess?” I asked, finishing off the donut instead of throwing it back.

  “Of course,” Miss May said. “If we really look. Take this, for instance.” Miss May squatted to get a close look at the floor. “Muddy footprints. Just like in Rosenberg’s trailer.”

  I grabbed a cookie off the floor and held it up. “Here’s a cookie with a bite taken out. But I don’t see any teeth marks. Do you think that means our killer has no teeth?”

  “Or they broke a piece off the cookie and ate it like that. Or
the cookie broke when they tossed it.”

  “Good point,” I said. “They should have offered a class in college about different ways criminals might eat a cookie. I mean, I know everything there is to know about the French Revolution and the warrior art of the Mesopotamian era, but I honestly thought for a few seconds that our killer might have no teeth.”

  Miss May laughed. “And that’s what they call book smarts versus street smarts.”

  “Versus cookie smarts,” I said.

  “Lucky for you most people understand that there are different kinds of intelligence. I mean, take my doctor. She went to Oxford and last time I showed up for an appointment she had locked herself out of the office with the keys in her own pocket! Smart people do silly things. All the time.”

  We laughed. Then I heard a noise from the other room and froze. “Hey Miss May?”

  Miss May looked over at me.

  “... how do we know the burglar isn’t still here?”

  Miss May froze too. She gulped. “I guess we don’t.”

  Miss May crossed behind the counter and pulled a butcher knife from a knife block. Her breathing got shallower. She handed me a rolling pin.

  “Hello?” She looked under the counter. No one was there. “Anyone in here? Show yourself. We’ve got weapons.”

  Miss May flattened herself against the wall. I pancaked myself next to her, and we slinked toward the back office, one cautious, nerve-wracking step at a time.

  Finally, we turned the corner. And my heart just about exploded out of my chest.

  17

  Hudson Heart Attack

  “WAYNE! THANK GOODNESS it’s you.” I rushed across the room and hugged Wayne so tight he gagged.

  Miss May hung back by the door. She laughed. “All right, Chelsea. You’re getting donut crumbs on Wayne’s shirt.”

  I stepped back from the hug. Yup. Crumbs were everywhere. “Oh no! I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Wayne said. “Just a little donut.”

  “It was a floor donut,” I blurted. “I ate it off the floor.”

  Wayne laughed. “Not a big deal, Chels. Five second rule, right?”

  “As far as I can tell it had been there all night. Thousands of seconds.”

  Miss May stepped forward. “OK, Chelsea. Everything’s fine.” She turned to Wayne. “We’re shaken up from all this. Glad to see you. But surprised. I didn’t even know you were back.”

  “Got back late last night. Your silent security alarm goes straight to the precinct. This is my first shift, and of course I wanted to answer this call.” Wayne looked around the office and stepped out into the bakeshop. “So what happened in here?”

  Miss May followed Wayne into the bakeshop. “What does it look like to you, Detective? It’s a break-in.”

  Wayne surveyed the scene and shook his head.

  Miss May continued. “The policing in this town has fallen apart since you left. Break-ins everywhere. And this is the most recent.”

  “What was that you said about the police work in this town?” Chief Flanagan entered through the main door of the bakeshop. She looked great, as always. Was her hair getting redder and softer with each passing day?

  Miss May didn’t back down. “You heard what I said, Chief. Unsolved break-ins. Murders that are not being investigated. Is that what you would call good police work?”

  Flanagan crossed her arms. “Rosenberg’s death was not a murder.”

  Right, and I didn’t just eat a whole donut off the ground!

  Miss May shook her head. “And I suppose you believe that this incident here has nothing to do with the fact that my niece and I have been uh, asking around about that ‘not murder’?”

  Sunshine nodded. “It’s like you said. This is the most recent in a long string of break-ins. And as you can see, the Pine Grove Police Department is taking said break-ins seriously.”

  Flanagan crossed to Wayne and put her hand on his elbow. “Finish up in here and head outside, all right?”

  Wayne shot a glance over to me. “Sure thing, Chief. Right behind you.”

  Flanagan looked around the bakeshop, shook her head, then strode outside.

  “It’s good to see you, Miss May,” Wayne said. “Good to see you too, Chelsea. Although I wish it were under different circumstances.”

  “We all do, Detective.” Miss May looked between me and Wayne. “I need to go to the ladies room. But you two should get reacquainted. Wayne, have you heard that Chelsea is being pursued by one of the new young bachelors in town?”

  Wayne stammered. “Uh...”

  Miss May smiled. “Good. You can talk about that.”

  Miss May smirked and exited. Her ability to be a romantic instigator, even in the most dire circumstances, impressed me. But I could have done without the casual reference to Germany Turtle. Even if I did infatuate the guy.

  Once Miss May left, Wayne turned his full attention on me. I expected to fall into his blue-green eyes and tread water in the clear pool of his disarming gaze, as per usual. But he looked tired and haggard and I did not fall in.

  “Your aunt cracks me up,” Wayne said. “Isn’t she scared with all this going on?”

  I shrugged. “She doesn’t get scared. Maybe she’s a little rattled. But I’m the one who wears it on my sleeve.”

  “Please. You’ve come a long way,” Wayne said. “Back when we met, you were such a crybaby.”

  “Hey! I was a new girl in a new place. Facing my first murder ever!”

  Wayne laughed. “I’m just saying. I don’t think you’re such a scaredy-cat anymore. I mean, we’re standing in an active crime scene right now and as far as I know you haven’t cried once.”

  I smiled. “Nope. I shoved my tears down with donuts and courage.”

  Wayne smirked but it faded. “This is kind of alarming, though. No pun intended. You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m good. I promise.”

  Wayne nodded. Looked around. “I called you.”

  I looked down. “I called you back.”

  “This trial, being a witness, the whole thing... It’s been draining.”

  I kicked at some debris on the floor. “I get it.”

  “We should do something though,” Wayne said. “You feel like dancing?”

  I flicked my eyes up at him. “You’re back in town for good now?”

  Wayne nodded. “Thankfully. Yes. I mean, as far as I know.”

  “Good.”

  “Good indeed.” Wayne joined me in the awkward sport of kicking at the ground. “Hey, uh... What are you and Miss May thinking about this Rosenberg thing? And all these break-ins?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Is the great Detective Wayne Hudson asking me for inside information on a police investigation?”

  Wayne shrugged. “It’s not a police investigation if the police are not investigating. All I’m doing is asking you for a little Pine Grove gossip.”

  I smiled. “However you want to justify it to yourself, Detective.”

  Wayne sighed. “Do you know anything or not, Chelsea?”

  I glanced toward the entrance to the bakeshop to make sure Flanagan wasn’t too close. “OK. Here’s the gossip. Word is, this was no accident. The mayor might be corrupt. The police chief might be corrupt. And the most hated man in town is dead but no clear suspect has emerged. A pair of talented and beautiful amateur sleuths are on the case, but they’ve got no safety net now that their reliable sidekick in the police force is tethered to an unreasonable chief and seems to have lost the ability to think for himself.”

  “Hilarious,” Wayne said. “But I’m no sidekick. And I can still think for myself. Why do you think I’m asking about all this?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Flanagan kicked the broken door open And stood in the frame like a warrior princess. “Wayne. Outside?”

  Flanagan exited and Wayne followed. He turned back before he left. “By the way... Who’s this new eligible bachelor Miss May was talking about?”

>   I blushed and looked down. “No one.”

  “Your cheeks get that red over no one?”

  I looked up with a straight face. “It’s no one. Trust me.”

  THAT NIGHT, I CRAWLED into bed and fell fast asleep. But I woke up a few hours later to the sound of a tapping on my window. I rolled over, trying to ignore the noise. But it persisted.

  Tap tap. Tap tap.

  I checked my clock. 2 AM. What the heck?

  Tap tap. Tap tap.

  I turned on my bedside lamp and crossed to the window. I saw nothing outside. But then I heard the noise again.

  Tap tap. Tap tap.

  I grabbed the window and slid it open with a quiet fwshhhhh.

  The only sound for miles was the wind rustling through the apple trees. No one was out there. So what was that incessant tapping?

  I was about to close the window when I noticed a small figurine, about two inches high, perched on the sill of the window.

  It was a small, gold-trimmed calico cat figurine, with a little red fist knocking in a perpetual motion.

  I recognized the figurine from my art history courses as a “maneki neko,” a common Japanese figurine meant to bring good luck.

  Over the years I had noticed similar talismans at the entrance to almost every sushi restaurant I had ever patronized, the little cats’ knocking fists beckoning customers to enter.

  But I had never held one of the little calico figurines in my hands until that night.

  As I lifted the kitty from the windowsill, its weight surprised me. The figurine was not plastic, like most maneki neko cats that I had seen. Instead, the little kitty in my hands was metal. Maybe even gold-plated.

  I held the cat up to my eyes to get a better look. And I couldn’t help but speak to it in my “talking to cute animals voice.”

  “Well hello there,” I said, scrunching up my nose. “Aren’t you a cute little one? How did you end up on my windowsill? Did you get cold out there? You’re an itty-bitty little kitty aren’t you?”

  “Who the heck are you talking to?”

  I shrieked and fell back on my behind. I looked up at Miss May towering above me.