Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery series Box Set 1 Page 12

  “OK. Good.” Wayne’s shoulders got more relaxed. “I was sorry to hear about all that.”

  I nodded. Talking about my parents was always a little sad. Did hot detective also have a sensitive side? Yowzah!

  “Alright people, clear the way!” Flanagan approached from the next room, all authoritative and perfect. Groan. “You can come back after we’ve completed processing. Detective Hudson, can you help me with that?”

  “Let’s do it.” Wayne and Flanagan fist-bumped. I hope that’s the only thing those two are bumping, I thought. Then I cringed at myself and followed Miss May out to the parking lot.

  As we exited the station, Miss May shook her head, “You know, policemen are supposed to make us feel safe. Protected. But most of the time they just go around arresting the wrong people. I’m sure they think they’ve got enough for a conviction on poor Maggie.”

  “Well, she had motives. Plural. Money. Revenge. Jealousy.”

  “What are you saying?” Miss May asked.

  “Nothing. I know she didn’t do it. But it doesn’t look good.”

  “No,” Miss May conceded. “It looks bad. Real bad.”

  “So what now?” I asked. “Are you going to find her one of your lawyer friends from the city to help?

  “Not necessary.”

  “Why?”

  “’Because you and I are going to find the killer. Tonight.”

  Miss May narrowed her eyes in determination. I thought about what Wayne had said and wondered if Miss May was so hell-bent on exonerating Maggie because of my parents’ death. I had a lot of questions but now wasn’t the time.

  A rush of adrenaline flooded my system as Miss May strode through the parking lot, and I got light-headed and excited. Like I was about to charge through a banner at the Super Bowl. But I also felt scared. But what if I tripped over the banner and broke my leg?

  “So…what do we do?” I approached the bus and tried to open the locked passenger door. “Try to weasel a confession out of Rita?”

  Miss May dug for her keys in her purse. “You were so sure Rita didn’t do it.”

  “I know, I know. And I still think she genuinely loved Vinny. But if he really did go back on his promise to leave Maggie, and Rita found out…”

  “Rita is your prime suspect, then?” Miss May looked up at me.

  “Who’s yours?” I said, my voice a little sharper than I intended.

  Miss May shrugged. “Not Rita.”

  “Well, then. tell me your theory already.”

  Miss May pulled her keys out of her bag. “A-ha! Found ‘em!”

  That time, the bus unlocked with no kicking, and Miss climbed in with purpose and turned the engine. The big yellow monster roared to life and Miss May patted the steering wheel like it was a well-behaved dog. “That’s my girl!”

  I pressed on. “Miss May, who do you think did it?”

  Miss May shrugged. She was playing dumb, and I wasn’t in the mood for it. I wanted no more surprises.

  “It can’t be Sudeer,” I said. “We cleared him. So it has to be Rita. Process of elimination. Maybe Rita doesn’t even know she did it. Heartbreak can be pretty…disorienting.”

  I had definitely done some stuff I'd regretted after Mike dumped me. Ask Ben and/or Jerry to verify.

  Miss May rolled her eyes at me and pulled out onto Main Street. I could tell she was sick of my constant comparisons between Maggie’s situation and my own. But my Mike-inflicted wounds still felt fresh, and I couldn’t help but liken Maggie’s wedding troubles to my own unhappily-ever-after.

  Granted, my groom didn’t die, no matter how hard I’d wished he might. I had wanted Mike to feel hurt like I did after he hurt me. My daily routine had consisted of three things, eat donuts, think about hurting Mike, repeat. If Rita had acted on an impulse to inflict pain, I couldn’t judge. In fact, I almost wanted to congratulate her. But high-fiving a suspected murderer, even if I approved of her motives, seemed uncool.

  “Oh, come on, Chelsea,” Miss May said. “You never really loved Mike.”

  My breath snagged in my throat. I felt like Miss May had just back-handed me right in my slightly-oversized nose. “What?”

  “You were just marrying Mike because he asked. And because you don’t know how to say no,” Miss May flipped on her blinker and waited to turn.

  I knew she didn’t mean to seem callous, but hearing her placid, black-and-white diagnosis of my failed relationship stung. So I defended myself. “That’s not true. Mike and I, we were good, I mean, at least for a while. I loved him.”

  “You did not.” Miss May turned the bus calmly.

  “Shut up!” I shouted and then immediately clapped both hands over my mouth, like a little girl who’d just yelled at her mom. I couldn’t believe I had just said that.

  “Whoa.” Miss May looked over at me. I thought she’d be mad, but her voice got softer, and she put a hand on my leg. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Just like that, the floodgates burst, and I started sob-jabbering about every jumbled thought in my head. “It’s just Maggie and Rita and…SOB…and I can’t believe somebody died…I saw a dead guy so young…SOB…and…and I know I shouldn’t care about Mike but…SOB…and…and…SOB!”

  “Alright,” Miss May took my hand. “Let’s take a deep breath. Ready?”

  I looked over at Miss May. She took a big breath in, and I mimicked her. Then she let it out, and so did I. I shook my head. Unbelievable. Miss May was at it again, using my own breathing techniques against me. Or, I guess, for me. But it felt like she was calming me down against my will.

  I let it happen, and we sat there, breathing together, until I quit crying. Then a car pulled up behind us and honked. We had been sitting at the stop sign for too long.

  Miss May waved the driver around. When the car passed, I saw it was KP behind the wheel. He grumbled to himself as he sped by us. He had apparently not noticed that he was honking at Miss May’s big yellow Volkswagen.

  “KP really does hate stop signs,” I said.

  Miss May smiled. “I can’t believe I let you practice driving with him.”

  “Probably why I can’t drive!”

  “You can too drive,” Miss May said. She meant it as supportive, but I felt chided. I clasped my hands in my lap. Miss May let off the brake and rolled slowly forward through the intersection. I could tell she felt bad for upsetting me. “You OK?”

  I nodded.

  “OK. Good.” Miss May put both her hands back on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry I said that about Mike. It wasn’t my place.”

  I looked at myself in the passenger side mirror. Objects may be closer than they appear. I wished they looked farther away. Post-cry was not the most flattering look for my face. I wiped my eyes. It didn’t help.

  Adulthood, I thought, was also closer than it appeared.

  In that moment, as I looked at my reflection through a blurry-eyed haze, clarity poured over me like a bucket of ice to the head.

  “I think…maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe I didn’t love Mike.”

  I couldn’t believe I was saying those words, but hearing them aloud, I felt relieved. I hadn’t admitted it to myself all these months, because I had been so busy loathing and despising Mike for leaving me. But, in that moment, I realized something monumental.

  Marrying Mike would have been a huge mistake.

  “Marrying Mike would have been a huge mistake,” I repeated out loud. More to hear it myself than to let Miss May know I agreed with her.

  My head throbbed, and my sinuses pulsed with crying aftershock. I couldn’t believe how quickly I’d had such a revelation, and how much my entire outlook had brightened.

  “Oh God,” I said. “I dodged a bullet, didn’t I?”

  Miss May put her hand back on my leg. “More like the bullet saw you in your wedding dress and hightailed it in the other direction.”

  I giggled. Then it turned to a laugh. Seconds later I was rolling in laughter, and al
l my pent-up tension had transformed to joy, like a bizarre form of emotional alchemy. I snorted, “I can’t believe I just told you to shut up!”

  Miss May started to laugh too. “You turned white as a sheet!” She shook her head, “What did you think I was going to do? Ground you?”

  We laughed for almost a full minute, and the fear and exhaustion of the last few days melted away, at least temporarily.

  When we calmed down, I swore I had lost fifteen pounds of emotional baggage. I was no longer tethered to the idea that Mike had ruined my life. And in a bittersweet way, I felt relief for Maggie too, that she too hadn’t married the wrong man. I wasn’t glad Vinny was dead, but I was glad he wasn’t my cousin-in-law.

  Miss May took a left out of town and jolted me from my momentary high.

  “Wait, are we just going back to the orchard?” I asked. “We could at least talk to Rita. See if she pointed the finger at Maggie.”

  “Rita obviously blabbed to the cops, Chels. We don’t need a pow-wow with her to know that.”

  “So why are we going to the orchard? Are we just going to regroup or something?”

  “Regroup.” Miss May seemed insulted. “You know me better than that.”

  She was right. I did. But still…”What are we doing then?”

  “We’re going to look for a clue. Something that might open this thing up.”

  “We’re not going to find anything up at the farm,” I said. “The murder weapon is already missing.”

  “Exactly.” Miss May raised her eyebrows. “Missing.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Do you know where the rock is?”

  “I might.”

  “Will you just tell me what you’re thinking!?”

  “I’d rather show you,” Miss May said.

  “Come on!”

  “Just be patient.” Miss May turned up the driveway to the orchard, with a hint of a smile on her face. “We’re almost there.”

  I looked out over the orchard. The sun set, and large gray storm clouds loomed like mountains in the sky. I realized I had my arms wrapped around my chest, way too tight.

  Relax, Chelsea. It’s OK. You didn’t marry Mike, Maggie didn’t kill Vinny, and it’s all going to work out.

  I repeated that mantra in my head a few times, but it didn’t do diddly for my state of mind.

  Something bad was about to happen. I could just feel it. And I really, really didn’t want to find out what.

  21

  Cabin Fever

  Seconds later, it was pitch black, and Miss May and I traipsed down KP’s Walk, guided only by the pinhole beam of my phone’s flashlight.

  The gravel crunched beneath our feet. Crickets chirped in the tall grass, and the occasional owl hooted. If I could speak owl, I’m sure those hoots translated to something like, “Were you not creeped out enough already? Because I’m a spooky owl and I want you to know I’m watching you.”

  Miss May was a half-pace ahead, leading the way.

  As we walked, a million questions darted through my mind. I was playing a game of whack-a-mole with my thoughts, trying to calm myself down but instead working myself into a frenzy as I tried to slam each new worry back into its hole.

  What were we going to find on the farm? Where were we going to look? What if the murderer was somewhere on the orchard looking for another victim?

  I slowed down as we passed the stream where I had found Vinny, but Miss May kept right on walking.

  “Where are you going?” I said.

  Miss May didn’t turn back. “Cabins.”

  “What!?” I trotted to catch up. “Don’t we want to look around the crime scene? Maybe there’s a footprint or a wallet or something we missed.”

  “A wallet, Chels?” Miss May scoffed, but I pressed on.

  “I’m serious!” I said, reaching into the depths of my pop culture-based knowledge about crime-fighting. “What if there’s a hair or some chewed up gum or, or a piece of fabric? Aren’t most crimes solved with DNA evidence?”

  “Not in Pine Grove, they’re not. Our technology is still in the seventies.”

  “Good thing you’re launching your career as an amateur sleuth then.”

  “No one’s launching anything,” Miss May said. “Besides, it’s not like Pine Grove is about to have a slew of murders all of a sudden. It’s a sleepy small town, where everyone knows each other.”

  “I guess that’s true.” Once again, I trotted to catch up. “But will you please just tell me what we’re doing?”

  Miss May slowed as we came within a few feet of the cabins. “Shh,” she said. “Stop walking.”

  I crouched and squinted into the darkness. “What do you see?”

  “Cabin eleven,” Miss May pointed. “The light in the back bedroom is on. See?”

  I looked down the row of cabins. Miss May was right. They were all dark, except for number eleven.

  “That’s odd,” I said. “Didn’t the wedding guests check out already?”

  Miss May shushed me again. “Turn off your flashlight.”

  I gulped. Did things just get life-threatening? I fumbled with my phone to turn off the flashlight, and Miss May crept toward the cabin. She stepped off the gravel and onto the grass, so she could move more quietly. I did the same.

  “Miss May,” I said in a hushed whisper. “Wait up! What’s going on?”

  Miss May turned back. “Cabin eleven,” she said, “is where Lance was staying.”

  I stopped walking, shocked and scared. “Lance? As in Vinny’s brother? The best man?” I don’t know why I was asking so many redundant questions, but disbelief had staggered me in my tracks. Miss May suspected Lance? Kind, selfless, so-concerned-for-Maggie Lance? “You think he did it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Miss May said. “But we’re about to find out.”

  Miss May crept onwards, inching us closer to cabin eleven. She stepped lightly, like an art thief avoiding laser beams. But I stayed right where I was standing, paralyzed by the magnitude of what we were about to do.

  “Wait!” I said. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t we call the cops or something? We can’t just go confront a killer!”

  Miss May kept walking toward the cabins, ignoring me. She was not the turn-back type. And I was not the “stand alone on the farm with a killer on the loose” type, so I forced my frozen limbs to slog after her.

  Miss May squatted behind a shrub just outside cabin eleven and craned her neck to get a look inside.

  “Looks empty,” she whispered.

  “I guess,” I said. “But he still might be in there, if the light’s on.”

  Miss May took a deep breath and let it out. So did I. Then she stood up and headed for the front door, “Only one way to find out.”

  I tiptoed behind Miss May like a delinquent teenager. Miss May put her hand on the knob and turned it. Unlocked. It swung open with a long, drawn-out whine, and we stepped inside.

  “Hello?” Miss May flipped on the living room light and looked around. “Anybody in here?”

  I resisted the impulse to yell out something like, “Don’t kill us,” and stuck as close to Miss May’s side as I could. I was never much of a prayer person, but now seemed like a good time to start. I ran through a couple of quick Hail Marys in my head, just in case.

  “Hello?” Miss May called out again. “It’s Miss May. Just saw the light on. Wanted to come by and see if you needed anything.” I couldn’t believe Miss May had the presence of mind to feign hospitality right now. She took it a step further: “I have some fresh apple pie if you’d like.”

  “I’m here too,” I said. “Maggie’s cousin, Chelsea. I also have apple pie.”

  Miss May glared at me. I shrugged. If she wanted me to have a better excuse, she should have had one herself. Otherwise, we both came bearing apple pies.

  I looked all around the room. The couch was exactly where it should be. The tables were perfectly centered. Even the apple-themed art on the walls was straight and level.

&
nbsp; Miss May poked her head in the bedroom, where the offending light was on.

  “I don’t think he’s here,” she said, no longer speaking in a whisper. Then she yelled. “Lance! Hello! Come on out now! We’re just here to talk!”

  We looked around. Waited a few seconds. The cabin was still and silent.

  “He’s not here,” Miss May said.

  “Maybe he just left the light on,” I said. “Simple as that. Or maybe KP was fixing something and forgot to turn it off.”

  “Maybe.” Miss May nodded. “But we might as well look around. See if we can find something that might help.”

  Miss May opened a drawer on the nightstand and rooted around for clues. She shook her head. “Empty,” she said. “Check that one.”

  I looked in the other night stand. It was empty too.

  I entered the bathroom. “Are you sure this guy’s the killer?” I asked. “This place is spotless.”

  “What,” Miss May said. “There’s never been a murderer with OCD before?”

  “I’m just saying. I’ve never done this good of a job cleaning a cabin.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Miss May said. Ouch. Burn. “But you’ve also never murdered someone and tried to cover your tracks.”

  “Touché,” I said, and we kept searching.

  Miss May looked under the bed, but nothing was under there. She lifted the mattress. “Nothing.”

  She tossed the mattress down, and it flopped off of the box spring and knocked over the lamp on the nightstand.

  “Just my luck,” Miss May said. “Stupid lamp.” She squatted down to pick up the nightstand. “Whatever. We needed new lamps any…”

  Miss May trailed off.

  “Uh Chelsea. Come here for a second?”

  I walked over.

  “This was under the lamp.” Miss May handed me a small piece of paper.

  It was a wallet-sized photo of Maggie in a cap and gown. And it was all crinkled up, like it had been folded and re-folded a thousand times.

  “This is Maggie’s high school graduation photo.” I sat on the edge of the bed.

  I had to resist the urge to gag. But I wasn’t even sure why. “What… Why would Lance have this?”