Candy Slain Read online

  With that, we launched into the story of our discovery of the mayor, tucked into bed like a dead person. Teeny was the most receptive audience member one could ever hope for. She nodded and gasped at all the right times. When we were finished talking, she shook her head.

  In typical Teeny fashion, her first question cracked me up. “Did it smell funky in there?”

  “How is that your question after all that we told you?” I asked with a giggle.

  Teeny shrugged. “What? I want to know if it smelled funky.”

  “It did smell funky,” said Miss May. “Kind of like sweat. Kind of like food. Not pleasant.”

  “Really?” I said. “I didn’t smell anything.”

  “You’re nose-blind to the smells of food and sweat. That’s exactly how your bedroom smelled growing up.”

  I laughed. “Low blow, Miss May. Low blow.”

  “I feel bad for Linda,” Teeny said. “I got into a depression like that once. It wasn’t any fun.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Teeny shook her head. “The whole week after they canceled the North Port Diaries, I was so upset I could barely get out of bed. I was also going through a divorce at the time, which didn’t help.”

  Miss May shook her head. “Is it possible you were upset about the divorce, not the TV show?”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me, May. Anyway, sounds like Linda has it even worse than I did, though. Worried about her job. Worried about her future.”

  Miss May nodded. “And she has no one in her life right now. Her husband has been away in Asia on business for almost six months.”

  “Maybe she got lonely and psychotic,” Teeny mused. “Snapped and killed Orville.”

  “We were a little suspicious,” said Miss May. Not delicious, I thought, but kept it to myself.

  “But Orville’s death has been such a problem for Linda,” I said. “Killing him would have created way more issues than it solved.”

  “I’m not saying she planned it. Remember I said she got psychotic?” Teeny clucked her tongue. “If Linda did it, it was a mistake. Besides, all politicians are crazy. Everyone knows that.”

  “The murder seemed planned — sharpened candy, perfect aim — I doubt that someone in a psychotic haze could have pulled it off,” I said.

  Teeny shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve had some of my best ideas in a psychotic haze.”

  “We keep going back and forth on Linda.” Miss May dipped her finger in the maple syrup and licked it. “One second, I think she’s innocent. Back at the mayor’s house, I reasoned that she would’ve never killed someone so callously. But now I wonder… You’re right, T. Politicians can be crazy. And Linda’s peppermint allergy is irrelevant.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “The victim was killed with a candy cane.”

  “I know,” Miss May said. “But the candy cane that was used as a murder weapon looked mass-produced. And those big factory candy canes typically don’t have any real peppermint in them at all. They only have ‘peppermint flavor.’”

  “Spoken like a woman who has handmade candy canes and sold them at a family orchard,” said Teeny.

  “I guess making candy can be helpful in murder investigations sometimes,” said Miss May. “Weird.”

  “I still don’t believe the mayor could have done this,” I said. “She was really upset. And we don’t have anything conclusive that says that the murder weapon candy cane didn’t have peppermint.”

  Teeny stacked the dishes on our table and motioned for a waitress to gather them. “Who else could it have been?”

  “What about that deputy mayor guy? Matt. Look how much Orville’s death is hurting the mayor. Maybe he killed Orville to create this crisis,” I said. “That way, Delgado looks bad. Maybe he’s planning to run for mayor on his own.”

  “That’s a dark theory.” Teeny sipped her coffee. “But plausible.”

  Miss May threw up her hands. “It’s hard to say anything for sure without knowing more about Orville. Not even the mayor had much information we can use.”

  Suddenly, a hooded figure entered the restaurant and approached our table. The figure walked past us, slid an envelope toward Miss May, then exited out the back door.

  “What the heck?” I asked.

  Teeny nibbled her fingernails. “That was scary. I did not like that one bit.”

  “Are you going to open the envelope?” I asked.

  Miss May nodded.

  She opened the envelope and her face fell. She stammered. “It’s…a note.”

  Teeny leaned forward. “What does it say?”

  Miss May gulped. “It says… ‘Dee Dee is guilty. I have proof. Meet me under the overpass by the lumberyard. 10 PM sharp.’”

  15

  Lumbering Liaisons

  Miss May and I rumbled up to the lumberyard in the big, yellow Volkswagen bus at five minutes before 10 PM. Not sure if you’ve ever been to a lumberyard, but let me tell you, they’re not the happiest places to visit in the midst of a tree drama. Seeing all the downed trees and the planks of wood, hammered home Dee Dee’s point about the environment. I suddenly felt a lot of empathy for Fred the Tree, so old and stately — maybe Dee Dee was right. The Christmas trees we sold on the farm were renewable and sustainable. But so much of the lumber business around the world was not as eco-friendly. I wondered if our hooded secret informant had chosen this spot with the weight of its symbolism in mind.

  Miss May slumped down in the driver’s seat once we got to the lumberyard. She killed the headlights and motioned for me to slump down beside her.

  “Get down. We don’t know what this is going to be.”

  I did as I was told and slid down in my chair until my butt was hanging off. I felt silly. “Do you have any ideas?”

  Miss May’s eyes widened. “The light just went on in the main office. That must be our guy.”

  I felt the back of my neck tense, the muscles growing taut with stress. Not a good feeling. “What if it’s a trap? What if it’s the killer?”

  “I suppose that’s always a possibility,” Miss May sighed. “But that doesn’t make much sense. Why would the killer be so obvious? Plus, we haven’t gotten very far on this investigation. I don’t think we’re worth killing.”

  I took a deep breath. “At least not yet.”

  Miss May opened her door and slipped a leg out. “Ready?”

  “I could use a bite,” I said.

  “I didn’t ask if you’re hungry. I asked if you’re ready.”

  I nodded. “Oh. No.”

  Thirty seconds later and we were standing at the entrance to the main office of the lumberyard. The office was housed in a small brick building, connected to the lumber storage area by a barbed wire gate. A sign said “ring buzzer for service.”

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  Miss May rang the buzzer.

  “Oh. That makes sense.”

  A few seconds elapsed, then we heard the sound of the door locks unlatching. Clack. Clack.

  Miss May pushed the door open and we went inside.

  The lumberyard offices were sparse. There was a large, steel desk against the far wall. Order slips, receipts, and take-out menus were pinned to an enormous corkboard. A half-empty water-cooler gurgled in the corner.

  A raspy voice spoke from the shadows, “You made it just on time.”

  A figure stepped out from the corner. I swallowed a big laugh. I should’ve guessed.

  It was Liz, the editor and sole reporter for the Pine Grove Gazette. With her long, shiny dark hair, round face, and fair skin, Liz was pretty recognizable — but she was also a master of disguise. She was always showing up in unexpected places, dressed as unexpected people, speaking in unexpected voices. Liz liked to take an active role in our investigations. She was determined to win a Pulitzer one day. And these murders were paving her road to glory.

  “Liz. Thank goodness it’s you.” Miss May hugged Liz.

  “No hugging, please. This is
serious.”

  “I wasn’t going to hug you anyway,” I said. “I haven’t showered yet today. I think I might smell.”

  “Gross. Do you want to tell me more about that or can I explain the reason for our top-secret and intriguing rendezvous?” Liz sat behind the desk.

  I hung my head. “You can explain the reason for our rendezvous.”

  “Good. I have fifteen minutes with the two of you. Maximum. The Christmas news cycle never sleeps. We have a murdered Santa in Pine Grove. We’ve got a massive gingerbread house under construction two towns over that’s been saddled with unexpected costs. We have drama about the brightness of holiday lights in several Pine Grove neighborhoods. And that’s not to mention the national stories. The Christmas thieves. The porch pirates. Some famous Christmas museum in Delaware was even robbed. Can you imagine? Someone breaking into a museum just to steal Christmas tchotchkes?”

  “Not at all in the Christmas spirit. Those burglars are definitely on the naughty list this year… But do you have information that’s going to help in this investigation?” Miss May poured herself a cup of water from the cooler.

  “Of course. I trust you read my piece on Orville Starr in the Gazette? I dug deep on that. I’m the one who found out about his past stint at Macy’s. I discovered his pedigree. I vetted him for the mayor.”

  “She said he had a resume,” I said.

  Liz glared. “I vetted the resume. I used my sources. He’s been doing Santa gigs for twenty years. Did you know that? Orville Starr was a legend in the Claus community.”

  “It sounds like you did some excellent investigative journalism.” Miss May drained her water, then refilled it.

  “I’m serious, May,” Liz said. “I also conducted extensive interviews with the victim prior to his death. For my piece in the paper.”

  “Did he tell you something we can use?” I reached out. Miss May handed me the water and I took a sip.

  “Not exactly. I suppose I don’t have any information from Orville himself to tell you. Other than the fact that I think he was a good guy. And I suspect he had fewer enemies than you believe he did. So the man was curmudgeonly. Big deal. Aren’t we all curmudgeonly in small-town America?”

  I looked over at Miss May. “I’m not curmudgeonly,” I said.

  Miss May shrugged, “I can curmudgeon with the best of them. But I’m confused. If this isn’t about something you learned from Orville, what is it about? You said you have proof that my sister is guilty. And that, I don’t believe.”

  Liz gestured across the office with a broad, sweeping motion of her hand. “I brought you to this lumberyard for a reason. Because I wanted the symbolism of the fallen trees to resonate with you and settle into your souls. And also because Dean Smith, the purveyor of the lumberyard, has vital information.” Yep, just as I suspected. Liz picked up a walkie-talkie from the desk and spoke into it. “Come on in, Dean.”

  The door to the office opened and a slight, older man entered. He had thick glasses and wore khaki pants above his bellybutton. Miss May smiled when she saw him.

  “Dean Smith. I’ll be! You’re still working every day? You look amazing. Good for you.”

  Dean let out a long, sad sigh. “I wanted to retire but vinyl siding is such fierce competition these days. My son couldn’t handle it. So here I am.”

  “Show the girls your evidence,” said Liz.

  Dean nodded. He pulled several folded-up papers from his pocket and handed them to us.

  “Your sister, Dee Dee. She’s been bloodthirsty about these trees for a few months now.”

  Miss May nodded. “She decided to focus on trees after she got that clean-air initiative passed in the county.”

  “I’m sad to say,” Dean said with a shake of his head, “she was quite unfriendly toward me in the letters you’re holding. Look.”

  Miss May unfolded one of the papers. It said “Shut down your lumberyard or else!” in Dee Dee’s signature big, bold print.

  Miss May‘s expression remained neutral. She opened another letter: “Shut down the lumberyard or die.”

  Miss May opened another letter, then another and another. Each was a serious, often deadly threat. Each clearly written in Dee Dee’s hand. Several signed from Dee Dee personally.

  “She didn’t stop with the letters, May. Once, she threw a brick through my window and screamed, ‘Tree killer, tree killer, tree killer, die.’ I’m just trying to make a living. And I don’t even cut the trees, I just sell the wood.”

  “So what are you saying?” Miss May asked. “Did you go to the police?”

  Dean shook his head. “I couldn’t. I’ve known Dee Dee since she was a girl. I thought her heart was in the right place, even if her words weren’t. I was going to come to the farm and talk to you about the nuisance. But then, well, she was arrested.”

  Miss May nodded. “I see.”

  “Also, I hate to say this… But she stopped threatening me after Orville showed up in town and started yelling everywhere about cutting down the biggest, most majestic tree we could find for the Christmas display. I think she felt it was her duty to protect whatever 300-year-old pine he was after.”

  “Fred,” I said. “The tree’s name is Fred.”

  “You see what this means, right?” Liz asked.

  Miss May sat down. “There’s more evidence than I thought against my sister. But it’s not incontrovertible. So I need to work even harder to set her free.”

  16

  Midnight Snacks

  Our secret meeting at the lumberyard had been so intense and stressful that when Miss May and I left, we didn’t speak much. There were a few grunts. And we discussed Dee Dee’s letters briefly. Then Miss May held up a hand to signal she’d had enough.

  “We haven’t even had dinner yet. It’s almost 11 PM. I can’t unpack all this information right now.”

  “We’re not going to skip dinner, are we? I know it’s late,” I said. “But I need to eat. I’m a growing girl, kind of.”

  “I’m choosing not to make a number of witty comments right now,” said Miss May. “But I’ll eat, if there’s anything in the house.”

  As I stepped into the farmhouse, a feeling of gratefulness overcame me. Steve the puppy greeted us with characteristic eagerness, his one bad leg not stopping him from jumping all over me in an enthusiastic hello. Once I’d sufficiently petted Steve, I looked around the farmhouse, happy to be home.

  Miss May had decorated with wreaths and garland. The old wood floors smelled like polish. And that musky, warm scent of an old house filled my nostrils.

  Miss May trudged into the den and plopped into her favorite chair. And I looked in the cupboard to see what I could whip up. I found angel hair pasta, garlic, broccoli, and butter, fresh from a nearby farm. So I decided to quickly whip up a simple Italian dish. Steve followed me around the kitchen, dutifully licking up any scraps of food I happened to drop.

  First, I simmered three or four big tablespoons of the creamy butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Then I added a generous helping of garlic. Not chopped, whole cloves, smashed. Meanwhile, I boiled the broccoli. Finally, I tossed the broccoli with the garlic butter.

  Miss May called out from the other room. “Are those fresh, hot carbs I’m smelling?”

  I laughed. “You’re probably smelling the garlic. But I’m adding the carbs now.”

  I strained the nest of angel hair pasta and tossed it into the saucepan. I took a moment to relish the sizzle and the smell. Then I stirred it all together. Finally, I added a dash of cream and just a hint of lemon zest. I added the dish to two of my favorite plates and set the table with a couple big glasses of water. OK, and a little wine. I finished everything off with fresh basil from a plant on the kitchen window and called Miss May to eat.

  No sooner than we sat down, there was a knock at the door. Surprise. It was Teeny. She had an instinct for when to visit and she entered before we opened the door and asked if she could help herself to some of my creation.

&nbs
p; “It is so annoying that you’re a great cook, Chelsea. Beautiful, young, smart. No one person should get all these talents. Plus, you’re an interior designer. Unfair.”

  “You’re also a great cook,” I said to Teeny. “And beautiful and great at decorating. And smart, too.”

  “What about young?” Teeny said with a gasp.

  “And young. Sorry, I forgot young,” I said, smiling at her.

  “I get seconds before anyone else,” Teeny said. “Because you two got all the good genes.”

  I took a big bite of pasta and spoke with my mouth full. “Stop fishing for compliments. You’re the best chef in Pine Grove and you know it.”

  “OK. This is a wonderful compliment festival,” Miss May said. “But let’s get back to the case.” Miss May grabbed a wedge of Parmesan and shaved some onto her pasta.

  “Good idea.” I said.

  “Discussing the case?” Teeny asked.

  I grabbed the Parmesan. “I was talking about the cheese. But that too.”

  We rehashed the details of what had happened at the lumberyard for Teeny. Miss May did most of the talking, and the more she spoke the more anxious I became.

  Miss May seemed confident that Dee Dee was innocent. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder… What if Liz had been right? What if Dee Dee was a viable suspect? How could I bring that up without upsetting Miss May?

  Miss May snapped once, then twice, right my face. “Chelsea. I’m asking you what you think?”

  My eyes widened. “Oh. Sorry. Lost in thought.”

  Miss May looked over at Teeny then back to me. “You think Dee Dee could have done it?”

  I stammered. Sometimes, I swear my aunt had ESP.

  Miss May put a hand on my arm. “It’s OK. A good detective has to consider every option. And I’ll admit, my sister would kill to protect the environment.”

  “She’d kill to get the last roll of toilet paper at the store,” said Teeny. “No offense. But I think Dee Dee did it. She’s wacky. She’s wackier than I am!”