Apple Die Page 13

  “You’re right,” Miss May said, impressed. “He didn’t come back here just to turn on the light. There’s something here. Or there was.”

  “Unless he was looking for that photo,” I said. “Or he forgot his toothbrush.”

  “I think he would have tried the drugstore for a toothbrush, Chels,” Miss May said. “Come on. Use your interior designer brain. Is anything out of place in this cabin?”

  I looked around the room with a new attention to detail. Most of the furniture was what I liked to call “log-cabin chic,” which meant that it was made out of logs. The couch had logs for arm-rests. The coffee table was the polished cross-section of a fallen tree. Even the lamps were made of rustic wood. It was all a little cliché, but it made sense in this setting. Updating the décor to a more modern aesthetic would have felt off. We wanted guests to feel outside of the hustle and bustle when they came to the orchard. Like they were living among the trees.

  I scanned the room. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But the place felt a little too perfect for comfort. As I looked at the mantel above the fireplace, I did a double-take. Yes, the decorative pine cones were perfectly arranged. Yes, a few candles were clustered elegantly. But there was something off about the mantle’s centerpiece.

  Each cabin had its own unique focal point on the mantle, and cabin eleven’s centerpiece was a large circular stone that had been painted in a geometric design by local Native American artists from the Algonquian tribe. I remembered helping Miss May pick it out. I wasn’t sure how traditional the artwork was. I suspected that the Algonquian artists, in order to make sales at farmers’ markets and flea markets, had to pander to modern tastes and whatever white people thought Native American art should be. But it was still a beautifully painted piece of stone, and I had been glad to support local artisans as much as I could. The stone weighed over a hundred pounds, and we’d had to get KP and two other guys to help us lift it onto the mantle.

  Most people wouldn’t notice anything off with the centerpiece. The arrows and lines appeared random to the untrained eye. But when we had bought the painting, the artist had showed me how each arrow on the piece pointed to an essential element in life. One arrow pointed to water, another pointed to the sky. The final arrow pointed to earth.

  I had forced KP and the other guys to keep adjusting the stone on the mantel so that the arrows pointed in the correct directions. I’ll never forget how annoyed the guys had been as I subtly directed them to move it just a little this way or that way, but I hadn’t wanted to disrespect the purpose of the piece (even its true purpose was just to be marketable to tourists). So I had insisted on tiny adjustments until each arrow was perfectly aligned.

  Now, however, the arrows on the piece were all wrong. The water arrow pointed straight up. The sky arrow pointed to a potted plant. And the earth arrow pointed towards the flat-screen TV on the other wall. Pretty sure TV is not an essential element of life. Even if sometimes it felt that way to me.

  The stone was heavy. No guest would have casually moved it, unless they had really wanted to. And it had clearly been moved.

  I approached the mantle. The stone loomed before me like a colossus.

  As I got closer to the stone, it filled my field of vision, like I was looking at it through a pinhole in a cereal box during a solar eclipse.

  I reached out toward the stone and pushed as hard as I could. It didn’t move much at first. But then it rolled over, thud-thudding towards the other end of the mantle a centimeter at a time.

  THUD-THUD. THUD-THUD. THUD-THUD.

  When I had moved the stone aside, I saw... nothing. The space behind the art was empty. As it always was.

  But then I stood on my tippy-toes and I saw something on the mantle behind the stone that took my breath away. Flecks. Tiny, almost invisible black flecks. Volcanic dust.

  I leaned in to get a closer look, and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “Miss May! Come in here!”

  Miss May hurried in from the other room. “What is it!? What’d you find?”

  “Basalt,” I said.

  “Bath-what!?”

  “Basalt. That’s the rock. The—the weapon.”

  “You found it?!” Miss May said.

  “Not exactly. But Lance must have hidden it here. Behind the centerpiece.”

  “Let me see.” Miss May rushed over.

  “See?” I said. “The little crumbles? The gravel? That’s—”

  “You already told me what it is, Chels.” She peered at the mantle. “You found evidence! That’s my girl!”

  “We’re too late though. He already moved it. Probably tossed it in the Hudson by now.”

  “I don’t think so,” Miss May said. “That murder rock is the only real evidence in this whole case. Lance is smart. He’s going to put it to good use.”

  “Good use, how? To kill someone else?”

  “To frame someone else. So that Maggie gets out of jail, and nobody ever suspects that Lance killed his brother.”

  “But who would he....” I trailed off and my eyes widened as I realized who Lance would try to frame for the murder. “Rita?”

  “If Rita’s got the weapon, Maggie gets out of jail,” Miss May said. “And we both know Rita had plenty of motive. And she was here on the night of murder.”

  Miss May turned and headed out the door, but I lingered a moment, staring at the tiny flecks of basalt. This all felt too awful to be real, and I felt as immovable as that stone centerpiece.

  I couldn’t believe Lance was the killer. I couldn’t believe Vinny was dead, OR that my cousin was in jail, OR that my whole life was upside down. And now I was here, in this moment, trying to solve a murder. Who am I? I thought to myself. And how did I get here?

  Miss May poked her head back into the cabin.

  “Chels,” she said. “Let’s do this!”

  “Alright.” I turned back to her. “I’m ready.”

  Miss May exited. I turned off the lights and stumbled out into the darkness beside her.

  22

  Driver’s Ed

  “Hey!” Where you girls scurryin’ off to so fast?” I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of that gruff voice.

  I turned. There was KP a little ways behind us, leading See-Saw the Tiny Horse by a rope. KP laughed, “Did I scare ya?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah. I’m a little skittish tonight,” I said.

  “You’re always a little skittish! Nearly jumped out of your skin at that stop sign!”

  So KP had known it was us!

  “I thought you didn’t see us there,” I said. “You were really laying on the horn.”

  “Ah, that was a friendly toot. How could I not see ya? I got cataracts but I’m not so blind I can’t spot a giant yellow bus. Right See-Saw?”

  KP patted See-Saw on the back, and See-Saw whinnied. I smiled. Even in my current frenzied state of mind, KP and See-Saw together were a sight. KP fed See-Saw a carrot, and my clamped-up heart grew three sizes that day. Just like the Grinch.

  Miss May didn’t have time for chit-chat or heart-growth, though. She got straight to the point. “KP, have you seen anyone around cabin eleven tonight?”

  “One of the guests came by, maybe half an hour ago. Some guy in one of them polos. Late checkout, I thought. Why?”

  Miss May and I exchanged glances.

  “Lance must have come here while we were at the station,” Miss May said. “He just beat us!”

  “Did you happen to notice if the guy was holding like, a big rock or something?” I asked.

  “No,” KP said. “But I didn’t frisk the guy.”

  See-Saw chuffed and stamped her feet.

  “You two got more of these twenty questions, or can me and this stinky horse continue on our walk?”

  “No more questions,” Miss May rubbed See-Saw’s tiny head, then she looked over at me. “But we’ve got to go.”

  With that, Miss May hurried back down the path toward the bus in a swift power-walk and
disappeared around the bend.

  KP laughed. “I don’t think I’ve seen that ol’ girl move that fast in my entire life!”

  “Yeah. Me neither.” I said. “I should probably go make sure she’s OK.”

  KP laughed as I hurried after Miss May. I didn’t appreciate the laugh, but I must have looked even sillier than Miss May when I power-walked.

  WHEN I CAUGHT UP TO Miss May, she was writhing around in a dirty puddle about ten feet from the bus. She was struggling to get up, so I reached down and offered a hand.

  “I fell down!” Miss May said, grasping my hand. “That’s what I get for walking so fast. Stepped right in a hole.”

  “Are you OK?”

  “No time to find out.” Miss May rose to her feet, using me for support. I could barely stay upright under her substantial frame, but I managed. Miss May dusted herself off, which only smeared more mud on her clothes. She handed me the keys to the bus. “We’ve got to go.”

  I handed the keys right back to Miss May. “Uh. You’re going to need these to drive.”

  Miss May handed the keys back again. “I’m not driving. You are.”

  I stared down at the hefty key ring like Miss May had handed me a live snake. “Miss May! I haven’t driven in ten years. This is illegal! I don’t have a license.”

  “You’re in better shape for it than I am.” Miss May lifted up her jeans and I gasped. Her ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit. Ew.

  “Miss May! That looks broken! We’ve got to get you to a hospital!”

  “We will,” Miss May lowered her pant leg. “As soon as we catch this guy.”

  “But—”

  “Just drive the car, Chelsea. You can do it.”

  “Alright.” I took a deep breath. “I guess I have to drive.”

  New chapter here?

  The tires screeched as I peeled out of the farm and sped down Whitehill. I shrieked like I was on a roller coaster that was about to go off the tracks.

  “Why am I going so fast!?”

  “Cuz your foot’s all the way down on the pedal,” Miss May said. “Who cares!? You’re doing great!”

  Miss May laughed, but we flew over a big bump, and she yelled out. “Ouch! My ankle!”

  “Sorry,” I said, but no sooner had I uttered the words than we sped over another bump.

  “Ahhhh! Make a left!”

  I made a hard left and hit the straightaway towards town. The bus growled. I licked my lips and hit the gas even harder.

  Yes, I was terrified and probably breaking about a hundred laws, but I was also thrilled. Why had I not renewed my license in all this time in Pine Grove? Driving felt amazing, and my sense-memory kicked in as I navigated the roads towards Rita’s house.

  When I looked back over at Miss May, she was making a call on her cell phone. Who is she calling now?!

  “Detective Wayne Hudson, please.” She waited, annoyed. “Just put him on, Marge! It’s an emergency!”

  “Put him on speaker,” I said as I veered wildly towards town.

  Miss May pressed the speaker button, and Wayne came on the phone.

  “This is Detective Hudson.”

  Miss May grabbed my arm. “You missed the turn! Turn around! Turn around!”

  I made a U-Turn. When Wayne spoke again, he sounded concerned and a little vexed, “Hello? I don’t have time for antics.”

  “Wayne. I mean, Detective. Hi. It’s Miss May. From the farm.”

  I made another turn. Again in the wrong direction.

  “Hold on,” Miss May covered the phone and leaned toward me. “Chels, do you know where you’re going?”

  “I thought I did but it’s—”

  “Left! Left!”

  I made a sharp left. The tires screeched. This time we might have gone up onto only one wheel.

  “I love driving!”

  Miss May did not love riding with me, “Alright. Slow down!”

  “I’m hanging up,” Wayne said.

  “Don’t hang up,” Miss May said. “Meet us at Rita Sorrento’s house. We know who the killer is, and I think he’s headed there!”

  “Where—”

  “She lives down by the old train tracks in town. The little house next to the highway department.”

  “Ohhhhhh. Now I remember,” I said. “I went to her eighth-grade birthday party. It was horrible.”

  “What killer!?” Wayne yelled over the phone.

  I blasted through a red light and narrowly avoided t-boning an eighteen-wheeler.

  “Ah! My ankle! Chelsea, be careful!”

  “What the heck are you two doing?” Wayne sounded very frustrated now.

  “Meet us at Rita’s,” Miss May said. “And be quick about it!”

  I chimed in. “And tell the EMTs to come too! And bring stuff for a broken ankle.”

  “Chelsea, stop the car!” Miss May grabbed my wrist to stop me, and I skidded to a halt.

  “We’re a block away,” Miss May said. “Go up a little and park across the street.”

  I did as I was told and parked across from Rita’s house. It was a two-story, split-level ranch with a little front yard. The same house Rita grew up in. Her parents had moved into one of Vinny and Sudeer’s McMansions a few years ago, so now Rita lived in her old house, alone.

  The lights were out, the curtains were drawn, and it looked like the whole place could use a little tender loving...paint. The yellow topcoat was peeling off the siding in big chunks, and the lawn was patchy and brown. Rita always put so much time and attention into her personal appearance, it surprised me she had let the house fall into such disrepair.

  “It doesn’t look like she’s home,” Miss May said. “But there’s Lance.”

  Miss May nodded towards a white SUV as it pulled into Rita’s driveway and idled for a few seconds.

  “That’s Lance’s car!” I said. “He was parked outside Maggie’s!”

  Miss May nodded. “He’s probably trying to make sure no one’s home. Did you kill the headlights?”

  “Yeah,” I said. We both instinctively slinked down in our seats. “What should we do now?”

  “Stay down. And watch.”

  I remained laser-focused on the Range Rover in the driveway. It kept idling for a few seconds until Lance stepped out of the driver’s side door, grabbed a backpack from the backseat and looked up at Rita’s house like he was trying to find a good point of entry.

  “He’s going to go inside,” I said.

  Miss May nodded, her eyes darting from Lance to the house and back again. “I think we should go talk to him.”

  “Now?” I asked. “But Wayne’s probably going to be here in a few—"

  Miss May opened her door with a barely audible click, slipped outside, and motioned for me to follow.

  23

  Flying Sidekick

  Seconds later, we were face to face with Lance on Rita’s front lawn. Miss May smiled wide as she approached.

  “Lance! We can’t seem to stop running into you!”

  To say Lance looked shocked to see us would be an understatement. He immediately wiped sweat from his forehead. Flop sweat, I know thee well. Next, Lance tugged at his collar. Finally, he gulped so loudly I could have heard it from my apartment in Jersey City.

  “Oh. Hi.” Lance cleared his throat. “Miss May. Chelsea. What are you two doing here?”

  “We’re hand-delivering pies to all the guests from the wedding. And we’re shipping them out to anyone who wasn’t local. We feel so bad about...everything that happened on our watch.”

  I don’t know why, but it surprised me when Miss May pulled a pie out from her bag. I made a note to expect that from now on.

  “That’s...very nice.” Lance wiped more sweat from his forehead.

  “I’ve already sent a whole assortment to your family,” Miss May didn’t miss a beat. “But what’s your favorite flavor, I’ll make sure to bake something special just for you.”

  Lance tried to smile, but it looked more like a grima
ce, “Uh, whatever is fine. Strawberry rhubarb, I guess.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what I’ve got right here. Why don’t you take this one?” Miss May offered up the pie like it was a blue-ribbon watermelon. “Here. Give me your bag, I’ll put it in, so it stays nice and level.”

  Miss May reached for Lance’s bag, but he yanked it away.

  “Something wrong?” Miss May asked. She was doing a convincing job of playing dumb. I almost wondered if she’d really forgotten why we were here. Sometimes Miss May could get swept up in the generosity of pie-giving.

  “No,” Lance said. “Just give me the pie, my bag’s uh, full. Actually forget it! I don’t want the pie! I have to go!”

  Lance was getting flustered. Miss May didn’t want him to turn on us so quickly, so she changed tactics. Like the whole pie thing was an expert head fake.

  “Wait!” Miss May said. “We know why you’re really here.”

  Lance turned back, eyes narrowed. “You do?”

  Miss May nodded. “Of course. You want to frame Rita.”

  “No—”

  “It’s OK.” Miss May spoke in a calm and reassuring voice. “That’s why we’re here too. We want Maggie to go free. Just like you do.” Miss May put her hand on Lance’s arm and looked him straight in the eye. “Right?”

  He stammered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Look, we all do crazy things sometimes,” Miss May said. “Things that might seem wrong on paper, but... things that have to be done.”

  “Yup!” I chimed in with my weird, super-excited voice again. “I mean, yes. Yes, I agree.”

  “Agree with what?” Lance took a step backward. “What are you two talking about?”

  “We’re saying...we get it,” I said. The steady tone of my voice surprised me. How was I managing to sound so calm? Maybe because I was being honest. Yeah, it was terrible for Lance to kill his brother, but I really did understand why he’d done it. “No one wanted Maggie to end up with Vinny. He was such a...he was...” I couldn’t quite bring myself to speak ill of the dead, but Lance had no issues with coming up with adjectives.