Berried Alive Read online

  Hercules piped up, “I’m sorry, I feel it’s a little insensitive to talk about a dead man like he’s Greek meat.”

  “No one asked you, Hercules,” Chief Flanagan snapped. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  Miss May stepped forward. “This is a suspicious death, Flanagan. You need to investigate.”

  “Thanks for your input, apple lady. But I’m the Chief of Police. I will go through the proper channels and I will show respect for the dead. What I will not do, however, is show respect for you. Or your niece. Or Teeny Weeny. Why is she eating ice cream in my department?”

  Teeny looked up from an ice cream cone she was eating. “My name is Teeny, no Weeny. And this is my dinner. And that was a murder up there!”

  Flanagan chuckled. “You ladies don’t seem to understand. Accidental deaths are common in small communities like ours. Not murders. I’m sick of you and your niece changing that perception, damaging Pine Grove’s reputation, and wasting everyone’s time and tax money.”

  “Every case we’ve solved was an actual murder,” Miss May said. “You would know that if your department had done anything to help.”

  Flanagan held the door open for us to leave. “I’ll take it from here, ladies. Don’t let the door hit your ice cream on the way out.”

  Flanagan’s cavalier attitude was not acceptable. So I took a stand.

  “No! You can’t just shut us down like that,” I said. “There’s something going on in Pine Grove. Someone else could get hurt.”

  “I’ll be sure to educate the public about the dangers of hiking without proper preparation,” Flanagan said. “No one should go into those woods without a map and rations. Or you’re right. Someone could get hurt.”

  Hercules snickered.

  “Stop laughing Hercules,” I said. “You think it’s funny that you work for what the French call, ‘les incompétents’? Where’s Wayne? He’ll believe me.”

  Flanagan got in my face. “You will not use French to disparage my name in this department!”

  I glared at Flanagan. “Do you even speak French? Maybe that was a compliment.”

  “You’re about to cross a line, Miss Thomas,” Flanagan warned.

  Miss May took me by the arm. “Let’s go, Chels. We’ve got a crime to solve.”

  26

  Pain in the Wayne

  MISS MAY REPRIMANDED me as soon as we stepped outside. “Chelsea. What are you doing, confronting the chief of police like that?”

  I balled up my fists. “I’m sorry but I hate when people in power just turn a blind eye to justice. It’s not right. That lady is ridiculous!”

  “Chelsea!” Miss May said in a hushed tone. “We’re still at the precinct.”

  “OK,” I said. “I’ll simmer down. But that woman does not deserve to be Chief of Police.”

  Teeny took a big lick of her ice cream. “Word up to that.”

  Miss May turned on Teeny. “Please don’t encourage her. This is serious.”

  “It is serious,” I said. “And Flanagan’s not doing anything about it!”

  Miss May exhaled. “Chelsea. We’re never going to find the killer if we get locked up before the criminal does.”

  “She’s got a good point.” A deep voice boomed from nearby.

  Wayne closed the door on his squad car and approached. “Are you OK, Chelsea?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m riled up.”

  “I can’t have this conversation anymore,” Miss May said. “Wayne. Will you please talk sense into this girl?” She turned to me. “We’ll be in the car.”

  Miss May charged toward her yellow VW van but Teeny did not follow. “Teeny. Come on,” Miss May said.

  Teeny hesitated. “But I want to listen. They might get flirty.”

  Miss May shook her head, “Not if we’re standing around eavesdropping!”

  Teeny took a big lick of her ice cream cone. “Fine.” She tailed after Miss May to the van.

  Then, once again...I found myself alone with Detective Wayne Hudson.

  “So what’s going on?” he asked.

  I looked down. “I got a little frustrated. I’m fine.”

  Wayne chuckled. “I get it. Flanagan can be... difficult.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. And this investigation is stressing me out. So... I guess I lost it in there.”

  “What’s going on?”

  I looked up at Wayne. He looked kind. And concerned. So I spewed the facts of the case all over him.

  The suspects, the cabin in the woods, the parole officer. I told him about discovering Wallace’s body and my inappropriate use of the word kebab as a murder verb.

  Wayne kept his head down the whole time, listening. When I stopped to catch my breath, he put his hand on my arm. It was a comforting gesture, and I relaxed a little.

  “Maybe you and your aunt should take a backseat on this one,” he said. “Let us figure it out.”

  I pushed his hand away. “Are you serious? We’re the only ones who are doing anything to find the killer. Flanagan thinks the kebabbing is just a coincidence!”

  “You really should not use the word kebab that way,” Wayne said. “But yes, I’m serious.”

  I scoffed.

  “Don’t laugh, it makes sense. Listen, I’m not saying I plan on turning all this over to Flanagan. If she deems Wallace’s death an accident, fine. But I’ll use department resources to find the truth on my own. So you don’t have to. So you can stay out of danger.”

  I glared at Wayne. “I’m not a defenseless lamb, Wayne. And you’re not in charge here. You haven’t helped with this investigation. You had no idea Wallace was a suspect. And you don’t even know about the briefcase!”

  Wayne narrowed his eyes. “What briefcase?”

  Good job, Chelsea. Way to spill the briefcase beans. Think of an excuse. Quick!

  “No briefcase,” I said. “I misspoke. I meant to say, coyotes. There were hungry coyotes in the woods. They could damage the crime scene. Did you know coyotes are diurnal?”

  “You said ‘briefcase’ instead of ‘coyotes’?” Wayne asked. “That’s a stretch, even for you.”

  “OK. Fine. If you must know, it was a Freudian slip,” I said. “I used the word ’briefcase’ because someone gifted me a beautiful briefcase. And it was Germany Turtle. Yeah. He likes me. And I’m not sure what to do about that either.”

  That’s what they call a deflection, ladies and gentlemen. Invent a love briefcase to take the attention away from a murder briefcase. Oldest trick in the book.

  Wayne furrowed his brow. “That weird Turtle kid gave you a briefcase to tell you he has a crush on you?”

  “It’s a great briefcase,” I said. “Vintage leather. And Germany’s not weird. He’s eccentric.”

  When in doubt, double down on your outrageous lie. And hey, if it makes a hunky detective jealous? Bonus points.

  Wayne’s walkie-talkie blared with a call about Wallace. He turned the volume down. “That’s about your guy. Seems Flanagan might conduct an investigation, after all.”

  “Good,” I said. “She should.”

  “I should go help,” Wayne said.

  “Go right ahead,” I said. “Serve your fearless leader.”

  Wayne cocked his head. Thought about saying something. Then walked away.

  I sighed. Our dance in the barn seemed like it had happened in a dream. Or, I thought, was it a nightmare?

  THAT NIGHT, MISS MAY and I spread the contents of the briefcase across the kitchen table.

  There were about a dozen documents in the pile but only a few seemed notable.

  First, we found a ledger in which Rosenberg had documented every public official he had ever bribed.

  The list did not include Chief Flanagan. Disappointing.

  Mayor Delgado, however, had received several direct deposits from Rosenberg in the preceding months. And once Miss May tallied the sum of Delgado’s bribes, we both staggered back from the papers in stunned disbelief.

  “Three hundred t
housand dollars,” I said. “That’s a small fortune.”

  Miss May nodded. “Yup. And Delgado has done a good job of hiding it. No new car. No fancy jewelry. Nothing.”

  “What’s the point of accepting bribes if you don’t spend the money?” I asked.

  “I’m sure she’ll spend it,” Miss May said. “A little at a time. Once the attention dies down.”

  I sighed. “But does this give her a motive?”

  “It could,” Miss May said. “Maybe Rosenberg planned to cut off her payments, and that angered her? I’m not sure.”

  “But what about Wallace? How does this tie back to him?”

  Miss May scratched her chin. Classic sleuth move. “Let’s think... Wallace had the briefcase. And the briefcase contained information that could have sent the mayor to jail. So maybe the mayor killed him to get the information?”

  “But the killer left the briefcase behind,” I said.

  “That’s true,” Miss May said. “Or he or she didn’t have time to climb down the hill and gather the case and its contents. Maybe they heard us coming and had to hide. Remember it was almost dark when we found Wallace. And we didn’t have an easy time getting down that hill.”

  I turned my attention back to the documents spread on the kitchen table.

  “What else do we have here?”

  Miss May sifted through the documents. “Nothing, nothing, nothing.” She paused when she got to a large, tattered binder.

  “What’s this?”

  Miss May flipped the binder open. “Old photos. Weird. A whole album.”

  She slid the binder to me. Sure enough, it contained pages upon pages of family photos.

  “These are photos of the Rosenbergs,” I said. “Look at this caption. ‘Hank, 5th Birthday.’”

  I flipped through the pages. More photos of Hank, his parents and his siblings. “Wow. He was the youngest of six.”

  “That’s odd. Usually the youngest kid in a family is the nicest,” Miss May said.

  “Is that true if you’re an only child?” I batted my eyes, fishing for a compliment.

  “Sure. But the oldest is the most spoiled. So you fit the bill on that one too.”

  I smiled. “I’ll take it.”

  Miss May grabbed a manila envelope and slid the contents out. “Oh my.”

  I crossed behind her to get a look. “What?”

  “Divorce papers.”

  “From his wife?!” I asked.

  Miss May looked at me. “No. From his dog.”

  “OK. Stupid question. When did they file?”

  Miss May’s face whitened. “Two years ago. Susan signed. But not Hank.”

  I slid one last sheet of paper from the envelope. “Look. There’s a cover letter. ‘Hank. Sign the darn papers. Enough is enough. Susan.’”

  I passed Miss May the letter, and she read it with wide eyes. “OK,” she said. “So... There’s some new motive with the wife.”

  I nodded. “In that theory Susan killed Hank because he wouldn’t grant her a divorce?”

  Miss May nodded. “The pending divorce would explain the separate rooms for everything.”

  “But she seemed so upset when Rosenberg died. In her own weird way. And she thought Master Skinner was the killer.”

  “That’s true,” Miss May said. “But maybe she was misdirecting us. Keeping us away from the real killer...herself.”

  “She never provided an alibi, did she?”

  Miss May shook her head.

  I sighed. If we had known the briefcase contained that many clues, we would have tried harder to get KP to wrestle it open.

  “So what should we do next?” I asked.

  “Honestly,” Miss May looked at me over her glasses. “I want to know what Teeny thinks.”

  27

  Chains and Cranes

  WE WOKE UP AT 6 AM the next morning and headed to town to see Teeny. Both Miss May and I were too tired to talk. My aunt drove at a steady pace most of the way, but she stopped short when she caught sight of the Rosenberg building.

  Someone had parked a construction crane out front, with a wrecking ball dangling from the arm. Arthur and Petunia had chained themselves to the front door, chanting.

  “Is demolition set for today?” Miss May asked.

  “I thought Monday,” I said. “But there’s the crane...”

  Miss May rolled down the window so we could hear what Arthur and Petunia were chanting.

  “Save our town! Save our town!”

  I shrugged. “Not the most original chant I’ve heard, but it gets the point across.”

  Miss May honked and gestured for Arthur and Petunia to come talk.

  Arthur called out, “We’re chained to the building, May! What do you want?”

  “What’s going on? You’re still protesting?”

  Petunia pumped her fist. “Dang right we are, missy! We’ll fight this thing to the bloody end!”

  “It’s only Saturday,” Miss May said. “What’s with the crane?”

  Arthur shook his head. “It showed up under the cover of night, like a sneaky mechanical T-Rex.” Weird comparison. “The construction crew started up the wrecking ball this morning!”

  “So we broke out the chains!” Petunia pumped her fist in the air.

  “We’re doing all we can to save this building,” Arthur said. “You’re on our side, right?”

  “You know I’m on your side,” Miss May said.

  “Good,” Arthur said. “Rosenberg gave his life to ruin this town. And I’ll give my life to protect it!”

  “Have you called the cops?” Miss May asked.

  Arthur laughed to himself. “Everyone’s always asking about the police. Yes, we called them. They said they were on their way an hour ago. I’m still waiting.”

  “We called the mayor, too,” Petunia said. “No answer. That scum sucker!”

  “I doubt anybody is at work in town hall yet,” I said.

  “We didn’t call town hall,” Arthur said. “We called her house. I called fifteen times straight. Left fifteen messages, too. Petunia left a message just making noises. Bah-bah-bah-bah-bah. Like that but in a nice rhythm. She’s very creative.”

  Petunia nodded. “I had fun with it, but the message was clear!”

  Miss May and I exchanged a concerned look. Were Arthur and Petunia losing it?

  “The only person who answered our calls was Sudeer.” Arthur pointed across the street. “He came right down.”

  I looked across the street. Sure enough there was Sudeer, pacing back and forth with his smart phone to his ear.

  “I’ve said horrible things to that guy,” Petunia said. “And I’m not sorry about them! But he has proven to be less of a waste than I presumed.”

  Miss May forced a smile. “Sudeer is a nice guy. Cutest little babies too.”

  Arthur scoffed. “Nice guy? Yeah, right! He’s still a traitor!”

  Sudeer approached with a nervous smile.

  “Miss May. Chelsea. Hi. Did I hear my name?”

  “You heard the word traitor and got confused,” Arthur said.

  Miss May shot a warning look at Arthur. “We were just talking about your adorable babies.”

  Sudeer sighed. “It’s been days since I’ve seen their faces. This project—”

  “This project is despicable,” Arthur said.

  “Yeah!” Petunia added. “You sold your soul to the devil, Sudeer. I hope you got a pretty penny for it.”

  “Look,” Sudeer said. “I’m doing my best. You know that. I just got off the phone with the president of the company. He agreed to delay the demolition until Monday.”

  “It was already delayed until Monday. Those cowards tried to sneak the wrecking ball in today. Not our watch!” Arthur said. “We want the demolition cancelled!”

  “I’m working on it. But for now the delay is the best I can do,” Sudeer said. “My bosses are... challenging.”

  “How did you convince them to delay the demolition?” Miss May asked.<
br />
  Sudeer sighed. “I told the board today was an Indian holiday and if they didn’t let me take the day off, I would sue them and go on the news about how they are not tolerant of other cultures. They believed me. This is the one time I’ve been happy how little Americans know about my culture.”

  Arthur shouted. “Yes, three cheers for your ignorant bosses. Next time you talk to them, tell them that neither Petunia nor I will break these chains.”

  Sudeer nodded. “I’ll let them know. Once I’m done celebrating ‘Vishi-Vishi,’ the sacred Indian day of resting your toes.”

  “Wow, that sounds super made-up,” I said. “And I once made up a finance expert named Millini Gustafo.”

  “It does sound fake. But I think your toes could actually use some rest,” Miss May put her hand on Sudeer’s arm. “Those babies need their dad to catch up on his sleep.”

  Sudeer smiled a tired smile and trudged away.

  Miss May turned back to Arthur and Petunia. “All right. You got two more days. Now do you two want to take the chains off and join us for breakfast?”

  “Never!” Petunia said. “But will you get me a muffin?”

  28

  Bodacious Berry Bake

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, we arrived at Grandma’s. The place was quiet before the morning rush, and I relished the peaceful atmosphere.

  The teenage girl who Teeny had hired to replace Petey vacuumed the main dining room. Someone had propped a mop against the front door. And the smell of cinnamon and vanilla swirled in the air.

  A few seconds after we arrived, Teeny emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on an apron. “There you two are! What happened? I thought you were coming bright and early.”

  “It’s 6:45,” Miss May said.

  “Please! I’m on my fourth cup of coffee.” Teeny pulled off her apron and tossed it behind the counter. “Come on. I’ve got something I want you to try.”

  Teeny grabbed Miss May by the hand and led us to our favorite booth. “That berry pie you made the other night inspired me so I whipped up a berry oatmeal bake I think people will love. If they don’t love it, I’m kicking them out of the restaurant.”