Dropping Like Pies (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 11) Page 2

  Coach Thornton had a big, booming voice. The players cowered when he screamed and tried to duck the flecks of spit that flew out of Coach’s mouth. Finally, as the ref approached to give Thornton a double technical, the coach kicked open the door to the gymnasium and exited, still screaming, and the video ended.

  Teeny dropped her jaw. “Oh my goodness. Was that kind of thing common for him?”

  “It was usually less severe than that, but yeah,” I said. “Coach wasn’t known for his even temper.”

  Miss May sat back. “If that’s true, every student Coach Thornton ever interacted with could be a possible suspect in this investigation.”

  Teeny stammered. “And you’re sure that crazy man owns all those limbs buried out on your farm?”

  I nodded. “It’s so clear that hand belonged to Coach Thornton. I’m sure the feet we found earlier did, too. But how can we prove the hand belonged to Coach Thornton before the excavator arrives and digs up the orchard?”

  “I have an idea.” Teeny pulled out her phone and placed a call. “Hey, it’s T. Yeah, yeah. I’ve got something important I need to tell you. How quick can you get over to the orchard? Yes, it’s important. Very important! Stop arguing and get over here. OK. Great.” Teeny slapped her flip phone shut with a smile.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  3

  Sister, Sister

  I knew Sissy Thornton was Coach Thornton’s sister as soon as I saw her face. They had the same broad chin, pronounced nose, and low-set eyebrows. And they had the same exact angry snarl.

  Sissy was wearing a large housecoat decorated with faded tulips and the daisies. But the cheerful housecoat did little to hide her aggressive personality. Her voice sounded as though she had just shoveled gravel into her mouth and tried to swallow.

  “Why did you call me to this forsaken orchard?” Sissy demanded. “And what’s with all the police? You think I killed someone? You’d know if I killed someone. I would want credit for something like that. Start talking.”

  Miss May, Teeny, and I slid out of the van and stood to face Sissy. Teeny extended a coffee cup toward the angry woman. “Fresh cup of coffee? Miss May makes it right. And she’s got plenty of sugar and milk if you like your coffee as sweet and blonde as I do.”

  “I take it black. And I prefer it from the bottom of the pot. Anyway, I don’t want any coffee. I want answers. Why did you call me here?”

  Teeny swallowed. She had been so confident talking to Sissy on the phone, but all that confidence disappeared upon Sissy’s arrival. “Right. I called you. And you came right over. Thank you so much for that. You’re a good friend.”

  “We’re not friends. I don’t even know how you have my number. But you investigate murders and you called me in the middle of the night. So I showed up. Am I a key witness? Does someone want to kill me? What’s with all these cops?”

  “Maybe I should explain,” said Miss May, taking a small step forward. “Teeny gets a little tongue-tied from time to time.”

  Sissy shook her head. “I’m not letting Teeny Tiny here off the hook that easy. She beckoned me. So she needs to spill the beans.”

  “Beans. I love beans,” said Teeny. “Black beans, white beans, red beans. But they give me gas.”

  “Why. Am. I. Here?” Sissy crossed her arms.

  “OK,” said Teeny. “So you know your brother?”

  “No. We’ve never met.” The sarcasm in Sissy’s voice was biting.

  “Of course you know your brother,” Teeny chuckled. “Well, he’s dead.”

  I brought my palm to my forehead. Teeny had worried so much about delivering the news in a gentle manner. But when the moment arrived she, well, spilled the beans.

  Miss May stepped forward. “We’re not positive he’s dead. But there has been some evidence discovered on our orchard that suggests your brother might have been murdered and buried here.”

  “What kind of evidence?” said Sissy. “Did you find his body under an apple tree?”

  Teeny winced. “Kind of. Sort of. Bits and pieces of it.”

  Sissy glared. Teeny held up a hand in apology. “Sorry. I’ll hush it. I’ll be quiet now.”

  “Chelsea found what she believes to be your brothers hand,” said Miss May, “detached from the rest of the body.”

  Sissy pulled her house coat tight around her body. “That’s not possible.”

  “We hope it wasn’t your brother,” Miss May continued. “We hope this whole thing is some kind of insane misunderstanding. But the police are about to dig up the orchard to find more of…the body. So we were thinking, if on the off chance the hand did belong to your brother, you might be able to confirm it.”

  “We think if you confirm the identity they’ll stop digging,” said Teeny.

  Sissy’s nostrils flared. “So you don’t care that someone is dead. You only care about your orchard.”

  “No,” said Miss May. “Of course we care that there’s a dead body out there. It’s a tragedy. And you know that we’re going to find justice for whomever that victim is. We were just hoping—”

  “My brother would never get murdered,” said Sissy. “He’s tough as nails. Eats nails for breakfast. Three-time championship winner, you know that? The man has grit and determination. He’s a fighter. He’s going to be so angry when he hears that you were spreading rumors that he was murdered. The man’s too tough for that. Plain and simple and clear as day.”

  “Sissy, I don’t mean to be callous,” I said, feeling brave, “but even people who eat nails for breakfast aren’t immune to murder. Even the great Muhammed Ali didn’t win every fight. And your brother’s no Ali.”

  Sissy balled up her fists. “My brother hasn’t lost a fight in his entire life.”

  With that, Sissy stormed toward the police tent, walking faster than I jog. Not that I do a ton of jogging. But you know what I mean.

  Miss May turned to me with a knitted brow. “That was a bit much, Chelsea. Did you really need to insult the dead man right in front of his sister?”

  I cringed. “I know. I feel bad. But we need to identify that body. And I figured Sissy wouldn’t take action unless I really goaded her into it. So I did what I had to do.”

  “I think you did a great job, Chelsea,” said Teeny. “Some people need a little kick in the bottom. But if that is her brother you should maybe apologize.”

  “We all should,” said Miss May.

  “But especially Chelsea,” said Teeny, looking over at me. “You didn’t need to rub it in that Coach Thornton was no Muhammad Ali, you know? Let the dead guy be tough.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to apologize either way. And maybe we can give her free apple pie for life?”

  Miss May nodded. “Free apple pie for life. No matter how this thing turns out.”

  I looked over toward the police tent. Sissy was screaming at a terrified young deputy. It looked like she was about to strangle the poor kid. As I watched Sissy throw her hissy fit I wondered…

  Had Sissy confirmed the victim was her brother? Or had I been completely wrong?

  4

  Hand to God

  As soon as Sissy saw the disembodied hand, she identified it as her brother’s. Turns out, she recognized the rings more quickly than I did. And Sissy recognized the tattoo — a sinister reptile amidst a black wreath of thorns — on Thornton’s wrist.

  As the morning wore on, the cops found more body parts amidst the apple trees. Sissy stuck around to identify each one. And by 11 AM she was left in a blustering, confused rage.

  Miss May, Teeny and I attempted to offer our condolences. But our kind words and apologies did little to help Sissy feel better. And Sissy rejected Miss May’s offer of free pie for life outright.

  By around noon, the police had packed up Coach’s body parts and departed the orchard. Sissy had followed the trail of police cars off of our property and back to the station to give a full report. And Miss May, Teeny, and I were le
ft on the farm all by ourselves like nothing ever happened.

  We spent about half an hour cleaning up discarded coffee cups that the police hadn’t bothered to dispose of properly. Then we all reconvened back over by Miss May’s van.

  “I think we got all the cups,” said Miss May. “And I talked to KP. He’s going to fill in all the holes the police dug while we’re gone.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  Miss May took a deep breath and exhaled. “I need lunch.”

  Teeny’s restaurant, Grandma’s, had the best food in town. We needed fuel and we needed it to be delicious in order to kickstart our investigation. So we ordered French fries and sandwiches and settled into our booth in the back.

  “I feel sorry for Sissy,” I said.

  “Me too,” said Teeny. “It’s hard enough to lose a loved one. Imagine that loved one has also been chopped up and scattered on a farm? Poor guy was discarded like a bunch of used tissues.”

  “Who buries their used tissues?” I asked.

  Teeny shot me a glare.

  “Sorry,” I said. “You’re right. Not important. Point is, I should’ve been nicer to Sissy about her brother. She was so upset when I said that Coach might’ve lost a fight. She’s never going to forgive me.”

  Miss May wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. The poor woman has a lot more to be upset about now. I doubt she even remembers how you insulted her dead brother.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, I guess. But now I really want to solve this case. I want to bring Sissy justice.”

  “We want to solve every case,” said Teeny. “Whether or not you offend the family of the deceased.”

  “I know,” I said. “But this feels personal.”

  “I understand that,” said Miss May. “This amateur detective work is stressful enough as it is. Don’t take it too hard.”

  “On the plus side, Flanagan isn’t going to dig up your farm,” said Teeny. “That’s a good thing.”

  Miss May nodded. “You’re right. The farm is safe from Flanagan’s excavator for now. But I fear that if Flanagan doesn’t make much progress on the investigation, she’s going to return to the farm to try to dig for more clues.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “So we need to solve this thing before she comes back for our McIntosh trees.”

  “I’d prefer we save apple trees of every variety,” said Miss May.

  “I know.” I gave Miss May a little grin. “But McIntosh are my favorite.”

  A lanky server brought our food over and placed it on the table. There were two sandwiches, plus a burger for Teeny, and a giant pile of communal fries.

  “Bon Appetit,” said the waiter.

  I looked up and smiled. It was Petey, Teeny’s favorite employee, returned home to roost. When I first moved back to Pine Grove from the city Petey was a bus boy at Grandma’s. The kid had gone on quite the culinary adventure since then. But it gladdened me to see him back where he belonged.

  “Petey!” I said. “So good to see you here. Wow! You didn’t waste any time starting back at Grandma’s.”

  “I feel at home here,” said Petey, his voice cracking from emotion. “It’s great to be back, Teeny. Thank you for having me.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Teeny. “Don’t be a suck up. And stop waiting on me! You should be back there cooking.”

  “Just wanted to say that.”

  “Well quit saying and start cheffing,” said Teeny. “You’re not a bus boy anymore. You’re a valued chef. I need you back there.”

  Petey chuckled and hurried back to the kitchen to continue his work.

  “Good kid,” said Miss May.

  Teeny nodded. “It’s great to have him back. He better not get too big for his britches though. If that happens again, there’s still plenty of gum under these tables that needs scraping.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” said Miss May. “Now let’s talk about this case. What do we know?”

  Teeny took a big bite of her burger. “We don’t know anything. We don’t know the cause of death. We don’t know time of death. Everything is a mystery.”

  “We know the identity of the victim,” I said, trying to be optimistic. “But you’re right. We don’t even know when this murder took place. Who knows how long that body has been on the farm?”

  “I think we can proceed with confidence that this was a premeditated murder,” Miss May said. “The murderer had to be ready to dispose of the body. You don’t just happen upon the tools necessary to chop up a body into little pieces and bury it under apple trees.”

  “I suppose you have a point,” I said. “Then again… The manner of disposal suggests a frenzy to me. What if the person who killed Coach Thornton committed the murder by accident and then didn’t know what to do with the body?”

  “That’s possible,” said Miss May. “And it brings up a new question… Why would the murderer bury his or her victim on our property? Everyone knows we investigate the murders in Pine Grove. And most people know we’re pretty good at it.”

  Teeny shrugged. “They hid the body right under your nose. Figured that would be the last place you would look if you ever launched an investigation into Thronton’s death.”

  “Good theory,” I said.

  Teeny shoved a few French fries into her mouth. “I’ve seen that trick used on North Port Diaries. Oh yeah. The victim was this lady who thought she was an alien. Long story. And the murderer was some ugly weirdo from the desert. The killer hid the alien lady’s body in the cellar at the police station because he thought the cops would never look there.”

  “What happened ?” I asked.

  Teeny shrugged. “The cops looked there. The stench drew them downstairs pretty quick, I guess. Bad guy got caught. Oh boy. He got sent away for a long, long time. No more outer space for him.”

  “Right. Very helpful. So do we have any potential suspects?” I asked.

  “Hold on a second,” said Teeny. “I just told you that incredible story and you don’t have anything to say about it? That’s one of my favorite episodes of North Port Diaries. Season nine, episode thirty-one.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Thanks for telling us about the episode. I’m sure it was thrilling. But has North Port Diaries given you any insight into the suspects in this case? Maybe an alien or what did you say, an ugly desert weirdo?”

  “You don’t need to be snippy,” said Teeny.

  “Sorry,” I relented. “I just don’t know where to start.”

  “Fine,” Teeny said. “Apology tentatively accepted. And to answer your question: no. I can’t think of any suspects.”

  “I can think of too many suspects,” said Miss May. “Based on the video you showed us, the coach was a maniac. His students and team members were probably all afraid of him. I bet you some of the teachers hated him too. Maybe the principal. Perhaps a couple janitors. I doubt the bus drivers loved him, either.”

  “True,” I said. “Not many who really knew the man liked him much at all.”

  “But here’s something interesting,” said Miss May. “The police department removed bags and bags worth of evidence from the farm this morning. They took far more than just Thornton’s body. Maybe they found something on the farm that suggests who the killer might be.”

  Teeny’s eyes lit up with excitement. “So you want to break into the evidence room at the Pine Grove Police Department? Let’s get in there. I have the perfect black dress for the occasion.”

  “You want to wear a dress for breaking and entering?” I asked.

  “It has sleeves. It’s black. It’s a good disguise. I’ll wear sneakers with it.”

  “We don’t need to break into the police department,” said Miss May. “I have a better plan.”

  I sighed. “I bet your plan involves me talking to a particular handsome detective.”

  Miss May raised her eyebrows and smirked at me. That was all the confirmation I needed. She wanted me to get info from Detective Way
ne Hudson. And she probably wanted me to do it soon.

  “Chelsea’s gonna talk to Wayne!” Teeny clapped fast and energetic. “Chelsea! That means you get to use your feminine wiles. I love that. I told you we needed to use our feminine wiles more. This is amazing.”

  I hung my head. “But I don’t want to.”

  “Wayne was helpful in our last investigation, right?” asked Miss May.

  “That was before Germany proposed,” I said. “Things feel complicated now.”

  “But he was helpful?”

  I groaned. “Yes. More helpful than he’s ever been before.”

  Miss May popped a French fry into her mouth. “So how do we have any choice in the matter?”

  5

  Redial

  I called Wayne’s cell phone. Much to my dismay, Chief Sunshine Flanagan answered the call.

  “Chelsea Thomas. Why oh why could you be calling my lead detective?”

  “Chief Flanagan. Hi. Is Wayne…home?”

  “He asked me to do the talking. You calling to snoop on our investigation?”

  “No. I was calling… For another reason… I have this problem with my toes. And Wayne told me that he has a great toe cure for my issue. So I was hoping for his recommendation. Please pass the message along.”

  “You want me to tell Wayne, ‘Chelsea has a toe problem and wants your cure’?”

  “Yes,” I said, cringing at my own lie.

  “I don’t believe you. But it doesn’t matter anyway. I was just about to dial your number myself.”

  “Oh.” My jaw tightened. I braced myself for an accusation or a threat. “Why?”

  “Wayne and I are up at your farm. And you need to get back here with your aunt. Fast.”