Shot Through the Tart Read online

  Germany cleared his throat, still serious. “I’m actually calling because I have something I need to ask you…about the play.”

  I gulped. My mind raced with possibilities. Had Germany witnessed something related to the murder? Did someone threaten him? My body stiffened. See-Saw’s body tensed, and Steve growled from across the barn.

  “Of course,” I said. “Anything. What do you need to ask me?”

  “I’m thinking… I want to honor Adam. And the best way to honor him is if we continue with the production.”

  I cocked my head, unsure if I had heard Germany right. “You want to put on the play again tomorrow night?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Germany. That’s a…strange idea. The shooter hasn’t been found. The theater is probably still an active crime scene. Continuing with the production could be dangerous. Especially since someone in the cast or crew could be a killer! It’s so stupid. How can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time?”

  Germany replied with confidence and poise. “I love this small town. It’s a town with strength, character, and grit. No matter how many people are murdered here, the denizens persevere. Not a single person has moved away since the first victim was found over a year ago. I want to embody that dogged spirit in the production of this play. I’m still relatively new here and it’s important that I demonstrate that I’m just as strong as this town. I want to show everyone here that they inspire me, and in turn I’d like to inspire them.”

  I shook my head. My cheeks reddened. “That’s ridiculous, Germany.”

  Germany seemed unshaken by my doubt. “I’m afraid you cannot talk me out of this.”

  “Then why did you call me?” I asked.

  Germany stammered, unsure of his reply for the first time. “I don’t know. I guess I expected you to be blindly supportive.”

  “Right,” I said. “I should go. I’m being rude to See-Saw.”

  I hung up before Germany had a chance to reply. “That is so ridiculous.” See-Saw stomped her back foot. I could tell she agreed.

  There was a soft knock on the barn door door behind me. Steve barked, an excited, happy bark, so I knew it wasn’t a scary intruder. I turned. There was Miss May, dressed to go out. “Everything OK?”

  “Everything’s fine. Germany’s an idiot.”

  Miss May nodded. I could tell by the look on her face… She had heard a lot of the conversation. “Ready to go?”

  I nodded. And we headed back to the scene of the crime.

  7

  And, Scene!

  The town theater had a creepy energy after dark. Or maybe the creepy energy was because of how recently the stage had been the scene of a murder. Either way, I had an uneasy feeling tingling in my fingers and toes as we approached. Miss May walked with such confident strides. But I took baby steps, like I was about to enter a freezing cold pool.

  “Are you sure we should do this?” I asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Maybe we should come back with Teeny in the morning. Or maybe we should go over to her house now to make sure she doesn’t want to come.”

  “Teeny needs her sleep. She said so herself, she has to open up the restaurant early. It might be the off-season for us up at the orchard but her kitchen never has an off-day. Besides, we can’t come here during business hours. The police will be back.”

  I stopped and looked at the theater. “OK. But how are we going to get inside? We can’t break into the theater. I’m almost positive I saw a security system. It’s not worth the risk.”

  “Chelsea. Stop doing your scaredy-cat routine. You know this is part of the sleuthing gig. Sneaking in places doesn’t usually bother you so much”

  “First of all,” I said, “yes it does. I’m always trying to talk us out of going into spooky, dark places. Second of all, this is different. We saw a man get shot right in front of us today. Inside this building.”

  Miss May walked around the theater. There was a small door on the side of the building marked “actors entrance.” She walked right up to the door and knocked three times.

  I stayed a few feet back. “What are you doing?”

  Miss May turned back and smirked at me. “I have a plan, as always. I wanted to surprise you.”

  The door opened with a loud creak. There stood Petunia, an elderly woman famous in town for her prowess at the poker tables. Petunia was rough around the edges. And rough in the middle. Rough all around. But she had been helpful on previous cases so I felt a weird sense of relief when I saw her. Even though she was one of the meanest old ladies I’d ever met.

  “Miss May and little single Chelsea,” Petunia growled. “So we meet again.”

  “How do you know I’m still single?” I asked.

  Petunia laughed. “Are you saying you’re not?”

  Petunia walked back inside the building before I had a chance to answer. Miss May entered next, and I closed the door behind me and followed close behind.

  As soon as we entered the backstage area, I noticed that we were surrounded by props from prior productions. There was a large painting of a sunset. Off in the corner, I spotted a life-size Frankenstein dummy. Sparkly costumes and top hats hung from dozens of pegs on the wall.

  I looked around and my brow crinkled. “I’m confused. Petunia… Do you live here now?”

  Petunia rolled her eyes. “Why would I live here? There is no nursing staff. No one makes your meals. Do you see a bed?”

  I shrugged.

  “You’ve been to my luxury retirement apartment at Washington Villages.”

  “I know,” I conceded. “I’m just confused. If you don’t live here… what are you doing here?”

  “Petunia works at the theater on the weekends,” Miss May said.

  Petunia nodded. “I’ve been working here part-time for twenty plus years. So they gave me a key. When I started here I was a full three inches taller than I am now, believe it or not.” I believed it. “Miss May said you needed a little help. She gives me free baked goods all the tooting time. One hand washes the other. Even though she’s also accused me of murder. I forgive and forget. That gets easier the older you get.”

  “Thanks, Petunia,” said Miss May. “I appreciate you meeting us here so late.”

  “I’m up all night, every night at the poker tables. Fleecing those old ladies. Making sure all the money in their estates goes to me instead of some snub-nosed grandkid. This isn’t late for me. It’s the middle of the day.”

  Miss May chuckled. “Makes sense.”

  “So you two are here looking for a clue in this murder, right? Guy got shot right on stage. This is why I never attend the theater.”

  “But you work here…” I said.

  “Ah, I like the pomp and circumstance. The costumes, the props, the sets. Plus, this is where I get my gambling money.”

  Miss May and I nodded. Petunia plopped down in a chair and opened a book about poker theory. “Go wherever you want but don’t leave a trace. I don’t need the cops breathing down my neck about colluding with the amateur detectives in town.”

  Miss May nodded. “No one will ever know we were here.”

  Miss May and I started off by looking around the stage where Adam had been shot. The police caution tape was still up. There was still a very clear mark where Adam had fallen. But there wasn’t any other evidence up there. No bullets or shells or casings. The police had taken everything but the blood stain.

  Next, Miss May insisted that she and I walk up and down every row in the theater. We started at the orchestra level and used our cell phones as flashlights. Miss May instructed me to pick up anything that might be suspicious. But it seemed the police had scoured the whole theater. I didn’t find so much as a nickel of spare change or a stray piece of candy on the floor.

  Finally, Miss May led the way up to the mezzanine level. “Remember. The shooter was probably stationed up here.”

  I approached the railing and looked down at the stage. It was hard to bel
ieve there had been so much creative energy on the stage the prior night. All that remained was a pervasive sense of doom and a gloomy pall. I couldn’t look away from the spot where Adam had been shot. Somewhere deep down, I felt like if I looked hard enough, I might have the ability to turn back time. Like I was somehow going to be able to call out and warn Adam of his impending fate. I wanted so desperately to change the outcome of what had happened on that stage. But I couldn’t.

  Miss May approached and stood by my side. She let out a deep sigh. “I can’t believe he was standing there saying his lines only hours ago. The guy may have been pompous, but if we went around shooting every actor with a pompous streak, we’d miss out on a lot of quality entertainment.”

  Truer words were never spoken, I thought.

  I turned to Miss May. “Did you find anything up there?”

  She shook her head. “One last stop before we go.”

  Miss May led me back to the room where we had met Petunia. Petunia had fallen asleep with her feet up on the desk and her poker book over her face. Gave new meaning to the term “poker face,” I thought.

  Miss May held a finger to her lips and crept into the room. She scanned the area with intense focus. Then her gaze rested on a little green book that was on the desk, right beside Petunia’s feet. Miss May tiptoed toward the desk one step at a time. I hung back and breathed as quietly as I could.

  Finally, Miss May reached out and slid the book off the desk. She held the book up to me. Gold letters were stenciled on front. “Pine Grove community theater: sign-in book.”

  Miss May handed the book to me and I stepped outside, holding it close to my chest. Everyone who entered the building the prior night had signed their name in that book. So the killer’s name was somewhere in there.

  We just had to find out who it was. And why they’d wanted to hurt Adam Smith.

  8

  Taters and Turtles

  We were the first customers inside Teeny’s restaurant on Saturday morning. I expected Teeny to be happy to see us. But when we told her about our visit to the theater she looked disappointed.

  “So you got nothing.” Teeny shook her head. “I thought you two were experts. The top of the charts. Billboard’s Hot 100.”

  “We are chart-toppers,” said Miss May. “But there was nothing to find. The cops cleaned the place out.”

  Teeny rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe you. The police in this town are so stupid. And they’re not smart-stupid like Chelsea. They’re stupid-stupid. There is no way they got all the clues from that theater.”

  “We got the sign-in book,” I said.

  Teeny turned and walked into the kitchen. “Who cares about the sign-in book?”

  We followed her into the back.

  Teeny grabbed a potato and gave it an angry peel. “Would you sign your name in a book if you were a killer?”

  I chewed on my lower lip. “I guess not.” I turned to Miss May. “We didn’t think of that.”

  Miss May shrugged. “I thought about it. But I still think that sign-in book will come in handy.”

  “Red herring,” said Teeny. “Classic case of red herring. What now? Question everyone in the entire book? Might as well question the whole town. Waste of time. Honestly.”

  “You’re a tough critic this morning,” said Miss May.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We snuck into the scene of the crime after-hours. In my book, that’s pretty good.”

  Teeny tossed her potato down. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m tired. I had two people call in sick this morning. I have a hundred potatoes to peel, at least. And there’s a crazed, highly-trained assassin on the loose.”

  Miss May stepped toward Teeny with a sympathetic look. “Hey. It’s OK. The assassin might not be trained.”

  Teeny sighed. “Oh, well now I feel better. The worst part is, I should never take out these frustrations on the two of you. You were at the restaurant helping. And you’re constantly braving danger in the name of justice. My only job is to peel potatoes and I can barely manage that.”

  “Teeny. That is so not true,” I said. “You’re not just a tater peeler. You’re one of the sleuths.”

  Teeny looked up at me with big, wide eyes. “You mean that?”

  I smiled. “Of course. You have been so important to all these investigations.”

  Miss May chuckled. “Is that what this is about? You’re not feeling sleuth-y enough? Well that is ridiculous. You know we love you. You know you’re important to these investigations. Get over yourself.”

  Miss May was a big believer in tough love. She was often stern with people she loved most.

  Teeny nodded. “OK, alright, sounds good. You’re just trying to be nice.”

  “She’s not being nice,” I said. “She just told you to get over yourself.”

  “Yeah, that’s her way of being nice,” Teeny said. “Anyway, I’m sorry I was negative. The sign-in book might be helpful. Even though I think it’s unlikely the killer would have signed it.”

  Miss May tossed me a potato peeler. I got to work peeling. She did the same.

  “So what do you think we should do, Teeny?”

  “Try to get the knots out. I don’t leave any flecks of skin. I like my hashbrowns pure.”

  Miss May shook her head. “Not with the potatoes. We know how to peel potatoes.” Speak for yourself. “With the investigation.”

  Teeny nodded. “Oh. Now I understand.… I think we should go back to the suspects we discussed earlier. Dorothy was furious and there’s no reason she couldn’t have pulled the trigger.”

  I nodded. “Same with Master Skinner. I don’t think he’s a killer, but he seemed a little unhinged at Peter’s the other night. Although if I were him I would kill with karate, not with a bullet.”

  Miss May shook her head. “Karate is sacred to Master Skinner. I don’t think he would use it to kill.”

  “Is Skinner in the sign-in book?” Teeny asked.

  I pulled the book from my purse and opened it. I scanned line by line with my pointer finger. “Doesn’t look like it. But none of the actors are. Hold on one second.”

  I pulled out my smart phone and dialed Germany. He answered after the first ring. “Hi, Germany. Sorry. I know it’s early.”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “Can I help with the investigation?”

  Germany’s tone was terse. Somehow I had forgotten that I have been short with him in the barn the prior night.

  “Yeah. But…” I cast a look at Teeny and Miss May. They were watching me carefully. They sensed my unease. I walked back out into the dining area to continue the conversation.

  “But what?” Germany asked.

  “I’m sorry about last night. We’re all feeling anxious about what happened.”

  Germany didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “It’s fine. I’m sorry, too. Thank you for understanding.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “I hope you’re not going to carry on with the production of the play tonight.”

  “What did you want to ask me, Chelsea?”

  “Did Master Skinner show up for the play last night?”

  “He was there before curtains… But I didn’t see him after.”

  I swallowed. “So it’s possible…”

  “Yes,” said Germany. “It’s possible Master Skinner killed Adam.”

  9

  Alarm Bells Will Ring

  Teeny, Miss May, and I walked over to Master Skinner’s dojo in a hurry. Our faces were taut and and our hands were shoved in our pockets. Although growing up I had known Master Skinner as the calm, patient sensei who’d taught me all my sweet karate moves…I’d seen him blow his top a few times over the course of prior investigations. I didn’t like treating my mentor as a suspect, but I also couldn’t ignore facts. As we approached the dojo, I gulped quietly.

  “That was a loud gulp, Chelsea,” said Teeny.

  Maybe not as quietly as I thought. I looked at Teeny. “Master Skinner is tough. I feel l
ike I’m gonna pee my pants.”

  “Me too,” Teeny said. “But also, I chugged a bunch of coffee so I actually have to pee.”

  Miss May gave me a dismissive wave of the hand. “We’ll be fine. Master Skinner is calm and reasonable.”

  “Most of the time that’s true,” said Teeny. “But if he’s the killer… He’ll karate chop his way to freedom no matter what. Unless the student has what it takes to overcome the teacher…”

  “I…might?” I said, not wanting to imagine a throwdown with the master himself.

  “Whatever the case may be, we’re almost there,” Miss May said. “Let’s take some deep breaths and try to keep it together.”

  Teeny nodded. “Alright. I’ll stay calm. I mean, Chelsea has at least 50/50 odds of beating Master Skinner in a fight, right?”

  I shook my head. “Not sure. Master Skinner could probably take me even if he had both arms tied behind his back.”

  “For sure,” Miss May said. “That man doesn’t need arms to beat you in a fight. He has those strong little legs. He could donkey kick you right through the wall.”

  “That’s not reassuring,” I said. “I thought you wanted us to stay calm!”

  “I do,” Miss May said. “Because I brought my own secret weapon.” Miss May held open her purse. Inside, there was a freshly baked apple pie.

  Miss May’s pies often came in handy during investigations. As soon as suspects were plied with a homemade pie, they tended to relax and open up. I hoped Skinner liked pies, but I wasn’t so sure.

  “No offense,” I said. “But I don’t think that pie’s going to help. Master Skinner is above most earthly temptations. Unless maybe he helps himself to a slice after beating us all up.”

  Teeny thrust her pointer finger into the air. “My thoughts exactly. Why are we interviewing a trained martial artist right off the bat? We should have started with Dorothy.”

  Miss May shrugged. “We’re here now. So let’s go inside.” Miss May reached out and tugged on the door handle. It didn’t open. “That’s weird. It’s locked.”